The Germans watched until we halted, and then let fly at us with some shells. They killed about fifteen and wounded about twenty-five. One chap was blown to bits; another got one right through his cheek, and it was terrible to see us after they had bunked. They did not half let us have it. We all lay flat down on our faces waiting every moment for our turn to come. I can tell you I thought my last day had come then. Every time a shell comes it makes a whistle and then a bang, and not half a bang, too. I can tell you it was a relief to everybody, and they would sigh after a bang if not hit. They must have thought we had all gone or been killed or wounded because they stopped for a bit, and then we started to dig ourselves in. Of course we had to dig deep and well underground so as to be out of shell reach. We did not get any more that day, but the next morning they let us know it was time to get up with some of their heavy gun shells. We only got four wounded then, but I can tell you I thought I had got hit. One dropped about fifteen yards in front of my trench, and it lifted me up and dropped me with such a bang that I thought I was counted out. I felt all over me to see what I had got, but no, I am as safe as houses yet: _Sergt. T. L. Neal, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry_. Stunned! What gets at you is not being able to come to close quarters and fight man to man. As a fact we see very little of the enemy, but blaze away at the given range and trust to Providence. For that matter, we see very little of our own fellows, and only know by the ambulance men passing through our lines what regiments are near us. For hours we stick on one spot and see nothing but smoke and something like a football crowd swaying half a mile off. We see all we want of the German flying machines. They are over our lines day and night, and are so common that we do not now take pot-shots at them. The chances of hitting them are about 100 to 1. We hate them, because we know they are signalling the position and range to their artillery, which is awful. The German rifle fire wouldn’t worry a covey of partridges, but their shells are hell. I was stunned by one a week ago. It was a queer feeling, and rather pleasant than otherwise. It fell about six yards in front of me, and I felt as if a rush of lime-kiln gas had hit me. I fell forward, and was carried to the rear, but came to in about half an hour, with no hurt whatever, except that I had a tingling in my nose and eyes, and a bad headache all day. Other chaps say the feeling is the same: _Pte. F. Burton, Bedfordshire Regiment_. His Fire Baptism!