attempt on Gaza I believe they were never used.
One could easily understand their striking terror into anybody, however,
especially if their appearance on the scene were the least bit unexpected,
for they were uncanny objects.

Another shock, but one we were able to bear with equanimity, was when we
came across those desirable residences occupied (freehold) by the gentlemen
of the Expeditionary Force Canteens. Even the most confirmed pessimist
brightened up when we sighted one. Then there would be a searching in
wallets for the very needful "feloos," and a careful scrutiny of nosebags
to see if there were any holes large enough to allow one precious tin to
escape. You would see a man staggering along with a nosebag slung across
his shoulder and a wild look in his eye, while his lips mumbled
incessantly. "One tin OxfordanCambridge sausages; one tin
chickenanhampaste; one tin pears...."

Then he would butt into some one similarly engaged, and in the exchange of
pleasantries that ensued both would forget what they wanted. And the
pandemonium once you did get inside the marquee! How anybody was ever
served was a wonder, for the air was thick with the names of all the
dainties and comestibles under the sun; but the people behind the counter
were lightning calculators, jugglers, and equilibrists combined.

One of them, balanced perilously on the top of a couple of packing-cases,
was hurling tins of fruit in all directions; and another performed
incredible feats with an armful of bottles; while a third, standing over an
immense crate, shied packets of biscuits across the counter to the
clamorous throng on the other side. A weary-looking youth who had been for
some time chanting dolefully: "Two packets of biscuits, please--two packets
of biscuits, please...." stopped one packet with his eye. In the confusion
the next man to him, on the same errand, helpfully removed the packet,
placed two piastres on the counter, and departed swiftly to his own place,
leaving the weary one ruminating, possibly, on, "Where did that one go to,
'Erbert?"

At another place, I remember, besides the packets on which were the magic
names of Cadbury or Fry, the veal patties, the tins of paste, and bottles
of sauce, there were large bottles of sustenance brewed by one Bass--at
half a crown the bottle--and others with black, red, or white labels on
them, containing a more potent but very nourishing liquid.

At such times as these, it was the custom,