On July 1, 1916, the 56th (London) Division attacked at Hebuterne,
and during the morning I was engaged (as a lineman) in repairing our
telephone lines between Battalion and Brigade H.Q. I had just been
temporarily knocked out by a flat piece of shell and had been attended
by a stretcher-bearer, who then left me and proceeded on his way back
to a dressing station I had previously passed, whilst I went farther on
down the trench to get on with my job.
I had not gone many yards when I met a very young private of the 12th
Londons (the Rangers). One of his arms was hanging limp and was, I
should think, broken in two or three places. He was cut and bleeding
about the face, and was altogether in a sorry plight.
He stopped and asked me, "Is there a dressing station down there,
mate?" pointing along the way I had come, and I replied, "Yes, keep
straight on down the trench. It's a good way down. But," I added,
"there's a stretcher-bearer only just gone along. Shall I see if I can
get him for you?"
His reply I shall never forget: "Oh, I don't want him for _me_. I want
someone to come back with me to get my mate. _He's hurt!_"--_Wm. R.
Smith, 231 Halley Road, Manor Park, E.12._