I was hit by a German shell. Once again, I was lucky to be alive, but this time my left arm and left leg were smashed by shrapnel. At the Casualty Station they talked about amputating both my leg and my arm, but again I was lucky: the doctor who treated me insisted that he could reset them enough so that they would mend. I would always walk with a limp, and it would take time before I could use my left arm again, but at least I wouldn’t lose them. I was sent back home to England. First I went to a military hospital on the northern outskirts of London at a place called Mill Hill. There I wrote home to Mum and Dad and told them what had happened and that I was alive, and I’d be returning home as soon as I was able. I also wrote the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. This one was to Mrs Matthews, Rob’s mum, telling her how sorry I was about what had happened to him, and not to believe the worst of him. I told her how Rob was the bravest soldier I’d known all the time I was out there, and that what had happened to him was wrong.
