I knew he was hunting for one of those insects which afterwards played no small part in the general discomfort of the Great War, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to learn privately what they looked like.
So I took a magnifying glass out of my pocket and said, "Well, my boy, let me have a look for I too am interested in botany." He pointed to a seam in his shirt and said, "There, Sir, there is one." I was just going to examine it under the glass when, crack! a bullet hit the sandbags near-by, and he told me the trench was enfiladed.

I said, "My dear boy, I think I will postpone this scientific research until we get to safer quarters, for if I am knocked out, the first question my congregation will ask will be, "What was our beloved pastor doing when he was hit ?" If they hear that I was hunting in a man's shirt for one of these insects, they will not think it a worthy ending to my life." He grinned, put on his shirt, and moved down the trench.
That afternoon a good many shells passed over our heads and of course the novelty of the thing made it most interesting.

After a war experience of nearly four years, one is almost ashamed to look back upon those early days which were like war in a nursery.

The hideous thing was then only in its infancy.

Poison gas, liquid fire, trench mortars, hand grenades, machine guns, (except a very few) and tanks were then unknown.