It was airy, not intentionally so, but on a hot day it was ideal, with its view down over the Somme.

Bully-beef pie, cheese and beer--if one could only have had French coffee instead of that terrible black mixture imported from England, things would have been more perfectly complete.
About August, a burial party worked round Thiepval.

Lieutenant Clark was in charge of it, a sturdy little Scot.

During the month or so they worked there, they dug up, identified and re-buried thousands of bodies.

Some could not be identified, and what was found on these in the way of money, knives, etc., was considered fair spoil for the burial party.
Often, coming down Thiepval Hill in the evening, everything golden in the sunlight, one would come across a little group of men, sitting by the side of the battered Hill Road, counting out and dividing the spoils of the day.