The beer had started in this way. The hospital had managed to procure a little yeast, and were making special ‘Vit. B’ drinks for the deficiency cases, and they discovered that in some experimental brews there was a strong alcoholic content. What followed may be called a simple process of natural selection, and the amount of sugar of the crudest sort, yeast and fermenting rice was varied and played about with until a passably flavoured and powerfully endowed concoction was selected and held onto. In our huts were rows of hollow bamboos behind the bed-slats, some fat cylinders five or six feet long, others built on a frame like a xylophone and containing different vintages laid down on different days. The stuff took about four to seven days to mature and was a thick sort of orange colour; its taste was yeast plus something rather cloying, but was not unpleasant and its effect was merriness after two pints, and sleep after three.

We all slept well that night and woke to a late breakfast at about 9.30. We had the luxury of well-watered tinned milk with our soya porridge, an egg and a ‘doover’ (no one seems clear as to the origin of the universal word ‘doover’, but it meant anything that wasn’t rice or stew – such as a fried rissole or other fried rice mixture). At 11 o’clock the Morning Service was held in the sandy amphitheatre by the river, a rather lovely and unique setting; and after the service everybody was to be seen carrying their mugs and making their way across to the Doctor’s hut, where we were guests at a Cocktail Party: Colonel Featherstonhaugh was there, bandy-legged as ever and still looking around him as if in search of his horse; Major King, the 2- Group Q.M. was knocking it back with the air of a man who knew what he was up to; and Colonel Bridge was there, too, the best Colonel in the camp, whose only fault was that he insisted on singing Fortissimo in the choir even where it was marked ‘Pianissimo’; in fact, everybody turned up in force.

About an hour later, a rather rowdy and contended crowd made its way back to the Officers’ hut for lunch, where they were met with a huge meal that just couldn’t be coped with, and we left our own beers still untapped. After the meal, though we tried hard to prevent it, Gibby went firmly and irreclaimably to sleep.