"I passed through two barrages before I reached the Wood, one aimed at the body, and the other at the mind. The enemy was shelling the approach from the South with some determination, but I was fortunate enough to escape injury and to pass on to an ordeal ever greater. Men of my old battalion were lying dead on the ground in great profusion. They wore a yellow badge on their sleeves, and without this distinguishing mark, it would have been impossible to recognize the remains of many of them. I felt that I had run away." Capt Llewelyn Wyn Griffith

Many visitors to the Welsh memorial in front of the wood report of experiencing a certain vivid malevolence emanating from the trees, a sense of being watched, of being unwelcome, and of a sometimes heavy silence which is notably devoid of birdsong. I count myself amongst them, having slipped into the fringes of The Hammerhead on my first visit a decade ago. I knew nothing of these matters then, but didn't stay long, retreating back to my party across the soft meadow upon which so many of the Welsh had been slain on their initial July 7th assault, the back of my neck prickling all the way.