Finally on that day we took up a defensive line on the hillside. We had not a very large ‘field of fire,’ because after about 60 or 100 yards the ground sloped downwards, and so if the enemy should attack we should have to be extremely smart with our rifles. In front, however, somewhere on the slope, out of sight, the London Rifle Brigade were entrenched. We did not know for certain, but heard rumours that they were hard pressed and that a party of Germans had broken through and might be on us any minute. My platoon was in a ditch with a hedge in front of it, and underwent a terrible shelling in the afternoon, which slackened off towards the evening. Shells burst continually all along the long, thin line of our battalion, some bursting just short, some just beyond, and others crashing through and making cruel gaps among our men. I had many almost miraculous escapes. A bullet passed through my cap, and I was all but buried by a shell, which tore away half of a little shelter I had crawled into. One shell, which burst a yard or two off me, killed two of my men and injured another. The two men displayed great heroism in their dying agony. One of them, Bob Young, as he was carried away, minus his legs, called upon an officer, who was almost overcome by the sight, to ‘be a man’; and I was further told that he died kissing his wife’s photograph, with the word ‘Tipperary’ on his lips. Such were the men the Germans failed to break, men with an unconquerable spirit which no human horror could overcome. The most trying time was when it became dark, because, had the Germans attacked us, we should have been unable to shoot many. We waited with fixed bayonets and found it bitterly cold. I spent a good part of that long afternoon and evening in sorting out my men, finding them scattered about the line, and getting them together, so that when we should march off there would be less confusion, and No. 7 Platoon would be ready. There was a ruined farm just behind our line, and there we obtained some good water from a pump. There Donkin showed me his bleeding foot, which had received a dose of shrapnel. At last, between ten and eleven P.M., under cover of the night, we were relieved by other troops, and retired to almost the same place from whence we started in the morning. We lay down in a field and slept, in spite of the cold, for we were worn out; we had been marching and fighting for about thirty-six hours on end, and the only food we had had was the iron ration we carried with us, and the water we got at the farmhouse. I lost my ration as a matter of fact, as it became unfastened from my belt in the course of the advance. The battalion in these operations lost about 150 killed and wounded, including the two young Wakes (Wilf and Tom) of Bamburgh, both killed by the same shell.