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.