I got five or six bullets in my right thigh. The actual wounding was
not very painful--like an electric shock. I fired for over an hour
afterwards, then crept to an old barn, where my wounds were dressed.
There we had to stay two days under shell-fire. Then they started
smashing the place up with shrapnel, knocking the roof on the top of
us--without hurting us. We were dragged out. It was night before we
could be taken in farm carts to the field hospital. On Sunday the
“dirty pigs” shelled that, though the Red Cross flag was flying. It
seems to be a favourite game of theirs. We are well away from the
fighting line now, our only danger being bombs from airships, which we
don’t fear. Our biggest risk now is over-feeding. We are quartered in
the finest hotel in Versailles. Crowds of French people collect round
the gates and send us presents of flowers, tobacco, and cigarettes,
which are very welcome. The people here think the world of the English
“Tommy,” and nothing is too good or too expensive to give him. All they
ask in return is a button or a cap-badge “to keep as a souvenir of us”:
_Pte. Graham, Coldstream Guards_.