Today we have dealt the Germans as hard a blow as we have ever struck them. On a front of 17,000 or 18,000 yards we have shattered all his long prepared defences, and the famous Messines Ridge is in our hands. One may regard this as a separate battle, to be called, perhaps, the Battle of Messines. Another one may regard it only as a legitimate development of and step in the Battle of Arras. In any case, it is a great victory.
It would have been difficult to believe that any bombardment could surpass in power and effect that which ushered in the Battle of the Somme a year ago or the Battle of Arras last April, but this morning’s did so. It was terrific beyond words. As we ceased, an almost perfect hush descended, in which one heard the fleeting notes of a distant nightingale. Then to our right the enemy began throwing large-calibre high explosives. Only the first two had passed shrieking overhead, however, when that began which blotted out sound and knowledge of everything else. How many mines went up at once I do not exactly know, but it was nearly a score. Many were made over a year ago, and since then had lain under German feet undiscovered. In all, I believe, over 600 tons of high explosives were fired simultaneously.
It was terrifying as a spectacle, and the earth shook like a house of cards. An officer of our party, worn out, had fallen asleep on the ground in spite of all the noise. He leaped to his feet muttering: “Earthquake, of course; earthquake!” Then, even before the echoes of the awful explosions died, and while the pillars of smoke still towered and grew, all our batteries awoke at once. It was all blinding shimmer and noise and stupefying splendour. Even while the riot and clamour was at its height, the first flush of dawn crept, rosy-red up the sky above Ypres. If ever dawn did indeed come up like thunder, it was this. Then came the greatest miracle of all, for with the rose flush in the sky the whole bird chorus of morning came to life. Never, surely, did birds sing so — blackbird and thrush, lark and black-cap, and willow warbler. Most of the time their voices, of course, were inaudible, but now and again, in the intervals of the shattering noise, their notes pealed up as if each were struck with frenzy and all together strove to shout down the guns.