The Banker (Part 7) – Mess Hall

The Privates’ Mess Hall was an entirely novel experience for Findlay. Dixie in hand, he joined a seemingly endless queue of hungry men shuffling towards the food stations, where the kitchen crew dished the day’s fare into their dixies.

“Dished” would perhaps not have been how a refined bank clerk like Findlay might have described it. The white-coated servers slopped curried mince and vegetables from the bain-marie into the rectangular receptacles commonly referred to as “dixies”.

Periodically, the line ground to a halt as Findlay shuffled towards his allotted portion. Several fellows lingered a little too long in the vain hope of securing a more generous helping. This was much to the chagrin of the scores of men behind them, all anxious to tuck into their grub with gusto.

Further along, another team dispensed weak coffee into tin mugs. The “blue stone” was served sickeningly sweet. In Findlay’s estimation, each mug contained at least six spoonfuls of sugar. The coffee itself was treated with suspicion. A widely accepted rumour held that it contained a concoction intended to dampen carnal proclivities.

The wait for Findlay’s ration was inordinately long. Eventually, his dixie and mug filled, he went with the flow of men to the long trestle tables and rickety wooden chairs. He found a place somewhere in the middle. Around this usually solitary chap were scores of hungry men. They concentrated on the chief concern of filling famished bellies.

Findlay quietly tasted his curry and noticed on the periphery that his new companions were tucking into theirs with verve. With full mouths some lads shared their views about the ‘cuisine.’

“Curry!” declared one. “Curry disguises rotten meat!”

“What meat?” said another. “Lucky you. You have meat.”

With a banker’s precision in observation, Findlay noted that a chunk of mince exited a mouth with those very words. That curried sliver of minced beef landed next to his plate. Had there been a tablecloth, it would have borne a stain that would have defeated the most fastidious of laundry ladies.

One chap took a gulp of coffee and swallowed it with obvious disgust. “Aaaaargh! Sugar water!”

“And blue stone,” chimed in his neighbour, his revulsion etched in his expression.

Findlay said not a word. His view was that these youngsters were probably not accustomed to better fare at home. He spared a thought for the overworked kitchen staff.  He conceded that they had put in an effort to disguise poor-quality produce. These thoughts he kept to himself.

What was more distasteful to him was the dreadful table manners. Sliced bread, butter and jam, laid out on every trestle table, were greedily devoured. There was scant regard for equal sharing. He missed out on his share because he still retained a modicum of civilian decorum. That decorum would wear thin. As his military service ground on, he would learn to look out for himself.

Lessons in army life were beginning to sink in. Findlay left the Mess Hall, fell in with his squad and marched back to the barracks, where another stage of his military education awaited him.

©Paul M Haupt

 

The Banker — (Part 7)  Mess Hall. A visual interpretation of Findlay Nicholson's further transition from bank clerk to soldier. Image generated with AI for this story.