We knew that we were in for trouble when we pulled out of a quiet sector near Bethune, and were loaded into decrepit buses which had formerly been in London but were now windowless and battered, painted a camouflage dazzle. We were not informed where we were bound, no one bothered to enlighten us, we just marched or lived like moles and lived or died in a state of bewilderment.

I was 18 years of age, very much a schoolboy in my outlook, and to be suddenly flung into front line trenches was like a powerful electric shock, it hit you and you were never the same again. You adapted yourself very quickly or you did not last long. One forgetful moment rounding the traverse of a trench and a snipers bullet got you. They seldom missed.

Being lousy, flea bitten and dirty was our usual state. On a warm day when the Germans were quiet we would sit on the fire step, take off our tunics and run down the seams with a lighted candle. Vain hopes; those lice were immortal!

So when we pulled out to go "God knows where" it was quite a relief. We went off south, following the bends of the front, which extended from the Channel to Switzerland, through Armentieres (we'd heard of the celebrated lady who hailed from there) through Cambrai and stopped on the Cambrai-Arras road [note 1]. There was feverish activity going on; we saw tough Canadians, hard-bitten Aussies, South African troops with Springbok badges speaking Cape Dutch, and the usual Scots, Black watch, Camerons, Argylls and the Irish of course. Dublins (Fusiliers), Munsters, Leinsters, Connaught Rangers. This must be a "big push" coming up. One saw casualty clearing stations, ambulances, RAMC personnel and one thought that sooner or later those CCS's would be filled with the wreckage of men, inevitable sequel to an attack when barbed wire and machine guns had altered the tactics of war.

Big gus were being hauled along, some by steam tractors; the biggest (naval) guns on railway lines. Royal field Artillery 18 pounders were flying to and fro, horses, mules all neighing, kicking and biting on the picket lines. An odd Tank ambled by, male Tanks with 6 pounder guns and female Tanks with 2 pounders and machine guns.

The intentions of the Staff at last leaked out. We were to "bust" the Hindenburg Line. Our precise front was the Drocourt-Queant Switch Line [note 2]. Simply loaded with barbed wire, pill box defences and stiff with machine guns.

No body talked much about the coming clash. The RC's went to a ruined sandbagged church and for the first time I witnessed a "General Absolution" (no time for individual confessions).

Our section (I was attached to C Company) of four platoons, each had about 50 men. The battalion was about 900 strong, with Lewis Gunners and a couple of Vickers Guns.

We were all equipped with all the impedimenta we could carry. I had my rifle (19 pounds), an 18 inch sword bayonet, 150 rounds of ammunition distributed in 10 pouches five on each breast. Each pouch held 3 clips of bullets, 5 to a clip. In addition water bottle ... [illegible...]. I felt like a pack mule.

We set off down the road not in the centre but filing down each side of the road. An odd staff car whizzed by, until we reached the communication trench. We filed in, following the twists and bends it seemed for ages until we came at last to the assembly trench. Afternoon was turning into evening with the sun setting, and an occasional dog-fight going on high above. DH4 (De Havillands), Bristol Fighters, RE8 spotting planes and, dotting along the lines, the squat shapes of observation balloons.

We settled in. An odd trench mortar bomb fell here and there but we were pretty slick at taking cover - unless one landed amongst you, then the usual shout for "Stretcher bearers!" and someone went by who had been hit. If it was slight, one said "You lucky so-and-so, you're off to Blighty". Everyone hoped for a cushy wound to take you out of this Hell's Kitchen.

We were told "Now listen, you chaps. The barrage opens at five minutes before 6. When the whistle blows get up on top as fast as you can. Now the barrage will lift 100 yards every 4 minutes so don't hurry and don't bunch together. Keep about 10 feet apart. Don't bunch. You are not to stop to pick up or assist anyone wounded. If anything goes wrong and you get taken prisoner, you only give your name and number, nothing else. That's all now". So that was it, we were for the high jump.

We settled down, set up our sentries and tried to get a snatch of sleep. If a dug-out was near, we got out our candles and tried to get our gear in shape. Some cleaned their rifles; some wrote a hasty letter on the Field Cards issued and left them with the Quartermaster Sergeant, who was going back to Brigade HQ.

It started to rain, and soon we were flooded out, baling mud from the trench. We were cold and wet, waiting for dawn to rise over the German lines. All night long planes were droning overhead (we afterwards discovered that this was to drown the sound of the tanks crawling up: big toad-like shapes which could spin like a top by reversing one track and keeping the other forward). These tanks were a great comfort to us, as we knew the Germans were really afraid of these ironclads which crushed their pillboxes and machine gun nests.

Someone brought round tea in petrol tins and a s lug of rum, and we made a last check of our gear: phones, lamps, and signalling equipment. I loaded my magazine, putting 8 rounds in the "can". I never filled it to capacity (10) as I had had a "jam" once and I couldn't afford a second one this morning. (Eight in the can and one up the spout was my usual procedure).

Precisely on time our barrage opened, a thudding sound far off, and then the rushing whine of shells tearing through the air to fall on the German lines; the heavy guns attacking the roads to spoil him bringing up support. Immediately Verey lights began ascending from the German lines, mostly red lights calling for counter battery retaliation. he sure had the "wind up" now. The whole ground was quivering and pulsing with a curtain of 18 pounder shells falling in no man's land. The air was full of fumes and smoke shells, HE and shrapnel, all kinds of shell bursting like rockets. I never saw such a firework display. I almost forgot the danger of watching the barrage.

We were on the move. One wanted to rush and get it over, and did not think much about what would happen when we reached the German lines. I looked left and right and could see the shadowy figures of C Company slowly pushing on, rifles carried at the high port across the body, with an 18 inch blade on top. I had little intention of using the bayonet if a bullet would do the job quicker and less messy.

Men started to fall. Some just sank down on the mud, others jumped and wriggled as they fell, but we just pressed on. I didn't feel brave, I just fell numb with the noise, shouts and intense bombardment tearing up the earth a few yards ahead. I saw some of our shells fall short among our own men. One fell just to my right under a man's feet. He fell down and I said "You hurt?". He said "No, it's a bloody dud, I just cut my nose, that's all!". I must mention that I was reeling out wire, first sinking an earth pin before I left the trench. I hoped no one would trip over the wire and so cut me off from Battalion HQ.

At last we reached the first German trench. Our losses had been light: the barrage and a tank nearby had kept the Germans down and only his machine guns were taking toll. I lost touch with my companions and felt as if I were lost in the gloom, but kept on as all I wanted was to get under cover again. I was about 20 yards from the German lines when I was startled to see five coal-scuttle helmeted heads bobbing up. I slowed down and walked on while the Germans climbed out and put their hands up. One man ran right at me yelling hoarsely "Kamerad Kamerad!". He was a small man, scruffy with a growth of about four days on his face, scared stiff and hoping to live. His comrade wasn't lucky. The man on my left shot him down. I pointed backwards over my shoulder with my left hand. "Scram Jerry" and he ran past still shouting "Kamerad".

The next minute I fell headlong into the trench, got up and stuck my earth pin into the parapet, and called up Battalion. C Company's commander made a rough HQ in the best dug-out he could find, and so we had attained our object. Of course, the trenches were the wrong way round; the parapet faced the wrong way, dug-out entrances were exposed to trench mortar fire. So we got busy shifting sandbags across and getting sorted out. Our prisoners were gone and probably enjoying a feed of Fray Bentos beef and biscuits or bread. We counted "noses" and found we had lost 2 signallers, both wounded, one seriously.

The Germans later mounted a counter-attack, which melted away under accurate 18 pounder shelling and Vickers machine gun fire. They just faded out and those who were not hit went to ground. The tanks waddled triumphantly back, those that were not bogged down, and altogether we'd had a good day. Later when I got back to the CCS I was nearly sick at the surgeons, bloody and weary, patching up the casualties. Many were just brought out and covered with blankets, ready for burial.

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