The air was cold and keen. The men covered their chins with the collars of their khaki coats, lit their cigarettes and leant against the parapet. They dozed for a moment and then woke guiltily with a start. Nobody had noticed them, they dozed again.... The east flushed crimson, the German trench to the left showed dark against the glow and stood out distinctly. A sniper's bullet ripped a sandbag and a shower of fine white dust dropped into the trench. No one paid any heed.... The birds were out hopping from prop to prop of the barbed wire entanglements. A lark soared into air pouring out an ecstatic song.... The dead men on the levels could now be seen lying close to the earth in limp and ghastly attitudes, the birds singing above them.... The sun was up; a million dewdrops sparkled in a glorious jewelled disarray on the wires.... The field had taken on a greener hue and in many places the daisies peeped timidly up from the soft grasses.... A white mist circled round the spinney and the gashes in the trees became more distinct. Looking southwards down on to the level lands one could see the Double Crassier tailing out on one side to the village of Loos and on the other side to the mining hamlet of Maroc.... Away down on the left, twelve kilometres away, lay Lens with its many chimneys, and a number of the chimneys smoking. The enemy were probably working the mines. The terra-cotta houses stood out very distinct and seemed nearer to us than they really were. The air was very clear and a perfect flood of brilliant sunshine lit the town, the enemy's trench and the dead men lying out on the field. The order to stand down had long since been given and the men were now busy preparing their breakfasts. Braziers were alight in the dug-outs and the red glow of flaming coke stood out in vivid contrast to the dark interiors. Little wreaths of pale smoke curled up over the trench and the air was full of the odour of frying bacon. Spudhole was frying his bread in the grease and to judge by the expression on his face he was very interested in his work. Nothing else seemed to trouble him. The sniper's bullet hit the sandbag again and a spurt of chalk was whisked into the frying-pan. The youth looked up, obviously annoyed, and swore whole-heartedly; then he bent to his work again. Breakfast ready, Bubb, Bowdy and Flanagan sat on the fire-step and ate. "I've an appetite like the war Casualty List," said Flanagan. "It's always crying for 'More! More!' and is never satisfied. It's almost as bad as Bubb when he came back from hospital." "I'd ravver be 'ere than in the 'orsp," said Bubb. "This breakfast is not to be larfed at."