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[Page 49]
fleecy clouds – the scream of the shrapnel, the Hell noise of the firing, giving place to an unbroken stillness save for the chirping o f a bird or the soft buzzing of the bee! I wonder would it be thus!
A rather amusing experience happened to me – there is one particular open space so well set by snipers that few men have been able to get across it – a stream of dead marks its length, it is called "Dead Man's Patch" – I had to cross this space many times; it would have taken too long to go a more circuitous route for all messages were very urgent – upon this occasion, I crept into the bushes which fringed this bare patch and took my breath ready for my dash across – I lunged forward – the seat of my pants caught in the bushes, and I hung by them! I was in a terrible funk, for then the snipers got busy – I felt as if I had been hanging there ages, though I don't suppose it was very long – at last I tore myself off.
When I got the other side of the Patch, my now unseemly garb sent the lads into roars of laugher – certainly it was more hygienic than comfortable, and it was some days before I had a chance to dock for repairs.
APR; 29
After four days and four nights without a rest, at last I am relieved and go back to the rear for a few hour's rest.
All the way along there is always that stream of wounded coming