It runs, half-ruined, from the old German trench
in our rear, right through our own front line, to the present German
trenches. It constitutes such a bogey as the Channel Tunnel scheme
once was: each side sits jealously at its own end, anticipating
hostile enterprises from the other. It is also the residence of
"Minnie." But we will return to Minnie later.
The artillery of both sides, too, contributes its mite. There is
a dull roar far in the rear of the German trenches, followed by a
whirring squeak overhead. Then comes an earth-shaking crash a mile
behind us. We whip round, and there, in the failing evening light,
against the sunset, there springs up the silhouette of a mighty tree
in full foliage. Presently the silhouette disperses, drifts away,
and--
"The coals is hame, right enough!" comments Private Tosh.
Instantly our guns reply, and we become the humble spectators of an
artillery duel. Of course, if the enemy gets tired of "searching"
the countryside for our guns and takes to "searching" our trenches
instead, we lose all interest in the proceedings, and retire to our
dug-outs, hoping that no direct hits will come our way.
But guns are notoriously erratic in their time-tables, and fickle in
their attentions. It is upon Zacchaeus and Unter den Linden--including
Minnie--that we mainly rely for excitement.
As already recorded, we took over these trenches a few days ago, in
the small hours of the morning.
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