informed that "Breakfast was served."

It didn't take long for the Tommies to answer this call. Half dressed,
they lined up with their canteens and I dished out the tea. Each Tommy
carried in his hand a thick slice of bread which had been issued with
the rations the night before. Then I had the pleasure of seeing them
dig into the bacon with their dirty fingers. The allowance was one
slice per man. The late ones received very small slices. As each Tommy
got his share, he immediately disappeared into the billet. Pretty soon
about fifteen of them made a rush to the cookhouse, each carrying a
huge slice of bread. These slices they dipped into the bacon grease
which was stewing over the fire. The last man invariably lost out. I
was the last man.

After breakfast, our section carried their equipment into a field
adjoining the billet and got busy removing the trench mud therefrom,
because at 8.45 A.M., they had to fall in for inspection and parade,
and woe betide the man who was unshaven, or had mud on his uniform.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness in the British Army, and Old Pepper
must have been personally acquainted with St. Peter.

Our drill consisted of close order formation which lasted until noon.
During this time we had two ten-minute breaks for rest, and no sooner
the word, "Pall out for ten minutes," was given, than each Tommy got
out a fag and lighted it.

Fags are issued every Sunday morning, and you generally get between
twenty and forty. The brand generally issued is the "Woodbine."
Sometimes we are lucky, and get "Goldflakes," "Players," or "Red
Hussars." Occasionally an issue of "Life Rays" comes along. Then the