The men of the Third Division have now had the experience which many had longed for.  Going ‘over the top’ was not quite so romantic as fancy had pictured it to be, and the experience which is common to all who take part in it for the first time defies expression.  A peculiar sensation creeps annoyingly slowly along the spinal column, subtly affecting every member of the body.  There’s a gripping of the heart and a numbing of the brain, and the tongue persistently cleaves to the roof of the mouth, which seems as dry as powdered chalk.  A choking sensation accompanies every effort to cough.  You may be in the stepping-off trench or lying face-down on the churned-up mud out on ‘no man’s land,’ waiting for the signal to ‘go.’  The seconds tick slowly by, the minutes are leaden-footed in their passing, and seem like eternities.  The eyes are almost blinded through the strain of peering into darkness, the imagination runs riot, grotesque shapes are conjured into view, only to be dissipated by a solitary flare or a series of gun-flashes.  The fact that it is raining and you are lying in a gradually deepening pool of water occasions no concern.  What matters most is that your puttees are frayed or your boots in need of repair, but you console yourself with the thought that after the ‘stunt’ it will be easy to get a new outfit, and maybe you commence to make plans as to how you will spend your leave.  You appear to be quite oblivious to the fact that the next moment may be your last.

Ages roll by; suddenly you are conscious of somebody by your side; you make an attempt to smile, when at the same instant the ground trembles as if in the throes of a tremendous earthquake; flash after flash in quick succession; the air vibrates with noises that deafen; hundreds of shells hurtle overhead.  ’That’s ‘er,’ shouts the man by your side.  You are pleased that something has happened to divert your mind from its morbid fancyings.  This is the ‘Dinkum.’  The electrical effect upon your mind and body is wonderful.  You break from the shackles that fear and fancy have thrown round you.  The reports of terrific explosions rend the air, you grip frantically at the soft mud to prevent yourself being hurled through space.  Somebody from somewhere makes a sign, and in a moment you are erect and speeding in the direction of the enemy lines.  There is but one thought in the mind as you allow your hand to tighten round your rifle—­to gain your objective.  Heaven help the Hun who attempts to frustrate you.  ‘Hurrah!’ The wire has been smashed to smithereens, and in less time than it takes to describe you are ’over the top’—­close up to the enemy line.  You stumble forward, onward, without noticing the broken nature of the ground.  The sight of the enemy rushing towards you with hands well above their heads, shouting ‘Kamerad,’ or fleeing before your advance, excites greater enthusiasm.