quite held up, and we had reached further forward than the other part of the battalion. Soon others began to crawl into the ditch, including two very nice officers of the 6th Northumberland Fusiliers, who were most sympathetic. Besides them, I heard Corporal (later Sergeant) Renwick’s cheery voice, and he was straining every nerve on my behalf, regardless of danger to himself. He afterwards told me that a colour-sergeant, when I had finished my painful trek, pushed me into the ditch, to be himself blown to pieces immediately after by a shell. There were two dead men, apparently, lying by my side, though I was unaware of these facts. The afternoon wore on, and I continued in great pain, though some brandy was passed up to me. After a long wait, it seemed likely that our men would have to retire a little, and as I could not move I was in danger of being captured. To have carried me away would have been an impossibility, as we should most certainly have been shot down by a heartless enemy. Sergeant Renwick was anxious to risk it, but the young officers insisted on taking the risk themselves. At last, when Sergeant Renwick had crawled away to get help, one of the young officers told me that it was imperative I should make every effort to get away; so I crawled for about fifteen yards over a specially dangerous zone, and was then helped up, and supported by an officer on one side, Lieutenant Bruce Ramsay of the 6th, and by a soldier on the other. I managed to struggle along, supported by them, to the ruined farmhouse, which was being defended by some soldiers of the D.C.L.I., I think. The officer in command told Ramsay that it was against the regulations to help me and that he must therefore join his own battalion, while he himself would look after me. Part of the ruined farm was being used as a field dressing station; but before I could reach it I had a miraculous escape from two shells, which apparently fell on a manure heap close by which I was standing, and which prevented them doing any further mischief.