There is no doubt about the personal bravery of the Germans. I saw a
file of them coming down a slight hillock, and twenty or so were hit
and toppled down over each other, exactly the same as ninepins. The
wonderful thing is that any of us came out of it alive. As I looked
up from the trenches, the sky was blue with flying lead. After the
fighting had gone on for five hours a bullet passed through the lobe
of my left ear, and, after scarring the back of my neck, tore a piece
off my coat collar, which was up at the time. The same bullet killed
the man behind me. I felt myself growing faint, and gave my name and
the name of my mother to my mate next to me, and then I seem to have
fainted. When I recovered consciousness my mate was dead: _A Sergeant
of the South Lancashire Regiment_.
Don’t Mind!
It was butchers’ work. We just rained shells on the German gunners
until we were deaf and choking. I don’t think a gun on the position
could have been sold for scrap iron after we had finished, and the
German gunners would be just odd pieces of clothing and bits of
accoutrement. It seems swanky to say so, but once you get over the
first shock you’ll go on chewing biscuits or tobacco when the shells
are bursting all round. You don’t seem to mind it any more than smoking
in a hailstorm. Then you get pulled up with a jerk when your mate on
the left curls up in a heap. War is rotten, but you can even get used
to working in a candle-factory. We hated smells more than we did the
Germans: _An Artilleryman_.