Goggles provided for this gas were nearly useless, and we all
resorted to the regular gas helmet. In this way we were able to
stand the stuff.

The gas mask, by the way, was the bane of my existence in the
trenches--one of the banes. I found that almost invariably after I
had had mine on for a few minutes I got faint. Very often I would
keel over entirely. A good many of the men were affected the same
way, either from the lack of air inside the mask or by the
influence of the chemicals with which the protector is impregnated.

One of the closest calls I had in all my war experience was at
Mills Street. And Fritz was not to blame.

Several of the men, including myself, were squatted around a
brazier cooking char and getting warm, for the nights were cold,
when there was a terrific explosion. Investigation proved that an
unexploded bomb had been buried under the brazier, and that it had
gone off as the heat penetrated the ground. It is a wonder there
weren't more of these accidents, as Tommy was forever throwing away
his Millses.

The Mills bomb fires by pulling out a pin which releases a lever
which explodes the bomb after four seconds. Lots of men never
really trust a bomb. If you have one in your pocket, you feel that
the pin may somehow get out, and if it does you know that you'll go
to glory in small bits. I always had that feeling myself and used
to throw away my Millses and scoop a hatful of dirt over them with
my foot.