THE DAY AND THE HOUR
A Mighty Convulsion Signalises the Commencement of
Operations--Then Our Boys "Go Over the Top"--A Fine Film
Obtained whilst Shells Rained Around Me--My Apparatus is
Struck--But, Thank Goodness, the Camera is Safe--Arrival of
the Wounded--"Am I in the Picture?" they ask.
Time: 7.19 a.m. My hand grasped the handle of the camera. I set my
teeth. My whole mind was concentrated upon my work. Another thirty
seconds passed. I started turning the handle, two revolutions per
second, no more, no less. I noticed how regular I was turning. (My
object in exposing half a minute beforehand was to get the mine from the
moment it broke ground.) I fixed my eyes on the Redoubt. Any second now.
Surely it was time. It seemed to me as if I had been turning for hours.
Great heavens! Surely it had not misfired.
Why doesn't it go up?
I looked at my exposure dial. I had used over a thousand feet. The
horrible thought flashed through my mind, that my film might run out
before the mine blew. Would it go up before I had time to reload? The
thought brought beads of perspiration to my forehead. The agony was
awful; indescribable. My hand began to shake. Another 250 feet exposed.
I had to keep on.
Then it happened.
[Illustration: THE OPENING OF THE GREAT BATTLE OF THE SOMME, JULY 1ST,
1916. AT 7.20 A. M. THIS HUGE MINE LOADED WITH 20 TONS OF AMINOL WHICH
TOOK 7 MONTHS TO MAKE, WAS SPRUNG UNDER THE GERMAN TRENCHES AT BEAUMONT
HAMEL]
The ground where I stood gave a mighty convulsion. It rocked and swayed.
I gripped hold of my tripod to steady myself. Then, for all the world
like a gigantic sponge, the earth rose in the air to the height of
hundreds of feet. Higher and higher it rose, and with a horrible,
grinding roar the earth fell back upon itself, leaving in its place a
mountain of smoke. From the moment the mine went up my feelings changed.
The crisis was over, and from that second I was cold, cool, and
calculating. I looked upon all that followed from the purely pictorial
point of view, and even felt annoyed if a shell burst outside the range
of my camera. Why couldn't Bosche put that shell a little nearer? It
would make a better picture. And so my thoughts ran on.
The earth was down. I swung my camera round on to our own parapets. The
engineers were swarming over the top, and streaming along the sky-line.
Our guns redoubled their fire. The Germans then started H.E. Shrapnel
began falling in the midst of our advancing men. I continued to turn the
handle of my camera, viewing the whole attack through my view-finder,
first swinging one way and then the other.
Then another signal rang out, and from the trenches immediately in front
of me, our wonderful troops went over the top. What a picture it was!
They went over as one man. I could see while I was exposing, that
numbers were shot down before they reached the top of the parapet;
others just the other side. They went across the ground in swarms, and
marvel upon marvels, still smoking cigarettes. One man actually stopped
in the middle of "No Man's Land" to light up again.
The Germans had by now realised that the great attack had come. Shrapnel
poured into our trenches with the object of keeping our supports from
coming up. They had even got their "crumps" and high-explosive shrapnel
into the middle of our boys before they were half-way across "No Man's
Land." But still they kept on. At that moment my spool ran out. I
hurriedly loaded up again, and putting the first priceless spool in my
case, I gave it to my man in a dug-out to take care of, impressing upon
him that he must not leave it under any circumstances. If anything
unforeseen happened he was to take it back to Headquarters.
I rushed back to my machine again. Shells were exploding quite close to
me. At least I was told so afterwards by an officer. But I was so
occupied with my work that I was quite unconscious of their proximity. I
began filming once more. The first lot of men, or rather the remainder
of them, had disappeared in the haze and smoke, punctured by bursting
shells. What was happening in the German lines I did not know. Other men
were coming up and going over the top. The German machine-gun fire was
not quite so deadly now, but our men suffered badly from shell-fire. On
several occasions I noticed men run and take temporary cover in the
shell-holes, but their ranks were being terribly thinned.
Still more went over, and still a stream of men were making for the mine
crater; they then disappeared in the smoke. The noise was terrific. It
was as if the earth were lifting bodily, and crashing against some
immovable object. The very heavens seemed to be falling. Thousands of
things were happening at the same moment. The mind could not begin to
grasp the barest margin of it.
The German shells were crashing all round me. Dirt was being flung in my
face, cutting it like whipcord. My only thought was whether any of it
had struck my lens and made it dirty, for this would have spoiled my
film. I gave a quick glance at it. It was quite all right.
Fearful fighting was taking place in the German trenches. The heavy
rattle of machine-guns, the terrible din of exploding bombs, could be
heard above the pandemonium. Our men had ceased to flow from our
trenches. I crept to the top of the parapet, and looked towards the left
of the village of Beaumont Hamel. Our guns were bursting on the other
side of the village, but I could distinguish nothing else as to how
things were going.
I asked an officer who was standing close by.
"God knows," he replied. "Everything over there is so mixed up. The
General said this was the hardest part of the line to get through, and
my word it seems like it, to look at our poor lads."
I could see them strewn all over the ground, swept down by the accursed
machine-gun fire.
A quick succession of shell-bursts attracted my attention. Back to my
camera position. Another lot of our men were going over the top. I began
exposing, keeping them in my camera view all the time, as they were
crossing, by revolving my tripod head.
Shell after shell crashed in the middle of them, leaving ghastly gaps,
but other men quickly filled them up, passing through the smoke, and
over the bodies of their comrades, as if there were no such thing as a
shell in all the world. Another spool ran out, making the fourth since
the attack started. I gave it in charge of my man, with the same
instructions as before. I loaded again, and had just started exposing.
Something attracted my attention on the extreme left. What it was I
don't know. I ceased turning, but still holding the handle, I veered
round the front of my camera. The next moment, with a shriek and a
flash, a shell fell and exploded before I had time to take shelter. It
was only a few feet away. What happened after I hardly know. There was
the grinding crash of a bursting shell; something struck my tripod, the
whole thing, camera and all, was flung against me. I clutched it and
staggered back, holding it in my arms. I dragged it into a
shrapnel-proof shelter, sat down and looked for the damage. A piece of
the shell had struck the tripod and cut the legs clean in half, on one
side, carrying about six inches of it away. The camera, thank heaven,
was untouched.
Calling my man, we hastily found some pieces of wood, old telephone wire
and string, and within an hour had improvised legs, rigid enough to
continue taking scenes.
I again set up my camera. Our gun-fire was still terrible, but the
Germans had shortened their range and were evidently putting a barrage
on our men, who had presumably reached the enemy's front trenches.
Nobody knew anything definitely. Wounded men began to arrive. There was
a rush for news.
"How are things going?" we asked.
"We have taken their first and second line," said one.
An officer passed on a stretcher.
"How are things going?"
"God knows," he said. "I believe we have got through their first line
and part of the village, but don't know whether we shall be able to hold
out; we have been thinned shockingly."
"Have you been successful?" he asked me.
"Yes, I've got the whole of the attack."
"Good man," he said.
First one rumour then another came through. There was nothing definite.
The fighting over there was furious. I filmed various scenes of our
wounded coming in over the parapet; then through the trenches. Lines of
them were awaiting attention.
Scenes crowded upon me. Wounded and more wounded; men who a few hours
before had leaped over the parapet full of life and vigour were now
dribbling back. Some of them shattered and broken for life. But it was
one of the most glorious charges ever made in the history of the world.
These men had done their bit.
"Hullo," I said to one passing through on a stretcher, "got a
'blighty'?"
"Yes, sir," he said; "rather sure Blighty for me."
"And for me too," said another lad lying with him waiting attention, "I
shan't be able to play footer any more. Look!" I followed the direction
of his finger, and could see through the rough bandages that his foot
had been taken completely off. Yet he was still cheerful, and smoking.
A great many asked me as they came through: "Was I in the picture, sir?"
I had to say "yes" to them all, which pleased them immensely.
Still no definite news. The heavy firing continued. I noticed several of
our wounded men lying in shell-holes in "No Man's Land." They were
calling for assistance. Every time a Red Cross man attempted to get near
them, a hidden German machine-gun fired. Several were killed whilst
trying to bring in the wounded. The cries of one poor fellow attracted
the attention of a trench-mortar man. He asked for a volunteer to go
with him, and bring the poor fellow in. A man stepped forward, and
together they climbed the parapet, and threaded their way through the
barbed wire very slowly. Nearer and nearer they crept. We stood watching
with bated breath. Would they reach him? Yes. At last! Then hastily
binding up the injured man's wounds they picked him up between them, and
with a run made for our parapet. The swine of a German blazed away at
them with his machine-gun. But marvellous to relate neither of them were
touched.
I filmed the rescue from the start to the finish, until they passed me
in the trench, a mass of perspiration. Upon the back of one was the
unconscious man he had rescued, but twenty minutes after these two had
gone through hell to rescue him, the poor fellow died.
During the day those two men rescued twenty men in this fashion under
heavy fire.
[Illustration: THE ROLL CALL OF THE SEAFORTHS AT "WHITE CITY," BEAUMONT
HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916]
[Illustration: FAGGED OUT IN THE "WHITE CITY" AFTER WE RETIRED TO OUR
TRENCHES, JULY 1ST, 1916. SOME OF THE INCOMPARABLE 29TH DIVISION]