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[Page 40]
be able to stretch out, and, as the tunnel was only about 3' 6" wide, we had little comfort and no sleep. But we were 20 feet under the ground, and had the satisfaction of knowing that we were beyond the reach of Fritz's shrapnel and heavy stuff. Some of the boys were detailed to carry food to the front line, a distance of about 2 thousand yard, and so had very little rest after a tiring few days.
This trip to the line was a nightmare to us all. I was detailed for various duties and so, for a while escaped it. But one night at 11 P.M. my name was called amongst 15 others, to fall out at 2 in the morning on food fatigue to the line. I was working all day, on aerial observation and dugout fatigue – Fritz had got in a lucky one on several of our exposed dugouts – and was feeling tired before we started. At 2 am we fell out. It was raining and bitterly cold. We waded along the sunken road to Flers, and gingerly picked our way amongst the ruins of that village to a protected cellar where our cookers were. Here we found 8 food containers, 4 tea, & 4 stew. These are huge thermos flasks about 2 feet by 15 inches and oval in section. Two straps fit over our shoulders and under the armpits, making a good load for a mule, let alone weary men. We work with mates, two to a container.
This was quite the most despairing trip to the line I have so far experienced. Not 100 yards from the cookhouse, I fell backwards into a shell hole and was pulled out drenched to the skin. Further on I sunk to my thighs in some most tenatious mud, and my mate had to divest me of the container to extricate me – minus one puttee. He took a spell, and I picked the path and helped him out of muddy places. The whole way we walked in 6" to 2 feet of watery mud, winding our way along the rims of the shell holes, which are here as thick as the dents in a rasp. After an hour and one half we arrived at a sunken road – close supports.