When there is the excitement and stimulus of a "gallery" it is comparatively easy to be brave; but think of the heroism of such lonely work as that which was done by Lieutenant F.H.N. Davidson, R.F.A. Early in the day our gunners had found it impossible to locate certain German guns which were fast rendering our trenches untenable. The country was so flat that there was no possible point of vantage from which the gunners could observe except the steeple of the church in Lourges. But the Germans knew that as well as we did, so the church was being vigorously shelled, and already no less than twelve lyddite shells had been pitched into it. It was the duty of Lieutenant Davidson to "observe," so he calmly went to the church, climbed the already tottering tower, and, seated on the top, proceeded to telephone his information to the battery. In consequence German battery after battery was silenced, the infantry, which at one time was in danger of extermination, was saved, and the position, in spite of an attack in overwhelming force by the enemy, was successfully held. The church was rendered a scrap heap, but still Davidson sat on the remnants of his tower. For seven solid hours expecting death every moment, he calmly scanned the country, and telephoned his reports. At dark his task was done, and he came down to rejoin the battery. As he left the ruins a fall of timber in one of the burning houses lit up everything with a sudden glare, there was the crack of a rifle--the German trenches were only a few hundred yards away--and a bullet passed through the back of his neck and out through his mouth. But, without hurrying his pace, he walked to his battery, gave them his final information, and then said, "I think I'd better go and find the field ambulance, for the beggars have drilled a hole in me that needs plugging." And he walked half a mile to the nearest "collecting point." A man who was struck with four bullets in his thighs remarked, "What luck to have got all four; that means three comrades more to fight the Germans." A private of the 1st Warwicks was hit with a shrapnel bullet at the battle of Mons. He said, "Good luck to the old regiment," and rolled over on his back dead. What _esprit de corps_! What forgetfulness of self! The gunner who wrote the following had the freedom from self which enables us to sympathise: "I had comparatively little pain, though it seemed that my arm had been blown away. I could not verify this, because I was so numb it was impossible to move. What did hurt was the sight of pal after pal around me either killed outright at one go, or 'snuffing it' in agony quite near." Another soldier, though mortally wounded himself, felt so much for a wounded pal that he said to the doctor, "See to that poor bloke first. He is going home; he will be home before me."