The Field of the Cloth of Gold

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After a week or so they sent round a message saying they had a surplus of milk pudding. They said they were willing to share it with the rest of us if we went into their camp at noon. All they asked was that we brought our own spoons and dishes. The offer was undoubtedly generous, but we thought the tone of the message was rather curt. Apparently there’d been some kind of blunder. From what we could gather, the blame for the surplus lay squarely with their cooks: it seemed they’d measured the ingredients in the wrong quantities.

‘What on earth do they need cooks for?’ said Isabella. ‘Can’t they do their own cooking?’

She’d been complaining about the newcomers for days, and now she had grounds for further criticism.

‘I don’t know for sure,’ I said, ‘but I imagine it’s just a matter of organization. There’s a fair few of them, so they probably find it better to share the jobs around. It’s called division of labour. Some act as porters, some take care of the tents, some wash the clothes, some do the cooking.’

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