Part 7

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: