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.