Dawn of a very hot day in September 1916 on the Balkan front. We were
in the enemy trenches at "Machine Gun Hill," a position hitherto
occupied by the Prussian Guards, who were there to encourage the
Bulgars.
We had taken the position the previous evening with very little loss.
As the day broke we discovered that we were enfiladed on all sides
and overlooked by the Prussians not more than forty yards away. It
was impossible to evacuate wounded and prisoners or for reserves to
approach with food, water, and ammunition. The enemy counter-attacked
in overwhelming numbers; shells rained on us; our own were falling
short; it was suicide to show one's head. Towards noon, casualties
lying about. The sun merciless. Survivors thoroughly exhausted. Up
jumped a Cockney bomber. "Blimey, I can't stick this," and perched
himself on the parados. "I can see 'em; chuck some 'Mills' up." And as
fast as they were handed to him he pitched bombs into the Prussians'
midst, creating havoc. He lasted about three minutes, then fell,
riddled with bullets. He had stemmed the tide.
Shortly afterwards we retired. His pluck was never recorded or
recognised, but his feat will never be forgotten by at least one of the
few who got through.--_George McCann, 50 Guilford Street, London, W._