Combed Out by Fritz August Voigt


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Page 13

"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:

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Tue 13th Jan 2026, 16:43