Their spades were speared upright into the mound of fresh earth.

Behind them a stenciling of poplars rose against the sky line.
We saw the bodies lifted out of the wagon.

We saw them slide into the shallow grave, and saw the two diggers start at their task of filling in the hole.
Not until then did it occur to any one of us that we had not spoken to the men in charge of the wagon, or they to us.

There was one detached house, not badly battered, alongside the road at the lower edge of the field where the burial took place.

It had a shield on its front wall bearing the Belgian arms and words to denote that it was a customs house.
A glance at our map showed us that at this point the French boundary came up in a V-shaped point almost to the road.