We learned to “form fours” and to “form two deep.”  We formed fours again and again, but someone was sure to make a mistake every time.  Our Sergeant shouted abuse at us, but no one cared.  We passed on to other movements.  We “changed direction to the right” or to the left, we “formed squad,” we advanced, we retired, we wheeled and turned and gyrated.  The stultifying occupation dragged on as though it would never cease.  Our sore feet, our aching limbs, the burning sun, and our clothes clammy with perspiration maddened us.  Suddenly the man next to me began to sniff and a tear rolled down his cheeks.  Our Sergeant observed him and shouted “Halt!” and said: 

“Don’t take it ter ’eart, yer’ll soon get used to it.  I know it’s bloody awful at first.  Fall out an’ sit down a bit.”

The man—­a tall, elderly fellow, with dark hair and bushy eyebrows—­left the ranks and flung himself down in the grass, sobbing violently.

“Pore bloke, ’tain’t orften they’re took as bad as that.”

Five minutes ago we hated our Sergeant, but this sudden revelation of humanity on his part changed our attitude so completely that we felt ready to die for him.  Moreover the interruption had distracted us, and the next half-hour passed very quickly.  But gradually our physical discomfort reasserted itself.  When at last the morning’s drill was over we were so dispirited that we hardly felt any relief.  We received the order “Dismiss,” and flocked towards the mess-room where we formed a long queue.

We filed slowly in and passed by a trestle on which three foot-baths were standing.  We held out our plates while a soldier in a grimy uniform ladled cabbage, meat and a greasy liquid on to them.  We sat down on benches in front of tables that were littered with potato-peel, bits of fat, and other refuse.  We were packed so closely together that we could hardly move our elbows.  The rowdy conversation, the foul language, and the smacking of lips and the loud noise of guzzling added to the horror of the meal.

I was so repelled that I felt sick and could not eat.  I sat back on the bench and waited.  I observed that the man sitting opposite was watching me intently.  Suddenly he asked:  “Don’t yer want it, mate?” I said “No,” whereupon he exclaimed eagerly, “Giss it.”  A bestial, gloating look came into his face as he seized my plate and splashed the contents on to his own, so that the gravy overflowed and ran along the table in a thin stream.  He took the piece of meat between his thumb and his fork and, tearing off big shreds with his teeth, gobbled them greedily down.

We washed our plates outside the mess-room in a metal bath that held two or three inches of warm water.  Others had used it before us, and it was thick with grease and little fragments of cabbage and fat were floating about in it.  From a nail in the wall a torn shred of a disused woollen pant was hanging.  It was black and glistening, for it had already been used times without number.  Some of the men wiped their plates on it, but others preferred to rub them with earth and then clean them with a bunch of fresh grass from a patch of lawn near by.