The segeant returned from the well with two enamelled mugs; one pint sized, the other; a half. Plonking them down on the parados he stressed that the "Big un" was his, but that, "If tha brews, tha c'n av t'little un."

I was reluctant to use my Tommy - cooker's solid meths, which was in short supply; and fires, because of the smoke, were out of the question. The thought of owning and drinking from a mug again was the decider. Our pint mugs had been left at the base some weeks before, when the order was "Mess tins only." The alumineum mess tin had its disadvantages; it burned your lips when you were in a hurry, and if you had to leave it for a few minutes, because of its shallowness, and surface area, the tea would be stone cold.

I had wished that the mug had been pint sized, but still I thought,- it was perfect and clean, unlike his, which looked scruffy, with a bit of enamel chipped off here and there.

As the sergeant had disappeared again I placed his mug of tea on a flat rock behind his trench. I was finishing my drink when he re-appeared, demanding! "Whas mine." I pointed to his mug. "Yon's empty" he said.

Puzzled, I walked across and picked up the empty mug. A pin hole in the bottom revealed all. The mug had only been used at the well and the hot tea had melted a small blob of pitch.

I reach my little mug before him, saying"Piss off, thas mine."

CLICK ON PHOTO TO GO amazon