|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 6
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.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|