Combed Out | Page 7

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