TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston

shiny black notebook contains my pencilled par-
ticulars, and nothing will be gained by embroidering
them with afterthoughts. I cannot turn my field-
glasses on to the past.

7.45. The barrage is now working to the right of
Fricourt and beyond. I can see the sist Division ad-
vancing about three-quarters of a mile away on the
left and a few Germans coming to meet them, appar-
ently surrendering. Our men in small parties (not
extended in line) go steadily on to the German front-
line. Brilliant sunshine and a haze of smoke drifting
along the landscape. Some Yorkshires a little way
below on the left, watching the show and cheering as
if at a football match. The noise almost as bad as ever.

9.30. Came back to dug-out and had a shave,
a ist Division still going across the open, apparently
without casualties. The sunlight flashes on bayonets
as the tiny figures move quietly forward and disappear
beyond mounds of trench debris. A few runners come
back and ammunition parties go across. Trench-
mortars are knocking hell out of Sunken Road Trench
and the ground where the Manchesters will attack
soon. Noise not so bad now and very little retaliation.

9.50. Fricourt half-hidden by clouds of drifting
smoke, blue, pinkish and grey. Shrapnel bursting in
small bluish-white puffs with tiny flashes. The birds
seem bewildered; a lark begins to go up and then
flies feebly along, thinking better of it. Others flutter
above the trench with 'querulous cries, weak on the
wing. I can see seven of our balloons, on the right.
On the left our men still filing across in twenties and
thirties. Another huge explosion in Fricourt and a

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