right, there was still a big gap, which our depleted forces could not 
cover, between us and the road to San Martín de la Vega. Somewhere 
to the right of that road was the Franco-Belge Battalion. 
Next morning, our Battalion was strung out along the sunken road. 
Our left flank covered the White House which our artillery soon pounded 
to dust. Our centre was advanced to the ridge overlooking Conical Hill, 
and it was composed that day of Fry’s machine-gun Company. That 
was the only position from which they could get a field of fire. We 
tried to advance our right flank to protect the guns from the danger 
that lay in the gap between us and the Franco-Belge Battalion. 
In the following account of the second day’s fighting, Bill Meredith, 
who was to die later at the head of a Company on the Brunete front, 
tells how disaster overtook us because of that gap. 
“Dawn broke with us searching the valley with aching eyes for any 
trace of enemy movement. Soon we perceived a Company of Fascists 
moving forward on our left. We trained our three maxims on them, 
allowed them to advance to within approximately eight hundred metres, 
then let them have it. Never have I seen men retreat so quickly as they 
did! It was a complete rout. They ran in all directions and there was 
no more advancing as far as that flank was concerned. 
Later in the day our right flank advanced about two hundred me- 
tres past us but heavy artillery fire commenced and the flank was com- 
pelled to retreat, again leaving us in front of the Battalion. The artillery 
fire was intensified and diverted to ourselves. 
Then began a bombardment that lasted for more than an hour, 
that shattered every stone in the parapet in front of us, and yet did not 
claim a single victim. 
One incident during this bombardment remains with me. Fry, our 
Company Commander, was acting as No. I on the centre maxim, and I 
was next to him. One shell landed right in front of us, blew our 
breast-work to pieces and covered the maxim and ourselves with dust. 
Another yard further and we would have been shattered to hell. Fry 
took a long pull at his pipe, looked at me beside him and laughed, “Did 
I hear something?” 
At about 4.15 p.m. we detected the Fascist H.Q. Fry wrote out a 
note to B.H.Q. and looked round for a runner. None was in sight. He 
looked at me. 
“Sure” I said. I took the message, ducked my head as low as I could 
and ran like hell for our HQ. The Battalion Commander was located 
after some search. (B.H.Q. was continually moving for the first few 
days owing to the rapidity with which events moved.) He was na- 
turally pleased with the information and scribbled out a reply.

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