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but in spite of having carried a 1lb. tin of compressed beef and a few biscuits about with them for several days they are all
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No one seems any the worse, and I feel all the fitter, writes an officer of a Highland Regiment,
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You can't expect a blooming Ritz Hotel in the firing line, is how a jocular Cockney puts it. An artilleryman says they would fare sumptuously if it weren't for the German shells at meal times:
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Lieutenant Jardine, a son of Sir John Jardine, M.P., relates this same incident. Gunner Prince, R.F.A., has a little joke about the sleeping quarters:
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Just going to bed. Did I say bed? I mean under the gun with an overcoat for a blanket. There is no sort of grumbling at all. As Lieutenant Stringer, of the 5th Lancers, expresses it, the A.S.C.
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A small party of our cavalry were out on reconnaissance work, scouring woods and searching the countryside. Just about dusk a hail of bullets came upon our party from a small spinney of fir trees on the side of a hill. We instantly wheeled off as if we were retreating, but, in fact, we merely pretended to retire and galloped round across plowed land to the other side of the spinney, fired on the men, and they mounted their horses and flew like lightning out of their 'supper room.' They left a finely cooked repast of beef-steaks, onions and fried potatoes all ready and done to a turn, with about fifty bottles of Pilsner lager beer, which was an acceptable relish to our meal. Ten of our men gave chase and returned for an excellent feed.
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The luxury of a bath was indulged in by a company of Berkshires at one encampment. Forty wine barrels nearly full of water were discovered here, and the thirsty men were about to drink it when their officer stopped them.
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Well, said one,
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and with one accord they stripped and jumped into the barrels! Nothing has been more notable than Tommy's desire for cleanliness and tidiness. It is something fine and healthy about the British soldier. One wounded man, driven up to a hospital, limped with difficulty to a barber's shop for a shave before he would enter the building.
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I couldn't face the doctors and nurses looking like I was,
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We can't get a decent smoke here, says one writer. An army airman
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From a cavalryman comes the appeal that a few boxes of cigarettes and some thick chocolate would be luxuries.
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Just fancy, to quote from another letter,
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Spoilt darlings, one Scottish nurse in Paris says about them,
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They are so happy and cheerful, so grateful for every little service, so eager to return to the firing line in order to
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We've promised to be home by Christmas, they say,
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Non-stop run to Berlin --the facetious notice he printed in chalk on the troop trains at Boulogne as, singing
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It's a long way to Tipperary,