The quality was good, and there was plenty of it. Personally, the Subaltern never succeeded in getting on very good terms with the "bully beef." He decided that it was "a bit too strong" for him; but the others devoured large quantities, and seemed all the better for it.
The jam, at that time, and in that particular sector of the line, was good and, moreover, varied. The Subaltern does not ever remember suffering from the now notorious "plum and apple." There was even marmalade.
He openly delighted in the biscuits, and would go about his work all day munching them. The bacon, too, as some one said, was "better than what we have in the Mess, sometimes." None of them posed as connoisseurs of rum, but a Sergeant, who looked as if he knew what he was talking about, praised it heartily; and, taken in hot tea, it banished all sorts of cares....
Tea (without rum) and bacon, to be followed by ration bread and marmalade (if possible) was the staple fare at breakfast. They would sit around the fire and smoke—there was a tobacco allowance included in the rations. The Subaltern, however, had lost his pipe, and attempts at cigarette rolling were not particularly successful.
Every other day there used to be a mail, and with it, generally, papers from home. This was the first definite news they had had from "home" since leaving in mid-August. There was an enthralling interest in seeing how the people at home "were taking things."
To be perfectly candid, before the war, the Army had placed very little reliance upon the patriotism or integrity of the country. The Army was a thing apart—detached from the swirl of conflicting ideas, and the eddies of political strife. The Army was, so to speak, on the bank, and it looked with stern disapproval at the river sweeping so swiftly by. It neither understood the forces that were hurrying the waters along, nor did it realise the goal that they were striving to reach. Perhaps it did not take the trouble, perhaps it could not.
Then, when the war clouds began to blacken the horizon, the Army, having so little sympathy with the vast and complex civilisation which it was to defend, felt convinced that the national feelings and political sense of the nation would be slumbering so soundly that no call of honour could awaken it to the realisation of either its duty or its danger. But the horse which all the expert trainers had dismissed as a "non-starter" for the next great race, suddenly gathered his haunches under him, and shot out on the long track to victory. The Army, with the rest of the world, realised that, after all, the heart of the nation was in the right place. Nevertheless, the tremendous wave of patriotism that had swept so splendidly over Britain caused, at first, not a little suspense.
"Good Heavens! he's asking for a million men," gasped the Subaltern.
"Well, if he doesn't get them, this Company will go over and fight for Germany," said the Captain. "The country isn't worth fighting for if it can't raise a million men."
"The Government seem to be doing jolly well," some one volunteered.