Oh yes, Camp Coffee, Grandma always had that, yummy. There was, however a story.....
Grandma's First World War experience was pretty bad,; although Grandad survived severe wounds, she was unforgiving of 'The Hun' and ran her own trade embargo ever after.
Cut to the 1950's and our neighbour, Gisela's mother was over to visit. This lady was 'The Hun' in Grandma's book, and spoke no English which was a barrier too.
One morning she staggered round clutching her throat and a bottle of Camp Coffee, Gisela was at work and, alone in the house, she had made herself a brew. The taste convinced her that she had poisoned herself and so had come for help.
Grandma showed her her own bottle and they shared a sign language coffee morning. Teased by Dad later, Grandma remarked with dignity that she 'had decided to forgive her'.