The stillness of the morning was broken by a terrific roar as thousands of guns spoke with a single voice. The din was deafening. After a few minutes, the barrage lifted and the attack began. In the dim light, single columns of men moved steadily forward through the bursting shells and fume laden air. We brought up the rear. A partridge, half stunned, fluttered at our feet. It is strange how one’s mind retains such small things. This was no time for thoughts of peace, but long afterwards one felt ashamed that we could make hideous so lovely a morning. The beauty of nature, the birds, the sublime countryside, all seemed to make this war, the handiwork of man, appear to be a crime.