SPARTAN LIFE
Among my g,randfither's most awe-inspiring tales of hard times was one of a journey he made on foot with nothing to sustain him, through blizzard and darkness and countless miles, but 'a handful of meal and an apple.' Assuming that he consumed the apple in the normal way, I never discovered how he managed the meal, but 1 found later that my great-grandfather had a similar story, and, what was more, two great-
uncles claimed to have performed identical Spartan feats, identical in detail, but differing perhaps by ten miles. I could never 'swallow' the meal after that, and felt that when it came to my turn to tell tales to my grandson it might be wiser to leave out the meal and claim to have done it all with only an apple. When I was up in the hills in had weather this week I was warming my soup and devouring my humble crust when I was joined in the but by two walkers, both apparently experienced travellers in remote places. They at once set about preparing a similar repast.
I smiled when one who looked the more grandfatherly said, '1 shall tell my grandson of the way I once struggled through the mountain mist and had only a can of beans to eat.' The very thought of hardship past, real or imagined, seems to make most men inwardly comfortable.
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