_July 2._—Rested. In the course of the day the Child returned, having in some amazing way persuaded the hospital authorities that pleurisy and a temperature of 104° are the best possible things to have on the eve of a great offensive. Swears he’s all right now, and objects to being ordered to take it easy—while he can. Heavy bombardment all day, but we are eight miles back here. Official communiqués record further successes. _July 3._—Moved at 9.30 P.M., and arrived (5.30 A.M.) soaking wet at the worst bivouac it has ever been our unhappy lot to occupy. _July 4._—Saw about 150 German prisoners being brought back. In the afternoon, after a violent thunderstorm, went to look at the position which we are to take over. Found that it was immensely strong. Originally it was only 1200 yards from the enemy front line, but now, since the advance, is about 3000. Steady rain all the time. Got back to find the camp converted into a veritable bog, and men of all the batteries making shelters for themselves by cutting down trees and looting straw. There will be a row over this, but—well, it is too much to expect men to submit to such _unnecessary_ discomfort. _July 5._—Took the Child and two telephonists and went up to new position. Bombardment proceeding incessantly. Was amazed at the amount of material already brought up, at the gangs already working on the shell-wrecked roads, and at the crowd of spectators who lined a convenient ridge to ‘watch the show.’ Went with the Child and the battery commander from whom we were taking over to get a look at the country and visit the O.P. Passed through Fricourt—not long captured. Never could a bombardment have done its work of destruction more thoroughly than here. Not figuratively, but literally; no one brick stood upon another, scarcely one brick was whole. Walked on up the sunken road that leads north from Fricourt past the Dingle and Shelter Wood. For days this road had been a death-trap. It was strewn with corpses, with stretchers on which lay wounded men awaiting removal, with broken bits of equipment, English and German—and it stank. We arrived at the headquarters of a battalion and asked if we could see the colonel. ‘No,’ they told us, ‘you can’t at present. He’s just been buried in his dug-out by a shell, and it will be some time before we get him clear; he’s all right, but a bit shaken.’