A VIVID account of an incident at Loos, which has become historic, was given by one of the London Irish Regiment who was wounded during the charge:—  
“One set of our men—keen footballers—made a strange resolution; it was to take a football along with them. The platoon officer discovered this, and ordered the football to be sent back—which, of course, was carried out. But the old members of the London Irish Football Club were not to be done out of the greatest game of their lives-the last to some of them, poor fellows—and just before Major Beresford gave the signal the leather turned up again mysteriously.
“Suddenly the officer in command gave the signal, ‘Over you go, lads!’ With that the whole line sprang up as one man, some with a prayer, not a few making the sign of the Cross. But the footballers, they chucked the ball over and went after it just as cool as if on the field, passing it from one to the other, though the bullets were flying thick as hail, crying, ‘On the ball, London40 Irish!’ just as they might have done at Forest Hill. I believe that they actually kicked it right into the enemy’s trench with the cry, ‘Goal!’ though not before some of them had been picked off on the way.
“There wasn’t 400 yards between the trenches, and we had to get across the open—a man?uvre we started just as on parade. All lined up, bayonets fixed, rifles at the slope. Once our fellows got going it was hard to get them to stop, with the result that some rushed clean into one of our own gas waves and dropped in it just before it had time to get over the enemy’s trench.
“The barbed wire had been broken into smithereens by our shells so that we could get right through; but we could see it had been terrible stuff, and we all felt we should not have had a ghost of a chance of getting through had it not been for an unlimited supply of shells expended on it.
“When we reached the German trench, which we did under a cloud of smoke, we found nothing but a pack of beings dazed with terror. In a jiffy we were over their parapet and the real work began; a kind of madness comes over you as you stab with your bayonet and hear the shriek of the poor devil suddenly cease as the steel goes through him and you know he’s ‘gone west.’ The beggars did not show much fight, most having retired into their second line of trenches when we began to occupy their first to make it41 our new line of attack. That meant clearing out even the smallest nook or corner that was large enough to hold a man.
“This fell to the bombers. Every bomber is a hero, I think, for he has to rush on, fully exposed, laden with enough stuff to send him to ‘kingdom come’ if a chance shot or stumble sets him off.
“Some of the sights were awful in the hand-to-hand struggle, for, of course, that is the worst part. Our own second in command, Major Beresford, was badly wounded. Captain and Adjutant Hamilton, though shot through the knee just after leaving our trench, was discovered still limping on at the second German trench, and had to be placed under arrest to prevent his going on till he bled to death.
“They got the worst of it, though, when it came to cold steel, which they can’t stand, and they ran like hares. So having left a number of men in the first trench, we went on to the second and then the third, after which other regiments came up to our relief, and together we took Loos. It wasn’t really our job at all to take Loos, but we were swept on by the enthusiasm, I suppose, and all day long we were at it, clearing house after house, or rather what was left of the houses—stabbing and shooting and bombing till one felt ready to drop dead oneself. We wiped the 22nd Silesian Regiment right out, but it was horrible to work on with the cries of the wounded all round.”