No large fires are permitted:
the smoke would give too good a ranging-mark to Minnie and her
relatives. Still, it is surprising how quickly you can boil a
canteen over a few chips. There is also, for those who can afford
half-a-crown, that invaluable contrivance, "Tommy's Cooker"; and
occasionally we get a ration of coke. When times are bad, we live on
bully, biscuit, cheese, and water, strongly impregnated with chloride
of lime. The water is conveyed to us in petrol-tins--the old familiar
friends, Shell and Pratt--hundreds of them. Motorists at home must be
feeling the shortage. In normal times we can reckon on plenty of hot,
strong tea; possibly some bread; probably an allowance of bacon and
jam. And sometimes, when the ration parties arrive, mud-stained and
weary, in the dead of night, and throw down their bursting sacks, our
eyes feast upon such revelations as tinned butter, condensed milk,
raisins, and a consignment of that great chieftain of the ration race,
The Maconochie of Maconochie. On these occasions Private Mucklewame
collects his share, retires to his kennel, and has a gala-day.
Thirdly, the blessings of literature. Our letters arrive at night,
with the rations. The mail of our battalion alone amounts to eight or
ten mail-bags a day; from which you may gather some faint idea of the
labours of our Field Post Offices. There are letters, and parcels, and
newspapers.
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