He writes:
"I was in charge of the 'Battle Police' that day, and we had
to accompany the bombers. We started over the top under
heavy fire and many were bowled over within a few minutes.
"Lanky of limb, I was soon through the barbed wire and came
to the first trench and jumped in. Some seven of us were
there, and as senior N.C.O. I led the way along the trench.
One Hun came round the corner, and he would have been dead
but for his cry 'Kamerad blesse.' I lowered my rifle, and,
making sure he had no weapon, passed him to the rear and led
on. We had just connected up with our party on the left when
I felt a pressure of tons upon my head. My right eye was
sightless, with the other I saw my hand with one finger
severed, covered in blood. A great desire came over me to
sink to the ground, into peaceful oblivion, but the peril of
such weakness came to my mind, and with an effort I pulled
myself together. I tore my helmet from my head, for the
concussion had rammed it tight down. The man in front
bandaged my head and eye. Blood was pouring into my mouth,
down my tunic.
"They made way for me, uttering cheery words, 'Stick it,
Corporal, you'll soon be in Blighty,' one said. Another,
'Best of luck, old man.' I made my way slowly--not in pain,
I was too numbed for that.
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