One day we were returning from work and passing through the village.  A crowd of civilians was standing round the window of the Mairie, where a written notice was exposed.  An old woman dressed in black was moaning, “Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, mon Dieu.”  The ’19, ’20, and ’21 classes had been called up.

Then the German advance came to an end.  A French army had arrived and saved the situation.  The shelling of the back areas had ceased.  The danger was over for a time.

Had the Germans assembled all their strength for one supreme attempt at breaking through the Western Front?  Or was it only the beginning of a whole series of operations?

One morning, as we woke up, we heard the roar and rumble of a bombardment.  We did not take much notice of it, for we had heard the sound so often.

We paraded, and marched off to work.  The continuous roar gradually gave place to irregular, though frequent, outbursts of firing along the entire front.

The next day the sound seemed to have come nearer.  Rumours began to circulate—­it was said that Armentieres had fallen, that the Portuguese had been annihilated at Merville, that the British had counter-attacked and taken Lille.

Rations, newspapers and letters were delayed.  Large bodies of troops passed through the village.  We got no definite or official news, and nobody had any clear notion of what was happening.

But the sound of firing grew louder and louder and our anxiety deepened.  There could no longer be any doubt about it—­the Germans were advancing on our front.

The sickening certainty transcended all other considerations.  A few miles from us thousands were being slaughtered.  I ceased to ponder the problems of failure and success.  I forgot the politicians and was conscious of only one despairing wish, that the terrible thing might come to an end.  Victory and defeat seemed irrelevant considerations.  If only the end would come quickly—­nothing else really mattered.

I often wondered what was in the minds of the other men.  Many of them looked anxious, but on the whole they were normal in their behaviour.  They grumbled and quarrelled much as usual and talked rather more than usual—­but so did I, in spite of my intense mental agitation.

The sound of firing grew louder.

We marched to an extensive R.E. park and saw-mill near a railway siding.  We had to dismantle the machinery and load everything of any value on to a train.  For several hours five of us dragged a huge cylinder and piston along the ground.  We toiled and perspired.  We made a ramp of heavy wooden beams in front of the train and then we slowly pushed the iron mass into a truck.  We went back and, raising a big fly-wheel on its edge and supporting it with a wooden beam under each axle, we rolled it painfully along, swaying from side to side.

Then there came the long-drawn familiar whine, and the black smoke arose behind some trees a hundred yards away and the thunder-clap followed.  A jagged piece of steel came whizzing by and lodged in a stack of timber behind us.