From ‘Observing: an average day’, The Spectator, 15 April 1916:
5.10 a.m. The signaller on duty at the telephone has just said cheerfully, ‘5.30, Sir.’ I agree, and ask him if the wires are all right. They are!
5.50 a.m. Unroll the mufflers round my head and the blankets and kick off the sandbags. Then get off the bed sideways into the water.
8.30 a.m. They have begun. Four ‘whizz-bangs’ have just burst very prettily over a communication trench to our right. Then silence again.
10.25 a.m. We have just had a little excitement. I suddenly saw a German — a rare thing — through the telescope.
2.15 p.m. They are shelling a trench on our left rather persistently, and the batteries behind have begun to retaliate.
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