Chapter 2

I began to dress. I picked up my towel and soap and loosened the flap once again. I felt I had to go out and wash, for I had not washed at all on the previous day, fearing the dirty, freezing water and the piercing wind. I longed to remain in the warm tent, and for a moment I wavered. Then, with an effort of the will I suppressed the strong temptation, and squeezing through the tent-opening, I stepped out into the oozy mud. The black night seemed to weigh heavily on the world. Only here and there dull glimmering blurs showed that candles were burning in the other tents.

An icy wind was blowing round me. I was in my shirt sleeves and regretted not having thrown my great-coat over my shoulders. The cold made me contract my muscles and draw my breath in sharply between my teeth. I felt the snowflakes beat gently against my face. I folded my arms across my chest and found a little protection from the gusts that seemed to pierce me. My left foot had sunk deeply into the slush. I pawed the mud with my right in order to find the duckboard. I touched the edge and stepped firmly upon it. With an effort I dragged the other foot from the slush. It came out with a loud, sucking squelch, but I felt it was leaving my boot behind. I let it sink back again and then freed it with a twist of the ankle.

I could not see the duckboard in the dense gloom. I walked along it carefully, feeling the edge from time to time. I heard a rapid step behind me--another man was going to wash; he must have grown accustomed to the darkness, for he walked along without hesitation. He slowed down as he approached me. I tried to go faster, but trod on the extreme edge of the boards. I had to stop for a moment and the man behind me became impatient and shouted:

"Get a bloody move on, for Christ's sake. It's too cold to wait out here in this weather."

I stood aside to let him pass. He brushed roughly by, nearly pushing me over. I uttered a curse and stepped back with one foot--it sank deeply into the mud. I bent sharply forward to draw it out again, there was the beginning of a squelch and then it suddenly slid out of the boot. I ground my teeth and took a box from my pocket and struck a match, although my numb fingers could hardly hold it. There was a splutter and for a moment I saw a whirl of white snowflakes, a patch of glistening mud, and a deep, funnel-shaped hole with my boot at the bottom of it. The match went out, but I judged the direction accurately and pulled my boot out of the ooze. I forced my frozen foot into it and plodded on through the darkness.

The duckboards came to an end although the ablution benches were another seventy or eighty yards away. Our Commanding Officer was a keen sportsman and he had stopped the laying of duckboards so that all energy could be devoted to the construction of a boxing-ring.

My feet were so cold that the pain was almost unbearable. I was strongly tempted to turn back, but having got so far, I resolved to go on. My teeth began to chatter. The man who had passed by me had already reached the ablution shed and I could see a faint gleam from his candle in the distance, so that I did not fear to lose my way.

I reached the shed and saw him standing with bared chest and shoulders, gasping and shivering. I picked up a zinc basin and once more stepped into the outer gloom. The well was only a few yards off--I could just distinguish its black mouth. I placed my basin on the edge. I grasped the cold, wet rope and lowered the bucket into the depth. I drew it up again and emptied it into my basin--the bits of ice floating in the water knocked sharply against the zinc.

I carried the basin back and placed it on the bench. My fingers were so cold that it nearly slipped from them. I plunged my hands into the water and quickly splashed face, chest and shoulders. The water was a dirty grey colour and full of sand and grit. I rubbed myself with my towel and began to glow. I emptied the basin and left the shed, glad to think that this one unpleasant duty had been performed. My face was burning.

It was still snowing and the wind was blowing hard. I trudged through the mud and soon felt frozen through and through again. Several dark figures went by on their way to the shed. I could now just distinguish the duckboards and I quickly reached my tent. I lifted the flap and stepped in. Some of the mud, with which my boots were smothered up to the tops, splashed on to the blankets belonging to a man who lay near the entrance. He growled incoherently at me. Most of the other men were up.

I finished dressing and put on my great-coat. I picked up my tin plate and mug and went out into the darkness once again. I was afraid I might have to stand in a long queue outside the cook-house, but fortunately only a few men were waiting before me. I joined them and we marked time at the double in a vain attempt at stilling the intolerable pain in our frozen feet.

About ten minutes passed and then the front of the cook-house was thrown open. A light appeared and a voice shouted: "Breakfast up!" We raised a feeble cheer and filed past while one of the cooks poured tea into our mugs and placed a fragile wisp of bacon on to each plate.

I balanced my mug in one hand, fearing to spill the tea, and the plate in the other, fearing that the wind might blow away the thin bacon fragment. The snow fell into the mug and dissolved in the rapidly cooling tea. It settled on the bacon which had grown quite cold.

I stepped into my tent and sat down on my ---- I cut off a piece from the previous day's bread ration--it had been nibbled by mice overnight and was soiled and dusty. Other men arrived, one by one. We ate our meal in silence. It was usually so--either the conversation was violent and rowdy or nothing was said at all.

We wiped our plates on an old sock or a rag or a piece of newspaper and packed them into our haversacks together with our mugs and rations for the day--a chunk of bread and a dirty piece of cheese. I tied up my boots--the laces were covered with liquid clay--and put on my puttees which were hard and stiff with caked mud. It was a quarter-past five and I lay down at full length, glad to have a few minutes to myself. But the pain in my feet became intolerable--I jumped up and stamped the floor of the tent, grinding my teeth with mortification.

Several of the men had not come in yet with their breakfasts. We could tell by the banging of mess-tins, mugs and plates, and by the angry shouts of "Get a move on," that a long queue was still waiting in front of the cook-house.

Suddenly the tent-flap bulged inwards and two hands, the one holding a full mug and the other a plate, forced their way through. They were followed by a head and shoulders. Thereupon the man tried to step in, but he tripped over the brailing underneath the flap, and plunged forward, spilling the greater part of his tea. He uttered a savage, snarling oath, walked over to his place and sat down, growling and cursing under his breath.

Another man followed. As he pushed his way through the entrance the shoulder-strap of his tunic caught one of the hooks on the flap and his progress was sharply arrested. He held out his mug and plate helplessly, but no one moved to assist him.

"Take these bloody things orf me, can't yer!" he shouted with furious resentment. Someone jumped up and took the mug and plate, while the newcomer freed himself from the hook.

It was five-and-twenty past five when the last of us came in with his breakfast. But before he could reach his place there was a loud blast of a whistle, and a distant voice shouted, "On Parade!"

The irritation that had been accumulating since reveillé burst out.

"Why can't they let yer finish yer breakfast--'tain't 'alf-past yet, not be a long way!"

"They treat yer like pigs!"

"We're a bloody lot o' fools ter stand it--that's the worst o' this mob though, yer'll never get 'em ter stick together an' do anythink."

"I bet the C.O.'s enjoyin' 'isself...." A stream of filthy language followed--abuse of the Commanding Officer, abuse of the army, abuse of the war, and abuse of the Government. The man could find no other way of expressing himself with adequate force and crudity. At times he became incoherent.

He was not grumbling at the little hardships and discomforts of this particular morning. He was grumbling at an entire life of discomfort. He was rebelling against his degrading slavery and enforced misery, and it was the harrowing consciousness of his own impotence that added such bitterness to his anger.

Not one of us left the tent. There was a second blast of the whistle, louder and more prolonged than the first, followed by an angrier "On Parade!"

We stepped out into the cold air one by one and splashed and plodded through the slush in surly reluctant fashion. The day had just begun to dawn, and in the grey twilight I could perceive innumerable dingy figures moving slowly towards the parade ground amid the falling snow.

A long double line of men had already formed up. The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle a third time and shouted "On Parade--get a bloody move on!"

Masses of men came straggling up and the line grew longer and longer. Another double line was formed behind it, and then a third and fourth.

Nearly everybody was on parade, only a few here and there were coming over from the tents. The Sergeant-Major observed them and shouted to the Corporal of the Police: "Corporal, take those men's names--have 'em up for orderly room this evening." Then he turned to us. "If you can't turn out a bit smarter, I'll have you on parade ten minutes earlier--this is the last warning yer'll get."

The Police Corporal was standing over by the tent-lines, entering the names of the stragglers in his notebook. I could see a solitary figure issue furtively from a tent and slink round the bottom of the parade ground in order to join us from behind and escape observation. I wished him success and followed his movements with interest. But just as he was darting into the ranks, one of our Sergeants caught sight of him and said to the Sergeant-Major: "There's a man what's just fell in over there, sir."

The Sergeant-Major shouted "Come here!" in peremptory tones, but the man pretended he had not heard and remained in the ranks.

"Come here, damn you!"

This second order frightened him, he slunk out of the line, crossed over to the Sergeant-Major and stood to attention before him.

"What's the matter with you, are you deaf? Why aren't you on parade in time? D'you want to sleep all day?"

"I thought--er--parade was at--was at half-past--and--and--I couldn't find my puttees...."

"Who the hell d'you think yer talkin' to--_Sir_ to me, d'you hear!"

"Yes, sir ... I couldn't help it, sir ... I couldn't find...."

"Take this man's name and number, Corporal. We'll have him up for Orderly Room to-night.... Fall in and look sharp, damn you, keeping us all waiting like this."

It was still snowing hard. Our caps and shoulders were covered with a white layer. The parade ground was a big stretch of well-trodden mud and slush. We sank into it up to our ankles. Our feet were torturing us, but only a few men in the rear ranks ventured to stamp the ground a little. The wet had penetrated our boots several weeks before and they had never been dry since.

The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle and shouted: "Listen to the Orders." He held a bundle of papers in his hand and read with the help of a torch:

"Every man must shave once in twenty-four hours. Buttons" (he pronounced it "boottons," for he came from the North Country), "cap-badges and numerals must be cleaned thoroughly once a day. Box-respirators and steel helmets will always be carried. Except when it is raining, great-coats or waterproofs will not be worn when men are working. Men are forbidden to smoke while at work.

"It is observed that discipline is becoming very slack indeed throughout the Coomp'ny. It is especially noticed in marching, taking up dressin', etc. The men ... app ... the men apparently ... do not realize that when marching at all times each section of fours must keep their dressing and cover off correctly and keep the step and when at attention there must be no talking and the order to stand at ease is a drill-movement and the heads and bodies must be kept still. Unless there is an improvement in future the Coomp'ny will parade each evening at 5.30 and on Sunday afternoon for extra drill.

"Men must not clean their boots on the refuse tins, otherwise the tins, which are of thin material only get--er--demol--demolished. Mud from boots must not be put into tins.

"Pigs in camp are army property and will eventually be consumed by this Coomp'ny. It is therefore not only--er--reprehensible, but also against their own interest if men tease these pigs and pull them about by tails and ears or feed them with unsuitable food. Offenders will be severely dealt with."

We had been on parade for nearly half an hour. The torture of freezing toes was so acute that even men in the front ranks were trying to get warm by treading the mud or sharply raising and lowering their heels. The Sergeant-Major suddenly observed them, blew his whistle and shouted angrily: "Stand still there ---- ---- d'you hear? Stand still there. Can't yer understand English, damn yer?" We were convinced that we would hear the blast of his whistle and his angry shout in our nightmares to the end of our days.

He was in reality quite a kind-hearted man, but he was bullied by his superiors just as we were bullied by ours. He was bullied into being a bully. And his superiors were bullied by their superiors. The army is ruled by fear--and it is this constant fear that brutalizes men not naturally brutal.

The Sergeant-Major began to call out the fatigue parties. We felt relieved and thought that at last we would begin to move and get warm.

"Fall out Sergeant Waley's party!"

A score of men splashed across the mud and lined up under Sergeant Waley.

"Fall out Sergeant Hemingway's party!"

Forty or fifty men lined up. It was Sergeant Hemingway whose sense of duty had prompted him to report the man whom he saw slinking into the ranks after we were all assembled on parade.

Then the proceedings were interrupted. One of our officers, wearing top boots and a fur-lined overcoat with a big fur collar, emerged from the half darkness and the whirl of snowflakes and walked up to the Sergeant-Major, who stood to attention and saluted. The officer returned the salute and the two talked together for several minutes.

A man in the front rank not far from me muttered in an agonized voice: "Gorblimy, get a bloody move on--I'm perishin' wi' cold." Another added: "They don't say nothin' when _'e_ comes late on parade--'e wouldn't mind if we was kept 'ere all day--oo, me feet, they're absolutely froze."

The Sergeant-Major swung round sharply and bawled out: "Stop that talking there--you're stood to attention!" Then he went on talking to the officer. At length the conversation came to an end. Salutes were exchanged once more and the officer walked over towards a house on the far side of the road that ran alongside the camp. As he opened the front door a warm glow shone out into the gloomy morning. Then the door closed, like the gates that close on paradise, and there was nothing left to relieve the dismal dreariness of our dingy world.

"Sergeant Fuller's party!"

Another set of men fell out. I did not really belong to them, but I joined them because I noticed that one of my friends was of their number, while all the men of my own party were strangers to me. I hoped that I would not be detected.

Sergeant Fuller counted his men. There was one less than the required number and I felt encouraged, for there could now be no objection to my presence. The Sergeant asked: "Where's Private Hartley?" and someone answered, "Gone sick, Sergeant." Suddenly he perceived me and asked:

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come instead of Private Hartley, Sergeant," I replied, hoping that the feeble lie would pass.

"Who gave you permission?"

"Er--I--Hartley said I could take his place."

"Who's Hartley? Is he God Almighty? Get back to your own party!"

I did not move.

"D'you hear--get back at once!"

"It's only for to-day, Sergeant--I want to work with my mate. Hartley'll take my place again to-morrow. Besides, you'll be two men short without me."

"Get back, will you, and do as you're told."

I did not move.

"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!