trenches varying in depth from a few inches to three feet, which afforded
little protection against shell fire. The dead, many of whom belonged to
the Liverpool Pals Brigade, were visible lying stark and numerous on the
battlefield. The weary desolation, and the unmitigated waste of equipment,
clothing, and life passes all description. This was the Somme battlefield,
of which one had heard so much. To those who had seen much of the war, the
thought came that nothing could be worse than this.

The next day was a day of incessant shell fire on both sides. On the
British side it was the bombardment prior to the attack on Guillemont. The
fire was terrific. The terrible concussions of the high explosive shells
assailed both ears and nerves, and kept up a pall of dust over the
trenches. The whizzing and swirling of the shells was incessant. Some
whined, others moaned, and others roared like express trains. Light shells
passed with an unearthly shriek. It was useless taking any notice of the
lighter shells. They had come and burst before one realised what had
happened. The heavier shells, particularly those that were timed to burst
in the air, were very trying, and when they burst over Trones Wood the
noise reverberated through what remained of the trees, and so became
extraordinarily intensified. To expect the explosions of the shells
knowing they were on their way and to hear them coming, not knowing
whether they would be fatal or not, was the worst part of the ordeal. Such
a condition of turmoil and torment must have been meant by the words of
Dante in his description of Hell.

"La bufera infernal che mai non resta."

Every now and then a man was hit. Those killed outright were perhaps
spared much agony, and the wounded were lucky if they reached the aid
post alive. Many got shell shock which affected men in different ways. One