"You will see the place where you get out of this ditch, sir," he called out; "a sh.e.l.l has blown it in; strike off on your left straight ahead.

You'll see them in front of you."

The sh.e.l.ling was getting very unpleasant, and I had to keep low in the trench the whole of the time. At length we reached the point where we had to get over the top.

"Well, come on, let's chance it," I said to my man. I saw the battery in the distance before getting over.

Up we went and bending low raced for the spot. On the way I pa.s.sed several dead bodies, all Bosche, and numbers of pieces blown to bits by our sh.e.l.l fire. A whizz-bang came over whilst we were crossing. Down we went into a sh.e.l.l-hole. Another, and another came over. Murderous little brutes they were too. Seven of them. Then they ceased. We immediately jumped up again and reached our objective. Then getting under cover of some twisted ironwork, which once formed the roofing of the emplacement, I took breath. "Anyway," I thought, "here I am."

In a few minutes I had a look round. What an excellent view of Pozieres, about eight hundred yards away on my left. On the right was Contalmaison, which had only been taken a short time previously. The Bosches were sh.e.l.ling the place pretty frequently. I set up the camera and waited. Away on the opposite hill sh.e.l.ls were falling thickly. I started filming them and got some interesting bursts, both high explosive and H.E. shrapnel.

Now for Pozieres. The enemy must have been putting 9-inch and 12-inch stuff in there, for they were sending up huge clouds of smoke and debris. I secured some excellent scenes. First Pozieres, then Contalmaison. My camera was first on one then on the other. For a change Bosche whizz-banged the battery. I could see now why he was so anxious to crump it, for lying all around me in their carriers, were hundreds of gas sh.e.l.ls. I was in fact standing on them. They were all unused, and if Fritz got a good one home, well good-bye to everything.

One time I thought I would seek the shelter of a dug-out, but the fire swept away in the opposite direction. By careful manoeuvring I managed to film the German guns there. Every one of the four was quite smashed up. An excellent example of artillery fire, and by the date upon them they were of the latest pattern.

In all there were three batteries in that small area, making twelve guns. But out of the twelve sufficient parts were found intact to make one good one, so that Fritz would get "some of his own" back in a way that he least expected; for there were thousands of rounds of ammunition found in the dug-outs beneath the gun pits.

How to get into Pozieres was the next problem. I had, while filming, been making mental notes as to the section which Fritz did not "strafe," and that place, by all that's wonderful, was the actual thing he was undoubtedly trying for--the road.

By hugging the bank-side, along which here and there I could spot a few funk-holes, I managed to get into the chalk-pit. Here I filmed various scenes, but Bosche, as usual, kept me on the jump with his shrapnel, forcing me to take hurried shelter from time to time.

There is one thing I shall always thank Fritz for, and that is his dug-outs. If he only knew how useful they had been to me on many occasions I am sure he would feel flattered.

From the chalk-pit to Pozieres was no great distance. The ground was littered with every description of equipment, just as it had been left by the flying Huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. The place looked a veritable shambles. Believe me, I went along that road very gingerly, picking my way between the sh.e.l.l bursts. Just before I reached the place the firing suddenly ceased. The deadly silence was uncanny in the extreme; in fact I seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. It seemed to me too quiet to be healthy. What was Bosche up to? There must be some reason for it. I took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside.

Along the bottom were lying several dead Bosches, and a short distance away fragments of human remains were strewn around.

The place was desolate in the extreme. The village was absolutely non-existent. There was not a vestige of buildings remaining, with one exception, and that was a place called by the Germans "Gibraltar," a reinforced concrete emplacement he had used for machine-guns. The few trees that had survived the terrible blasting were just stumps, no more.

Fritz's sudden silence seemed uncanny, but taking advantage of his spell of inactivity I hastily rigged up the camera and began exposing.

In a few minutes I had taken sufficient, and packing up I hurried down the road as fast as I could.

I reached the chalk-pit safely and then, cutting across direct to the gun pits, I took up my original position and awaited Fritz's good pleasure to send a few more crump to provide me with scenes. But not a sh.e.l.l came over.

Before leaving this section I thought I would film Contalmaison, a name immortalised by such fighting as has rarely been equalled even in this great war. To get there it was necessary to go to "Dead Man's Corner."

The road was pitted with sh.e.l.l-holes, and dead horses lay about on both sides. Bosche was still uncannily quiet. I was beginning to think I should just manage to get my scenes before he interfered with me. But no! Either he had finished his lunch or had some more ammunition, for he started again. One came over and burst in the village in front of me, with a noise like the crashing of ten thousand bottles. I took shelter behind a smashed-up limber, and waited to see where the next would fall.

It burst a little further away. Good enough, I thought. Here goes before he alters his range.

Jumping up I ran and scrambled on to the ruins of a house, and took some fine panoramic views of the village, first from one position then from another. Some of the scenes included a few of our men in possession.

Altogether a most interesting series, including as it did both Pozieres and Contalmaison. It was the first time they had been filmed since their capture.

At that moment I heard another crump coming over. It seemed to be unpleasantly near, so I made a running dive for a dug-out entrance, from which poked the grinning face of an officer.

"Look out," I yelled.

Crash came the crump.

"Near enough anyhow," I said, as a piece flew shrieking past close overhead.

"Are you the 'movie' man? I'm pleased to meet you," he said. "Did you get me in that last scene?"

"Yes," I said. "Proofs ready to-morrow." And with a laugh I hurried down the road.

CHAPTER XIX

ALONG THE WESTERN FRONT WITH THE KING

His Majesty's Arrival at Boulogne--At G.H.Q.--General ----'s Appreciation--The King on the Battlefield of Fricourt--Within Range of the Enemy's Guns--His Majesty's Joke Outside a German Dug-out--His Memento from a Hero's Grave--His Visit to a Casualty Clearing Station--The King and the Puppy--Once in Disgrace--Now a Hospital Mascot.

That evening I reported at headquarters. "Well, Malins," said Colonel ----, "I have a special job for you. Will you be on the quay at Boulogne to-morrow morning by twelve o'clock? Captain ---- is going down; he will make all arrangements for you there; he will also tell you who it is that's coming. Start at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. It is very important; so don't fail to be there."

Leaving the Colonel I met Captain ---- outside. "Who's coming?" I asked.

"Don't know," he said. "Tell you to-morrow."

"Is it the King?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "as a matter of fact it is. He arrives to-morrow. I shall have the full programme in the morning, and will give you a copy."

What a film! My first thought was whether he would visit the battlefield. What scenes I conjured up in my imagination. To see Britain's King on the battlefield with his troops; to see him inspecting the ground; to see him in trenches lately captured from the Germans. My imagination began to run away with me. No, I thought, it will be just the ordinary reviews and reception.

But I was wrong. The scenes that I had pictured to myself I was soon to witness.

On the morrow the Captain, the still picture man and myself, left G.H.Q.

for Boulogne. Arriving at the quay I looked around for any signs of preparation, but the whole place was as usual. The Captain called at the A.M.L.O.

"Do you know what time the King is due?" he asked.

The A.M.L.O. in tones of amazement e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a long-drawn-out "What; never heard of his coming."

"Well, he is," said the officer. "He's arriving at midday."

"I was never informed," said the other. "I will ring up the M.L.O." He did so, and after a short time the information came through. "The King will not arrive to-day; he will be here to-morrow at 9 a.m. His sailing was altered at the last moment."

That night I turned in at the Hotel Folkestone, making arrangements for my car to take me and my apparatus to the quay at 8.30 in the morning.

The morning fortunately was beautifully bright. I sincerely hoped it would continue. What excellent quality it promised in the films. I compared it with the weather during the last visit to France of the late Lord Kitchener; unfortunately it rained all the time.

I arrived at the quay. The French officials were gathered there, and lined up was a guard of honour, formed by the North Staffordshire Regiment. Every man had been through many engagements during the war.

I fixed up the camera. The boat had already drawn up by the quay-side.

There was a hushed whisper from several officials standing by: "There he is." I looked and saw the King gaily chatting to the Naval Officer in charge.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HIS MAJESTY THE KING, WITH PRESIDENT POINCARe, IN FRANCE, 1916. HIS MAJESTY GRACIOUSLY CONSENTED TO POSE FOR ME]

I wondered whether His Majesty would like being photographed, therefore I carefully kept my camera under cover of a shelter close by. At that moment the King's equerry came ash.o.r.e. I asked him what time His Majesty was due to land.