After some six weeks on the Somme we were ordered to return to HÉbuterne and remained there during the operations known as the battle of the Ancre. Our rest-camp was at Souastre, a village some three miles back of the front line. Souastre was shelled irregularly. Whenever our artillery shelled a village behind the Hun lines, the Germans would retaliate by shelling the corresponding village behind the British lines. Retaliation was always a strong point with the Boches. Our work, which was now mostly deep-dugout construction, was in the village of HÉbuterne and in the front and support trenches near this village. It had been anticipated that we would have captured the trenches at Gommecourt Wood and the German lines opposite HÉbuterne in the Somme offensive, and as a result of this optimism, very little work had been done to repair and revet the trenches in this sector. The rain was rapidly making them almost impassable, despite the constant efforts of the engineers and infantry to repair them. We could hardly move in any of these trenches during the winter without a pair of rubber thigh-boots, and some men, going in or out alone, were drowned in the mud. This was not a rare occurrence. Many men are lost in this way during the winters. Our other sections had been working in an advanced sap which we called the "Z" hedge (British called this "Zed"), and we had continued to carry on repair work in the tunnels under No Man's Land there. It took us about three hours to get up to the "Z" hedge, nearly every man carrying some timber, and another three to come out. Sometimes I have taken a full half-hour to walk fifty yards in these advanced trenches, every step in mud above my waist. The alternative of sticking your head in the mud, ostrich fashion, or getting out and going over the top and taking your chance did not make it any more pleasant. We usually preferred to get out on top. One day the general in command of the infantry brigade visited these forward saps, and as a result we were ordered to abandon them—not however before we had paid a heavy price to hold them. A machine-gun section had set up a Vickers gun in this sap to cover the possible underground approach of the enemy and these parties would often be without rations or supplies for several days at a time. In addition to this, they were unable to light any fires on account of the smoke being seen from the close Hun trenches. Taking the tip from our fellows, they would heat their tea and bully beef (corned beef) in mess-tins with the aid of candles. We always sent up a few extra candles for them. The hedge here afforded a very useful target for the enemy, and they succeeded in planting many heavy minenwerfers around and in our sap. There were two entrances to this. One day just before I arrived a heavy minenwerfer had destroyed one entrance and killed three officers and four men. Those killed, including one engineer officer, had been blown to pieces. One of my corporals, with the rest of the shift, managed with infinite difficulty to bring out the wounded through the heavy mud. We were not at all sorry to say good-by to the "Zed" hedge.

Our billets in HÉbuterne were the usual cellars. These we strengthened by piling sand-bags and anything else we could find on them. Like most other cellars, even when reinforced, they were not proof against heavy shells. We would often sit and wonder whether the next would land right on top. A six or eight inch shell landing squarely on it would have smashed it like an egg-shell. Quite a number of our men and some from our attached infantry working-parties were killed in these cellars by shell-fire. The whistle and swish, too, as they passed over searching for the heavy batteries behind us was not too entertaining. You could hear them as they came, faintly at first, and with increasing sound until they burst with an ear-splitting crump. With experience we could determine from their sound those which were going to explode near. However, one is in doubt for a very few seconds only, though these seconds are very valuable. When walking along a road, which is being shelled you will sometimes have time enough to jump into the trench which is usually alongside all roads subject to enemy shelling. One evening I had just relieved Lieutenant G., who remarked before leaving: "The Huns have a nasty hate on to-day, and have been plastering shells all around the billet." They landed a whizz-bang (77-mm. shell) first about 6 p.m. some seven feet from my cellar entrance. A few minutes later a 5.9-inch shell burst about twenty feet away in the yard, and from eight to ten that evening a dozen landed, all within twenty to thirty yards of the dugout, one of them carrying away the roof of the house next to us, and just missing the end of our cellar. Finally they put a whizz-bang square on the entrance, and almost on top of it a heavy shell which blew down the front sand-bag wall. Fortunately for us we had already built another exit in the form of a tunnel into an adjoining cellar, where the cooks of the section held forth. The shells exploding near had blown out our candles each time, and we patiently relit them, but the last two had in addition blown down half a ton of bricks on us. We were getting decidedly peevish by this time, and when my orderly suggested the thought that was strongly in the minds of both of us—that retreat was in order—we proceeded to put thought into action and moved for the balance of the night to a large, safe dugout near us. The next day I returned to the cellar, but not before putting an extra tier or two of sand-bags on it.

To the right of us there was an advanced aid-post with a mortuary above. This mortuary was in the ruins of a house which had no roof and only two walls. For a time the bodies of men killed each day in the trenches near by were placed here. It was an unfortunate choice. One night my men reported that they had seen rats running over the bodies. Directly I learned of this, we placed sentries to prevent such horrors recurring.

One day we received a request from the brigade to investigate a mysterious crater at the head of Woman Street trench. It appears that an explosion had been heard there two nights earlier, and the following morning it was found that ten infantrymen were missing and a crater some twenty feet deep had been formed in No Man's Land just ahead of the front line at this point. The brigade staff could not understand the situation and requested that an investigation be made at once to determine whether the enemy were mining here and had blown this crater from below ground. As the trenches were some 200 yards apart here mining did not appear probable. I visited the site and later ascertained the fact that an old trench-mortar bomb store had been located there some time previously. We took out a party of our sappers and dug around in the very symmetrically shaped crater. We unearthed some remnants of trench-mortar ammunition-boxes. What happened to the ten men was never definitely known, but we concluded that an enemy shell must have landed squarely on the T.M. store, detonated all the trench-mortar ammunition and blown out the entire gun crew. None of the bodies were found anywhere in the vicinity. The night before our fellows went out to dig around in this crater an infantry bombing-party had been detailed to occupy it. In the morning they were all found bayonetted. A Boche patrol had surprised them. One man in the party who was wounded had managed to crawl away in the dark and escaped the fate of his comrades. As happens so often in this war, the Huns had not been content with killing. On the body of one man were found five bayonet wounds.

This village of HÉbuterne was well known as being a bad spot. The infantry preferred the trenches to the village cellars. The enemy shelled the village with unwelcome intensity daily and also all the roads leading to it. Our cellar was some fifty yards from a crossing where the roads radiated in five directions. This spot came in for more than its share of shelling. The fact that numerous artillery batteries were located in the immediate neighborhood added to the intensity with which it was bombarded. The road to HÉbuterne from Sailly-au-Bois was also shelled regularly and at almost any hour of the day or night one would see wrecked and burned wagons and dead horses lying around in their harness. I have known as many as seventy casualties from one Hun shell at this crossroads.

We had some four big trucks in regular use and these were kept busy every night in taking up rations, tools, timber, etc., to the trenches. On several occasions we had to "get out and get under" to avoid the splinters from shells bursting near. The drivers of these trucks were plucky fellows. It was difficult to excite them. One night at HÉbuterne a 5.9-inch shell burst about five feet from one of our trucks. Six men were more or less badly wounded, but luckily no one was killed. They would drive up at the same even speed every night in the pitch-darkness.

Most of the drivers were hit at some time or other, but always came back as soon as they were released from the hospitals, and carried on with their driving again. Not much time was wasted in unloading these trucks. Often it was done under a rain of shrapnel. When their work was completed the drivers would come into our dugout for their customary tot of rum. Almost nightly in coming up on these roads trucks and wagons would be ditched and hold up a long line of traffic behind them. Frequently it happened that a number were filled with 6-inch or 9.2-inch shells, and the waiting on the road to move on whilst the Hun was spattering everything around us with shrapnel was a little trying. There were some 15-inch guns beside the road at Sailly-au-Bois, and these came in for their regular share of attention from enemy batteries.

While we were constructing a number of deep dugouts in HÉbuterne and in the trenches around, we found a big chalk cavern in the village. This useful place was discovered by a man accidentally falling down a well. On being pulled out, the wide-awake sapper noticed an opening off the side. The cavern was explored and several entrances opened up. Very useful accommodation was in this way provided for a large number of troops.

On the night of November 12, 1916, I was trying to get some sleep in my cellar at HÉbuterne when about two a.m. a motorcycle despatch-rider awakened me and handed me the following message, marked "Secret and Confidential."

Interpreted, this meant that three hours later, five forty-five a.m., on the thirteenth, the infantry would go "over the top" on the first assault of the battle of the Ancre. The infantry in the trenches just in front of us were not to be in the attack, but were instructed to throw large numbers of smoke-bombs and maintain rapid fire, the idea being to make a good bluff that they were also going over and keep the enemy guessing in the trenches opposite them. At five forty-five exactly, the artillery around us all burst loose, and the fireworks started. Several batteries of 9.2-inch howitzers, not a hundred yards from us, soon tested the drums of our ears. The twelve-inch batteries just half a mile away also started firing as hard as they could, together with the others all around. The combined noise was naturally deafening, and reminded us of our experiences on the Somme. Above and around in all directions the whistle and swish of the shells made the air seem almost alive, all carrying their messages to the poor devils of Huns opposite us. The return shelling that day in HÉbuterne was not intense. I imagine that their guns were too badly needed a little farther to the south. The push was to be made by eight divisions at first, and extended from about a quarter-mile south to Thiepval, about six miles below. We captured the village of Serre, just to the south, but were driven out again. Later on, it was retaken. As in almost every action, villages and points were captured and lost, then recaptured, and so on. A Boche general and his staff, who were at the time inspecting the enemy front lines at Serre, were captured. Beaumont-Hamel was taken the first day, and other villages to the south. At the start we captured over 6,000 prisoners, and our own casualties were very light. The weather then took a change to our disadvantage. The frost disappeared and was followed by rain, which made the ground very sodden and muddy. This state of affairs occurred so often after the first day or two of an attack that it almost seemed as if the weather was in league with the Germans.

Time and again it has happened that the British would capture the first and second objectives and then on account of bad weather developing the attack would come "unstuck" and troops unable to advance at any speed in the heavy mud.

We were obliged often to ride up on our motorcycles at night. Some fellows got used to this and the regular motorcycle despatch-riders do it habitually, but I can't say I ever enjoyed it. To a short-sighted man it isn't much fun. The fact that one of the despatch-riders one night was killed by running into our truck as we were coming out didn't encourage me. I have seen some fellows blown into ditches, and others crashed into walls by the concussion of shells exploding near them. Fast riding is usually a necessity and many accidents happen. I had many falls, but was fortunate enough to only spend one night in an ambulance-station.

The observation-balloon (or kite-balloon) section officers had bad times occasionally. One day at Souastre I noticed one of these "sausages" being carried away by a strong wind. The cable had broken and the wind was carrying the balloon very quickly toward the enemy trenches. As I looked up I saw the first officer observer drop out, hanging on to his parachute. Somehow it failed to open, and he dropped over 4,000 feet like a stone. The other man probably stopped to secure his maps and instruments, and a few seconds later, he dropped. Several hundred feet below the balloon his parachute opened and he came slowly sailing down, some four or five minutes later, fortunately landing in our lines. In the meantime two flying men had raced after the balloon and set the hydrogen bag on fire with tracer bullets from their Lewis guns, in order to prevent it from falling into the hands of the Huns. The poor fellow whose parachute had not opened was formerly a well-known and popular London actor, Mr. Basil Hallam.

Busy as all the engineers were, we couldn't build enough dugouts for all the troops. One day I went over to a very inadequate and shallow shelter in a part of the front line which was used as a company officer's dugout. They needed a new one badly, and we arranged to start the work the next day. As bad luck would have it, the Boches landed a five-nine on it that same night and killed or severely wounded every officer and orderly in the dugout at the time.

Occasionally some of the men would get what is known as "shell-shock"; most of the cases are undoubtedly genuine, but a small few are suspected malingerers. To reduce the number of the latter, most of the British army doctors required evidence confirming the details of the specific shell explosion causing the shock, that is, when it was not the result of cumulative conditions. My experience is that when a shell bursts very close to you, your heart seems to tighten and jump up. Actual displacement of the heart really occurs sometimes, my medical friends tell me, and the old expression of "one's heart is in one's mouth" takes on a real meaning. Fortunately in most cases as one becomes accustomed to shelling, the shock to the nervous system decreases, and an explosion or concussion which would thoroughly unnerve a new man is taken by a veteran with a nonchalance which certainly shows the development of strong will-power. However, the continued nervous strain tells its tale in gradually lowering the vitality of the men exposed to constant shelling.