Eckleton rations. He returned with a cargo of bread (obtained from the
quartermaster), and, later, with a great tin of meat, which the
cook-house had supplied, and felt that this was life. Hitherto
breakfast had been to him a thing of white cloths, tables, and food
that appeared from nowhere. This was the first time he had ever
tracked his food to its source, so to speak, and brought it back with
him. After breakfast, when he was informed that, as tent-orderly for
the day, it was his business to wash up, he began to feel as if he
were on a desert island. He had never quite realised before what
washing-up implied, and he was conscious of a feeling of respect for
the servants at Blackburn's, who did it every day as a matter of
course, without complaint. He had had no idea before this of the
intense stickiness of a jammy plate.

One day at camp is much like another. The schools opened the day with
parade drill at about eight o'clock, and, after an instruction series
of "changing direction half-left in column of double companies", and
other pleasant movements of a similar nature, adjourned for lunch.
Lunch was much like breakfast, except that the supply of jam was cut
off. The people who arrange these things--probably the War Office, or
Mr Brodrick, or someone--have come to the conclusion that two pots of
jam per tent are sufficient for breakfast and lunch. The unwary devour
theirs recklessly at the earlier meal, and have to go jamless until
tea at six o'clock, when another pot is served out.

The afternoon at camp is perfect or otherwise, according to whether
there is a four o'clock field-day or not. If there is, there are more
manoeuvrings until tea-time, and the time is spent profitably, but not
so pleasantly as it might be. If there is no field-day, you can take
your time about your bathe in Cove Reservoir. And a really