It was about six o’clock in the morning when I received my souvenir.
It was almost impossible for a wounded man to get back from the firing
line without being riddled. I stayed in the trench until five in the
evening. The noise was deafening, shrapnel bursting all over the place
and raining bullets. I determined to try and get back to have my wound
dressed, and I crawled back somehow, rolled down on to a road, crawled
along again for a few hundred yards, and presently got in touch with
some stretcher-bearers, who carried me to a doctor. I with many others
lay in a barn for two days, and the shells from the enemy’s big guns
burst unpleasantly near the hospital the whole time. After a two days’
ride in cattle trucks we reached a good hospital, where we were made
comfortable: _Pte. G. Sims, 1st Batt. South Wales Border Regiment_.