On the right of the British line Part 4

I LEARN TO HATE FOOD. MATHEMATICAL PROBLEMS

We arrived at Rouen at 7.30 the following morning. I had to report to the R.T.O. by 9.30, and in the meantime 3,534 rations had to be cut up and distributed on the station platform among 1,178 officers and men.

Have you ever had such a problem as that? If not, then avoid it, if it ever comes your way.

The train was about twice the length of the platform, so on arrival it was broken in half, and the rear half shunted on to another line.

The rations were contained in two trucks, attached to the rear half of the train, so the contents had to be carried by hand across several sets of rails, to the end of the platform.

I had a fatigue party of 60 men at work, and presently a huge quant.i.ty of provisions began to pile up. There were chests of tea, cases of biscuits, cases of jam, cases of bully beef, sugar, and bacon sufficient to fill the warehouse of a wholesale provision merchant.

Three days' rations for 1,178 officers and men, in bulk; and 1,178 officers and men began to gather around the stack, in hungry expectancy of breakfast.

Now to issue rations to a battalion straight from bulk is quite difficult enough, but to issue rations from bulk to units of various strengths, belonging to over fifty regiments is enough to drive any one crazy.

Each man was ent.i.tled to two and one-fourth ounces of tea, one-fourth ounce of mustard, two and one-fourth pounds of biscuits, three-fourths pound of cheese, twelve ounces of bacon, one tin of bully beef, nine ounces of jam.

Each unit had to be dealt with separately, so that each unit presented a mathematical problem of the most perplexing kind. Each unit sent up its fatigue party to draw rations, whilst I and several officers who had volunteered to a.s.sist me made a bold attempt at distribution.

"Come along, first man, what's your regiment?"

"Manchester, sir; 59 men."

I looked through my volume of papers to check his figures.

"Quite right! Fifty-nine men."

Fifty-nine men meant fifty-nine times two and one-fourth ounces of tea, one-fourth ounce of mustard, two and one-fourth pounds of biscuits, three-fourths pound of cheese, twelve ounces of bacon, one tin of bully beef, and nine ounces of jam. My brain whirls when I think of those problems.

The next unit consisted of 9 men; the next of 1; then came a long list of 2's, 5's, and 7's, and so on; and in each case the mathematical problem had to be worked out; and when the figuring was finished, the stuff had to be cut up.

Seventy-nine pounds of cheese for the Manchesters; does any one know what seventy-nine pounds of cheese looks like? No one did; we had never seen so much cheese before in our lives.

"Give him a whole cheese and chance it. And now tea; the Manchesters want one hundred and thirty-two and three-fourths ounces of tea. Give him about three handfuls and chance it."

The next party consisted of 2 men.

"Six ounces of jam for the 19 Canadians; how much is that?"

"Nearly half a pot."

"What are you going to put it in?"

"Got nothing."

"Can't have any, then?"

"Come on, next man."

When I saw the last of that stack of food it was 11.30. We were hungry and tired, and we made our way to the nearest hotel, fervently hoping that we might never see food in bulk again.

CHAPTER VII

ST. AMAND

I REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS. THE PROBLEM OF VENTILATION

We made our way back to the station and secured a very luxurious compartment; and to my intense relief on this occasion I found there was an officer senior to me present, who succeeded to the duties of O.C. train.

The duties of O.C. train are a new sensation to most officers; and it is particularly difficult to know just what to do, and how to do it, when you have an unorganised body of men made up of sundries from every part of the British army.

Our new O.C. train evidently felt the difficulties of his position, and came to me for a.s.sistance.

"Excuse me," he said, "but were you in charge of the train last night?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to say I was."

"Well, what does one have to do?"

"Nothing."

"Well, but how does one keep order?"

"One doesn't keep order. But they've given me a pile of printed instructions, and I don't see how they can possibly be carried out.

How can I keep order in a train half a mile long with men I know nothing about?"

He was getting worried. I knew the feeling.

"Do you want a tip," I said.

"Yes, if you can give me one."

"Well, just walk along the train until you find a very comfortable compartment marked, 'O.C. train.' Get inside, lock the door, pull down the blinds and go to sleep."

"Thanks, awfully. I think I'll take that tip."

"By the way," I shouted after him, "what is our destination?"

"Haven't the faintest idea."

"Does anybody know?"

"I don't think so."