All the officers stood round us the whole time, including one young
lieutenant who had only just joined the battery from England, and was
under fire for the first time. The captain was wounded, but he stood
up and cried out, “Go on, lads! I’m not killed yet.” We went on. But
another hail of shells came, and the captain fell. We all knew we were
in for it; but we cracked jokes as we loaded and fired. One by one the
fellows went down. Those left shook hands with one another, and just
said, “So long, old man!” My chum at my gun bent down to look through
the aperture of the gun shield. A shell came and caught him in the
forehead. He tumbled up against me as he fell. Then they got the shells
on our limbers. I can’t describe the sight as our own shells exploded
on the spot. There were only ten of us now. We had never received the
order to clear out, and we stuck it dazed: _A Gunner of the Royal Field
Artillery_.
“A Mad Crew”
When I read in books or stories of the coolness of men under fire I
thought somebody was blathering. But after eight weeks of it, I can say
that no book has ever done justice to the coolness of British soldiers
under conditions that would try anybody. The night I was hit we were
just leaving the trenches for an interview with some Germans who were
trying some of their fancy tricks about our left. As we stood up there
was a ghastly shower of bullets and shells bursting all round. Into it
we had to go, and as we looked ahead one of our chaps said, “I think
we’ll have to get our greatcoats, boys; it’s raining bullets tonight,
and we’ll get wet to the skin if we’re not careful.” The men of “C”
Company started laughing, and then they took to singing, “Put up your
umbrella when it comes on wet.” The song was taken up all along as we
went into the thick of it, and some of us were humming it as we dashed
into the German trenches. The Germans must have thought us a mad crew:
_A Private of the Irish Fusiliers_.