"D'you refuse to obey the order? Get back at once, or I'll have you put
under arrest."
I turned away and the blood rushed into my face with vexation. I even
forgot my numb feet in thinking of the long dreary day before me, with
no one to talk to.
"Corporal Locke's party!"
I saw another friend of mine fall out and I went with him. Corporal
Locke counted his men and found he had one too many. He looked down the
ranks, he saw me, and said:
"You don't belong to my party--you'll have to go somewhere else."
"I want to work with Private Black--I've been on your party before."
"I don't remember you. Anyhow, you weren't with me yesterday--I'm sorry,
but I can't have you."
"Nobody'll notice the difference."
"I'm sorry; the S.M. has told me off once already for having too many
men on my party. He went off the deep end [lost his temper] about it and
said I'd get him into trouble. I can't let you stay."
One after another the fatigue parties were called out and I fell in with
my own, the last of all and about eighty strong. Sergeant Hyndman was in
charge.
The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle and shouted, "Move off!" and one by
one the N.C.O.'s gave the words of command:
"Party--Tshn! Into File--Right Turn! By the Right--Quick March!"
As we passed out of the camp each of us drew a shovel or a pick from a
great heap of tools near the entrance.
We got on to the road and formed fours, and at last began the longed-for
march which would restore our circulation and warm our frozen feet.
The snow was still falling heavily and the wind blew it into our faces.
We bowed our heads and pulled our caps down over our eyes. Our feet
began to glow but our ears became painfully cold instead. We held our
hands over them and as our ears grew warm our fingers became numb and
frozen, so that we put our hands back into our pockets (although it was
against regulations) and tried to think of something else.
Gradually, however, I became warm in every member and was filled with a
sense of physical comfort that released my thoughts from immediate,
material things. I thought of home and made plans for the future. I had
a long, stubbornly contested argument with an imaginary opponent about
the issues of the war. And then physical discomfort made itself felt
again, all my free and wandering thoughts were gathered in by a
wide-flung net and roughly thrown into a narrow dungeon.
I was growing unpleasantly hot and I longed to get rid of my heavy,
sodden great-coat. The strap of my haversack was making my shoulder
ache. I became peevish and fretful once more.
We swung along the road with rapid strides. Some of the feebler marchers
showed signs of weariness and began to grumble at our speed. There was
an ironical shout of "Double up in front," whereupon the front fours
slowed down a little.
The wind increased in power and the snow flew past us in horizontal
lines obscuring the Flemish landscape. We marched on in silence for an
hour or more until suddenly the front fours halted and all the others
thronged up against them. We had reached our destination.
There was a broad-gauge railway. On one side of it huge stacks of
sleepers stretched away in long rows that were soon lost to sight in the
wintry atmosphere. On the other side was a barbed wire fence. Beyond it
lay flat fields on which the snow had settled evenly. In one of the
fields was the dim form of a farm-building, barely visible through the
rush and turmoil of dancing snowflakes.
A Sergeant of the Royal Engineers came up and told us what our work
would be. We were to carry all the sleepers across the line and stack
them in four rows on the far side of the fence.
"Is it a task job?" we asked.
The Sergeant did not know.
"What did they make us bring our shovels for?"
A voice, mocking such a naïve questioner, answered:
"Don't yer know the army be now?"
We broke down a section of the fence. Two men were assigned to each
stack. They loaded each sleeper on to the shoulders of a couple of men
who carried it across the railway lines into the field, where it would
be received and stacked by other men.
Hour by hour we trudged to and fro in pairs, bearing our wet and heavy
loads. We lost consciousness of everything except driving snow,
squelching mud, aching backs and sore shoulders. When one shoulder
became so sore that mere contact with our load was intensely painful, we
changed over to the other, until that too became bruised, and then we
would change back again. And so on, hour by hour.
Our legs seemed as heavy as lead and yet they seemed to move of their
own accord without any effort of the will. Our minds became blurred and
numb--a numbness that was broken from time to time by a sharp stab of
pain whenever a sleeper was placed across our shoulders.
"For Christ's sake, let's 'ave a blow," said my partner suddenly.
I looked at my watch. It was a quarter-past ten--nearly two hours more
till lunch!
We observed that only a small number of men were working, and my partner
blurted out:
"I ain't goin' ter do more'n me share. There's a lot o' fellers swingin'
the lead be'ind them stacks. I'm goin' ter 'ave a bit of a rest, I'm
bloody well done up."
We both went behind a stack and found that a crowd of men had gone there
before us. One of them shouted cheerfully: "Here come two more
leadswingers!" [idlers] We leaned against the wood and rested, but a few
minutes had hardly passed when a Corporal appeared and shouted
peremptorily: "Come on out o' that--get on wi' yer job an' put a jerk in
it." We struggled reluctantly back to our work.
The wearisome, monotonous trudge began again. As the first stacks
disappeared the journey became longer and longer. I again looked at my
watch--it was twenty to eleven. The quarter-past ten seemed several
hours ago! The way the time dragged drove us to despair. But there was
no escape--we had to live through every minute of this dismal day.
My partner and I worked on in silence. Gradually the men slackened their
pace and tried to miss their turn. We did the same. Others, who were
behind us, followed suit, refusing to do more than their share. Our
progress became slower and slower until at length it stopped altogether.
There was a long straggling queue in front of the half-demolished stack.
The first pair of men refused to take the sleeper held in readiness for
them, protesting that there were others who ought to have gone before,
and the others refused to work until the first two had taken their turn.
A deadlock ensued and then a Sergeant came up with "What's the matter
now? This ain't a bleed'n' picnic! Don't yer know there's a war on? Yer
like a lot o' school kids. Go an' get a bloody move on!"
A chorus of voices asserted that some people couldn't play the game and
were swinging the lead and dodging their turn. Thereupon the Sergeant
formed us up into two ranks and ordered us to proceed with the work.
This interruption made at least a portion of our time pass more quickly.
Then we continued our wearisome tramp. An age seemed to pass. I looked
at my watch, but it was only twenty-three minutes after eleven. To and
fro we went with bruised shoulders, aching backs and numbed
intelligence. I fell into a kind of semi-conscious state. Suddenly the
whistle blew for lunch. How quickly the last twenty-seven minutes seemed
to have passed!
It was good to have an hour's rest before us. As for the afternoon,
well, there was no need to think about it, for it was still a long way
off. Besides, somehow or other, the afternoons always seemed to pass
more quickly than the mornings. Moreover, we had paraded an hour earlier
than usual, so perhaps we would also stop work an hour earlier.
"'Urry up an' dror yer tea," our Sergeant shouted. "Yer only gettin'
'alf an hour fur yer dinner--we've got ter git the job done ter-day."
"Why didn' yer tell us it was a task job? Gorblimy--we ain't done 'alf
of it! We won't get 'ome afore five or six o'clock ter-night."
"_I_ can't 'elp it, 'tain't _my_ fault. Yer've got ter git it done,
them's me orders!"
There was vociferous grumbling and swearing that continued while we
formed a queue and filed past a man who poured tea in our mugs from
three large dixies.
We sat down by the stacks wherever we could find shelter from the wind.
We were still hot and perspiring after our morning's labours. We ate our
rations in silence, for the resentful shouting had died down and had
given way to a sullen quiet.
When we had finished our meal we stared vacantly at the snowflakes that
were blown over the top of the stack above our heads and whirled round
and round in front of our eyes. Gradually we began to feel the cold
again. Many of us got up and walked about, for it was nipping our feet.
I was stiff in every limb and full of bitter thoughts. I hoped the
half-hour would be over soon.
At length the Sergeant blew the whistle and shouted:
"Fall in! Yer'd better put a jerk in it--yer won't go till yer've
finished. It's a task job. Yer didn't shift 'alf the sleepers this
mornin'--there's another couple o' thousand left, so get a bloody move
on!"
The grumbling was renewed in the ranks.
"It's no good yer bloody well grousin'. The work's got ter be done.
Carry on!"
Our tedious round began again. The distance from the old stacks to the
new increased steadily. We tramped through mud and slush in wind and
snow, hour by hour.
"I'm goin' ter 'ave a rest--I've 'ad enough o' this," said my partner. I
felt annoyed, for although I was stiff and tired and sore, I had again
relapsed into that state of dulled sensibility in which my limbs seemed
to move automatically and time to have no existence at all. Although I
was aware of pain I was yet indifferent to it. And now my partner was
going to drag me back to full consciousness. I gave way to his wish and
we leaned against a stack. We stayed there with several others until we
were discovered by a Corporal who chased us out and abused us roundly.
We went on with our work. The brief rest had only done harm, for the
first sleeper that was subsequently laid on to my shoulders produced
such a pang that I had to close my eyes for a moment. Nor could I set my
stiff limbs in motion without difficulty. I silently cursed my partner.
The dreary hours dragged on. I tried hard to fall back into my former
state of blurred consciousness, but the very attempt itself frustrated
the effort. I was full of growing resentment against my partner. My
dormant anger was aroused, it had found an object and, against all
reason and fairness, demanded vengeance. I pretended to stumble and
jerked the sleeper so as to hurt his bruised shoulder.
"'Ere, what yer doin' of?" he shouted, in great pain. "Christ
Almighty--be a bit careful!"
In a moment I regretted what I had done and said, "Sorry, I stumbled
over something--I hope I didn't hurt you!" I felt ashamed and all my
resentment vanished. Thereupon I became too oppressed in spirit even to
look at my watch.
We had been splashing and squelching to and fro, I did not know how
long, when an officer arrived. He stood still for a moment and watched
us work, and then he said:
"The job's got to be done this afternoon, my lads, but I'll try to get
you a day off to-morrow. Who's in charge of the party?"
We pointed to Sergeant Hyndman. He was sitting in an improvised shelter
in front of a fire, sipping hot tea. He had spent the greater part of
the day there and had not observed the arrival of the officer, who was
walking slowly towards him. Suddenly he jumped up and there was an
exchange of words which we could not hear, although we tried hard to do
so. The Sergeant came over to us, looking rather disconcerted, so we
were able to guess the nature of the conversation.
We felt greatly encouraged and worked with renewed vigour. The stacks
vanished one by one. Time appeared to slip by with gathering speed. A
kind of common rhythm seemed to pervade our movements as we plodded to
and fro with mechanical regularity.
The officer went up to the stacks from which we were removing the
sleepers and made a mental calculation. "Only four hundred sleepers left
now, boys--that's five apiece or ten to each pair. You'll soon be
finished, and I've ordered lorries to take you home!"
His kindness did us good and we worked with a kind of grim
determination. My partner was coming to the end of his strength. His
knees were bent and from time to time he staggered, jerking the sleeper
so as to make me wince with pain. But he kept up obstinately. We counted
the sleepers as we received them--one, two, three and so on. This
occupied our minds and the time passed all the more quickly. Eight ...
nine ... ten! At last our work was done! "Thank God," said my partner
with deep conviction. We rested against one of the newly erected stacks,
but it was not long before Sergeant Hyndman came striding up and
addressed us angrily. He had evidently been snubbed by the officer and
was giving relief to his mortification by bullying us.
"What yer doin' there? Swingin' it on yer mates, are yer? Call yerselves
sportsmen, do yer? Get back an' bloody well do yer bit!"
"We've done our share--there were four hundred sleepers left, which
makes ten journeys for each pair. If it doesn't work out it's because
some of the others have been swinging the lead behind the stacks. We've
carried our ten and aren't going to do any more."
"Why d'yer let 'em swing it on yer? It's yer own bleed'n' fault! D'yer
think I'm goin' ter stand over yer all day? Some o' you blokes is as
'elpless as a lot o' kids--yer want a wet nurse to look arter yer!"
"That's what _you're_ there for, to look after us!"
"Don't bloody well tell me what I'm there for! I know me job an' don't
want no tellin'. Get stuck into it an' don't let me 'ave any o' yer
bloody lip, else yer'll be up fur orderly room--I shan't give yer
another warnin'!"
Seeing that argument was useless, we walked away and crossed the railway
lines. My partner growled: "I 'ope I meet 'im in civvy life--I'll give
'im somethin' ter think about--I've seen better things'n what 'e is
crorlin' about in cheese!"
There were fifty or sixty sleepers left. We dawdled on our way back,
hoping that there would be enough men in front of us to clear the lot.
The officer shouted: "Come along, my lads, sharp's the word and quick's
the action! You'll be finished in a few minutes."
The khaki-clad flock straggled forward. The remaining sleepers were
loaded on to our shoulders--my partner and I received the last one. As
we carried it off a cheer was raised by the other men.
At last the whistle blew and we fell in. The sky was still covered with
dark, heavy clouds, but the snow had ceased to fall and the wind had
dropped. We could see the dreary landscape a little better now. The
railway lines curved away until, in the far distance, they ran into a
ghostly procession of tall, slim poplars that filed across the dim
horizon and marked the passage of a main road. On one side of the lines
long rows of dark squares in the snow showed where the sleepers had lain
before we moved them. A brown stretch of churned and trodden mud and
water connected them with the new stacks that extended in four rows
along the other side of the lines. We had shifted five thousand eight
hundred sleepers in all. Around us were level, snow-covered fields
unrelieved by anything except an occasional tree and the farm. It
consisted of three buildings, a house and two big barns, forming three
sides of a square. The cottage had a low, thatched roof, dirty,
whitewashed walls, and green shutters. In the middle of the square was a
huge muck heap, covered with patches of melting snow. A pig was pushing
its snout into it here and there and grunting from time to time. There
was no other sign of life anywhere. A dreary, depressing landscape!
"Remember Belgium!" said one of the men in the ranks derisively.
"We won't forget it in a hurry!"
"Fritz can have it for all I care!"
"He's welcome to it--I don't want it, I want to get back to Blighty!"
We were called to attention. The promised lorries were waiting for
us--three lorries for eighty men. We marched towards them in file, but
as we got nearer to them, the men broke rank and everybody rushed wildly
to get in first so as to secure any available boxes or petrol-tins that
might serve as seats. A noisy, turbulent throng clustered round each
lorry. We scrambled in, pushing, hustling, and swearing. We were soon so
crowded together that there seemed to be no room for any more, but
nevertheless more men climbed up and forced an entrance. We formed a
compact mass and our picks and shovels were heaped on the floor in
everybody's way.
The lorries started with a lurch so that we all staggered backwards.
They raced along, and bumped, and swayed from side to side. The roof of
the lorry in which I stood was so low that I had to keep my head bent
forward all the time. The fumes from the exhaust made our eyes water and
smart.
We reached camp after about half an hour's ride. We jumped out and lined
up on the road. Sergeant Hyndman perceived the Commanding Officer
strolling about amongst the tents and said to us in an awe-stricken
voice:
"Smarten up a bit, for Christ's sake--there's the Captin walkin'
about--don't make no bloomers when yer dismissin' else yer'll get extra
shovel-drill an' get me into trouble in the bargin. Mind yer salute
prop'ly.... Party--Tshn! Inter File, Right Turn! Quick March!"
We wheeled into the camp holding our picks and shovels at the trail.
Our Commanding Officer stood still and watched us. As we passed him the
Sergeant yelled out with unaccustomed sharpness: "Eyes--Right!" We all
turned our heads smartly to the right and he saluted with strained,
affected precision. The Captain touched the peak of his cap in a
perfunctory manner. He hardly seemed to be looking at us at all, but
suddenly he spotted a man who was not holding his shovel perfectly
horizontally and thundered:
"Hold your shovel properly, that man there!"
The man was disconcerted for a moment but soon re-adjusted his shovel to
the satisfaction of his superior. The ground was so muddy and uneven
that it was sometimes impossible to keep the exact military formation.
Without having noticed it, I was a little more than the regulation
distance from the man in front of me.
"Close in there, you with the glasses," bawled the Captain in a
resentful voice, as though my transgression were intended as a personal
insult. But his anger was diverted by another man and he shouted with
gathering fury:
"That tall man over there--hold your pick properly. Not like that, damn
it ... hold it at the point of balance--no, no, no, not like that ...
here, Sergeant, take that man's name and number and give it to the
Corporal of the Police. He'll do half an hour's extra shovel-drill this
evening."
We halted. The Sergeant made a note of the offender's name and then said
to us in an awestruck whisper: "Now mind yer dismiss prop'ly for
Christ's sake!"
We faced to the front and on the command "Dismiss!" we all turned to the
right, raised our picks and shovels and transferred them from our right
hands to our left, touched the peaks of our caps with our right hands,
turning the palms outwards, paused a moment and then broke away.
"Fall in, fall in--very bad, very bad, absolutely disgraceful!" bawled
our infuriated C.O. "If you don't do it correctly this time, you'll get
an hour's extra drill every day for a week! Now dismiss them again,
Sergeant!"
The prospect of extra drill filled us with dismay. Sore shouldered,
stiff, and aching in every limb, oppressed and wearied in mind and body,
we only had one intense desire--to get away, to hide somewhere, to enjoy
at least a brief spell of warmth and comfort.
The Sergeant gave the command, and we dismissed a second time. We went
through the absurd performance with anxious punctiliousness, but three
men, either through fear, weariness or carelessness, made some slight
mistakes and their names were taken for extra drill.
As soon as the men were off the parade ground there was a wild stampede
in the direction of the cook-house.
The scramble became a mad hustle. The men raced along the duckboards or
splashed through the mud in a frantic attempt to get served first,
pulling their mess-tins and plates out of their haversacks as they ran.
It was growing dark and a few snowflakes were floating about in the air.
The sky was a murky leaden colour.
As I stood waiting in the dinner queue I had an imaginary fight with our
Commanding Officer. I knocked him down and gloated over him as he lay
sprawling in the mud with my hand savagely clutching his throat. Our
pent up feelings often found relief in vindictive dreams.
The queue stretched along the duckboards and in between the tents like a
dingy snake in the gathering gloom. It was rapidly growing in length as
more and more men came hurrying up.
But the front of the cook-house was still closed. The men grew impatient
and banged their plates and tins. There were shouts of "Get a move on."
Fretful, smouldering impatience increased until it flared up in anger.
"Get a bloody move on--we want somethin' ter eat after a 'ard day's
work!... _We've_ got a fine bloody lot o' cooks, keepin' us waitin' in
the bloody cold--get a move on, for Christ's sake!"
The shout was taken up all along the line--"Get a bloody move on"--and
tins and plates were banged until the uproar was deafening. It gradually
died down again, although curses and resentful remarks were still
frequent.
"'Tain't worth eatin' when yer do get it!"
"Bleed'n' stew, I s'pose, 'nough ter make yer go queer!"
"I wouldn't feed me dog on the stuff they give yer in the army--I
wouldn't 'ave the cheek ter orfer it to 'im."
"Come on ... put a jerk in it"--the cry was taken up again. There was
hooting and booing and banging of plates until pandemonium reigned once
more.
Suddenly the shutter in front of the cook-house was pushed up and one of
the cooks appeared in the opening. The booing changed into loud,
ironical cheers:
"What yer bin doin' all day? Swingin' the lead?"
A squeaky voice retorted: "I've bin up since four in the mornin' workin'
a bloody sight 'arder 'n what you 'ave. Yer never satisfied, yer
bleed'n' lot o'...." The rest was drowned in a storm of derisive shouts.
Then the men in the queue took up the argument again.
"Yer too slow--yer could'n catch the measles!"
"You come an' do my job an' see 'ow yer like it!"
"Do _your_ job! No bloody fear, why, 'tain't a man's job at all, it's
only old women what goes inter the cook-'ouse."
"Go on, get a move on--don't stand there talkin'!"
Another cook appeared. He dipped his ladle into a receptacle behind the
till and emptied into the first man's plate. The next man held out his
plate, and then the next. The cumbrous serpent moved forward inch by
inch while a counter movement began of men straggling back through the
slush, holding up tins or plates of steaming stew.
Two candles were burning inside my tent. The men were sitting on their
kits. The noisy manner in which they ate was irritating beyond measure.
After the meal I went over to the tent of a friend. He was sitting by a
flickering candle in moody silence. I asked him to come with me to the
village. He put on his great-coat and we walked along the duckboards on
to the road. It was intensely dark and we were conscious of the silent
fall of snow.
"What sort of a day did you have?" I asked.
"Undiluted misery. We marched to the quarry and when we got there we
found there was nothing to do, because the train hadn't turned up. So we
waited in the wind and snow, just walking up and down, stamping with our
feet and trying to get warm. Lieutenant Rowlatt was in charge of us. He
wouldn't let us leave the quarry or go into an estaminet. And he only
gave us half an hour for dinner. Of course he spent most of the time in
an estaminet himself, eating eggs and chips and flirting with the girl
... I couldn't keep warm and there was no shelter anywhere. It was like
doing an eight-hour guard."
All the windows in the streets of the village were shuttered, but the
light shone through cracks and chinks--a promise of warmth within that
cheered us a little.
We entered an estaminet. It was crowded. Soldiers were standing round
the walls waiting for vacant seats. We went to another place, but that
too was crowded. Indeed, they were all crowded. Nevertheless, it was
better to stand in the warmth than to walk about stiff-limbed in the
slush and falling snow. We went into the next estaminet we came to. We
entered the main room. An oil lamp was hanging from the ceiling. In the
middle there was a long table and soldiers were seated round it,
squeezed tightly together, eating eggs and chips and drinking wine or
coffee. We leaned up against the wall with a number of others and waited
our turn. The air was hot and moist and smelt of stale tobacco, burning
fat, and steaming clothes. There was a glowing stove at one end of the
room. It looked like a red-hot spherical urn on a low black pedestal. A
big bowl of liquid fat was seething on the fire. A woman with flaming
cheeks was throwing handfuls of sliced potatoes into it while she held a
saucepan in which a number of eggs were spluttering. The heat was
becoming intolerable and we edged away from the stove. We waited
patiently. More and more men came in until there was no standing room
left. The conversation was boisterous and vulgar, much of it at the
expense of the woman, who laughed frequently and pretended to feel
shocked and called the soldiers "Naughty boyss." A few men rose from the
table from time to time and at last our turn came, so that we were able
to sit down. We ordered eggs and chips and _vin blanc_, but had to wait
a long time before we got them. I rested my head on my hand and
struggled hard with sleep. At last the woman brought us the things we
had ordered and we ate and drank in silence. We would have been glad to
sit and doze in this warm place in spite of the smell and noise, but
when we had finished we felt obliged to get up and make room for others.
We stepped out into the darkness. The snow had turned into rain that
fell in a steady drizzle. I was so tired that I had no desire left
except to get back to my tent.
"I wonder how much longer this is going to last?" I said to my friend.
"I've given up hoping. The war's a deadlock that may continue for years.
All I look forward to now is the spring and the warm weather. And
perhaps we shall get leave some day."
"We've only been out here six weeks--we won't get leave for another
eight or nine months."
"It's something to think about and look forward to, anyhow."
We said good-night to each other and retired to our tents. Most of the
men were already in bed. They were smoking their cigarettes as they lay
stretched out on the floor. One of them was reading a newspaper by
candlelight. I wrapped myself up in my blankets and wedged myself
tightly in between my two neighbours. Although I was wearied out, I felt
compelled to glance at a paper. There might perhaps be some hint of
peace, some little glimmer of hope to go to sleep with and dream about.
I took up my copy of the _Times_ which I received irregularly. I began
to read the leading article but was so irritated by its unctuous
hypocrisy that I turned the page over and scanned the headlines.
Suddenly a big drop of water splashed on to it. I became aware of the
rain outside, swishing down upon the canvas, and, looking up, I saw a
glistening patch of moisture collect above my head. Another heavy drop
descended, I stretched out my arm and pushing my fist against the wet
patch drew it down the canvas as far as the brailing. But the moisture
continued to gather, and soon it was dripping in many places. My
kit-bag, standing upright next to me, was getting wet, so I placed the
_Times_ over it and let the water trickle off towards the ditch. Then a
man shouted from the other side of the tent:
"It's coming through like anything, my whole pillow's sopping wet."
It was more than he could bear. Each little discomfort taken separately
would have been altogether negligible. But when petty discomforts
accumulate there comes a time when one more, however small it be, has
the effect of a sudden infliction. He ground his teeth with fury at
those pattering drops of water, but the realization of impotence seemed
to descend upon him with such power that he lay back and closed his
eyes, a prey to violent mental agitation. Then he uttered a foul oath,
blew out his candle, pulled the blanket over his head and tried to go to
sleep. I heard one of the other men laugh and say good-humouredly, "'E's
gettin' on--'e'll soon be swearin' wi' the best of us."
The man referred to was rather refined and had resisted the habit of
swearing far longer than any of us. I was amused, and my own equanimity,
which had been on the verge of collapse, was restored by this incident.
I was conscious of irresistible weariness and called out with a yawn:
"Good night all," and the answer came "Good-night!" Then I heard someone
singing ironically: "When you come to the end of a perfect day." I began
to feel warm and was filled with a sense of intense comfort. I could
hear the water dripping on to my coat, but I had become indifferent to
it. My limbs were so tired that to rest them was an exquisite luxury.
And then sleep came with a sudden, overwhelming rush.
We felt refreshed and yet indolent when we heard the steps of the Police
Corporal splashing through the mud at half-past five the next morning.
He banged the tent and shouted: "Reveillé--breakfast at six, parade at
six-thirty." We enjoyed a few minutes in bed. I ran my fingers through
my hair and found that it was soaked. My pillow--a shirt stuffed with
spare clothing--was wet also, but the rain was no longer beating down on
the canvas. The air inside the tent was pervaded by a foul, acrid
stench. I threw the flap aside and looked out. The vast expanse of
steely blue was dotted with glittering stars and on the eastern horizon
it merged into a faint pallor. The air was deliciously fresh. We got up
one by one, yawning, groaning and grumbling, and dressed and went out to
wash.
As I stood in the breakfast queue I saw that the east was shot with a
delicate rose colour. The purity of the dawn seemed extraordinarily
beautiful compared with the sordid dinginess of the mud and khaki that
were always with us.
We paraded, but at first the parade did not seem so tedious as usual. I
was in the rearmost rank, standing next to a friend, Private Cowan, and
we were able to converse in whispers. He remarked that the morning was
like a "symphony in blue and gold." Even the glistening mud, usually so
hideous, was flecked with luminous patches. But my feet were becoming
numb and cold again. I felt that the pain they were giving me was about
to deprive me of all pleasure in the rising sun to which I had been
looking forward ever since reveillé. I fought against it, but it was
stronger than I. I became angry and trod the mud in order to get warm. I
gave up the attempt and waited impatiently for the end of the parade.
When the sun's rim cut the horizon and sent a shaft of light across the
land, it merely irritated me.
Three lorries arrived, our party was called out, we left the parade
ground and scrambled into them. They quickly bore us to the place where
we had worked the day before.
The sun was shining brightly. The long rows of stacked sleepers
stretched out before us. We wondered what our work would be. Someone
suggested we would have to restack the sleepers in their former places
and we did not consider the suggestion absurd.
Our Sergeant had gone to get instructions. He returned and told us a
mistake had been made the day before. We nearly groaned with
apprehension. He leered at us and did not, for a moment, say what the
mistake had been. Then he told us:
"It's all right, me lads. I was only pullin' yer legs a bit. Yer needn't
get the wind up, yer 'aven't got ter put 'em back. This is what 'as
'appened. Yer was supposed ter spend two days on the job an' yesterday
yer did two days' work in one. I see the officer about it an' 'e says
yer worked bloody fine an' says 'e won't 'ave yer workin' ter day
although there's plenty o' other things ter do. 'E says yer ter go back
ter camp an' 'ave a good rest. 'E ain't 'alf a toff, I tell yer."
This announcement was followed by loud cheers. We scrambled back into
the lorries. Everyone was jubilant at the prospect of having a holiday,
and there was shouting and singing as the lorries sped along. We reached
the camp and jumped out. We were dismayed at seeing our Commanding
Officer walking about and conversing with the Sergeant-Major.
As we marched into the camp the C.O. said to our Sergeant: "Where've
these men come from?" The Sergeant explained. "They've got the day off,
have they? Kit inspection at ten o'clock!"
Our hearts sank and several of the men muttered something between their
teeth. Our Sergeant, however, screwed up a little courage for once and
explained that we had worked exceptionally hard the day before and that
the officer in charge had promised us a holiday. The S.M. intervened in
the discussion and pleaded on our behalf. At last the C.O., after
walking up and down impatiently, said:
"Very well, we'll drop the inspection--they'll have to go to the baths
though!"
We were elated beyond measure and when we were dismissed we saluted with
all the smartness of which we were capable in order to please the
Captain, and walked off the parade ground in the strictest regulation
manner. Once they were off the parade ground the men rushed towards
their tents, hallooing like schoolboys.
The baths were not unwelcome, although to stand in a tub under a thin
drip of hot water in front of a broken window through which a cold gust
of wind came and whistled round our shoulders, was no pleasure. But the
ordeal was quickly over and before eleven o'clock in the morning most of
us were free to do as we pleased. The greater part of the day was still
before us and the morrow was a long way off.
There was much bustling and shouting and singing. It was easy to please
us for pleasure was such a rarity. I was scheming how to make the most
of this precious holiday. I decided to go for a solitary walk. I left
the camp and strolled up a hill from where I could get a fine view of
the surrounding country.
I gazed in an eastward direction. All the snow had melted, the fields,
the bare trees and hedges, were steeped in warm sunlight. In the
distance there was a gentle slope crowned by a long line of poplars.
Beyond the poplars, about eight miles away, there was something I did
not see, although I knew it was there--a stupid, terrible, and uncouth
monster that stretched in a zig-zag winding course from the North Sea to
the Alps. It was strangely silent at that hour, but I was fascinated by
it and thought about it harder and harder, in spite of myself. I became
increasingly conscious of it and it grew upon me until it darkened
everything and seemed to crush me beneath its intolerable weight.
If only the end would come! And, until it does come, give me hard work
so that my own thoughts cannot oppress me and I may forget all except
sore shoulders and aching limbs!