They came along the trench, about two hundred strong, engineers and infantry, men carrying rifles, spades, coils of barbed wire, wooden supports, &c. They were going out digging on a new sap and putting up fresh wire entanglements. This work, when finished, would bring our fire trench three hundred yards nearer the enemy. Needless to say, the Germans were engaged on similar work, and they were digging out towards our lines.
The working party came to a halt; and one of them sat down on the banquette at my feet, asked for a match and lit a cigarette.
"You're in the village at the rear?" I said.
"We're reserves there," he answered. "It's always working-parties; at night and at day. Sweeping gutters and picking papers and bits of stew from the street. Is it quiet here?"
"Very quiet," I answered. "We've only had five killed and nine wounded in six days. How is your regiment getting along?"
"Oh, not so bad," said the man; "some go west at times, but it's what one has to expect out here."
The working party were edging off, and some of the men were clambering over the parapet.
"Hi! Ginger!" someone said in a loud whisper, "Ginger Weeson; come along at once!"
The man on the banquette got to his feet, put out his cigarette and placed the fag-end in his cartridge pouch. He would smoke this when he returned, on the neutral ground between the lines a lighted cigarette would mean death to the smoker. I gave Ginger Weeson a leg over the parapet and handed him his spade when he got to the other side. My hour on sentry-go was now up and I went into my dug-out and was immediately asleep.
I was called again at one, three-quarters of an hour later.