holes. Any raid by the Germans in large numbers at this time would
have wiped us out, as there was no means of retreating or getting
up reinforcements.

The Tommies called the trenches Grouse Spots. It was a good name.
We got into them in the dense darkness of just before dawn. The
division we relieved gave us hardly any instruction, but beat it on
the hot foot, glad to get away and anxious to go before sun-up. As
we settled down in our cosey danger spots I heard Rolfie, the
frog-voiced baritone, humming one of his favorite coster songs:

Oh, why did I leave my little back room in old Bloomsbury?
Where I could live for a pound a week in luxury.
I wanted to live higher
So I married Marier,
Out of the frying pan into the bloomin' fire.

And he meant every word of it.

In our new positions in the Grouse Spots the orders were to patrol
the open ground between at least four times a night. That first
night there was one more patrol necessary before daylight. Tired as
I was, I volunteered for it. I had had one patrol before, opposite
Bully-Grenay, and thought I liked the game.

I went over with one man, a fellow named Bellinger. We got out and
started to crawl. All we knew was that the left sector was two
hundred yards away. Machine-gun bullets were squealing and
snapping overhead pretty continuously, and we had to hug the dirt.
It is surprising to see how flat a man can keep and still get along