Sorry 'Cal F' I don't see the rolled lip and the mouth of the 'AndrewM' water bottle has a fatter neck.
Like Sigmund Freud said, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
Sometimes a water bottle is just a water bottle.
Here's another Sudan water story:
First the background set-up.
The battle of Omdurman was fought on September 2, 1898. The battle started at about 6:45 in the morning and by the afternoon, the Ansar army was defeated and the huge country of the Sudan was no longer under native rule. It was mainly a one sided artillery battle that took the lives of perhaps 12,000 Ansar regulars and conscripts and many others wounded. The british troops had lots of water as they were right up against the Nile and the march to Omdurman, the walled part of the city, was only about six miles. So off the British Army went and yes there was some fighting but by and large, save for the charge of the 21st Lancers and McDonalds Egyptian units, it was a sniper and mop up operation. Each soldier had a water bottle, about a quart of fluid.
But six hours and six miles later, this is what Owen Spencer Davis,(Acting Wesleyn Chaplain to Her Majesty's Forces), observed on his ride to Omdurman.
From his book, "With Kitchners Army".
"The battle being over, we had now to continue our march on Omdurman, across a plain strewn with the bodies of the dead, ghastly sights that linger in the memory, and which would take more than a lifetime to erase. But i will not harrow my readers',feelings by describing these, death as seen on the battlefield is too horrible even to think of. Many of the mangled heaps of humanity we passed were still living, and as we marched by they glared at us with cruel, treacherous eyes full of hate. Some of our number were moved by pity to give them of our precious water in their bottles, and were repaid for their kindness by the wounded men trying to take their lives with the new strength thus gained. The "no surrender" spirit of the Dervishes was simply remarkable. I saw men, too mangled, you would think, to move slowly and painfully raising themselves on their elbows, and with their last strength firing one shot at the hated Englishman.
Leaving these scenes of horror, we continued our march over the burning sand, most of the water bottles empty, before us the tantalising "mirage" with its water that no man can reach, and the men worn and tired after five hours almost continuos fighting.
As I look at the march it seems like the memory of some evil dream, strong men overwrought, sat down in the desert and cried like children. In the ranks of the Warwickshire Regiment one man became delerious and had to be overpowered by his comrades; and in the Cameron Highlanders one poor lad, stricken with heat apoplexy, died. But amidst all this misery we chaplins had the comfort of knowing that we were of practical use, for by urging the men to make one more effort, by giving the fainting a drink of water (being mounted we were able to carry extra water bottles strapped to our saddles), and by getting the worst cases put on the ambulance camels, we were able to do something to relieve their distress. At last we were met by camels bringing water, and to each man was served out a small quantity, sufficient to last him with care until water was reached.
When at length we came up with the 2nd Brigade, bivouacked by a flooded "khor", the thankfulness of our hearts was too deep for speech. The relish with which I drank water which was beyond description filthy and in which dead bodies lay, and the eagerness with which my poor horse rushed into the water to drink his fill will scarcely be credited.
Having had a short rest and refreshment, with renewed strength we marched into Omdurman."