Aligned in glistening beads of sweat along an open oven the men pause briefly to look up at people like me – those from a halcyon world. They are on the basement floor of a twin-storey ramshackle lit up by fire from gigantic wood-fired furnaces with little passageways that opened at ground level for ventilation. They seemed amused, some almost smiled, at my effort – I was bending over and peering hard at their world. It was also the freshly baked bread – the waft of which was driving me