millions of my fellow-countrymen at home. In my pictures I have endeavoured to catch something of the glamour, as well as the awful horror of it all. I have caught a picture here, a picture there; a scene in this place, a scene in that; and all the time at the back of my mind has always been the thought: "That will give them some idea of things as they are out here." My pictures have never been taken with the idea of merely making pictures, nor with the sole idea, as some people think, of merely providing a "thrill." I regarded my task in a different light to that. To me has been entrusted the task of securing for the enlightenment and education of the people of to-day, and of future generations, such a picture as will stir their imaginations and thrill their hearts with pride.

This by way of introduction. Now to proceed with my task, the telling of the adventures of a kinematograph camera man in war-time.

From my early days I was always interested in photography, and boyish experiments eventually led me along the path to my life's vocation. In time I took up the study of kinematography, and joined the staff of the Clarendon Film Company (of London and Croydon), one of the pioneer firms in the industry. There I learned much and made such progress that in time I was entrusted with the filming of great productions, which cost thousands of pounds to make. From there I went to the Gaumont Company, and I was in the service of this great Anglo-French film organisation when war broke out.

During the early days of the autumn of 1914 I was busily occupied in filming various scenes in connection with the war in different parts of the country. One day when I was at the London office of the Company I was sent for by the Chief.

"We want a man to go out to Belgium and get some good 'stuff.' [Stuff, let me say, is the technical or slang term for film pictures.] How would you like to go?"

"Go?" I asked. "I'm ready. When? Now?"

"As soon as you like."

"Right, I'm ready," I said, without a moment's hesitation, little thinking of the nature of the adventure upon which I was so eager to embark.

And so it came about. Provided with the necessary cash, and an Aeroscope camera, I started off next day, and the following chapters record a few of my adventures in search of pictorial material for the screen.

CHAPTER II

with the belgians at ramscapelle

Leaving London, I crossed to France. I arranged, as far as possible, to get through from Calais to Furnes, and with the greatest of good luck I managed it, arriving at my destination at eleven o'clock at night. As usual, it was raining hard.

Starting out next day for the front line, I reached the district where a battalion was resting—I was allowed in their quarters. Addressing one of the men, I asked if he could speak English. "Non, monsieur," and making a sign to me to remain he hurried off. Back came the fellow with an officer.

"What do you want, monsieur?" said he in fine English.

"You speak English well," I replied.

"Yes, monsieur, I was in England for four years previous to the war." So I explained my position. "I want to accompany you to the trenches to take some kinema films."

After exchanging a few words he took me to his superior officer, who extended every courtesy to me. I explained to him what I was desirous of doing. "But it is extraordinary, monsieur, that you should take such risks for pictures. You may in all probability get shot."

"Possibly, sir," I replied, "but to obtain genuine scenes one must be absolutely in the front line."

"Ah, you English," he said, "you are extraordinaire." Suddenly taking me by the arm, he led me to an outhouse. At the door we met his Captain. Introducing me, he began to explain my wishes. By the looks and the smiles, I knew things were going well for me.

Calling the interpreter, the Captain said, "If you accompany my men to the trenches you may get killed. You must take all risks. I cannot be held responsible, remember!" And with a smile, he turned and entered the house.

Hardly realising my good fortune, I nearly hugged my new friend, the Lieutenant.

"Monsieur," I said, saluting, "I am un Belge soldat pro tem."

Laughingly he told me to get my kit ready, and from a soldier who could speak English I borrowed a water-bottle and two blankets. Going round to the back of the farm, I came upon the rest of the men being served out with coffee from a copper. Awaiting my turn, I had my water-bottle filled; then the bread rations were served out with tinned herrings. Obtaining my allowance, I stowed it away in my knapsack, rolled up my blanket and fixed it on my back, and was ready. Then the "Fall in" was sounded. What a happy-go-lucky lot! No one would have thought these men were going into battle, and that many of them would probably not return. This, unfortunately, turned out to be only too true.

In my interest in the scene and anxiety to film it, I was forgetting to put my own house in order. "What if I don't come back?" I suddenly thought. Begging some paper, I wrote a letter, addressed to my firm, telling them where I had gone, and where to call at Furnes for my films in the event of my being shot. Addressing it, I left it in charge of an officer, to be posted if I did not return, and requested that if anything happened to me my stuff should be left at my café in Furnes. Shaking me by the hand, he said he sincerely hoped it would not be necessary. Laughingly I bade him adieu. Falling in with the other men we started off, with the cheers and good wishes of those left behind ringing in our ears.

It was still raining, and, as we crossed the fields of mud, I began to feel the weight of my equipment pressing on my shoulders, which with my camera and spare films made my progress very slow. Many a time during that march the men offered to help me, but, knowing that they had quite enough to do in carrying their own load, I stubbornly refused.

On we went, the roar of the guns getting nearer: over field after field, fully eighteen inches deep in mud, and keeping as close to hedges as possible, to escape detection from hostile aeroplanes. Near a bridge we were stopped by an officer.

"What's the matter?" I asked of my interpreter. Not knowing, he went to enquire.

An order was shouted. The whole regiment rushed for cover to a hedge which ran by the roadside. I naturally followed. My friend told me that the Germans had sent up an observation balloon, so we dare not advance until nightfall, or they would be sure to see us and begin shelling our column before we arrived at the trenches. In the rain we sat huddled close together. Notwithstanding the uncomfortable conditions, I was very thankful for the rest. Night came, and we got the word to start again. Progress was becoming more difficult than ever, and I only kept myself from many a time falling headlong by clinging on to my nearest companion; he did likewise.

Ye gods! what a night, and what a sight! Raining hard, a strong wind blowing, and the thick, black, inky darkness every now and then illuminated by the flash of the guns. Death was certainly in evidence to-night. One felt it. The creative genius of the weirdest, imaginative artist could not have