were a fair treat.
Next day, in warm and breezy weather, we moved to our battle-assembly position. For C Company “battle-assembly position” meant being broken up into ammunition-carrying parties, while Barton, Jenkins, and myself occupied an inglorious dugout in the support line. The Manchesters were due to relieve us at 9 a.m. , but there was still no sign of them at 10:30, so Barton, who was in a free and easy mood (caused by our immunity from tomorrow’s attack) led the company away and left New Trench to look after itself. I had made up my mind to have another cut at the wire, which I now regarded with personal enmity, enjoying at the same time a self-admiring belief that much depended on my efforts. Worgan stayed behind with me. Kendle was unwilling to be left out of the adventure, but two of us would be less conspicuous than three, and my feeling for Kendle was somewhat protective. It was queer to be in an empty front-line trench on a fine morning, with everything quite peaceful after a violent early bombardment. Queerer still to be creeping about in the long grass (which might well have been longer, I thought), and shearing savagely at the tangles which had bewildered us in the dark but were now at our mercy. As Worgan said, we were giving it a proper haircut this journey.