Once upon a time

the train doors were padlocked shut, and off we went through pretty countryside where the wild flowers were untroubled by the Monsanto Corporation's efficient pesticides, and the means of production were under the firm control of the working class, or at least the Party; and all was under the protective fraternal eye of the Western Group of Forces and the fine young comrades in the Motor Rifle and other Divisions. 

It is said that all along the watchtowers installed from Stettin in the Baltic, to Trieste in the Adriatic (as someone once remarked in Fulton, MS) to prevent provocation from the capitalists and the occasional attempted migrations by the misguided or decadent,  the guards worked in teams of three. 

One needed to read, to explain the day's orders to the other two. Another needed to write, to keep the watchtower log book. The third was there to keep an eye on the two dangerous intellectuals. 

Meanwhile, in the sealed carriages of the British Military Train, the luncheon menu was Chicken Casserole with Creamed Potatoes and Garden Peas (or Ploughman's), with a choice of drinks including "Berliner" Claret or Dry Sack Sherry.