“Jambon!”
We sleep fourteen in a tent, which is a bit crowded, but we are not in it long enough to notice it. Fourteen of us washed in two quarts of water this morning! So we have plenty of ink, and some of us haven’t changed our clothes for five or six weeks. We have two rather queer pets here: two little pigs, who run about among the horses, and are quite friendly with them, and eat their corn as well. As one of the fellows said, pork (or, as the French call it, jambon) tastes very nice boiled, so they may be, before very long, in the casualty list as missing or prisoners of war: Lance-Corpl. Forward, Army Service Corps.
[XX. SUMMING IT UP]
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake: the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.
Wordsworth’s “It is not to be thought of.”
Drink! to our fathers who begot us men,
To the dead voices that are never dumb;
Then to the land of all our loves, and then
To the long parting, and the age to come.
Henry Newbolt’s “Sacramentum Supremum.”
Now we have our nose in the right direction, but it’s stiff work and slow, and a case of dog eat dog, the meat being tough on either side: Sergt. Surr, East Lancashires.