In which we discuss rations
Let me begin by stating for the record that I don't blame Cookie in the slightest. He's half a mile or more back from the line, and when we're up in the trenches and having to send lads back to pick up the food and carry it up to us there's not a great deal to be done for it; besides which, in the actual preparation, he is put at a loss by the scarcity of what's being sent up from Blighty in the first place. With as many men as we've got along all these lines of battle in the first place, I suppose it's something of a sort of minor miracle that we're being fed at all; so no, I do not blame Cookie in the slightest. He does his best with what he's got.
Still, I can't say I enjoy it. The bread's always stale by the time it reaches us; the soup is always cold. As an officer I have the right and ability to be better-fed than the rest, but I always feel sort of guilty when I dine in the regimental officers' mess, besides which, going to dinner outside of my own company requires all that saluting nonsense, and so I usually dine here with my lads. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot nine days old - that's our regular ration here, although there's a bit of tinned beef and some parsnips and turnips and nettles and things in with the peas, and generally the dry biscuit gets tossed in besides as it is otherwise inedible to any but the iron-jawed.
I sent off for a Primus stove early on in my deployment, and got it delivered; this at least enables us to have the soup heated, although it delays mess a bit as each section has to have their bucket of food heated separately upon the little old thing; it also allows for the brewing of hot water for tea or coffee or shaving, as necessary. When we get a real to-do on, like that big mess of just-add-water cocoa the Red Cross sent us as part of the "Congratulations, You've Survived Until Autumn" kit, we build a bonfire and to Hell with the Jerries. No other way to get the water hot for the chocolate in any reasonable amount of time, you know, and it meant we all got to heat up our soup at the same time and dine together like a large and unruly family. Great cheer was to be had that evening, and not a one of us got sniped from across No Man's Land despite the glow.
Getting back into town every few weeks is one of the most pleasant things in the world; it allows for drinking, amusement, and - best of all - hot food served at the café. The better part of the local supplies have been bought up by the catering staff, of course, and sent out in greatly-reduced quality in dixies to us each day; but there's still wine and cheese and good French bread, and as the bread's not stale and the cheese not hard, it's something like ambrosia to the war-weary stomach. These small things we take comfort in, and let the soul rejoice.
When we get the little packets in, with our tins of bully beef and our cigarettes and our squares of chocolate, then comes the true rejoicing; I don't get to partake of those, of course, as they're for the lads, but I get my cigarettes all the same and can take heart in their enjoyment of the offerings of Mssrs. Cadbury and, well, whoever runs Bovril - would that be a chap actually named Bovril? It seems hardly likely, but really one never knows. At any rate, the joy amongst the lads when we get those in more than makes up for my own lack of sweets; never had much of a tooth for chocolate to begin with, so I don't feel neglected or anything.
I don't believe I shall ever complain about the cooking at home again, by the by.
Still, I can't say I enjoy it. The bread's always stale by the time it reaches us; the soup is always cold. As an officer I have the right and ability to be better-fed than the rest, but I always feel sort of guilty when I dine in the regimental officers' mess, besides which, going to dinner outside of my own company requires all that saluting nonsense, and so I usually dine here with my lads. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot nine days old - that's our regular ration here, although there's a bit of tinned beef and some parsnips and turnips and nettles and things in with the peas, and generally the dry biscuit gets tossed in besides as it is otherwise inedible to any but the iron-jawed.
I sent off for a Primus stove early on in my deployment, and got it delivered; this at least enables us to have the soup heated, although it delays mess a bit as each section has to have their bucket of food heated separately upon the little old thing; it also allows for the brewing of hot water for tea or coffee or shaving, as necessary. When we get a real to-do on, like that big mess of just-add-water cocoa the Red Cross sent us as part of the "Congratulations, You've Survived Until Autumn" kit, we build a bonfire and to Hell with the Jerries. No other way to get the water hot for the chocolate in any reasonable amount of time, you know, and it meant we all got to heat up our soup at the same time and dine together like a large and unruly family. Great cheer was to be had that evening, and not a one of us got sniped from across No Man's Land despite the glow.
Getting back into town every few weeks is one of the most pleasant things in the world; it allows for drinking, amusement, and - best of all - hot food served at the café. The better part of the local supplies have been bought up by the catering staff, of course, and sent out in greatly-reduced quality in dixies to us each day; but there's still wine and cheese and good French bread, and as the bread's not stale and the cheese not hard, it's something like ambrosia to the war-weary stomach. These small things we take comfort in, and let the soul rejoice.
When we get the little packets in, with our tins of bully beef and our cigarettes and our squares of chocolate, then comes the true rejoicing; I don't get to partake of those, of course, as they're for the lads, but I get my cigarettes all the same and can take heart in their enjoyment of the offerings of Mssrs. Cadbury and, well, whoever runs Bovril - would that be a chap actually named Bovril? It seems hardly likely, but really one never knows. At any rate, the joy amongst the lads when we get those in more than makes up for my own lack of sweets; never had much of a tooth for chocolate to begin with, so I don't feel neglected or anything.
I don't believe I shall ever complain about the cooking at home again, by the by.