I am now coming to a sorrowful personal incident--the loss of my chum, Lance-Corporal Lamont. We had been together from the beginning of the war and had shared everything there was, even to the waterproof sheet. He would carry the sheet one day and I would carry it the next, and whenever such a thing had to be done as fetching drinking-water, often a very dangerous task, we would share that too. Throughout one awful night of ceaseless rain, which soaked us to the skin, the two of us were in the trenches--we had dug ourselves in, with just ordinary head cover. We lay there till next morning, when an officer came along my platoon and asked if we had any drinking-water. We told him that we had not. The officer said, “If you care to risk it, one of you can go and fetch some water.” We decided to take the risk, which was great, because to get the water meant getting to a farmhouse just behind us, under a heavy fire. My chum volunteered to go, and, taking the water-bottles, he left the trench and started to cross the open ground between us and the farmhouse. While he was doing this the order came for us to advance--and I never saw him again. It was soon my turn to be put out of action. A pretty stiff fight was going on and the fire was so heavy that it was very dangerous to be in the open; but it was necessary for me and a few more men to cross a bit of open ground, and we made a start. We had not gone far when a shell came between me and another man who was at my side. The shell struck him fair on the arm and shattered it. He fell over on his side, and as he did so he said, “For Heaven’s sake cut my equipment off!” I took out my jack-knife and slit the equipment across the shoulders and let it drop away from him. He crawled off and I was told afterwards that while he was trying to creep to shelter he was struck again and killed. I crawled as best I could up to the firing line, but when I got there I found that there was no room in the trenches for me, so I had to lie in the open. I had not been there long before a fellow next to me asked me what time it was. I took out my watch and told him it was about eleven-fifteen--and the next thing I knew was that I felt as if someone had kicked me on the top of the head. I turned round and said, “Tommy, I’m hit!” I became unconscious for some time, then, when I recovered, I said, “Tommy, is it safe to crawl away?” “No,” said Tommy, “it’s risky. It’s a bit too hot!” “Never mind,” I answered. “If I stay here much longer I shall collapse. I’m going to have a shot at it--here goes!” I began to crawl away, but I must have taken the wrong direction, for I was soon under two fires. I was approaching the mouths of two or three of our own guns, which were in front of a farmhouse.