It was about six o’clock in the morning when I received my souvenir. It was almost impossible for a wounded man to get back from the firing line without being riddled. I stayed in the trench until five in the evening. The noise was deafening, shrapnel bursting all over the place and raining bullets. I determined to try and get back to have my wound dressed, and I crawled back somehow, rolled down on to a road, crawled along again for a few hundred yards, and presently got in touch with some stretcher-bearers, who carried me to a doctor. I with many others lay in a barn for two days, and the shells from the enemy’s big guns burst unpleasantly near the hospital the whole time. After a two days’ ride in cattle trucks we reached a good hospital, where we were made comfortable: _Pte. G. Sims, 1st Batt. South Wales Border Regiment_. Couldn’t Move I was really fascinated by the shells, and was not really thinking of anything at all. Suddenly a shell burst over my head and it got me right in the back. I could feel my horse getting lower and lower; I put my hand behind me and felt a lot of hot wet. I wondered if I could get him over the ditch, but just before I got to it he rolled over into it with me. My troop sergeant came and asked me if I could get up. I said, “No, mate, I can’t move; I’ll have to stop here.” Then back came the trumpeter with Captain ----, and he asked me the same thing. If I couldn’t get on a spare horse they would have to leave me there. I said, “Very well, sir, I’ll stop. You had better clear out.” I crawled along the ditch to get out of the way of the shells, which were bursting a long time after my squadron had gone to cover. I lay there about four hours in a semi-conscious state, and when I came round I found I had buried my head in the mud trying to get out of the way of the shells: _A Lance-Corporal of Hussars_. “Flying All Round” The bullets and shells were flying all round, and did not cease until after dark. Then was my only chance to get out. I crawled on my hands and knees to a little inn, and there my wounds were dressed. To-day since I have been in hospital shrapnel has been bursting all round, but the hospital was not touched except for one bullet which struck a window. The bullet that wounded me went into one breast pocket and came out of the other, and in its course it passed through your photo, making a hole in the breast. What a strange coincidence! It then passed through my watch and struck a large clasp knife, smashing it to pieces and driving it through my pocket: _Sergt. E. W. Turner, Royal West Kent Regiment_. Got Away