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to", and then started for Mametz, only to be brought
back again after going half a mile. I fell asleep to the
sound of heavy firing toward La Boisselle, rattling
limbers on the Citadel road, and men shouting and
looking for their kits in the dark. There are worse
things than falling asleep under a summer sky. One
awoke stiff and cold, but with a head miraculously

Next day I moved to the Transport Lines, a couple
of miles back, for I was one of eight officers kept in
reserve. There I existed monotonously while the Bat-
talion was engaged in the Battle of Bazentin Ridge.
My boredom was combined with suspense, for after
the first attack I might be sent for at any moment, so
I could never wander far from the Transport Lines.

The battle didn't begin till Friday at dawn, so on
Thursday Durley and I were free and we went up to
look at the old Front Line. We agreed that it felt queer
to be walking along no-man's-land and inspecting
the old German trenches in a half-holiday mood. The
ground was littered with unused ammunition, and a
spirit of mischievous destruction possessed us. Pitch-
ing Stokes mortar shells down the dark and forbidding
stairs of German dug-outs, we revelled in the boom of
subterranean explosions. For a few minutes we felt as
if we were getting a bit of our own back for what we'd
endured opposite those trenches, and we chanced to
be near the mine craters where the raid had failed.
But soon we were being shouted at by an indignant
Salvage Corps Officer, and we decamped before he
could identify us. Thus we "put the lid on" our days
and nights in the Bois Frangais sector, which was now
nothing but a few hundred yards of waste ground—a
jumble of derelict wire, meaningless ditches, and
craters no longer formidable. There seemed no sense