as nobody who has not heard it could imagine!  The weird ruins of Ypres towered fantastically amongst the flashes behind us.  In every direction one looked guns were firing.  In front of us the 166th and 165th Brigades were dashing across no man’s land, sweeping into the enemy trenches, the barrage creeping before them.  I stood on the parados of Liverpool Trench and watched with amazement.  It was a dramatic scene such as no artist could paint.

“Before the battle had been raging half an hour German prisoners were streaming down, only too glad to get out of range of their own guns!  I saw half a dozen at the corner of Liverpool Trench and Garden Street.  They seemed very happy trying to converse with us.  One of them—­a boy about twenty—­asked me the nearest way to the station; he wanted to get to England as soon as possible!

“The Tanks went over.  As daylight came on the battle raged furiously.  Our troops were still advancing.  Messages soon came through that St. Julien had been taken.

“Our time was drawing near.  At 8.30 we were to go over.  At 8 we were all ‘standing to’ behind the parapet waiting to go over.  Colonel Best-Dunkley came walking along the line, his face lit up by smiles more pleasant than I have ever seen before.  ’Good morning, Floyd; best of luck!’ was the greeting he accorded me as he passed; and I, of course, returned the good wishes.  At about 8.20 Captain Andrews went past me and wished me good luck; and he then climbed over the parapet to reconnoitre.  The minutes passed by.  Everybody was wishing everybody else good luck, and many were the hopes of ‘Blighty’ entertained—­not all to be realized.  It is a wonderful sensation—­counting the minutes on one’s wrist watch as the moment to go over draws nigh.  The fingers on my watch pointed to 8.30, but the first wave of D Company had not gone over.  I do not know what caused the delay.  Anyhow, they were climbing over.  Eventually, at 8.40, I got a signal from Dickinson to go on.  So forward we went, platoons in column of route.  Could you possibly imagine what it was like?  Shells were bursting everywhere.  It was useless to take any notice where they were falling, because they were falling all round; they could not be dodged; one had to take one’s chance:  merely go forward and leave one’s fate to destiny.  Thus we advanced, amidst shot and shell, over fields, trenches, wire, fortifications, roads, ditches and streams which were simply churned out of all recognition by shell-fire.  The field was strewn with wreckage, with the mangled remains of men and horses lying all over in a most ghastly fashion—­just like any other battlefield I suppose.  Many brave Scottish soldiers were to be seen dead in kneeling positions, killed just as they were firing on the enemy.  Some German trenches were lined with German dead in that position.  It was hell and slaughter.  On we went.  About a hundred yards on my right, slightly in front, I saw Colonel Best-Dunkley complacently advancing, with a walking stick in his hand, as calmly as if he were walking across a parade ground.  I afterwards heard that when all C Company officers were knocked out he took command in person of that Company in the extreme forward line.  He was still going strong last I heard of him.