ABSTRACT
The sun came up on a field of bodies, row upon row of them, some twitching, some still. The exhausted Riflemen slept, spent, as if dead. They had reached the field, at Vlamertinghe, after an eight-mile night march from the trenches they had been holding for the last week at the northern lip of the newly created mine crater at Hooge. By 1.20 a.m. on the night of 29–30 July 1915, the worn-out 7th RB had completed handing over the position to the 8th Battalion. A nightmarish week in the line was over. To the Riflemens’ surprise and relief, the Germans had neither attacked nor shelled during the handover, always a good time to catch defenders off-balance; then, or shortly afterwards, the new troops would be at a disadvantage as they settled down into the new and therefore unfamiliar position. Yet all went off quietly, perhaps oddly so after the nightmare week the 7th had just had.
