As he lunged, I braced myself for the Turk’s bayonet

Once, I lobbed my overcoat over one, and when it came down it had a round hole burned in the middle of the back. I still wore it, though.

My friend, Dennison, used to say: ‘You never hear a shell that is about to hit you.’ This was a source of constant argument, until one day we heard an urgent whistle like a train in a tunnel.

We threw ourselves flat, under a bank of earth. The shrieking shell buried itself in the bank, but did not explode, though it shook dirt all over us and shook up our nerves, too.

‘There’s your answer, Dennison,’ one of my mates shouted, as we stood up and dashed for cover.

Sometimes, the difference between life and death could be almost comical. I was laying cable in a trench one day when I heard a shout. Looking up, I saw a Turk with a bayonet, about to leap on top of me from the parapet.

I didn’t have time to turn and shoot. I just flung myself back, and braced myself for the bayonet as he leapt down. As his feet hit the mud he slipped backwards and landed on his behind. The infantry boys seized him and took him prisoner.

Another time, a shell burst in front of the latrines. The men sitting there were thrown backwards by the blast, and had to go down to the sea to wash themselves. We couldn’t stop laughing.

Some 56,000 Allied troops died in ten months, and losses on the Turkish side were even higher. There was no