This morning, we went through the irksome performance of “kit inspection”, having to lug all our belongings, mattresses etc. up on the deck and display our wares there – pack them all up again and carry them back where they came from. Our half-crown band is wailing somewhere amidships (so called because it owes its existence to a subscription of 2/6 per man levied prior to our departure). Tomorrow I shall have another glimpse of the life of a scullion, being on cook-house fatigue, peeling spuds etc. The band has after long practice learnt the pathetic strains of “Sweet Genivive” which it now repeats ad nauseam. Wild statements that we are under invisible escort of a cruiser that only approaches at nightfall. Sweep-stakes are regularly got up on the ship’s run.
Walk March 