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 my dearest, was me and I don’t want to do another. We killed seven Germans in the trench and about thirty or forty more in their dug-out. I should say they would have lost about thirty more by our artillery. Our losses were slight, but three of my men had their legs blown off in the Boches’ trench and we had to pull them out and get them back. I and Charles M and Sergeant G were alone, and I can tell you it was no joke pulling a helpless man a yard, and then throwing a bomb to keep the Boches back—then pulling him another yard and throwing another bomb.

“Charles was guarding our left while Sergeant G and I got our man up on the parapet with both his legs pulped. Then I went back for the next. Poor devil! He screamed, ‘Ma airm and ma leg’s off’ to me again and again. I was wasting no sympathy just then. Said I, ‘Crawl on your other arm and leg, then,’ and lugged him up. Sergeant M had got back to our own trench, but he returned to us and helped me get my man up into the open. We went back for the next man and he said, ‘Leave me. I’m done.’ Both his legs were off, so I said, ‘None of that, my lad, you’re coming with us.’ He died on the Boche parapet and we had to leave him. We got the other two home.

“Sergeant M and Charles got wounded, but they both came back to us again until the men were in. I just gave myself up. The shrapnel was bursting right in my face and the machine-