17 May, 1918

New Zealand author who kept a diary in which she recorded vivid impressions of her travels.

I must confess...that standing in the middle of the goldy fields, hanging from every tree, floating in every little river and perched on top of every hill there was a Thermos flask filled with boiling coffee.

I have so often seen people in trains armed with these affairs appearing to uncork them and pretending that real steam and real heat flows out but - but I've never believed them until today.

At Plymouth I got out and bought two wheat-meal bigglechiks from the scrupulously clean refreshment room (fresh hot meat and potato pasties still for sale!) and made an excellent tea. But indeed I had such constant recourse to the bottil that some soldiers in the carriage could not quite believe my exquisite signs of satisfaction were tout fait sober.

But 'twas nectar, darling. And of course we shall never be without one again. Only think for a moment. One need never want again for a cup of tea at one of those "odd" moments which always come on journeys to us.