The “mess-room” was a well-protected dug-out which had been fitted up in somewhat similar fashion to a settler’s hut in the Far West; it was quite snug, in fact, and we were a merry party crowded round the table that occupied nearly the whole of the interior, in spite of the continuous booming of the guns and the screech of the shells overhead.
I had quite expected to get the roughest of meals in the circumstances; imagine, therefore, my surprise when we started with a fine macaroni soup; this was followed by beef steaks and fried potatoes; then came a jam omelette, and we finished up with cheese and fruit, the whole being washed down with excellent Verona wine. Black coffee was then brought in, and one of our hosts produced a bottle of cognac and a box of cigars.
You could not have wished for a more delightful meal: it made one feel that even life in an entrenchment 8,000 feet up has its compensations at times.
Of course it would not do to infer that in all positions the officers were able to indulge in so sumptuous a “pot luck” repast, but I gathered that whenever it is possible a mess is formed, a cook found from amongst the men, and meals served comfortably.
Before us stretched the broad valley of the Adige ([see page 101])
To face page 124
In outlying positions, where frequently everything is, so to speak, stagnant for weeks at a time, this messing arrangement goes a long way towards relieving the inevitable monotony and weariness of trench life and the strain on the nerves caused by the constant vigil.
After lunch we went out for a stroll round the position, passing on our way an improvised bowling alley, where a crowd of soldiers off duty were interestedly watching a match in progress. Had it not been for the sand-bag breastworks around us and the incessant noise of the guns, it would have been hard to realise that we were in one of the most exposed positions on this Front, and were actually under fire the whole time. That one can get accustomed to anything was exemplified here, as the officers and men were quite unperturbed by what was to them merely a daily contingency.
There was no heavy artillery on the Pal Grande when we were there; only a few machine guns, as the place was for the moment but an entrenched outpost, which had to be constantly on the alert against a surprise attack from the enemy’s lines below.