I took careful aim and shot him through the middle. He spun and collapsed, lying in full view, his hand still waving as our machine guns pumped lead into him. Hallett now informed me that his companion, Bugler Simpson, had been shot through the neck while working the gun and was helpless. I told him of the order to get back to the pillbox. He wanted to know what we were going to do about Simpson. I could hear Simpson pleading not to be left and heard the assurance of Simpson. We then decided that we would try to get Simpson out. It was arranged that I should unfasten one end of the sling and pass my rifle down slowly, butt first, and that Hallett would put Simpson’s belt through the sling. On a signal from Hallett I would pull and he would lift. We waited for a particularly vicious burst of enemy fire to subside and in the lull that followed Hallett cried, “Ready!” and threw Simpson up. I pulled, or rather jerked, and he fell behind the rock beside me. There was a hail of fire but we were well covered. Hallett threw up the Bren gun and a short while later jumped up quickly to join us. So far, so good, but the really dangerous task lay in getting Simpson up that steep rugged slope. We turned him on his back. He was semiconscious but I did not think his chances were good. Hallett was determined to save his friend. Slowly and painfully we commenced the climb, dragging Simpson by the shoulders. We took advantage of every bit of cover. Bullets whined and rocks flew. We had completed about half our journey and had come to a place where the ground was open and where we would be more likely to attract attention. Both of us were exhausted so we rested for a while. I called up to the pillbox asking for someone to help us get Simpson in. Corporal C.W.Darragh came down keeping well covered behind rocks until he lay behind another rock just above the open space we had to cross. Waiting for what we thought was a favorable moment we started to pull our comrade up and across the open space. We had almost made it and Cpl. Darragh had stretched forth his arm to grab Simpson when all hell broke lose. An enemy machine gun, a short distance away, had us directly in his sights. A hail of lead was around us. First Hallett was shot mortally, crying, “ I’m hit. I’m hit.” Simpson’s body was riddled. I saw my trousers flick as a bullet grazed the bone of my leg just below the knee. I had doubled up over my rifle to fling myself down the hill out of the zone of fire when I felt a terrible blow and tumbled in earnest head over heels down the hill. The vicinity where I landed was rugged with rocks and gullies where grew thistle like plants and long tufts of course grass. I must have landed in one of these gullies and passed out, for how long I do not know. When I regained consciousness I examined myself for damage. I noted that I was bleeding profusely from the mouth and first thought that I had been hit in the stomach. Having a horror of a serious stomach wound, as I believed that under the circumstances I was now in, it would be both painful and fatal, I put my rifle to my head. I do not suppose I recalled Kipling’s lines from his “Barrack Room Ballads” giving advice to the British soldier, “When you lie wounded on the Afghans Plains, and the ladies (he could say Japs) come out to cut up your remains, roll to your rifle and blow out your brains and go to your God like a soldier.” I had another thought. One always does in such desperate situations. Seeing I was thus able to use my rifle I could, for a while at least, postpone my desperate resolution. I therefore lowered the weapon. My whole body was bruised by the fall and my head was dizzy and numb. I examined my stomach but did not find the horrible wound I had visualized. Perhaps I had struck my head on a rock, but feeling around where the blood was trickling down my face I found that I had been shot clean through the head. The Japs use a smaller caliber bullet then we do, both for their rifles and machine guns. To this fact I am sure I owe my life. The bullet had entered just under my right cheekbone, passing over the roof of my mouth and out the other side of the left cheek. I was losing a lot of blood, mostly from my mouth and I must have swallowed a good deal. Taking out my first aid kit I supplied a dressing to both cheeks and put the bandage around my head to hold the dressing in place. These dressings and the bandages were soon soaked in blood. I must have had a very gory figurehead. Examining myself further I found that the bullet, which had grazed the bone of my leg, had made a painful wound. This I also dressed. As the enemy seemed to be paying no attention to me I removed all nonessential equipment but kept my rifle. I remembered my dad telling me of a similar experience in the First Great War and how we agreed that a soldier should never let go of his rifle under any circumstances while still in battle. Taking advantage again of every bit of cover and the short lulls in the firing, which came from both the enemy and our own boys in the fort, I gradually made my way up the hill. Fortunately my comrades had identified me for I was not fired upon by them and was able to reach the summit and tumble into the trench behind our pillbox.
		BACK
		NEXT
		LINKS
		INDEX