On the 22nd June I visited the trenches and spent the night there with the 57th Rifles. How quickly one realises in the darkness the chances of being knocked out. Even though nothing unusual occurred, so many bullets were flying about, ricochetting on every side, clattering on the tin roof of the dug-out, etc., that it was made plain at any moment any man might meet his end. And the men took it so much as a matter of fact and appeared so unconcerned. It was only the experience hundreds of thousands were going through every night, but it may be of some interest to write what I, as one humble individual of that great host, myself went through, for it just describes what occurred every day, more or less. Towards dusk it began to rain, and seeing a young officer who had to proceed to Divisional Headquarters on duty, starting without a waterproof, I offered him mine. The La Bassée-Estaires road was his shortest way, and although this was always kept under fire by the Germans, it was still a fairly possible bicycle route if you did not mind an occasional toss into a shell-hole, and was used by everybody who had urgent business. The officer returned before dawn, and in handing me back my coat said, “General, I am so sorry I have damaged it,” and on examination I found two bullet-hole marks. Small thing, no doubt, but it showed the kind of life those lived who spent their nights on that Godforsaken road. As the evening wore on a ration party assembled outside the C.O.’s dug-out, where I was then standing. Just as they were collected, a machine-gun, evidently fired on the signal of some watcher, pumped a shower of lead into them; no one was hit, but in an instant that ration party had disappeared. Evidently it was unsafe to show a head anywhere. About midnight I lay down for an hour’s sleep as I hoped, but hardly had I closed my eyes than a huge rat walked over my face. I jumped as if shot, with the result that I knocked my head against the supporting timber and remembered it for some days. I was fast appreciating the luxuries enjoyed by those millions of brave men who spent, not one, but hundreds of nights in this kind of inferno. But my experiences were by no means ended; the most interesting was to come.