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By Root 1851 0

and a tool pushed down behind the haversack. I had a spade. Every time I stood up straight it pushed my cap off and if I leaned against the side of the trench the handle stuck into my behind. By midnight the rain was pelting down and we were soaked through. Our artillery were making such a din that you couldn’t hear the whistle of the Jerry shells when they came over. It wasn’t until the explosion that you knew he was still in the war. I could feel the rain seeping through my puttees and filling my boots. In the early hours of the morning there was a tremendous roar and the ground swayed under our feet. The mine that I had worked on had been exploded. The artillery bombardment seemed to increase until the noise became painful. Just before dawn the two sergeants, Spud Murphy and Sid Hubbard, came along the top of the trench with a jar and a mug. Take a good swig, youngster,’ said Sergeant Hubbard. I did that, then gasped, coughed and spluttered. Neat rum, I found out, should not be swallowed in mouthfuls!

There was deep gloom in the trenches where the weary men of the 7th Cameron Highlanders waited miserably for the dawn, for Colonel Sandilands had deprived them of the tot of rum that might have cheered them up. ‘If my men are going to meet their maker,’ he said, ‘they will meet Him sober!’ And he had even ordered the sergeants to up-end the jars and pour the precious rum away. They tipped it over the back of the shallow trench and the men got never a sniff of it. Their indignation helped to keep them warm.

For the umpteenth time platoon sergeants checked the equipment each man would take into battle. One particular item was unique to the 7th Camerons and scout Sergeant Tommy Lamb was rather pleased with it. Some of the signallers would be carrying flags or discs on long poles, coloured differently for each division, which they would hold aloft as their battalion advanced to pinpoint the positions of the troops. The flags of the 15th Division were plain yellow, but Tommy Lamb was struck by the idea of cutting a square of Cameron tartan from an old kilt and, with the colonel’s permission, having it sewn to one corner of the identifying flag. Now the battalion would go into battle bearing the Cameron colours. Colonel Sandilands was delighted.

General Sir Douglas Haig spent a sleepless night for he was painfully conscious that everything depended on the speed and direction of the wind. Forty gas officers positioned along the front, specially trained to estimate velocity and direction, sent back reports every hour and the wind was also measured in a dozen different places behind the front. Once or twice a night reports came in from Paris collating observations made at various points in France, and weather conditions in the British Isles, monitored at 1 p.m. and again twelve hours later, were wired directly to France. This was standard procedure, for wind and weather were vital to the operations of the Royal Flying Corps and it was the responsibility of the Meteorological Officer, Captain Gold, to see them plotted on a huge chart of western Europe and to produce weather forecasts accordingly. The forecasts were rough and ready, and in the changeable climate of western Europe they could not hope to be accurate for more than the next few hours – but it was the next few hours that mattered. Never had the chart on the wall of the Met. Office been scrutinised more often and more anxiously than in the hours before the battle. As the night wore on, the favourable conditions on which Haig had decided to gamble began to look more doubtful.

The weather forecast at this hour, 9.45 p.m., indicates that a west or south west wind may be anticipated tomorrow, 25th September. All orders issued for the attack with gas will therefore hold good. The hour of Zero will be notified later during the night.

At three o’clock in the morning, after he had plotted the latest reports from the British Isles, Captain Gold went to see General Haig. Near the front the wet westerly wind was still steadily blowing. Usually, Gold explained, the wind began