17Menin Road, Friday, 28 September 1917
Sergeant Lofty Mathews turned to examine the line of weary and mud-stained men behind him. He didn’t have to count, he knew there was less than one hundred. The battalion had been relieved and his platoon was leading the remnants of their company out of the line to regroup and be reinforced. They’d earned their rest, he thought, and wondered how long it would be before they were back at the front.
A fresh British regiment moving up passed as they skirted Shrewsbury Forest. ‘How did it go?’ one of the men asked.
‘You’ll be right. Fritz used all his shells on us,’ Don said. He had a blood-stained bandage visible below his steel helmet. It was grey with dirt.
‘We feel bad about hogging all his attention. We told him you’d be disappointed if he didn’
