The panes of the farmhouse window made excellent shaving
mirrors and, incidentally, I may mention that rifle-slings generally
serve the purpose of razor strops. Breakfast followed toilet; most of
the men bought _cafe-au-lait_, at a penny a basin, and home-made
bread, buttered lavishly, at a penny a slice. A similar repast would
cost sixpence in London.
Parade then followed. In England we had cherished the illusion that
life abroad would be an easy business, merely consisting of firing
practices in the trenches, followed by intervals of idleness in
rest-camps, where cigarettes could be obtained for the asking, and
tots of rum would be served out _ad infinitum_. This rum would have a
certain charm of its own, make everybody merry, and banish all
discomforts due to frost and cold for ever. Thus the men thought,
though most of our fellows are teetotallers. We get rum now, few (p. 035)
drink it; we are sated with cigarettes, and smoke them as if in duty
bound; the stolen delight of the last "fag-end" is a dream of the
past. Parades are endless, we have never worked so hard since we
joined the army; the minor offences of the cathedral city are full-grown
crimes under long artillery range; a dirty rifle was only a matter for
words of censure a month ago, a dirty rifle now will cause its owner
to meditate in the guard-room.
Dinner consists of bully beef and biscuits; now and again we fry the
bully beef on the farmhouse stove, and when cash is plentiful cook an
egg with it.
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