miwrr^fmrnwn 
 
 
 MACEDONIAN 
 
 V. J. SELIGMAN
 
 MACEDiONIAN 
 MUSINGS
 
 ^0 AU 
 
 A GALLIPOLI DIARY 
 
 By Major J. G. GILLAM 
 
 D.S.O.. A.S.C. 
 Demy 8vo. 1216 net.
 
 MACEDONIAN 
 MUSINGS 
 
 BY 
 
 V. J. SELIGMAN 
 
 LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD. 
 RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. i 
 
 CV-vv
 
 First published in igi8 
 
 {All rights reserved)
 
 TO 
 COLONEL P. H. DALBIAC. C.B.
 
 OT
 
 2 T 'A a T >i J 
 
 sjx'iAaa 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction 
 
 CBAPTBR 
 
 I. Salonica on Duty 
 
 7 
 
 II. Salonica on Leave 
 
 III. M. Venizelos 
 
 IV. Uninvited Guests 
 V. Our Smallest Front 
 
 VI, Our Smallest Front {continued) 
 
 VII. A Simple Soul 
 
 VIII. "The Death-trap of the Balkans" 
 
 IX. On and off the Struma . 
 
 X. Struma Notabilities 
 
 (a) The Archie-man 
 
 (6) The Gilded Staff 
 
 (c) " The Monstrous Regiment of 
 Adjutants " 
 
 {d) The B.R.C.S. 
 7 
 
 PAQK 
 
 9 
 
 13 
 ai 
 
 35 
 
 41 
 
 48 
 
 63 
 8i 
 89 
 
 95 
 100
 
 8 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTBR 'A'*! 
 
 XI. Army Types . . . . "3 
 
 (a) The Snob 
 (6) The Cook 
 
 (c) The Nut 
 
 (d) The General 
 
 XII. The Judgment of Solomon . . 124 
 
 XIII. Queer Cards . . . .132 
 
 {a) Sergeant Laprop, M.A. 
 (6) Ellessdee Back 
 
 (c) Lieutenant C. White-Shaw 
 
 (d) The Greek Labourer 
 {e) Corporal Hynx, S,P, 
 
 XIV. As Others See Us . . . 145 
 
 XV. Army Problems .... 154 
 (fl) Messing 
 
 (6) Distinctions of Rank 
 (c) Manners 
 
 XVI. A Happy Family . . . .162 
 
 XVII. Dickens and the War . .170 
 
 XVIII. Our Allies . . . .179
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 When I left Charterhouse in April 1915 I imagined it 
 would be quite an easy thing to join the Army. But a 
 series of obtuse Army doctors passed uncomplimentary 
 comments on my eyesight, and it seemed probable 
 that I should remain a civilian malgre mot. In despair 
 I wrote for advice to an uncle who had been out in 
 France since the beginning of the war. He replied 
 tersely that I was only fit to drive the Staff. I could 
 borrow his motor-car, and become a Royal Automobile 
 Club driver. He concluded with the pathetic request 
 " not to ' strafe ' the old bus too much." I applied 
 at once to the R.A.C., who informed me that the only 
 necessary quaUfications were the possession of a motor- 
 car and a moderate knowledge of how to drive. I 
 repUed mendaciously that I could fulfil both these 
 conditions. So I was told to order my kit-ofi&cer's 
 uniform without stars or badges of rank — and to report 
 in a week's time to Divisional H.Q. of the — Division 
 stationed at Bishop's Stortford. 
 
 I collected my kit at once : and my outfit was further 
 supplemented by the gifts of two maiden aunts, who 
 presented me with a trench periscope and a ' portable 
 sand-bag dugout.' (Two navvies who had to carry the 
 latter a few yaxds took unaccountable objection to 
 the word ' portable.') I then turned my attention 
 to the car, which I found in excellent condition, my
 
 10 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 only difficulty being that I didn't know how to drive 
 it. Assisted, however, by a clear conscience and an 
 excellent chauffeur, I experimented in the crowded 
 thoroughfares of London. My efforts were attended 
 with varying success. On one occasion I became in- 
 extricably entangled between two motor-buses, and 
 escaped with the loss of a mud-guard. On another 
 occasion I very nearly destroyed one of the hons in 
 Trafalgar Square. At the end of the week the chauffeur 
 murmured grimly : " You'll do, sir." I was uncertain 
 whether to take this cryptic utterance as an encourage- 
 ment or a threat. 
 
 At length the great day arrived, and L reached D.H.Q. 
 without mishap. The G.O.C. asked me — a trifle ner- 
 vously, I thought — how it was my car had only one 
 mud-guard. I answered evasively but reassuringly; 
 The next three weeks proved to be, as well for the 
 Divisional Staff as for myself, the most exciting time 
 of our lives. Whatever Nature intended me to be, 
 she did not intend me to be a chauffeur. On the first 
 day I took a comer too sharply, and the General very 
 nearly swallowed his false teeth. After that I was 
 relegated to drive the less popular members of his 
 Staff. Shortly after this I landed four Staff Officers 
 into a ditch, and they were compelled to walk ten 
 miles home from the ' field-day,' (Some field-day !) 
 The car and I were eventually extricated by a kindly 
 farmer, who turned out six horses and fifteen farm- 
 hands to assist me from the ditch. The next two 
 days passed peacefully enough, and then, owing to 
 a confusion which existed in my mind concerning the 
 relative merits of the clutch and the accelerator, I- 
 had a misunderstanding With a dog-cart— which was,^
 
 INTRODUCTION U 
 
 fortunately, empty. Finally I mistook a brick wall 
 for the continuation of the road, and the motor-car, 
 qua motor-car, ceased to exist. Full of zeal, I offered 
 to obtain another motor-car from some unsuspecting 
 relative. But the Colonel Commanding the Divisional 
 Train (Army Service Corps), with whom I was billeted, 
 decided that it would be more economical for the nation 
 if, instead of murdering harmless Staff Officers, I took 
 a commission in the A.S.C. The Staff heartUy con- 
 curring with his suggestion, everything was satisfac- 
 torily arranged. This time I managed to pass the 
 medical eyesight test. (The fact that the M.O. who 
 ' passed ' me had been one of the unfortunate victims 
 of my motor-driving seems to me to explain a great 
 deal.) 
 
 After nearly a year's uneventful training in England 
 we went out to France in June 1916. After six months 
 in France, we moved again, to Salonica. 
 
 Early in June 1917 I left my old Division, and, 
 finding myself in a ' cushy ' job, I decided to put on 
 paper some of my experiences. 
 
 Concerning my experiences in France I have said 
 little : France is so near home, and abler pens than 
 mine have done the work. But of the Salonica cam- 
 paign those at home know next to nothing. If I have 
 done a little to bring before my readers a picture of 
 life in the Salonica Army, its hardships and difficulties, 
 its interests and pleasures, I shall not have laboured 
 in vain.
 
 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SALONICA ON DUTY 
 
 When the war is over, and I return once again to 
 the family hearth, there is one question that I dread, 
 a question that I know I shall be asked a thousand 
 times : " What is the correct way to pronounce 
 Salonica — is the accent on the ' Ion ' or the ' nic ' ? " 
 It is a fooUsh question, but there exists a certain class 
 of people who have an unholy thirst for futile informa- 
 tion. " They are the sort of people," as Theophrastus 
 would say, whose knowledge of English history does not 
 extend beyond the facts that Henry the Eighth had 
 six wives, and that some other king, whose name they 
 do not know, ' never smiled again.' Unfortunately, 
 when I am confronted by this question I shall have 
 to bury my head in shame. The fact is, I don't know 
 the answer, and I never met any one who did. The 
 problem has weighed heavily on our minds here ; most 
 of us have adopted a cunning subterfuge, and refer 
 to the town as ' Salonique ' — ' Salonique ' : just like 
 that. It sounds so chic (pronounced ' chick '), and 
 creates an impression — generally fallacious — that we 
 are intimately acquainted with the French language. 
 
 12
 
 14 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 Just as there are two ways of pronouncing Salonica, 
 so also are there two ways of visiting it — ' on duty ' 
 and ' on leave.' As duty comes before pleasure, I 
 will deal first N\ith the Salonica of duty. 
 
 ' Duty ' in Salonica generally consists in going there 
 to ' stir up ' some of the Deities of the Base. Most of 
 them have representatives up the line in the Division ; 
 with others it is possible to correspond. Experience, 
 however, goes to prove that it is a simpler and more 
 ef&cacious method to send an officer with plenty of 
 ' push ' down to the Base, to beard them in their den. 
 Consequently I felt much honoured when ordered by 
 the Adjutant to go down for the day to Salonica, to - fix 
 up one or two Httle things.' All I had to do was to 
 visit the main Ordnance Depot, the Base Stationery 
 Depot, and the Field Cashier. It sounded such an 
 easy job ; and I was rather surprised when the Adjutant 
 advised me to get there early in the morning. Natur- 
 ally I pictured to myself a neat Httle row of houses,^ 
 all, more or less, in the same street, with a neat little 
 notice-board outside each, proclaiming its identity. 
 Alas ! I was inexperienced in those days, and I did 
 not realize that the ' Practical Joke Depsirtment ' int-; 
 mortalized by Ian Hay ran a branch establishment in 
 Salonica. , .:.^.,:.: . , .. ..;„ 
 
 I arrived at Dudular Station, foiif miles "west 'of 
 Salonica on the Monastir road, at eight in the morn- 
 ing. The only railway station in Salonica itself, the 
 Gare d'Orient, is reserved exclusively for the other 
 Allied Armies : Dudular is the British terminus. Let 
 me here mention a v^y^ admirable scheme employed 
 by the railway authorities out here. The speed (rf" a 
 train is calculated roughly at four miles an irour, and
 
 SALONICA ON DUTY 15 
 
 thus there is very little chance of a train arriving late 
 
 at its destination. I think if certain of our railway 
 
 companies in England would make similar alterations 
 
 in their time-tables, they would be able to assuage 
 
 the pubUc indignation more eeisily. I alighted from 
 
 the train with a brisk step, and decided that the best 
 
 thing to do was to make for the centre of Salonica 
 
 and then ' ask a policeman.' There is usually an 
 
 endless flow of motor-lorries to and fro between Salonica 
 
 and Dudular ; but though I counted 173 lorries 
 
 going towards Dudular, I couldn't find one going my 
 
 way. So I trudged along for two or three miles, making 
 
 an excellent breakfast off dust, till I came to a mihtary 
 
 poHceman — hereinafter known as ' M.P.' (He does 
 
 not like to be known by these initials, for reasons that 
 
 must be obvious to any one who glances at reports 
 
 of proceedings in the House of Commons.) Said I 
 
 to the MP.: " Am I an^^'here near Ordnance Depot ? " 
 
 He smiled on me contemptuously and said : "You're 
 
 walking away from it, sir, you are." Swearing heartily, 
 
 I retraced my footsteps, and there, sure enough, stood 
 
 the Ordnance Depot, as large as life ! Cursing myself 
 
 for a bUnd bat, I sought out the Of&cers' Clothing 
 
 Department. 
 
 Let me here explain briefly for the benefit of civihans 
 that a Main Ordnance Depot is a vast emporium. 
 The A.S.C. deal with food, forage, fuel, disinfectants, 
 etc., but the Ordnance Service is responsible for nearly 
 everything else — clothing, equipment, guns and am- 
 munition. At the M.O.D. they keep a huge stock of 
 every conceivable thing you do not want : anything 
 you need badly, they regret has been ' lost at sea. ' 
 (Submarines cover a multitude of suk !)^=„^;_ 6..: :^s,:.
 
 16 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 I found several hundred officers in the Clothing 
 Department, waiting their turn in a queue. There 
 were four rather blase individuals behind the counter. 
 Like Tennyson's ' Clara Vere de Vere,' it appeared that 
 time ' hung heavy on their hands.' There being, 
 however, no ' orphan-boys ' in the vicinity, though 
 there were certainly plenty of ' beggars at their gates,' 
 they proceeded in a bored manner to serve officers 
 either with articles they did not require or with articles 
 so big or so small as to preclude the possibility of their 
 ever being serviceable. When at length the officer, 
 in despair, took what he was given, they produced 
 fifteen different Army Forms, which they proceeded 
 to make out in quadruplicate. For the first hour I 
 was fairly interested ; after that I was distinctly bored. 
 Four times I opened my cigarette-case, and was just 
 about to light a cigarette, when I was arrested by the 
 sight of a huge notice, ' No Smoking.' 
 
 " I'm surprised they don't ask you to keep clear 
 of the gates," I remarked bitterly to another subaltern. 
 " Or beware of pickpockets," he replied gloomily ; 
 " a pickpocket would be a godsend in this deadly 
 hole." At length, after two hours and a half, my turn 
 came. I was so overcome with joy, that I forgot 
 for a moment what it was I wanted. I hesitated a 
 second ; and just as I remembered, the man behind 
 the counter, who had suddenly grown alert, said : 
 " Sorry, sir, it's lunch- time now. I can't attend to 
 you till after lunch." " Look here, my friend," I 
 said between my teeth, glaring ferociously at him, 
 " if I have to wait another minute, there'll be murder ! 
 Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all." My threat 
 had the desired effect. I think he suspected me of
 
 SALONICA ON DUTY 17 
 
 ' Macedonian madness.' A few minutes later I emerged 
 from Ordnance, flushed with victory over the ' powers 
 of evil,' I found out that the Base Stationery Depot 
 was near the centre of the town, and that the Field 
 Cashier dwelt five miles east of Salonica, So I decided 
 to have lunch down town before I was overcome with 
 physical exhaustion. At half-past one I came out 
 of a Greek restaurant, feeling decidedly ill, and regret- 
 ting for the first time in my Army life the absence 
 of bully-beef for lunch. Fortified by instructions 
 from an M.P., I endeavoured to unearth the Stationery 
 Depot. I wandered round in a circle for about an hour 
 in a maze of evil bye-streets and squares, thinking 
 bitterly of a book called ' The Elusive Pimpernel.' 
 Compared to the Stationery Depot, the Scarlet Pim- 
 pernel was about as elusive as snakes in Salonica or 
 mud on Salisbury Plain. After each circuitous tour I 
 returned to the M.P., to tell him what I really thought 
 of him. At length, seeing that I was desperate, he 
 sent some one along with me to show me the way. 
 After traversing once again a labyrinth of slums, we 
 came to a large empty building that I had already 
 visited six times. " Here we are, sir," said my guide 
 cheerfully. I pointed out to him as fully as I could 
 that the place was uninhabited. He scratched his 
 head, and then said : " That's a funny thing, sir ; 
 they used to be 'ere." In a voice trembling with 
 suppressed emotion I informed him that St. Paul 
 also used to be here. Just as I was wondering what 
 punishment would be meted out to me for assaulting 
 an M.P., another soldier, who had been hstening politely 
 to our conversation, came up, saluted, and said : " Beg 
 pardon, sir, but — - " I cut him short, thinking he 
 
 2
 
 18 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 was going to inform me that Queen Anne's name had 
 appeared in the Casualty List. But he actually offered 
 to lead me to the new quarters of the Stationery 
 Depot ! 
 
 Having ' stirred up ' the Stationery Depot (I think 
 I was in a state to 'strafe' the C.-in-C. by that time), 
 I moved on again, feeling very weary ; but I had 
 only to discover the Field Cashier, and my work would 
 be at an end. I took a tram to Kalamaria, some distance 
 east of Salonica. Along the slope that leads up to 
 it from Salonica all the mansions of the rich are built. 
 The ' residential ' quarter of Salonica is worth seeing, 
 for there are some really pretty houses and villas. 
 Under the present circumstances, however, I belonged 
 to the race of ' strap-hangers,' and had little leisure 
 for anything else. At length the tram stopped, and 
 after a pleasant httle walk uphill — only two or three 
 miles — I discovered the oasis for which I had been 
 searching. A large notice, ' Field Cashier,' was posted 
 up outside the house ; and then, in smaller print, 
 ' Office hours 10-12 a.m., 2-4 p.m.' I glanced at my 
 watch : it was after five ! 
 
 I will draw a veil over the rest of that miserable 
 day. Suffice it to say that I only just caught the last 
 train back. On arrival I went straight to the Adjutant, 
 and relieved my feelings to a certain extent. He seemed 
 fairly sympathetic, but as I walked away from Head- 
 quarters to my own camp I heard in the distance the 
 gramophone playing fortissimo, ' When you come to 
 the end of a Perfect Day.' 
 
 Nowadays I know more of the ways of the Practical 
 Joke Department in Salonica. Certainly the idea of 
 having no office within five miles of any other ofi&ce was
 
 SALONICA ON DUTY 19 
 
 exquisitely humorous, and worthy of their best traditions. 
 But all jokes pall after a time ; so they have recently 
 hit on a new scheme which is even more mirthful. 
 Once a month all the offices in Salonica play at ' Musical 
 Chairs,' so that even if you have got to visit, say, the 
 Command Bottle-washer at the one hour of the day 
 when his office is open, you don't stand a chance of 
 seeing him ; but you are politely informed that he 
 changed offices with the Director of Army Soap-suds 
 only last week. 
 
 Finally — and this is the consummation of ironical 
 wit — a new branch of humorists has been established 
 under the auspices of the L.T.O. (Local Transport 
 Officer). Nominally the L.T.O. is in. charge of a large 
 garage of Rolls-Royce cars, which are at the disposal 
 of any officer who has far to go among the Base Offices. 
 As a matter of fact the L.T.O. is in charge of five super- 
 annuated ' Fords.' To enable you to obtain one of 
 them, you must forward to the L.T.O., on a new Army 
 form — not yet obtainable — at least a month before 
 you want a car, a statement giving : — 
 
 {a) Your name and the colour of your hair. 
 
 (b) Your favourite tooth-paste (if any). 
 
 (c) Any special qualification (e.g. oldest inhabitant 
 
 or village idiot). 
 
 Even if your answers are satisfactory, and one of 
 the five Ford cars happens to be in working order, your 
 chances of obtaining one are not reeilly rosy. For if 
 you do not arrive on the exact day and at the exact 
 hour predicted in your statement a month off, you are 
 at once disqualified, and probably led before the A.P.M. 
 on a charge of prevarication. 
 
 From the above absolutely veracious account of a
 
 20 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 visit to Salonica on duty, it will be seen that Mr. Punch's 
 advice to those about to marry is applicable to other 
 undertakings as well. But come, let us obtain three 
 days' leave, and look on the other side of the picture — 
 Salonica on leave !
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 
 
 It is a fact, I believe, that there are many men and 
 women who have hved all their lives in London and 
 yet have never set eyes on St. Paul's Cathedral or Peter 
 Robinson's. Treating this philosophically, I might 
 ' point a moral and adorn a tale ' by contrasting the 
 feebleness of human achievement with the vastness 
 of the universe. As a matter of fact, I only mention 
 this phenomenon in extenuation of those whose 
 acquaintance with Salonica is confined to the purlieus 
 of the White Tower, Venizelos Street, and ' Piccadilly 
 Circus.' I note it with infinite regret, but it is none 
 the less true, that to the majority of British troops 
 out here the ' interesting ' parts of Salonica are a closed 
 book. For after nearly a year in the deserted fastnesses 
 of Macedonia very few persons feel incUned to spend 
 their three days' leave sight-seeing. As I am writing 
 about ' Salonica on Leave,' I must adhere strictly 
 to my subject — the ' gay ' life and the ' night-life ' 
 of Salonica. One day perhaps, when my literary 
 merits are more appreciated, I shall be given special 
 leave ; and, fortified with a bottle of eau-de-Cologne 
 and a revolver, I shall sally forth to inspect the Jewish 
 and Turkish quarters of the town. For the present, 
 however, I crave the reader's pardon for the omission 
 
 81
 
 22 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 of such edifying matter. If you find no mention in 
 this chapter of mosques, synagogues, or minarets, it is 
 not me you should blame, but the depraved tastes of 
 ' Hoi PoUoi,' of whom I am but one humble member. 
 If you are coming on leave from the Doiran or Vardar 
 Front, you can take the train as far as Dudular. If 
 you are on the Struma, whither there is no railway- 
 line, you must ingratiate yourself with successive 
 lorry-drivers on the Salonica-Seres road ; and thus 
 by a system similar to that of a relay-race you eventually 
 reach Salonica. (It is well, however, to find out before- 
 hand roughly when and how far the different convoys 
 go. An acquaintance of mine on the Struma, who 
 had been granted three days' leave, reached Salonica 
 on the third day. He spent one hour in Salonica, 
 waiting for a lorry to take him back ; and when he 
 returned he was placed under arrest for over-staying 
 his leave.) However, from whichever Front you come, 
 one thing is certain : you will sooner or later reach 
 ' Piccadilly Circus.' This famous spot bears little 
 resemblance to our insignificant circus of the same 
 name in London ; but it is the point of junction of the 
 road from Monastir and Dudular and the Seres road 
 — consequently the centre of the universe. Somewhere 
 between Dudular and ' Piccadilly Circus ' the Monastir 
 road changes its name to Egnatia Street. (It is 
 presumed to be the same road (then the ' Via Egnatia ') 
 along which St. Paul journeyed from Thessalonica 
 to Dyrrhachium — now Durazzo.) Egnatia Street, as 
 we shall now call it, runs on parallel to the Quay. A 
 few hundred yards east of ' Piccadilly Circus ' you reach 
 the northern end of Venizelos Street. This wonder- 
 ful street runs at right angles to Egnatia Street and the
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 28 
 
 road along the Quay. It is about a thousand yards 
 long, and resembles Bond Street in so far as it is narrow 
 — further I will not press the simile. Its northern 
 end is covered over with an imposing roof of glass, 
 which, during the summer, doubles the heat of the sun, 
 and during the winter collects the rain and directs 
 its volume down the neck of any unsuspecting passers- 
 by. It is supposed by people of vivid imagination, 
 who have never been to Italy, to resemble the famous 
 Galleries of Milan. Whether or not this resemblance 
 is admitted by the Itahans, I cannot say. Probably 
 not. At any rate it may be presumed that the arclii- 
 tect whose genius evolved this magnificent arcade 
 was overcome by the magnitude of his task, and aban- 
 doned it half-way in despair. Unkind persons suggest 
 that he was very rightly murdered before he had 
 attained the consummation of this public outrage. 
 However that may be, half-way down Venizelos Street 
 the glass roof comes to an abrupt conclusion. If 
 this is your first visit to Salonica, you will probably 
 spend an hour or so gazing into the shop -windows 
 of the historic street : whether you buy anything 
 or not depends on whether you approve of the funda- 
 mental laws of depredation. In Venizelos Street 
 robbery is more unblushing than elsewhere. In less 
 important thoroughfares you may bargain with the 
 shopkeeper ; if you work very hard you may reduce 
 the price of an article to within five times its real cost. 
 But in Venizelos Street, by an ingenious method of 
 placing in the shop-window a notice ' Prix fixes,' the 
 shopkeeper is enabled to rob you more thoroughly 
 and systematically. There are all kinds of shops 
 — jewellers, ' military outfitters,' bootmakers, sweet-
 
 24 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 shops, fur-shops, Hbraries, and money-changers (the 
 ' Arguramoboios ' is perhaps the most blatant thief 
 of aU). 
 
 But undoubtedly the crowning glory of Venizelos 
 Street is ' Floca's.' It is a large caf^ at the end of the 
 street, overlooking the Quay. Inside there is a large 
 room where at most times of the day two or three 
 hundred officers may be seen quaffing beer, tea, coffee, 
 and other delights, and eating villainous-looking cakes. 
 If it is not too hot, and not too wet — an unusual com- 
 bination of circumstances — the majority foregather 
 outside ' Floca's' at little tables, and drink in the 
 ever-changing pageant of Salonica life in the Conti- 
 nental fashion. At ' Floca's,' as our French friends 
 remark, " Tout le beau monde de Salonique se donne 
 rendez-vous." After the deserted up-country this is 
 indeed Life, with a capital L. You meet old school- 
 friends and acquaintances whom you have not seen for 
 years. You see the picturesque, if pestilential, native 
 arrayed in gaudy attire, the Turk's fez and the Jew's 
 proboscis mingUng together in pleasant harmony. 
 There are children, generally cheerful and always 
 dirty ; young men fancifully attired in a travesty of 
 an EngUsh ' Nut's ' garments ; old men and women 
 who seem to have stepped straight out of the Bible. 
 Rubbing shoulders with the natives are the soldiers of 
 France, England, Italy, Russia, 'New' Greece, and Serbia. 
 It is a wonderful place : every country of the world 
 is represented, every tongue is spoken in this modem 
 Babel. Even Germans and Austrians (called quaintly 
 and collectively by the French, ' Austro-Boche '), 
 though they are temporarily denationaUzed, wander 
 in and out of the crowd, unheeded. Never was the
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 25 
 
 warning more urgent : " Taisez-vous. Mefiez-vous. 
 Les oreilles ennemies vous ecoutent ! " At the end 
 of Venizelos Street, mute, impassive, sphinx-like, 
 stands the emblem of British Law and Order — the 
 policeman. He has changed a little with the times ; 
 in the place of the famous blue, he wears khaki ; instead 
 of a baton, he carries a revolver. But really he is the 
 same as ever. When I landed here, the strangeness 
 of the country filled me with a vague disquiet and 
 home-sickness, until I saw the pohceman on his beat 
 at ' Piccadilly Circus,' controlling the traf&c under 
 unfamiHar conditions, but in the same familiar way. 
 After ' Floca's ' you will probably make arrange- 
 ments for a bedroom at some hotel. Of hotels it may 
 be said that some are worse than others. Recently, 
 however, some of them have been shghtly improved ; 
 and it is not unusual to find two bathrooms in the 
 larger hotels. This is a very great concession to the 
 unintelligible tastes of the officers of the AlHed Armies. 
 And as the hotel proprietors do not wish to have the 
 appearance of yielding too easily, they have done all 
 in their power to restrict the flow of water. So that 
 although bathrooms exist in certain hotels, and are 
 loudly advertised, it is by no means easy to obtain a 
 bath. The rooms are fairly comfortable, though the 
 furniture is not conspicuous for quantity or quality. 
 It is also wise to inspect your room at once. For 
 bedrooms are in large demand ; and the hotel managers 
 have remedied deficiencies in accommodation by the 
 ngenious plan of partitioning the smoking-room into 
 ubicles by means of screens. The result is euphemisti- 
 ally termed a bedroom. This system, although very 
 r atifying to the proprietor, who automatically doubles
 
 26 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 his accommodation, is scarcely so satisfactory for the 
 unfortunate officer who is compelled to sleep in a thick 
 and pungent fog of smoke-fumes. 
 
 As you walk eastward along the front from the bottom 
 of Venizelos Street, you will see on your left a variety 
 of cafes with EngUsh, French, Italian, Greek, and 
 Hebrew names. Nearly all of them advertise beer 
 and Samos wine. This latter beverage is an acquired 
 taste — one which I have not yet acquired. One of 
 the cafes, with refreshing candour, declares itself ' One 
 of the most conscientious cafes in Salonica.' On the 
 right is the harbour, sheltering every kind of ship 
 that ever sailed the sea (I have not actually set eyes 
 on the original Argo, but I feel convinced it is there 
 somewhere) — battleships, cruisers, destroyers, trans- 
 ports, hospital ships, cargo-boats, sailing-boats, barges, 
 tugs, brigs, and many other kinds of boats, whose 
 denomination ignorance compels me to omit. About 
 a mile down the Quay looms out the historic Leucos 
 Purgos or White Tower. Once part of the Turkish 
 defences of Salonica, it was more recently, in the Second 
 Balkan War, the scene of bitter fighting between the 
 Greeks and Bulgars. The Tower was manned with 
 Greek machine-guns, which enfiladed the more im- 
 portant streets of the town. But now gardens, a 
 restaurant, and a theatre at its feet, have taken the 
 place of machine-guns — stern-eyed Mars has had to 
 yield his place to gentle Thespis. Sometimes I think 
 the old Tower frowns at the levity that runs riot at 
 his feet — perhaps he shakes his battlements with impo- 
 tent fury in the dark of night, because he knows he is 
 a ' dugout.' 
 
 Some misguided officers take their meals at the
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 27 
 
 White Tower restaurant ; but unless you are fond of 
 Borgian banquets, flavoured with garhc, it is wiser 
 to take 3^our meals at the French club, situated in the 
 grounds of the White Tower Gardens. The ' Cercle,' 
 as it is generally known, came into being at the end 
 of 1916, when, after suffering for over twelve months 
 from the atrocities of Greek cooking, the French decided 
 to open a restaurant of their own, for the use of Allied 
 officers. There is a staff of about seventy waiters 
 and cooks (all, of course, recruited from the French 
 Army), presided over by a very affable, very alert 
 sergeant-major. The meals are what one would 
 expect from the French, excellent and cheap. Con- 
 structed by the French Genie des Etapes, it is quite a 
 plain, unpretentious building, but cool and comfortable. 
 There are two services at lunch, and two at dinner : 
 at each service about two hundred officers are accom- 
 modated. Twice a week ladies may be invited, and 
 the severe masculine atmosphere is reheved by the 
 pleasant frou-frou of skirts. The Greek Army invite 
 their relations, the rest of us invite hospital nurses. 
 These are blissful days ; and it is easy to imagine, 
 if you close your eyes, that you are back again in dear 
 old Blighty at an English restaurant. I doubt, though, 
 if there is any restaurant at home nowadays where 
 you can obtain such bountiful fare. A fanciful but 
 pessimistic friend of mine declares that in a few years' 
 time Fortnum and Mason will desert London and 
 repair to France and Salonica, whence it will be 
 the custom for officers to send parcels of food to 
 their hungry friends at home ! 
 
 After an excellent dinner at the Cercle you will 
 probably repair to one of the palaces of music and
 
 28 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 mirth, which constitute the ' night-life ' of Salonica. 
 There are those whose surpassing brilUance singles 
 them out for special mention — the White Tower, the 
 Oddon (known familiarly to the jeunesse stage-doree of 
 Salonica as the ' Dodo ') and the Gaiety. Although 
 each presents individual novelties and attractions of 
 its own, it would not be too sweeping to assert that 
 if I can faithfully depict the glories of one of them, the 
 reader should, mutatis mutandis (not to mention exceptis 
 excipiendis) , have a very fair idea of the other two. 
 
 If you were to order two seats in the pit of the White 
 Tower Music Hall, you would probably be removed 
 by the M.P. who stands close to the box-office, to the 
 nearest lunatic asylum. Such distinctions as these 
 have been done away with by the original impresario, 
 who presides over the destinies of the ' Tour Blanche.' 
 All you have to do is to pay for admission, take a seat 
 with your friends at one of the tables scattered on the 
 parterre of the theatre, order a drink, and prepare 
 for the fun. If, however, you are in a reckless mood, 
 and wish to ' hang all expense,' you assume a non- 
 chalant air, and order a box. (If you speak French, 
 you order a hoite, though they have some difficulty in 
 understanding you.) For in addition to the ample 
 accommodation already mentioned, there are on both 
 sides of the theatre dazzling tiers, or, to be strictly 
 accurate, a dazzling tier of boxes raised several feet 
 from the ground, in which you will behold the elite 
 of Salonica. As this is essentially an aristocratic 
 narrative, and you and I, dear reader, are not of the 
 ' base vulgar,' let us take our seat in the stage-box, 
 and gaze contemptuously through imaginary lorgnette 
 at the lesser folk below.
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 29 
 
 At 8.30 punctually the orchestra (strength : five 
 ' other ranks ') commences to discuss a Uttle music. 
 I use the word ' discuss ' purposely. Although they 
 are not quite so numerous as the orchestra at a London 
 West-end theatre, there is much more variety about 
 their performance. For each of the five, being of an 
 original turn of mind, incUnes to a different tune. 
 If scoffers complain of a lack of harmony in this method, 
 we can refer them to the works of Wagner and other 
 famous composers. Moreover, this system has one 
 incontrovertible advantage : that if your acquaintance 
 with music is shght, you have five times more chance 
 of recognizing one melody than you would have if 
 they all played the same tune. I won't say too much 
 about it, though, or the impresario may take it 
 into his head to charge five times as much for the 
 entrance fee. 
 
 When the band (not to mention the audience) have 
 grown tired of their efforts, the real business of the 
 evening begins. The curtain is raised, and the most 
 exquisite scenery is revealed before our eyes. Un- 
 fortunately, as I am very short-sighted, and as the 
 Ughts are rather dim, and as, moreover, the back-cloth 
 is of rather a nondescript and murky character, I am 
 unable to do full justice to its beauty. But I feel certain 
 it was very beautiful : for the stage-manager, as if loath 
 to part with this glorious work of art, kept it before 
 us throughout the whole performance, and refused 
 absolutely to change it, though I feel sure he possessed 
 hundreds of others. The stage, although its dimen- 
 sions are not comparable with that of Drury Lane, 
 is compact, and gives an atmosphere of cosiness so 
 dear to all true lovers of art. But before we can drink
 
 30 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 in the full beauty of the scene, a lovely maiden of some 
 thirty winters — stormy ones — trips daintily on to the 
 stage. Having gracefully acknowledged some oranges, 
 onions, and other tokens of admiration that fall at her 
 pretty feet, she commences to sing. Unfortunately, 
 as the audience takes up the song at the commence- 
 ment, and never lets go until she is safely off the stage, 
 I am unable to detect the language in which the song 
 is sung. Let me here mention another excellent 
 practice at the White Tower, which is sure to commend 
 itself to many. Being a super-patriotic man, the 
 manager of the theatre has resolutely confined his 
 artistes to members of the fair sex, and has stoutly 
 refused to engage a male chorus, in spite of the added 
 attraction to the performance which the presence on 
 the stage of Salonican ' Nuts ' could not fail to bring. 
 The fact that there is never any chorus at all on the 
 stage is irrelevant, and in no way detracts from the 
 praise due to this worthy man, who has placed his 
 principles before his principal. In quick succession 
 after the first charmer, there follow in turn other yet 
 more bewitching damsels. Each one sings a little 
 and dances a little. The principle which regulates 
 the singing and the dancing seems to be as follows : 
 First of all the lady endeavours to obtain a hearing. 
 But as the members of the audience show their enthu- 
 siasm by singing airs in English, French, Italian, or 
 whatever particular language comes naturally to 
 them, and as those who can't sing shout and those 
 who can't shout blow on a whistle the order to ' cease 
 fire ' — for all these reasons, I repeat, the lady sooner 
 or later abandons the unequal task, and takes to dancing. 
 Moreover, she finds it easier, when in motion, to avoid
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 31 
 
 the somewhat embarrassing missiles which are showered 
 upon her by an appreciative audience. 
 
 But as we gaze intently upon the enchanting spectacle, 
 we feel, almost subconsciously, that we are not alone. 
 Turning round, we behold two ladies, who have entered 
 our box, apparently by mistake. Picture our surprise 
 when we discover that they are none other than the 
 two divine creatures who, but a short while ago, were 
 smihng at us across the footlights ! Although they 
 have never been formally introduced to us, with gay 
 insouciance they take a seat in our box and chat to 
 us familiarly — one might almost say tenderly. One 
 of them is French, the other Italian. After a few 
 seconds' cheery badinage, the French girl suggests. 
 in the words of the old English ballad, that ' another 
 little drink wouldn't do us any harm.' Heartily we 
 agree — for it is hot, and rather thirsty work — and 
 suggest beer. But beer, although an excellent beverage, 
 does not seem to appeal to them. They talk volubly : 
 from what we can understand, their doctor has positively 
 insisted that they must take a little champagne every 
 night. Hastily we consult our common exchequer, 
 and find that their needs and our means are mutually 
 incompatible. With the agility of butterflies they 
 flit away to the next box, where, to judge from the 
 sounds of merriment that proceed thence, they have 
 found more opulent but not more sincere admirers. 
 We turn again towards the stage, and drink our beer 
 in silence. Perhaps we feel, you and I, gentle reader, 
 that something has gone out of our lives — a feeling 
 which is strengthened by the gentle perfume which 
 is gradually wafted away through the door of the box. 
 
 But in such a joyous atmosphere melancholy has
 
 82 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 no place. We drink glass after glass of beer, and 
 appreciate thoroughly the good things of the earth. 
 Our remaining sorrows are dispersed by the sight of 
 a beautiful blonde who struts across the stage in the 
 garments of an imaginary cow-boy. She proceeds 
 to give a spirited rendering of ' Tipperary.' I admit 
 it is difficult to recognize the time at first, but as the 
 lady possessed very strong lungs, I distinctly recognized 
 the word ' Tipperary ' on two occasions. Moreover, 
 the audience, abandoning the French, Italian, Russian, 
 Serbian, or Greek tunes, all join in the chorus with an 
 enthusiasm and gusto which outrivals all their previous 
 efforts. At the close of the song — that is, when the 
 audience have grown so hoarse that they can sing no 
 longer — there is such a furore in the theatre that the 
 most conscientious German could not have been heard 
 eating. All the officers on the parterre seize their 
 chairs and tables and cast them up into the air, so that 
 when, by the infallible laws of gravity, the chairs and 
 tables come down again, either on the floor or on some- 
 body's head, the noise is very considerable. Those 
 who can find no chairs or tables handy, make time at 
 the double with an agility they have never shown 
 on the parade-ground. When the tumult has at 
 length subsided, the ' cow-girl ' comes on again, and 
 sings a song which is probably meant to be ' When 
 Irish Eyes are Smiling.' But the audience, having 
 now regained their breath, will have none of this, and 
 return to their first love, ' Tipperary.' Finally the 
 lady, reahzing that they can sing just as well without 
 her, retires from the stage. A few minutes later, the 
 audience now being completely exhausted, the curtain 
 comes down and we have ten minutes' respite.
 
 SALONICA ON LEAVE 33 
 
 The interval is given over to cementing eternal 
 friendship between our Allies and ourselves. In voices 
 broken with emotion we assure a Russian officer of 
 our admiration for his glorious race, and beseech him 
 with tears in our eyes, to come to London, when the 
 war is over, and stay with us for a few years. The 
 trifling facts that he cannot understand a word we 
 say, and that we cannot for the moment remember our 
 addresses, in no way damps our ardour. The Russian 
 officer falls on our necks and murmurs, " Prjemsl " — 
 which we take for a kind invitation to visit him in his 
 home at that dehghtful spot, when next we go to Russia. 
 
 Arm in arm with our Russian friend we visit other 
 boxes. We are greeted everywhere with deUrious 
 enthusiasm. Regardless of the exiguity of our exchequer, 
 we order champagne, and drink uproariously to the 
 prosperity of our new-found friends. The interval 
 is over ; but we care no longer for the attractions of 
 the stage. For is not the fair singer of ' Tipperary ' 
 in our box ? Suddenly I am filled with the gift of 
 languages, and I address my neighbour in fluent Serbian. 
 He pretends not to understand me, and says he is 
 Italian. But I know better. However, to compromise, 
 I speak to him in Greek. Then I try Russian. With 
 tears in my eyes I repeat " Nijni-Novgorod," which 
 is Russian for ' Cheero.' He seems to understand, 
 and also commences to weep. The box is very full, 
 I wish I could see more plainly. More beautiful girls 
 enter the box. I bow to one with old-world grace. . , , 
 Some one picks me up. I must have overbalanced. 
 Strange how the box is revolving ! . . . The show is 
 over. We are out in the open air. The cool breeze 
 revives me, and I look at my wrist-watch : it is past 
 
 3
 
 84 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 midnight. At length I find you — ^yes, you, gentle 
 reader — wandering away with uncertain gait. I clasp 
 you firmly ; we say good-bye a hundred times to all 
 our friends. Then slowly we wend our way to the 
 hotel, at peace with the world. 
 
 Those who read the foregoing lines with indignation 
 would do well to recollect that leave to Salonica comes, 
 hke Christmas, but once a year, to most of us out here. 
 Let them remember, too, the old Latin tag — 'Duke 
 est desipere in loco.' 
 
 Salonica on leave presents many joys ; but perhaps 
 the greatest joy consists in the brevity of the leave. 
 Amusements such as the White Tower Theatre, if en- 
 joyed once or twice a year, are attractive by their 
 novelty ; oft -repeated, they would be quite unbearable.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 M. VENIZELOS 
 
 " His Excellency the President will see you at 9.45 to 
 morrow morning." With these words my friend L., 
 of the National Army, greeted us on our arrival at the 
 Cercle on the 21st of May 1917. 
 
 I had come out of hospital, and was able to stay 
 a few days in Salonica with my Colonel, who was going 
 back to England. We had a very pleasant time, 
 seeing all the sights, and meeting many ofl&cers from 
 other countries. My Colonel, who used to be in Par- 
 liament, was very anxious before he left to meet 
 M. Venizelos. Through the kindness of L,, who was 
 working at the Greek War Office, an interview had 
 been arranged. 
 
 But before I go any farther I should like to write 
 a few Hnes about L. I happened to sit at the same 
 table as he at the Cercle, when I first came out in 
 December 1916. As he had all his meals at the Cercle, 
 I used to meet him whenever I had a day in Salonica. 
 From casual acquaintances we became real friends. 
 
 L. was one of five brothers who lived in Athens. The 
 
 family followed the various phases of Constantine's 
 
 treachery with growing despair. They were ardently 
 
 patriotic, and chafed under the cowardly regime of 
 
 the Greek Court. Four out of the five had fought 
 
 35
 
 8e MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 in the Balkan Wars, and they beheld the fruits of 
 their former victories gradually falling into the hands 
 of their hereditary enemy, the Bulgar. When M. Veni- 
 zelos at length decided to leave Athens for Salonica 
 and form a nation of his own, the five brothers joined 
 the new movement without a moment's hesitation. 
 Their mother had to remain at Athens, and reaUzed 
 fully the insults, and even violence, she would have to 
 suffer at the hands of the RoyaHsts if her sons joined 
 the National Army. But with splendid courage she 
 bade them go and do their duty. Since they had 
 left Athens they had been unable to communicate 
 with her ; but even under the shadow of this terrible 
 anxiety they were happy in the knowledge that they were 
 serving their country, though — God knows I — it must 
 have been hard for them. 
 
 L. is very young and very enthusiastic in his admi- 
 ration for the EngUsh ; he is plus royaliste que le rot. 
 (No allusion to Tino.) He speaks English fluently, 
 but not idiomatically. He told me that, next to his 
 mother, he loves the British Navy more than anything 
 else in the world. It appears that he has been alto- 
 gether on five different transports and men-of-war, 
 and his trip from Athens to Salonica seems to have 
 been the supreme joy of his life. As for British sports, 
 they fill him with ecstasy. He told me, with the 
 simplicity and pride of a little child that had just learnt 
 to walk, of his great feats at swimming and rowing. 
 One day, if he comes to England, I shall take him to 
 see a professional football match. I believe his love 
 for British sport will carry him even through that 
 trying ordeal ! 
 
 About a quarter of an hour before our time we arrived
 
 M. V E N I Z E L O S 87 
 
 at the President's house. It is situated on the road 
 to Kalamaria, in the residential part of Salonica. It 
 is not very big, but it is surrounded by lovely gardens. 
 At the gate there stands a sentry, dressed in the national 
 costume of the Greek Army. We passed by him in 
 some trepidation, but he appeared quite harmless, 
 and ' presented arms ' very smartly to the Colonel. 
 We walked up the steps leading to the hall, and were 
 greeted by the President's Secretary, who told us 
 M. Venizelos would be glad to see us in ten minutes' 
 time. The hall and vestibule were crowded with 
 ofl&cers of every nationality, civiUans, and a number of 
 Greek priests, all waiting patiently to interview the 
 President. He had just returned from an extensive 
 tour round the islands, where he had everywhere been 
 greeted with the utmost enthusiasm. What colossal 
 energy he must possess ! Whilst presiding over the 
 destinies of what is practically a new nation, he 
 finds time to interview casual admirers like our- 
 selves ! 
 
 Punctually at a quarter to ten we were shown into 
 his salon. He was dressed in sober black — just as we 
 have seen him in photographs a thousand times. One 
 might think at first that he was an eminent Don, or 
 perhaps the head master of a pubhc school. Although 
 his appearance is distinguished, there is Uttle at first 
 to suggest that this quiet man with the face of a student 
 is ' the greatest hving statesman in Europe.' But 
 when he began to speak, his face seemed to Hght up, 
 and his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. In spite of 
 his prodigious activity and the immense responsibiUty 
 that rests on his shoulders, he betrayed no signs of 
 fatigue.
 
 88 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 He spoke in fluent French, though his accentuation 
 was obviously not that of a Frenchman. His voice, 
 gradually rising to a higher pitch as he reached the 
 climax of a speech, suggested a skilled orator, but 
 every word carried the conviction of sincerity. When 
 he expressed his ungrudging admiration for England, 
 we felt — nay, we knew — that it was not just the cus- 
 tomary cordiality of a poUtician, but the heartfelt love 
 of a friend. 
 
 His case against the King was absolutely simple 
 and clear. Although he must have repeated it a thou- 
 sand times, his voice still betrayed deep emotion. 
 " Quoique je deteste de le dire, le roi Constantin a 
 trahi la Grece." Apart from her natural obligations 
 to the Protecting Powers of Greece — England, France, 
 and Russia — Greece had a clear-cut treaty with Serbia to 
 come to her assistance if she were attacked by Bulgaria. 
 Against the wishes of the entire nation, Constantine 
 had refused to help Serbia in the hour of her distress. 
 He was a constitutional monarch, and he had violated 
 the Constitution. Henceforward one miserable treachery 
 had followed another : the shameful surrender of 
 Kavalla and the Rupel Pass, the secession of a Greek 
 Army Corps, with guns and munitions, to Germany : 
 a thousand and one acts of covert and open hostility 
 to the Entente. Finally he had realized the futility 
 of remaining any longer in Athens. With the greatest 
 reluctance he had decided that it was better for Greece 
 to be divided than that she should remain stagnant. 
 For though the name of Greece had been sullied, he 
 knew that the heart of the people was sound, and 
 that they only awaited the call of a leader. So he 
 had come to Salonica, and had made every effort to
 
 M. VENIZELOS 39 
 
 raise a ' National ' Army to defend Greece's territory. 
 Already it was displaying its valour at the Front. 
 
 We assured him that on all sides the bravery of his 
 troops during the recent attack of the Vardar had been 
 acknowledged and acclaimed with the greatest joy by 
 all. He seemed dehghted : for though he has never 
 been a soldier, he takes the pride of a father in the 
 Army. 
 
 Did he think that Constantine was greatly influ- 
 enced by his wife, Sophie ? No, he thought that the 
 beaux yeux noirs de sa femme had little influence 
 on her husband's policy. In a way Constantine was 
 a strong man : and though he was a constitutional 
 monarch, he always wished to rule as an autocrat. 
 To him the Kaiser had always appeared the perfect 
 t5T)e of autocrat : from him he had learnt the habit 
 of tearing up sacred treaties, as if they were comme 
 vous dites en Anglais, ' scraps of paper.' (This was 
 the only EngUsh expression he used — it seemed to 
 please him very much.) For these reasons, partly 
 sentimental, partly political, Constantine had done 
 all in his power to help the Kaiser. 
 
 After this, with many apologies for having detained 
 him so long, and with many thanks for his great kind- 
 ness, we rose to go. I noticed that although he had 
 only heard our names once at the beginning of the 
 interview, when his Secretary had introduced us, he 
 now remembered them perfectly, and said good-bye 
 to us with the greatest cordiality. 
 
 I am happier than I can express to have had the 
 honour of meeting this great statesman and patriot. 
 As I think of him, striving on towards his goal, meeting 
 incalculable difficulties and dangers with a firm purpose,
 
 40 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 unshaken by the threats of a king or the howls of a 
 mob, braving the perils of the deep, undaunted by the 
 greatest convulsion the earth has ever known, the 
 famous lines of Horace came irresistibly to my mind. 
 So strange indeed are they in their aptness, that they 
 might have been written specially to commemorate 
 the Saviour of Greece : — 
 
 Justum et tenacem propositi virum 
 Non civium ardor prava jubentium, 
 Non vultus instantis tyranni 
 Mente quatit solida, neque Auster 
 Dux inquieti ; turbidus Hadriae, 
 Nee fulminantis magna Jovis manus ; 
 Si fractus illabatur orbis, 
 Impavidum ferient ruinae.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 UNINVITED GUESTS 
 
 In this sparsely populated country, before the war, 
 animals and insects of all kinds, released from the yoke 
 of man, flourished more than in any other European 
 country. Domesticated or driven out of the rest of 
 Europe, they sought refuge in the wilds of Macedonia. 
 But since the beginning of the Salonica campaign 
 their ranks have been considerably thinned out by 
 the perseverance of the Allied Armies ; and where 
 they flourished and abounded two years ago, they are 
 now being hunted down and driven out. 
 
 If I were the particular kind of 'ologist interested 
 in such matters, I could write volumes on the subject 
 of ' Animal and Insect Life in the Balkans,' to my 
 own satisfaction and the boredom of my readers. Being, 
 however, only a human being, I will merely give a 
 few facts and relate a few anecdotes concerning such 
 animals and insects as I have met myself. 
 
 First and foremost comes Bill, the lizard. Bill 
 lives in the brushwood which protects the top of my 
 dugout from the rays of the sun. By taking thought 
 (for Bill is essentially of a thoughtful disposition) he 
 has, since first I made his acquaintance, added several 
 cubits to his stature. He is now so absurdly long 
 that when he turns round he trips over his own tail. 
 
 41
 
 42 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 My first meeting with Bill is worth recording, for its 
 unconventionality. I was sitting at my desk a few 
 weeks ago, looking thoughtfully through the window, 
 and thinking out some sparkling epigram. Suddenly I 
 became aware of Bill sitting on the window-sill, sunning 
 himself. We exchanged greetings ; when suddenly 
 Bill recollected that he had come out without a gas- 
 helmet, and turned hastily to go. ... I picked up the 
 ink-pot, and laboured hard to remove the blots from 
 my priceless tome, and searched in vain for the vanished 
 epigram. Since that memorable day Bill has become 
 very secretive ; but I hear him moving about upstairs. 
 I believe the reason for his exclusiveness is that he is 
 married. Ah, well, these young people will marry ! 
 Mrs. Bill has already had several ' war-babies,' who 
 lose themselves from time to time in the dugout. But 
 although Bill has proved a devoted husband and father, 
 he never forgets that he too must do his bit to finish 
 the war, and as scavenger-in-chief of the British Army 
 he works indefatigably. 
 
 My next best friend is Thomas, the tortoise. Although 
 he is two hundred and seventy-three next October, 
 he still takes an intelligent interest in modern affairs. 
 He says the war is nothing compared to some of the 
 wars he has witnessed in Macedonia, but he is strongly 
 pro-Entente, and is especially hostile to the Turk. 
 He can never forget an unfortunate episode that took 
 place in 1655 a.d., when a young Turk picked him up 
 and replaced him on the ground, on his back. For 
 ten hours he struggled unavailingly to right himself, 
 and had it not been for his parents, who came to the 
 rescue and, after heaving hard for some time, managed 
 to set him up again in life, he would certainly have.
 
 UNINVITED GUESTS 48 
 
 died of starvation in this ignominious position. I 
 may mention as a point of historical interest that 
 Spartan tortoises send their children out into the 
 world with the stem advice to come back again with 
 hardened shells, or on them. Thomas has one hete 
 noire — motor-lorries. An ordinary cart or a limber 
 he allows to pass over him without turning a hair ; 
 but a motor-lorry is altogether too much for him. 
 Recently a sad event has ruffled the calm of Thomas's 
 existence. Although he does not actually live with 
 me, my dugout is his headquarters, from which he 
 saUies forth on punitive expeditions against dead 
 flies. The other day he brought his great-great- 
 granddaughter, Little Nell, to see me. She was a 
 charming girl ; but, as events proved, of rather a 
 flighty disposition. For as Thomas and I were 
 discussing the situation on the Western Front, we 
 suddenly became aware that Little Nell had run 
 away. Although we instituted an exhaustive search 
 for her within a radius of two yards, all our efforts 
 were abortive. It has been a great blow to Thomas, 
 and I'm afraid his reason has been slightly affected 
 by this sad loss. I have not seen him for several days, 
 and I am beginning to fear that he has wandered down 
 to the road and unsuccessfully endeavoured to over- 
 turn a passing motor-lorry. 
 
 There are many wild dogs and hyenas that roam 
 round the camp at night. Some really are wild, but 
 most of them are merely playful. However, many of 
 them have been shot. Last winter a battalion in the 
 trenches became aware that the company on their 
 right were opening a lively fusillade. Suspecting a 
 surprise attack of the Bulgars, they sent across to
 
 4,4, MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 find out if support was needed. The reply came back 
 that they were merely firing at a pack of dogs, who 
 were wandering in ' No Man's Land.' Shortly after- 
 wards the Bulgars joined in the game, and the dogs, 
 thus treacherously caught between two fires, were 
 quickly annihilated. 
 
 But, as I say, the majority of the dogs are merely 
 playful. When we were on the Vardar Front, we 
 discovered an excellent dog, and apphed to the Division 
 for a permit, as each unit is allowed one dog. We 
 were rather puzzled to give an accurate description 
 of the animal. Eventually we decided on ' One white, 
 greyish-brown wolf sheep-dog, answering to the name 
 of Harry.' This latter statement was not strictly 
 true, for though on one occasion he answered to the 
 name of Harry, he would answer equally to any other 
 name — if you had a bone in your hand. Harry, although 
 very formidable in size and appearance, was generally 
 as docile as a lamb. One night, however, a signaller 
 came to us with a wire, at two in the morning. Harry, 
 not unnaturally exasperated that his kind master 
 should be awakened at this unseemly hour, walked 
 playfully round the signaller for a few seconds, and 
 then seized his opportunity — and a large portion of the 
 signaller's leg. Of course there was trouble next morn- 
 ing. The Signalling Officer failed to see that Harry's 
 action was justifiable. And so, in deference to public 
 opinion, on the next day the signaller was despatched 
 to hospital, and Harry to another — and, let us hope, 
 a fairer — world. 
 
 In certain districts snakes abound ; but though I 
 have been authoritatively assured that the smaller 
 ones are vipers and can easily kill a man with their
 
 UNINVITED GUESTS 45 
 
 bite, I have never yet heard of anybody who succumbed 
 to one. Whether this proves the mendacity of my 
 informant, or the good-luck of the Army, I cannot 
 say. In any case there is something uncanny about 
 snakes, unless you are accustomed to them. I shall 
 never forget the first time I saw one. 
 
 I had been invited over to dinner at Train Head- 
 quarters. After I had had an excellent dinner, I was 
 told that I was wanted in the office, to speak on the 
 'phone. I went next door to answer the call. I trod 
 on the telephone-cord on the floor ; to my unspeakable 
 horror it began to wriggle ! In fear and trembling, I 
 made a hasty vow never, never to touch whisky again. 
 But I soon realized that it was indeed a snake. I dashed 
 out of the room, and fell into the arms of the Adjutant, 
 who was just coming in. When I told him, he was 
 very much amused, and proceeded to kill the snake 
 with a ruler. A post-mortem examination proved 
 that it was a long grass-snake of an innocuous type. 
 The Adjutant informed me pityingly that, unless the 
 snake's head was thicker than its body, there was no 
 danger. This annoyed me. " I suppose," I said 
 bitingly, " if you saw a snake you would assume the 
 correct manner of an Adjutant on parade, and give the 
 order ' For inspection, present head.' Or perhaps 
 you would ask it to fill in on Army Form B. 305 a 
 description of itself in triplicate ! " Having regained 
 courage by the annihilation of the Adjutant, I returned 
 to, the mess. 
 
 There are also scorpions, whose sting is extremely 
 unpleasant, and in some case really dangerous. " A 
 good game," a friend told me, " is to catch a scorpion, 
 pour petrol round it in a circle, and then set fire to the
 
 46 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 petrol. The scorpion will then sting itself to death." 
 I told him that though this might be a good game, 
 I preferred football. I asked him if he had ever 
 played the ' scorpion ' game himself. He admitted 
 that he hadn't, and even when I volunteered to 
 provide the petrol he didn't seem enthusiastic. I do 
 hate people who are always giving advice that they 
 wouldn't dream of taking themselves — and I told him 
 so. In fact, I suggested that he should give an 
 imitation of a scorpion and sting himself to death, I 
 haven't seen him since. I hope he didn't take my 
 advice too literally. 
 
 Mosquitoes this summer were much rarer ' birds ' than 
 they were last year. Thanks to a strafing campaign 
 of the R.A.M.C. against all hkely breeding-places of 
 the mosquito, millions have been killed. Any one 
 visiting the Struma Front for the first time, and be- 
 holding the huge fires burning all over the plain, might 
 imagine some vast strategic purpose lay behind these 
 flamboyant manifestations ; as a matter of fact it is 
 only another mosquito-strafe. A thoughtful document 
 has been circulated among all units, rather reminiscent 
 of Burnand's ' Happy Thoughts.' " One bite from 
 an Anopheles mosquito may bring malaria, and — 
 probably death." (This latter kind of mosquito 
 is supposed by humorists to have taken its name by 
 reason of the fact that it is ' an ophel easy ' thing to 
 be bitten by one.) It is with such Ught and breezy 
 hterature as this that we raise the spirits of our 
 Army ! 
 
 Of flies I will not speak : the subject is too painful. 
 Like the Royal Artillery, their motto is ' Ubique ' — 
 you can't get away from them. A humorist complained
 
 UNINVITED GUESTS 47 
 
 the other day to an indignant cook that his flies had not 
 been properly cooked. 
 
 Other insects and creeping things of every size 
 and shape imaginable exist out here. Indeed, when 
 I think of Euripides' remark concerning yvyaiKec kUi 
 Ta aXXa drjpia I could wish there were a few less wild 
 beast and a few more ladies in Macedonia.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 
 
 There is one Front out here which is practically un- 
 known even to the British Salonica Army. The Xth 
 Brigade, to wliich I was attached at the time, is the 
 only British unit which has visited ' our smallest 
 Front.' I give it this name because, properiy speaking, 
 the Front was about six yards wide. And yet that 
 little gap of six yards at the head of a mountain pass, 
 if it had been forced by the enemy, might have endan- 
 gered the very existence of the Allied Armies out here. 
 As a matter of fact, no fighting occurred on the Front : 
 if you seek for tales of war and bloodshed in these 
 chapters you will be disappointed. Nothing very 
 thrilUng took place during our stay at the httle town 
 of Katerini ; but I write of it because we were at an 
 out-of-the-way place, a place full of interest, and off 
 the beaten track of war. 
 
 I have endeavoured as far as possible in these pages 
 to avoid any accounts or discussions of military ob- 
 jectives. I do not pretend to be a real soldier ; and 
 even if I had taken part in any actual fighting I should 
 not thereby be in a position to criticize the Higher 
 Command. The fact is that the ordinary officer has 
 little or no knowledge of these matters, and cannot 
 come to a sane conclusion, because he has not the 
 
 48
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 49 
 
 necessary information or statistics at his disposal. 
 One often hears of armchair strategists at home : 
 unfortunately they not only exist at home in the 
 clubs, where they are comparatively harmless ; there 
 are also at the Front officers of the same school — let 
 us call them the ' biscuit-box strategists.' Instead 
 of being old fogies seated in an armchair at home, they 
 are young men seated on biscuit-boxes at the Front. 
 Having taken part in some ' push,' and having gained 
 a fairly recent knowledge of what took place on a 
 Front of, say, fifty yards, they proceed to criticize 
 the military operations en bloc, arguing the whole from 
 the part with forcible but fallacious logic. At this 
 point, however, although I hope I am not a biscuit-box 
 strategist, I propose, by way of explanation to the reader, 
 to give a rough sketch of the events which led up to 
 our despatch to Katerini, and also to state what I 
 think were the mihtary objects we were sent to fulfil. 
 My Division was taken out of the line in France 
 at the end of October 1916. After the reorganization 
 necessary to adapt us to the conditions of a different 
 country, we were embarked at Marseilles for Salonica. 
 The first contingent arrived here about the 20th of 
 November ; by Christmas Day the whole of the Division 
 had landed. During the time that we were dis- 
 embarking affairs in Ancient Grace were assuming a 
 more and more disquieting aspect. One act of 
 treachery followed another, till at last, on the ist and 
 2nd of December, the massacre of EngHsh and 
 French Marines at Athens left no room for doubt in 
 anybody's mind as to the real policy and intentions 
 of King Constantine and his supporters at Athens. 
 The doubt existed, not whether Constantine desired 
 
 4
 
 60 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 to attack us in the rear, but whether he was able to 
 do so. It must be borne in mind that although 
 M. Venizelos had established a National Government 
 in Salonica and could number among his supporters 
 many of the best officers and soldiers of the Greek 
 Army, the bulk of the Greek Army — whether 
 through coercion or apathy we know not — had re- 
 mained faithful to Constantine, and constituted 
 a formidable military weapon. How much they 
 possessed in the way of munitions it would be hard 
 to guess : a large amount of mountain guns and 
 ammunition had fallen into the hands of the Bulgars 
 when Hadjopoulos' Army Corps was ' kidnapped.' 
 But even making every allowance for this, it is reason- 
 able to think they had enough guns and ammunition 
 for a very short and decisive campaign. Coming at 
 a time when our losses had been heavy in the fight for 
 Monastir, and when our ranks had been thinned by 
 sickness and disease, a simultaneous attack by the 
 Germans ani Bulgars on our main Front, and by the 
 Royalist Forces on our lines of communication, might 
 have proved disastrous for us. 
 
 It was known that at the time the majority of the 
 Royalist Army was concentrated on the plain of Thes- 
 saly, near the towns of Larissa and Volo. If they 
 intended to attack the AlHed Armies in the rear, they 
 would have to pass through the mountain range which 
 separates Thessaly from the neutral zone. The 
 railway-line from Athens to Salonica runs practically 
 all the way along the coast, and would naturally be 
 quite useless to an Army advancing against an enemy 
 who had command of the sea. The chief, and I beUeve 
 I am right in saying the only, pass that could have
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 51 
 
 been used by the Royalists, is the Petra Pass. This 
 pass forms a gap in the huge range of mountains which 
 run inland from Mount Olympus — about forty miles 
 south-west of Salonica. The pass is narrow ; and 
 for a long time, having been superseded by the modern 
 railroad along the coast, it has fallen into a state of 
 disrepair. At the head of the pass lies the tiny village 
 of Petra, from which it takes its name. Southwards 
 from Petra the pass descends into the plain of Thessaly ; 
 in a north-easterly direction the track slopes down 
 about fifteen miles till it finds its way to Katerini. 
 Katerini has about five thousand inhabitants, and is 
 situated about thirty-five miles south-west of Salonica, 
 and four miles inland. It is connected with Salonica 
 by road ; but in the winter, owing to heavy rains, the 
 road — or, to be more accurate, the track — is practically 
 impassable. On the gth of December the Xth In- 
 fantry Brigade, which, together with an Artillery 
 Brigade, a Field Company of Engineers, a Machine-gun 
 Company, and a Field Ambulance, had arrived first 
 in Salonica, had orders to embark at once for Vromeri, 
 four miles due west of Katerini. Although Katerini is 
 also on the main Salonica-Athens railway line, we 
 were, I think, very short of roUing-stock at the time, 
 so it was considered easier to send the Brigade by sea. 
 The Pack and Wheel Companies A.S.C. of the Brigade 
 and the Requisitioning or Purchasing Officer to the 
 Brigade (self) had not yet arrived : so they sent a Reserve 
 Pack to do the transport work, till the Pack and Wheel 
 Companies should be ready. 
 
 The main objects of the landing were, I think, three- 
 fold :— 
 
 I. In case of immediate attack by the Royalists,
 
 52 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 to delay their advance as long as possible, and so to 
 give us time to perfect our main defences along the 
 Vardar line — the only natural obstacle between Katerini 
 and Salonica. 
 
 2. If the attack did not materialize at once, to 
 construct as quickly as possible a good road, capable 
 of allowing limbers to pass, up to Petra. 
 
 3. When the road had been constructed, to occupy 
 the Pass in force, so as to be able either to resist any 
 attack, or if a favourable opportunity presented itself, 
 to be in a position at any moment to invade Thessaly. 
 
 Generally speaking, I think it was a race for the Pass, 
 for on the other side as well, the track had fallen into 
 disuse. But if the Royalists had managed to con- 
 struct a good road as far as Petre before we did so, it 
 is possible that the whole course of history might have 
 been changed — as far as this expedition is concerned. 
 It may have been, of course, that the Germans, in 
 spite of their defeat of the Roumanians, did not feel 
 strong enough for a diversion against Salonica, and 
 consequently ordered the Prussian Field-Marshal to 
 aggravate us as far as he could by intrigues, but not 
 to go farther, as no German support would be forth- 
 coming. However that may be, we occupied the Pass 
 in time, and in the middle of January, Constantine 
 accepted our ultimatum, and withdrew the majority 
 of his forces into the Peloponnese, 
 
 On the 4th of January the Pack and Wheel Companies 
 A.S.C. of the Xth Brigade, being now more or less 
 mobile, had orders to proceed by road to Katerini. The 
 track was in a slightly better condition, as we had had 
 a spell of dry weather — but even now it was considered 
 quite impossible for limbered wagons. So the limbers
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 63 
 
 were taken from our Rest-camp near Dudular down to 
 the Quay : the mules were unhooked, ready to take 
 the road the next day with the Pack Company. (The 
 Pack Company has about 250 mules, each of which 
 can carry about 160 lb. on their pack saddles. The 
 Wheel Company, though they also have spare pack 
 saddlery in the event of a road being impassable for 
 Umbers, consists of about sixty limbered wagons, drawn 
 by teams of four mules.) 
 
 At this point I can take up the personal narrative. 
 As R.O. to the Brigade (you are called Requisitioning 
 Officer, by the way, because you are never under any 
 circumstances allowed to requisition anything — but 
 let that pass) I had orders to join my Supply Officer, 
 Captain R., who had moved to Katerini with the 
 Brigade. As neither of the Transport Officers of the 
 Wheel Company could be spared, and as I believed {me 
 miserum !} that it was a simple task, I volunteered to 
 take charge of the derelict limbers down at the Quay. 
 My party of men consisted of three ' wheelers ' (that is, 
 men responsible for the good condition of the wagons), 
 a few waifs and strays from the Wheel Company who 
 would inevitably have ' fallen by the wayside ' if they 
 had been called upon to walk all the way to Katerini, 
 and my batman. On arrival at Vromeri, I was to 
 wait a day or two on the beach — by which time the 
 mules and drivers of the limbers would have arrived by 
 road, and would then be in a position to remove their 
 wagons. 
 
 It sounded quite simple. But subsequent events 
 have convinced me of the inadvisability of rashly 
 undertaking to escort sixty wagons, full of stores, 
 across the sea. Ever since that fatal day I have
 
 «4 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 been pestered with countless ' Courts of Inquiry ' over 
 lost equipment and stores ; under the strain my raven 
 locks have turned grey, and I have lost my joie de 
 vivre ! Affairs are still suh judice ; but I have been 
 unofficially informed by kind friends (damn them !) 
 that if I escape with costs not exceeding two thousand 
 pounds, I may consider myself extremely lucky. But 
 it is more probable that I shall finish writing this book 
 in prison. If, however, it should fall into the hands 
 of the Court, I hope to be acquitted on the ground of 
 insanity. But I digress. 
 
 On the 6th of January I arrived at the Quay. The 
 drivers and mules had just departed, and the limbers 
 were neatly packed in a yard. I hastened to the 
 ofi&ce of the Assistant Military Landing Officer — here- 
 inafter known as A.M.L.O. He is the deity who pre- 
 sides over the destinies of those about to embark or 
 disembark. On the Quay he is Absolute Monarch ; 
 beneath his baleful glance, hectic Major-Generals 
 must grovel ; Colonels are marched off in charge of 
 ' fatigue-parties ' {Anglice, stevedores) and may not 
 reheve their feelings till they are well away from the 
 Quay. Him I found — it seems almost blasphemous 
 to mention it — in his hut, partaking of liquid refresh- 
 ment. Somehow I imagined that he needed no sus- 
 tenance at all — I thought he was superior to the needs 
 and desires of lesser mortals. I felt the shock ex- 
 perienced by most young men when they first reaUze 
 that the word ' relative ' is not necessarily synonymous 
 with perfection : that Aunt Maria, for instance, ran 
 away with a chauffeur, or that Uncle George is a Cabinet 
 Minister. However, I recovered, saluted smartly, and 
 stated my business. Here was I, here were the men,
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 55 
 
 and here were the limbers. All he had to do was to 
 find a boat, heave us all aboard, and dispatch us with 
 a blessing. Under the circumstances I was willing 
 to forgo the usual ceremony of breaking a bottle of 
 ' Gilbey ' champagne across the bows. He pretended 
 he had never heard of me — he couldn't reconcile himself 
 with my presence ; in fact, he treated me as if I were 
 an unreality. He had no knowledge, no warning 
 that I was coming : therefore I wasn't here. Gently 
 but firmly I led him to the limbers to convince him 
 that I was not a phantom. This treatment seemed a 
 success — he was convinced. " What you'd better do," 
 he said, " is to unload all those limbers [they were full 
 and lashed down] and stack the contents on the Quay. 
 Place a guard over the empty limbers, and another 
 over the contents, for the night." I suggested humbly 
 that out of eleven men, of whom the majority were 
 either deaf, dumb, blind, or one-lunged, it would not 
 be possible to find an excessive number of guards. 
 He waved my suggestion aside, and continued : " To- 
 morrow you can load the limbers on to one tug, the 
 stores on to another, and the men on to a third. You 
 yourself can travel on the torpedo-boat." Overwhelmed 
 with his magnanimity, though a trifle confused, I 
 retired hastily, lest he should change his mind, and order 
 us to load the limbers on our backs and swim for it. 
 I witnessed the unloading of the limbers — and then 
 took a deep breath. For we carried most of the stores 
 and equipment of the Pack Company as well as the 
 Wheel, and there were many oddments belonging to 
 other units as well, li only we could have embarked 
 the limbers with their contents lashed down inside, 
 there would have been no confusion. As things turned
 
 5e MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 out, however, a ruthless party of Greek labourers, 
 regardless of such things as ' sets ' of harness, proceeded 
 to stack the contents of the limbers in a glorious pile, 
 which resembled nothing so much as a jumble-sale 
 given by ' the dear Vicar.' But in addition to that 
 the labourers seemed to take a childish delight in un- 
 buckling all the harness they could find, being highly 
 appreciative of that product of Western civilization, 
 the jig-saw puzzle. As I say, I took a deep breath 
 and wondered what new words the O.C.'s of the Pack 
 and Wheel Companies would invent when they dis- 
 covered the pretty handiwork of these impish banditti. 
 At length I made my way to an hotel in the town, to 
 partake of an oleaginous dinner, and then to strip 
 between sheets, a luxury which, partly through its 
 strangeness, and partly on account of little friends 
 who came to share the bed with me, I did not fully 
 appreciate. 
 
 The whole of the next day we were very busy loading 
 everything that had not disappeared during the night, 
 on to the barges. After an arduous day's work I re- 
 ported at 7 p.m. to the A.M.L.O. that the task was 
 accomplished, and sought instructions for the morrow. 
 He graciously informed me that I might now depart in 
 peace, but as the T.B. would be alongside early the 
 next morning, and we should be off at once, I must 
 return to the docks at 3.30 a.m. Being unversed in 
 the ways of A.M.L.O.'s I returned punctually at 3.30, 
 feeling very sleepy. Not a soul about. By 4.30 things 
 were getting lively — two cats came on the Quay to 
 keep me company. By 5.30 reinforcements marched in, 
 20 officers and 400 men. They were the rear-party of 
 the Brigade. By 6.30 things were positively hil nous
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 57 
 
 — the A.M.L.O.'s batman hove in sight, bearing a cup 
 of tea for his master. By 7.30 the A.M.L.O. himself, 
 arising simultaneously with Phoebus (who looked quite 
 pale in comparison), strode on to the Quay, and spUt 
 us into two parties — one for each torpedo-boat. Cela 
 va sans dire that I was detailed for the second T.B. 
 By 8.30 the arrival of the two T.B.'s was announced 
 by the A.M.L.O. to be imminent. By 9.30 the first 
 T.B. actually came alongside. (I had much difficulty 
 in controlling my rage when the A.M.L.O. greeted 
 the Commander of the T.B. with the words, " Good- 
 moming. You're a bit before your time. You're not 
 really due till ten ! ") By 10.30 T.B. number two — 
 my T.B. — came alongside. Half an hour later, thinking 
 unutterable things of the A.M.L.O., we left the quayside 
 full speed ahead for Vromeri. Perhaps, though, we did 
 not do justice in our unholy thoughts to the A.M.L.O. 
 I suppose it is necessary — more especially in the case 
 of large units — to have all your men ready on the 
 Quay to embark a considerable time before the boat 
 is due alongside. I cannot help thinking, though, that 
 seven hours' ' warning ' is hardly worthy of the best 
 traditions of the British Army. Though it gives the 
 lie to Mr. Lloyd George's fears that the watchword of 
 Britain is ' Too late, too late ! ' it savours rather of the 
 usual cry of ' Partenza ' vociferated by Italian station- 
 masters many hours, and in some cases days, before 
 the train really leaves the station. Still, the work 
 of the A.M.L.O. during the first landing at Salonica in 
 a ' hostile ' country, when German Staff Officers stood 
 on the Quay taking the numbers of every man, vehicle, 
 and animal, must have been distinctly trying. One 
 ought not therefore to disparage this branch of the
 
 58 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 Service, whose wonderful organization made such a 
 landing not only possible but even comfortable. 
 
 The trip to Vromeri did not take much more than 
 an hour. For the first few miles — till we had cleared 
 the second ' boom ' that protects the harbour — we 
 went slowly. After that we went full steam ahead. It 
 was the first time I had been on a man-of-war. The 
 sensation of skimming through the water at 30 miles 
 an hour, or — to adopt the nautical vernacular — 24 
 knots, is most exhilarating. Fortunately the sea was 
 not very rough — or I might not have enjoyed it so much. 
 She was an old boat — T.B's. have not been built for 
 a long time, of course — but she had done constant 
 service in the Mediterranean since the outbreak of war, 
 and had had many exciting adventures. We chatted 
 with one of the Naval Officers, and questioned him 
 eagerly about Katerini. He had taken the G.O.C. over 
 there a fortnight ago. At the first landing there had 
 been no sort of pier. The barges had come as near the 
 shore as possible, and the men had had to walk the rest 
 of the way. All through the night they had had to 
 unload their stores and baggage, wading in relays from 
 the tug to the shore. As it was exceedingly cold then, 
 I don't think the first landing could have been very 
 delightful. But during the last three weeks a rough 
 pier had been constructed by the engineers, and 
 there seemed every chance of our landing in 
 comfort. 
 
 At about midday we came close to the shore and 
 were able to see Vromeri. I confess I was rather dis- 
 appointed — there were exactly three ruined houses ! 
 We learnt afterwards that when a small party of Allies 
 first arrived here, the Royalists, acting on the time-
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 59 
 
 honoured principle of cutting off your nose to spite 
 your face, had set fire to the village : and all that was 
 left were these three decrepit houses. The T.B. an- 
 chored about two hundred yards off the pier, whither 
 we were duly transported in rowing boats. A harassed 
 individual whom I recognized as the Brigade Bombing 
 Officer, greeted us on the pier. As bombing was for 
 the time being an extinct pastime, he had been appointed 
 A.M.L.O. for the Brigade. The Infantry he greeted 
 with effusion, and soon moved them off with guides to 
 Katerini. Of me and my limbers he ' had no knowledge.' 
 (This is the correct Army formula. Presumably a 
 Regular Of&cer, when a child is born unto him, declares 
 he ' has no knowledge ' of it, and disowns it accordingly.) 
 " Of course," I said, " I am at your disposal. But it 
 seems a pity to send me back when I have come so 
 far." As the barges containing my men and the limbers 
 were not due to arrive for a couple of hours, he decided 
 to send to the Brigade for instructions. A favourable 
 reply was soon received from Katerini, and shortly 
 afterwards a Company of an Infantry BattaUon marched 
 down to Vromeri. " I know the Brigade are delighted 
 to see me," I told the A.M.L.O., " but really it seems 
 rather overdoing it sending down a whole Company as 
 guard of honour." He informed me that they had 
 only come down to unload the barges. " Have you 
 no imagination," I said plaintively ; " must you 
 always confine yourself to hard and stodgy facts ? " 
 I now come to one of the bitterest experiences of my 
 life. Did it not throw a hght on the horrors of war 
 as endured by the A.S.C., I would draw a veil across the- 
 sad incident. Even now I cannot restrain tears oi 
 self-pity : and as I hear the reader seeking to probe
 
 60 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 my grief, I am overcome by the poignancy of ^Eneas' 
 appeal to Dido : — 
 
 Infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock that night : the air had 
 turned chill. I had seen ton after ton of stores unloaded : 
 and though there was a space of a yard between the 
 barges and the pier, not a jot nor tittle had fallen into 
 the sea. I was looking forward to installing my bed 
 and flea-bag somewhere in a sheltered nook on the sands 
 to enjoy a really well-earned rest. There was only 
 about half a barge more to unload, and then we should 
 have finished. With redoubled vigour the men set to 
 work, and the A.M.L.O. and I stood by, encouraging 
 them. Now I may mention that there were about 
 ten officers' valises — including mine — on the barge. 
 It was quite dark, but I soon found mine — rather a 
 big one, you know. However, with the aid of three 
 men and an N.C.O. I had it carefully landed, and put 
 on one side. About three minutes later we beheld a 
 perfectly colossal vahse coming out of the hold ; quite 
 twice the size of mine. The men struggled with it : 
 but just as it was midway between the barge and the 
 pier, some one let go — there was a large splash, and the 
 vaUse disappeared in ten feet of water ! There was a 
 silence — and then we all started roaring with laughter. 
 " Really," I said, when I had recovered slightly, " it's 
 too bad, you know. Some poor devil is going to have 
 a beastly wet night." " Still, it's his own fault," said 
 the A.M.L.O. regaining breath after an attack of hysterics, 
 " he should have a valise, not a pantechnicon ! " "It's 
 absolutely hoggish to have a kit that size," I agreed 
 heartily. Meanwhile some one had fetched a boat-hook,
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 61 
 
 and about twenty men were trying hard to pull up the 
 valise. At first they only succeeded in bursting one of 
 the straps, so that part of the contents rolled out and 
 were lost. This caused further merriment. Whilst they 
 were making another attempt I strolled casually along 
 the pier, to see if my batman had removed my valise, 
 and was getting everything ready for the night. I found 
 it still unopened, and examined it carelessly . . , then 
 more carefully. A horrible suspicion seized me. I 
 dashed up the pier just in time to see the men hoist up 
 a dripping object, which had been once, beyond a doubt, 
 my vaUse ! For five whole minutes silence reigned. 
 I might have been struck dumb till this day, had it 
 not been for the A.M.L.O., who in a high and unnatural 
 key spoke to the men : " Now, you fellows, don't do 
 that again." The appaUing futility of the word ' again ' 
 released the flood-gates of my wrath. For the next 
 ten minutes I spoke at length — the Army, the Navy, 
 the A.M.L.O., the fatigue-party — I forgot nothing. 
 Having utterly anathematized and annihilated them, 
 I strode away with great disgust into the darkness of 
 the night — and tripped up over my accursed valise. 
 The next day I sat alone like Achilles, and maintained 
 an attitude of splendid isolation to all and sundry. 
 Twice I met the ex-Bombing Ofl&cer ; but my ferocious 
 glance quelled him, and he faded away discreetly 
 into the horizon. Fortunately it was a fine day, and 
 the contents of my valise soon dried in the sun. I 
 bathed in the sea, but it was bitingly cold, and I only 
 stayed in about a minute. The rest of the day I spent 
 throwing pebbles into the sea, and scored several 
 direct hits on an imaginary A.M.L.O. Towards night- 
 fall a timid invitation to dinner from the A.M.L.O.
 
 62 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 proved too tempting, and so we buried the hatchet— 
 and the valise — in a bumper of steaming Chianti. 
 
 On the next afternoon the Wheel Company, who had 
 arrived on the previous day. came down to the beach 
 to remove their limbers. When I informed the O.C. 
 what had befallen his stores and equipments, he uttered 
 strange apoplectic noises. I fled hastily, collected my 
 servant and kit, and boarded a Ford motor-lorry that 
 was going to Katerini.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT {Continued) 
 
 Have you ever been far in a Ford lorry along a bad 
 road ? As we moved along the road I saw the great 
 Mount Olympus on our left — from about a thousand 
 different positions. First of all we seemed to rise right 
 up in the air like a salmon. Then we descended into 
 the bowels of the earth. " The roads are not good, sir," 
 my driver informed me d, la George Washington. By 
 this time my liver, kidneys, and other internal organs 
 were so irretrievably jumbled, that I saw no reason 
 to doubt his statement. After half an hour's purgatory 
 we passed the railway-station and approached the 
 outskirts of the town. Compared to the cobblestones 
 in Katerini, the road we had hitherto traversed assumed 
 the perfection of the London to Portsmouth road. 
 
 To my infinite reUef I spotted R. outside a cafe, 
 and I fell upon his neck in joy. Not having seen 
 each other for two or three months, we carried on an 
 animated conversation in the streets. But the driver 
 of the lorry — obviously an ex-taxi driver — objected 
 to being kept waiting without the revolutions of the 
 taxi-clock to console him, and expressed himself in 
 pre-war language, tempered with the respect due to 
 an ofi&cer from a private. So R. led the way to our 
 billet. It appeared that he had been messing with 
 
 63
 
 64 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 B.H.Q., but that he had just engaged a ' flat ' in the 
 palace of the Bishop of Katerini. And a very fine 
 palace it was— a large rectangular building with a 
 courtyard inside. The Bishop, to show his patriotism 
 and to fill his pockets, had let out half a dozen ' suites ' 
 to various officers of the Brigade. Our suite included 
 two large unfurnished rooms and a kitchen. All the 
 rooms in the palace were very high, and very clean — 
 the building was not more than five years old. After 
 I had installed my batman and kit into the flat, I was 
 introduced by R. to His Eminence the Bishop. He 
 was a fine-looking man, with a dark beard. He was 
 always accompanied by an acolyte— a thing of doubtful 
 sex, known by us as ' Lizzie.' It had long hair, and 
 wore a non-committal costume, and its cleanUness 
 was as doubtful as its sex. In a few well-chosen words, 
 as I thought, the Bishop welcomed us to his episcopal 
 home, and gave us his blessing and the freedom of 
 his wine-cellar. I was rather disappointed to find 
 out from our interpreter afterwards that he had merely 
 been asking for a month's rent in advance ! We 
 decided to dine that night at a cafe, as things were 
 hkely to be unsettled the first night in the flat. We 
 had quite a good dinner. The waiter spoke a ghastly 
 Graeco- American Enghsh — nearly ten per cent, of the 
 population spoke this tongue ; I learnt the reason 
 afterwards. Katerini, until the defeat of the Turks 
 in 1912, was part of the Turkish Empire, although 
 most of the inhabitants were Jews or Greek. (The 
 range of mountains running inland from Mount Olympus 
 formed — I think — the boundary line between Greece 
 and Turkey in those days.) Now, although the in- 
 habitants were not over-fond of the Turk, they were
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 65 
 
 compelled to serve in the Turkish Army for three 
 years — if they happened at the time to be in the 
 country ! This valuable loophole was seized on by 
 all who could pay the money for a passage to America. 
 They worked — generally as waiters — in New York, or 
 some other big city, in the States. Then, when their 
 time was up, they returned to Katerini, the richer 
 by a few hundred drachmae, freedom from conscription, 
 and a vile Graeco- American lingo. 
 
 The military situation, according to R., was more 
 reassuring. We had nearly completed the road to 
 Petra. From the accounts of deserters it appeared 
 that the Royalist Army was not at all anxious to 
 fight, though Constantine continued to adopt a belli- 
 cose attitude. (His unconditional surrender to our 
 ultimatum, ordering inter alia the transfer of his 
 Army to the Peloponnese, was not signed till nearly 
 a week later.) 
 
 Katerini is a quaint little town. Apart from the 
 Bishop's palace, and one other fairly large house, 
 where B.H.Q. were estabhshed, all the dwelling-places 
 are mean and squahd. All the way down the main 
 street (the only street), which stretches for three- 
 quarters of a mile towards Petra, there are Uttle shops 
 and booths with biblical names, and here and there a 
 pure Greek name. Half the population, as in Salonica, 
 are Jewish ; never before have the little tradesmen 
 flourished as they are doing now. Each day a fresh 
 notice is hung outside some shop, setting forth its 
 attractions in pidgin English, and sometimes in French 
 as well. (There is one French BattaUon here.) Hawkers 
 wander about the streets selHng Turkish Delight, 
 chocolates, and oranges to the soldiers. Bottled beer 
 
 5
 
 66 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 is plentiful though expensive. One enterprising 
 citizen actually started a canteen — a large placard 
 outside announced ' No. i Canteen Supply.' For a 
 few days, in spite of exorbitant prices, he did a great 
 trade. But one day the Brigade started a canteen of 
 their own, with which ' No. i Canteen Supply ' could 
 not hope to compete. The sign outside still remains, 
 but the shop is closed — a wonderful witness to the 
 fickleness of mankind, and a gentle reminder to sharks 
 of the fate that awaits those who bite off more than 
 they can chew. 
 
 The inhabitants and the military were on very good 
 terms. It was rather a pretty sight to see ' Tommy ' 
 fondling a little child or drawing water at the same 
 well, and exchanging incomprehensible banter with 
 a mystified native. Quite apart from the commercial 
 prosperity we brought, our fellows were popular because 
 they were kind-hearted and well-behaved. This was 
 an unusual conception of war for the natives. Previous 
 campaigns had taught them the unutterable cruelty 
 of war, and of its agent, the soldier. But our Western 
 civilization is showing them a new aspect of warfare : 
 that to be good fighters it is not necessary to be ruth- 
 less, and that the property and rights of civilians are 
 respected in times of war as in times of peace. For 
 these reasons, and because they knew they could trust 
 us, they liked us ; and as time went on, and intercourse 
 developed, their liking almost turned to love. 
 
 There are few girls among them. Now and then 
 you meet a dark-eyed damsel, who, if she were ac- 
 quainted with that product of Western culture, known 
 crudely as ' wash and brush-up, tuppence,' might be 
 made fairly presentable. There are very few old men
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 67 
 
 and women ; later on we saw the reason for this. 
 Hardly a day passed but one or two processions passed 
 through the street headed by an uncovered corpse. 
 The mortality, especially among children, is appalling. 
 After the month of May the heat in Katerini is unbear- 
 able, and only the poorest remain. But even in the 
 colder and healthier months the absence of any form 
 of sanitation takes terrible toll of the inhabitants. 
 Longevity is practically unknown ; those who reach 
 fifty are accounted lucky. 
 
 There are many small farmers among the people. 
 Vegetables — especially leeks — can be bought in large 
 quantities. But I suppose the chief industry of the 
 town lies in wood and charcoal. Most of the well- 
 to-do persons own a few acres of the forest-land which 
 stretches on either side of the road from Katerini to 
 Petra almost uninterruptedly. Permission must first 
 be obtained from the Greek police, a small tax paid, 
 and then the trees are cut down and carried by bullock- 
 wagons to Vromeri, whence they are exported, generally 
 to Salonica. Also, there dwell in the woods expert 
 charcoal-burners, who wander at random, make a 
 kind of oven, and then burn the trees down to charcoal. 
 When that little stock of charcoal has been removed, 
 they wander elsewhere and make more charcoal. 
 The conveying of the wood and charcoal to the coast 
 is also a source of livelihood to many. Each man 
 has his own wagon and pair of oxen, and lets himself 
 out for a term of weeks to the highest bidder — and 
 he is always paid in advance. Mere trifles, such as 
 punctuality, do not affect him, as I found to my cost. 
 As R.O. I had large daily purchases to make for the 
 Brigade — fresh vegetables, wood, charcoal, eggs (for
 
 «8 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 the hospital), and hay — ^when I could get it. At first 
 I made a contract with a charcoal-merchant, by which 
 the transport should be arranged for by him and should 
 be included in the price. On the first day that the 
 ' convoy ' was to leave for the woods the weather was 
 so wet that the drivers could not be prevailed upon 
 to set out. As they had been paid in advance, it 
 didn't matter to them how long they took to fulfil 
 their contract. The second day proved to be a feast- 
 day, on which no self-respecting driver could be 
 expected to work. I consulted the local weather- 
 expert, who informed me the weather was hkely to 
 be unpropitious for the next week. I also consulted 
 the hst of hohdays and feast-days granted by Church 
 and Synagogue — they averaged three a week, I 
 repaired hastily to the merchant, and informed him 
 that the transport would in future be done by the 
 Army. 
 
 Some of the dealers were not scrupulously honest. 
 For wood I dealt with a father and a son. I fixed a 
 contract with the son. He then implored me not to 
 mention the actual figure I was paying to his father 
 — so that he might tell his father he was receiving 
 less, and then pocket the difference ! The next day 
 the father arrived surreptitiously and with an air of 
 deep mystery. I thought he had some highly valuable 
 information of a mihtar^^ character to impart. He 
 informed me that he possessed a partner — if the partner 
 came to me and asked for information concerning 
 prices paid, would I be so good as to reply evasively ? 
 A week later father and son came to pay me a visit. 
 I ordered tea, and we chatted amicably. After a few 
 minutes I took out my cigarette-case and offered the
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 69 
 
 old man a cigarette, which he took with many thanks. 
 I then turned to the son (who was about thirty years 
 old) and offered him a cigarette as well. To my 
 amazement — for I knew he hked them — he turned 
 very red and refused. When his father had gone, 
 I asked him why he had refused to smoke. He told 
 me it was the sign of the greatest disrespect to smoke 
 in the presence of your father ! This proves conclu- 
 sively, I think, that morality is only a form of 
 congealed custom. In England a man would hesitate 
 to rob his father, but he would certainly have no 
 squeamish scruples about smoking in his presence. 
 Autre temps, autres mceurs — to which one might add 
 autres mceurs, autre moralite. 
 
 By and by the RoyaUst menace began to disappear. 
 Rumour said that Falkenhayn had flown over to 
 Athens in an aeroplane to warn Constantine that he 
 must give way — at any rate on paper — to our demands, 
 as the Germans could not spare men for a diversion 
 against Salonica. The Germans knew that the French, 
 the Itahans, and ourselves had reinforced their armies 
 with important forces. To make good his threat of 
 driving our armies into the sea, the Kaiser would 
 have required an immense army, and even so the 
 defences round Salonica, known as the ' bird-cage,' 
 are practically impregnable — except against an over- 
 whelming mass of artillery. Constantine, therefore, 
 bowed to the inevitable : and though he tried to 
 secrete a number of troops in Northern Greece under 
 the name of reservists, he had lost the power to do 
 us harm. Had he been President of a South American 
 Republic, Constantine's infinite capacity for delay 
 and intrigue would have amounted to genius : but
 
 70 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 the European War proved to be on too big a scale for 
 his petty energies. 
 
 So Katerini dropped its martial aspect, and assumed 
 once again the robes of peace. The French and EngHsh 
 fraternized : and our respective bands played ' God 
 save the King ! ' and the ' Marseillaise.' Fired with 
 patriotic enthusiasm and a spirit of emulation, the 
 Greeks decided to form a band of their own. Under 
 the fiery, but unmusical, leadership of a gentleman, 
 known as the ' Venezilist bandmaster,' they struggled 
 with the National Anthem of New Greece. This per- 
 formance, which was energetically given some twenty- 
 five times a day, caused great pleasure to the inhabitants. 
 If it really did resemble New Greece's National Anthem, 
 I cannot help thinking M. Venizelos might have made 
 a better choice. One evening the Brigadier was 
 smoking a post-prandial cigar, when he became aware 
 that a large crowd— practically the whole population, 
 in fact — had gathered together outside his headquarters. 
 His uneasiness increased when the Greek band began 
 to play. The sounds produced surpassed in horror 
 even M. Venizelos' National Anthem. In so far as 
 the tune resembled anything, it resembled the ' Wacht 
 am Rhein.' Fearful of an insurrection of the populace, 
 the Brigadier sent down to his Staff-Captain to ascer- 
 tain what grievance had alienated the affections of the 
 natives. The Staff-Captain returned with the infor- 
 mation that the band had been playing ' God save 
 the King ! ' Much reheved, the Brigadier came 
 forward on the balcony and addressed a few unintelli- 
 gible remarks to the crowd. His speech was acclaimed 
 with wild enthusiasm : and our National Anthem was 
 repeated ten times in succession. At length the
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 71 
 
 Brigadier and his Staff grew tired of standing to atten- 
 tion, and withdrew from the balcony, and the crowd 
 dispersed. From this day onward the Greek band 
 never looked back. It rendered each National Anthem 
 in turn — fortunately we left Katerini before Brazil, 
 Nicaragua, and China had joined the Allies ! 
 
 The only martial interlude which broke the spell 
 of peace was distinctly reminiscent of the exploits of 
 that deceased sportsman, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle. A 
 member of the British Topographical section, when 
 map-making in the woods, was fired upon. Fortu- 
 nately the bullet missed him ; but for more than a 
 week terrific excitement reigned in Katerini. The 
 whole of the Brigade Staff, four interpreters, two 
 Engineer officers, and a doctor visited the spot, and 
 photographs of the scene of ' action ' and any picturesque 
 view in the neighbourhood were taken. In fact, the 
 scene of the crime was ' reconstructed ' on the familiar 
 lines of the modern sensational murder plays. For- 
 midable reports and memos, were circulated from 
 one office to another. G.H.Q, were informed of the 
 presence of RoyaUst irregulars, known as ' Comitadjis,' 
 in our midst. Stringent orders were published for- 
 bidding any one to cross the road, unless he carried 
 a revolver, a gas-helmet, and a trench periscope. And 
 then one day — the murder was out ! It was the French 
 doctor who, whilst endeavouring to shoot a rabbit, 
 was very nearly rewarded with an unexpected bag, 
 in the shape of the Topograpliical gentleman. 
 
 Our host, the Bishop, continued to treat us with 
 respect — once he had received liis rent. Every week 
 ' Lizzie,' the acolyte, stepped across the courtyard, 
 knocked at the door and indicated by pantomimic
 
 72 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 action that His Holiness would esteem it a favour 
 if we would kindly settle that little account of his. 
 Five minutes later, as we passed through the courtyard 
 on our way out of the palace, the Bishop would salute 
 us from his window (where he sat all day, unless there 
 were an important funeral) with a more than usually 
 friendly ' Calermaiza ' (reported Greek for ' Cheero '). 
 But big events were to occur, which would transform 
 the Bishop's attitude of casual respect to one of devoted 
 love. Little did we realize before that fateful Friday 
 evening that on the morrow the haughty Bishop would 
 grant us any boon, from half his bishopric to ' Lizzie ' ! 
 Yes, I feel convinced that, had we but asked, we might 
 have taken away ' Lizzie ' as supernumerary batman, 
 or have been enthroned as joint-Bishop of Katerini. 
 But I anticipate. 
 
 It was a cold evening in February. The Greek 
 doctor of Katerini (the only one), who lived in the 
 flat above us, found it particularly cold. He piled 
 log upon log in his small fireplace and sat over the 
 fire, warming himself dreamily. I cannot tell you of 
 what he was dreaming : perhaps he was inventing 
 some fashionable disease to replace appendicitis ; 
 perhaps he was crooning to himself some famous chorus 
 of Sophocles ; perhaps he was thinking of some black- 
 eyed wench, who should one day share his sorrows 
 and his joys. I cannot say for certain — I merely throw 
 out suggestions. At any rate, he was so engrossed in 
 his thoughts that he failed to notice th' crackling of 
 the timber on his ceiling, due to the vastness of his 
 fire as compared to the smallness of the fireplace. 
 About half-past nine, in the flat underueath, R. and I, 
 all unconscious of the medicinal Ucaligon, were sitting
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 78 
 
 with a couple of friends at the bridge-table, fully aUve 
 to the joy that comes from the combination of a good 
 ' no-trumper ' and a whisky and soda. We became 
 aware that an uproar, swelling each second, was arising 
 from the courtyard. ' Dummy ' opened the door, and 
 looked out from the balcony to see if the band had 
 come to serenade the Bishop. But it was obviously 
 something even more thrilling. All the notable per- 
 sonages of Katerini surrounded the Bishop, talking 
 and gesticulating wildly ; and the Bishop himself 
 seemed deeply moved. As for the doctor, he ran 
 round in a circle, in a perfect frenzy of excitement. 
 One of the interpreters, who lived next door, told us 
 briefly what had happened. " That blighter of a 
 doctor has gone and set his room on fire." Not for 
 entirely unselfish reasons, we hastily organized an 
 anti-fire party, composed of officers and batmen. The 
 Greeks continued to talk violently : but none of them 
 offered to join the rescue-party, except the Bishop 
 and ' Lizzie,' who threw water over each other with 
 great vigour. For a quarter of an hour we worked 
 hard with buckets ; and though the doctor's furniture 
 was badly soused, we managed to put out the fire. 
 Having made quite sure that all danger was now 
 averted, the Katerini nobility swarmed up into the 
 doctor's room and congratulated each other on the 
 promptness and intrepidity they had displayed in 
 extinguishing the fire. But the Bishop was a fair 
 man. First of all he insisted on shaking hands with 
 all the officers and batmen. After that he mounted 
 a table, and proceeded to address the crowd. Al- 
 though he presented rather a bedraggled appearance, 
 he was the soul of dignity. Having paid a noble
 
 74 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 tribute to us in the Periclean style, he proceeded to 
 tell the gentry and nobility of Katerini what he really 
 thought of them. I gather his opinion was not alto- 
 gether complimentary. For the crowd slunk out of 
 the room one by one, looking severely disgruntled. 
 As for the doctor, the Bishop gave him one terrible 
 look, and, accompanied by the faithful ' Lizzie,' left 
 the fiat. 
 
 But I must tell the sequel, for on the morrow I 
 witnessed one of the most impressive scenes it has 
 ever been my lot to behold. Just after lunch, R. and 
 I stepped out on to the balcony overlooking the court- 
 yard. I beheld the Bishop at his usual window, but 
 not sitting peacefully with a benignant expression 
 on his face. No, for the moment his face was sternly 
 set. The object of his wrath, the doctor, stood in 
 the centre of the courtyard, pale-faced but determined. 
 For the following account of the conversation I am 
 indebted to an interpreter : for my knowledge of 
 Greek was not sufficient to enable me to follow the 
 argument. 
 
 The Bishop commenced by saying that never in the 
 whole course of his clerical career had he seen a more 
 flagrant example of criminal carelessness than that 
 displayed by the doctor on the previous evening. He 
 called him ' doctor,' though, to be frank, he had doubts 
 as to the extent of his medicinal knowledge. Through 
 his wanton slovenliness this so-called doctor had not 
 only threatened the property and lives of gallant 
 English officers, but had also been within an ace of 
 converting the episcopal palace into an impromptu 
 bonfire. Whether the fire was due to criminal careless- 
 ness, or to some more sinister motive, the Bishop
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 75 
 
 hinted darkly that he could not determine. After 
 this he gave an intimate sketch of the doctor's personal 
 appearance and habits, leaving little doubt as to his 
 past Ufe, and none as to his future. He concluded 
 with a magnificent peroration, worthy of Demosthenes : 
 " That such a man should continue to live is, I suppose, 
 inevitable. But that he should continue to Hve here, 
 and pollute this saintly atmosphere with the foul 
 breath of his nostrils — no, that were unbearable. 
 Henceforth from to-day I cast him forth from me 
 into the black darkness of the night." (This magnifi- 
 cent ending fell rather flat, as it was a beautiful sunny 
 day.) 
 
 Meanwhile the doctor, though quivering like an 
 aspen leaf (or its Greek equivalent), maintained a 
 brave front; and, seeing that the Bishop was out of 
 breath, thrust home a counter-attack. " That any 
 man," he remarked, " could be so wholly vile as the 
 Bishop, was to him a revelation. But that this turpi- 
 tude should be shown by a minister of the Church 
 filled him with dismay. He saw no alternative but 
 to change his religion, and become a Hottentot. And 
 yet certain facts concerning the Bishop's public and 
 private hfe which had come to his notice recently 
 had made him not unprepared for this culminating 
 exhibition of vilcness. As for the fire, whether it had 
 occurred accidentally, or whether it had been started 
 dehberately by one who had already insured his house, 
 he was unable to say. Whatever its origin, he welcomed 
 it as an excellent opportunity for taking a step he had 
 long contemplated — that of leaving the Bishop to stew 
 in his own juice, to live deserted in his own dunghill." 
 With this uncomplimentary reference to the draining
 
 76 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 system of the palace (which certainly left much to be 
 desired, and more to the imagination) the doctor 
 brought his speech to a close, and strode majestically 
 away. As he passed under the Bishop's window, 
 the Bishop rose and committed an act which, in the 
 case of a lesser man, might be known as ' spitting on 
 his head.' Let us say rather that by a curious coinci- 
 dence the doctor passed beneath the window just as 
 the Bishop felt the need to expectorate. Ah ! if I 
 possessed the pen of Shakespeare, how I could dwarf 
 the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius, till it seemed but 
 a tavern-brawl ! 
 
 I think every one was very happy at Katerini. R. 
 and I had the time of our lives. We entertained freely 
 in our little flat. Each Battalion came down to 
 Katerini in turn by companies, to be fumigated and 
 have a bath. We had many friends among the Infantry, 
 and would invite a couple of officers into dinner nearly 
 every night. It is one of the joys of the A.S.C. that 
 you are in a position to give a certain amount of enjoy- 
 ment to the Infantry when they come down from 
 the line. We had a fine Dump on the barrack-square. 
 Let me say by way of explanation that rations for 
 the Brigade come up to the Dump in bulk from railroad 
 (in this case, of course, Katerini) and are split by the 
 Supply Officer according to a scale for the units, who 
 send their transport to the Dump to fetch them. The 
 Supply Officer has twelve men — butchers, bakers, 
 issuers, and clerks — and an R.O., who makes local 
 purchases. There is a lot of clerkwork and ' returns ' 
 — as every particle of a ration has to be accounted 
 for to an Investigation Department, whose inquisi- 
 tiveness knows no bounds. The Dump is the centre
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 77 
 
 of our universe, and the happy hunting-ground of 
 rumourists. Railhead rumours or rumours emanating 
 from the Dump are ipso facto disregarded by the wise. 
 At one time the Brigadier threatened to move our 
 Dump from the barrack-square to an insalubrious 
 field near by, because — rumour had it — he wished to 
 convert the barrack-square into a polo-ground. Of 
 course we were up in arms at once, and intimated 
 to him, via the Staff-Captain, in a portentous document, 
 that we could not tolerate such treatment. I have 
 searched among my papers, and have turned up a 
 carbon copy of the original document. (It is hardly 
 necessary to say that it was written at a time when 
 Tino was being bombarded with ultimata.) 
 
 In addition to rendering occasional assistance to R. 
 on the barrack-square, I was kept fairly busy with 
 my local purchases. Many of the banditti spoke 
 French or American — with these I dealt personally. 
 Others spoke Greek only : and though after a time 
 I could tackle a few sentences in modern Greek, I 
 did not think it fair to the British Government to 
 make contracts in this tongue. Accordingly I bar- 
 gained vicariously through our interpreter. The latter 
 spoke Enghsh, French, and Itahan — all equally badly. 
 So that when I required him to interpret a remark, 
 I often explained the substance of my demands in 
 Enghsh, French, and Itahan — for I can speak the 
 latter two fairly well. Even then the interpreter often 
 did not understand. But on the whole I managed 
 fairly well. I found that if only you treated the native 
 respectfuUy — that is, offered him a cup of tea and a 
 cigarette — you could always obtain moderate terms, 
 and avoid bargaining. In the case of wood and char-
 
 78 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 coal I had borrowed a weighing-machine, which I 
 kept on the Dump. When the daily convoy arrived, 
 the merchant and I would go to the Dump, and soon 
 agree on some average weight for the sack or the 
 wagon-load. One merchant refused to be present, and 
 said he would always accept my weight. I was rather 
 surprised, and asked him why. His reply was striking : 
 " If the British Government are spending six millions 
 a day, they are not likely to try to cheat me out of 
 a few drachmae ! " If I had been a newly joined 
 subaltern, I should have taken off my cap to that 
 gentleman. 
 
 Practically in every case there was no haggling over 
 prices. I stated the Army prices, which they accepted. 
 But once when hay was badly needed I could only 
 find one man who had any worth buying : and his 
 price, founded not so much on the excellence of the 
 hay as on the old law of ' supply and demand,' was 
 exorbitant. I tried every means of persuasion and 
 coercion ; but he stuck firmly to his price. I was 
 about to give it up in despair, when I suddenly had an 
 inspiration. Noting his biblical name, I mentioned 
 casually that I also was a Jew. He thawed as if by 
 magic : and I had no difficulty, a few minutes later, 
 in obtaining the hay at a reasonable price. 
 
 At last, in the beginning of March — the night after 
 my coming of age, which was celebrated with great 
 festivities — we had orders to prepare to move shortly. 
 I think every man in the Brigade was genuinely sorry 
 to leave. Although the Infantry had had many 
 hardships to endure from the foul weather, on the 
 whole they had enjoyed themselves. After the boring 
 and dangerous routine of trench- warfare in France,
 
 OUR SMALLEST FRONT 79 
 
 this new existence afforded them a welcome relief. 
 Each Company came down to Katerini for a fortnight, 
 where they had billets (two Companies were quartered 
 in the old Turkish barracks), baths, and a few shops 
 at which they could purchase the necessaries of Ufe. 
 However, in the Army you cannot choose your own 
 dwelling-place. Individuals do not exist : even 
 Brigades are merely pawns on the mihtary chess-board. 
 As a pawn we had served our purpose pretty well on 
 this square, but now we were no longer needed. So 
 we were pushed forward one square to the Vardar 
 Front, where fresh troops were badly needed. 
 
 On the loth of March the Brigade marched out of 
 Katerini. R. and I were going on ahead by tredn, 
 to make the necessary arrangements for supphes en 
 route. So we went to the pubUc square and saw them 
 march past. In the centre of the square there stood 
 an antique bandstand, where the Venizehst bandmaster 
 was marshalling his heroes for one final, glorious burst 
 of ' God save the King i ' On either side of them were 
 the French and Enghsh bands. (Our own band was 
 to go on ahead by train each day, to greet the Brigade, 
 as they marched in, with melodious strains of rag-time.) 
 Each of the three bands played a tune in turn — so 
 no one could complain of lack of music. By the side 
 of the road a French guard of honour bore with 
 equanimity the unenviable task of presenting arms 
 for about four hours on end as the Brigade marched 
 past. Every nook and corner was crowded with the 
 inhabitants (of whom there could not have been more 
 than a dozen missing). As each unit filed by, the 
 crowd cheered lustily. The London Scottish Battalion, 
 as they marched past headed by the pipers (bagpipes,
 
 80 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 by the way, are also the national instrument of Greece), 
 evoked terrific enthusiasm. That they were genuinely 
 sorry we were going there could be no doubt : many 
 of the women were weeping, and the men looked very 
 glum. Cynics might say that it was only our purses 
 that they were fond of, but I know the feeling was 
 deeper and better than that. 
 
 The Brigadier and the Brigade Staff were — according 
 to the scheduled time-table — due to leave at 10.30. 
 But owing to the eccentricities of our friend the mule, 
 and his obvious reluctance to depart, the column was 
 considerably delayed. At length, however, the Brigadier 
 was preparing to mount, when the Mayor of Katerini 
 came forward, amid the plaudits of the populace, and 
 read him an address in a throaty voice, hoping that 
 he (the Brigadier) would be leading his gallant Brigade 
 into Berlin by the end of the month. Which charming 
 address did more credit to his kind feelings than to 
 his knowledge of geography. And so, amid laughter 
 and tears, the Brigadier mounted his charger and rode 
 away with his Staff. When the last British troops 
 had left, the French Commandant presented two or 
 three medals to French soldiers for gallant services 
 in France. But even the curiosity of witnessing the 
 famous accolade did not save this performance from 
 being rather an anti-climax. R. and I said good-bye 
 to our many friends, including the Bishop and ' Lizzie,' 
 and walked away to the station, sorrowing for the 
 happy days that were no more. Adieu, Katerini !
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 A SIMPLE SOUL 
 
 About a year ago I had to get rid of my old batman. 
 He was a graceless youth with few brains and no 
 ' go.' It is absolutely necessary, if you are moving 
 about the country much, to be able to trust your 
 servant implicitly with the welfare of your belongings. 
 Every minute of your own time must be spent in looking 
 after your men — which task allows you no time for 
 what the Greeks call Trapepyov. I suppose the 
 nearest you can get to it in English is the word ' side- 
 shows.' When you reach your destination for the 
 night, whether it is a sumptuous hotel or a ploughed 
 field, you expect to find your batman, your valise, 
 and your billet ready for your reception. As a matter 
 of fact I used to find these three necessaries of life 
 scattered in different quarters of the globe, and I 
 swore and raved accordingly. Besides, the amount 
 of kit my batman " left behind at the last billet, sir," 
 would have been sufficient to clothe half a dozen sub- 
 alterns. The crux of the affair came when we had 
 orders to prepare for Salonica. In France nothing 
 matters very much — you can fill any void in your kit 
 at one of the huge Ordnance Depots behind the hues, 
 or at one of the small towns. But in Salonica — how 
 would things be there ? You are practically in the 
 
 Q 81
 
 82 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 wilds : and a friend had warned me not to trust 
 Salonica shopping too much. And we could not 
 expect Ordnance Depots to be on the same scale as in 
 France. Besides, in France a paternal Government 
 allowed me a Daimler motor-car-cum-chauffeur to 
 carry me whither I listed : so my batman had only 
 my unworthy person on which to concentrate his 
 efforts. But in Salonica I was to be provided with 
 a horse instead of a motor-car : and my servant " 'adn't 
 no use for 'osses." So, with outward reluctance and 
 inward joy, I made this a castts belli, or at any rate a 
 breaking off of diplomatic relations, and returned him 
 to his Company. 
 
 I took unto myself H., who was at the time in 
 charge of the limber and mules attached to Head- 
 quarters of the Train. Since then my life has been 
 unclouded by domestic troubles. Last May I left 
 my old unit — it is customary when you transfer to 
 leave your servant behind. However, I managed 
 by means of a subtly worded appeal ad misericordiani 
 to move the obdurate heart of the Adjutant, and H. 
 is still with me. Frankly, I think Hfe without him 
 would be impossible. He is a regular Poo-bah ; in 
 addition to being my servant and groom, he acts as 
 cook, carpenter, waiter, gardener, keeper of his master's 
 henroost, washerwoman, fly-and-centipede ' strafer,' 
 companion, and, above all, friend. 
 
 But though we have been together nearly a year, 
 and have had many talks on subjects which are perhaps 
 not usual topics of conversation between officer and 
 servant, I have never asked him any questions about 
 his life at home. It may have been perhaps that I 
 was a little indifferent, but it was chiefly because
 
 ASIMPLESOUL 88 
 
 I did not wish to appear inquisitive. After all, I 
 thought, it was really no concern of mine. But the 
 other day we were both less reserved. I was sitting 
 outside my tent in the cool of the evening, and H. 
 was squatting on the ground at my feet. We were 
 devoting our minds to ' the proper study of mankind.' 
 Then, quite naturally, he started talking about his 
 life at home. I sat puffing at a cigarette, listening 
 to it all ; and I wondered why I had never heard his 
 tale before. The next morning I sat down with pen 
 and paper, and wrote down every word — or nearly — 
 that he had said. When I showed it him, his amaze- 
 ment was unbounded. How could I possibly remember 
 every word he had told me ? He suspected me of super- 
 natural powers. I told him that one day I might have 
 this tale pubhshed, if he had no objection. He seemed 
 delighted, so that I can start off with a clear conscience. 
 H. is thirty-two years old, though you would think 
 he was years younger. He is short and thick-set, 
 but very sturdy. Although he has usually the good 
 temper and patience of an archangel, I should feel 
 very sorry for the man who did a dirty action in his 
 presence — for he is pretty ' handy ' with his fists. 
 There are two quaUties of his that stand foremost — 
 devotion and honesty. I fear, though, that these 
 qualities come often into conflict. If he sees something 
 he thinks I want, ' lying handy-like,' his honesty 
 clearly indicates the difference between meum and 
 tutim, even though the iti may be an unknown person. 
 Unfortunately his devotion to me pulls hard in the 
 opposite direction— often with disastrous results. Many 
 a time I have discovered in my hut some hitherto 
 unknown but useful object, which H. has ' found '
 
 84 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 some weeks back. (' Finding ' is the Army synonym 
 for the legal, but much less happy, expression ' feloni- 
 ously appropriating.') On these occasions I speak to 
 him severely — more or less. But he possesses a little 
 twinkle in his eye, which stifles my well-merited re- 
 proaches, and I have the uneasy feeling that I, and 
 not he, made the ' find.' Yet, in so far as his own 
 interests are concerned, he is scrupulously honest, and 
 this, too, at a time when nearly every one has relaxed 
 his moral code, or perhaps I should say, has adjusted 
 it to the altered circumstances of Army life. For 
 instance, the other day I was sitting at work, intent 
 on some intricate ' return.' There were a dozen boxes 
 of matches on my desk. I suppose I smoked about 
 ten cigarettes : and when I rose for lunch there were 
 only two boxes of matches left on the desk. A search 
 through my pockets revealed that I had unconsciously 
 pocketed the missing ten boxes ! 
 
 Another significant thing about H. is his invariable 
 use, in his letters or in his conversation, of the word 
 ' we.' When used by the Editor of Comic Cuts or 
 the ex-Czar of all the Russias, ' we ' sounds rather 
 pompous and ridiculous, but with H. it sounds so 
 natural. When I left my old ' train ' I had, of course, 
 to give up my horse, Thomas. H. wrote home a 
 most pathetic letter, beginning : " We have lost our 
 horse." What could be more natural ? True, I rode 
 the horse, and on Army Service Corps Establishment 
 it would be shown as an officer's charger. But H. 
 groomed it and loved it. Truth to tell, I think it was 
 more his horse than mine. 
 
 I have tried hard to describe H., but perhaps his 
 own language and life will describe him better.
 
 A SIMPLE SOUL 85 
 
 H. was bom in one of the northern suburbs of 
 London, quite a healthy place, with a river running 
 by the back of his house. One of six boys, he hved 
 ' comfortably off,' as his father was earning £4 a week 
 as a dressing-bag maker. He learnt to swim in the 
 river when he was very young : when he was twelve 
 years old he saved the hves of two drowning men. 
 Unfortunately— though he didn't seem to mind much 
 — there were not sufficient witnesses, so he didn't get 
 a medal. He went to a mixed school, where he met 
 for the first time the lady who was destined in after- 
 years to be ' the wife,' (How much better than the 
 imperiously possessive ' my wife ! ') When he was 
 thirteen, disaster overcame the boys in the death of 
 their father. No money had been saved : so H. had 
 to earn money at once. He was released from school, 
 as he had done well and passed the examinations. 
 First of all he worked in a bottle manufactory, but 
 he did not care for the unhealthy indoor life. So he 
 obtained a job as assistant steam-roller driver to the 
 Borough Council. The driver was a good sort, and 
 enabled H. to pick up a few wheezes. So that when, 
 in the fullness of time, the steam-roller driver retired 
 with a pension, H. reigned in his stead. For over 
 fourteen years — that is, until the beginning of the 
 war, when H. joined up — he remained at the same 
 job with an ever-increasing salary, which, however, 
 had then reached its maximum — £2 a week. With 
 this he has to maintain a wife and four children, and 
 send 5s. a week to his mother. All the boys, who are 
 earning ' good money,' contribute 5s. to the upkeep 
 of their mother. She Hves by herself most of the 
 year, but spends a fortnight with each of them once
 
 86 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 a year. She loves to ' mother ' her grandchildren, 
 and is never so happy as when she has persuaded H. 
 and his wife to go out for a bit of an airing and she 
 is left alone with the children. 
 
 His love-affair was very simple — and very delightful. 
 When they were both tots together at school, they 
 would hold each other's hand, and trot down the 
 street, sublimely happy. Till she was eighteen the 
 course of true love ran smooth. Then he realized 
 she had changed from a girl to a woman. Horrible 
 doubts began to assail him. Did she really care for 
 him ? Or was it only boy-and-girl love ? Deter- 
 mined to put her love to the test, but quite unconscious 
 that he was adopting the approved methods of our 
 modern light comedies, he began to ' walk out ' with 
 other young ladies — servant-girls he had met in his 
 area, when he was at work. Returning from the 
 harmless amours, he reported the proceedings with 
 full and — I gather — highly coloured details to his 
 true love. This quickly brought things to a climax. 
 " One day, sir," H. told me, " I went to see her. It 
 seems only yesterday. I can see her standing at the 
 gate, with a sad, tired look in her eyes. She told me 
 she felt miserable and alone in the world." Joy welled 
 in his heart, for he knew he had conquered. Damning 
 all expense, he hired a cart and drove her all the way 
 to Harlow. That happy day settled it — there was 
 no need for the customary engagement-ring — they 
 knew they could trust each other. Two years later 
 he received a ' rise,' and they were married. " It 
 seems, some'ow," said he reminiscently, " that we 
 was fixed for each other. If you know what I mean, 
 sir, there couldn't 'ave been no one else not for either
 
 A SIMPLE SOUL 87 
 
 of us. The wife, she says, she knew all along that 
 we was to be married, long before I took her out to 
 Harlow." 
 
 He has been married nine years now, and has four 
 children. He has a little house of his own, with three 
 bedrooms, a kitchen, and a sitting-room — a few yards 
 from the place where he was born. And they are all 
 perfectly happy. Neither he nor his wife drink anything 
 but water — the reason is quite simple, they cannot 
 afford it. "A man wot takes to drinking is starving 
 his wife and kiddies," says H. They do manage, though, 
 to spend one week's holiday every year at the sea- 
 side : and I gather there is no one in the world so 
 ecstatically happy as his little family during their 
 week at Brighton or Southend. 
 
 Yes, of course, it is a pinch at times : and for that 
 reason he may emigrate to Canada after the war, for 
 he knows friends there, and has an ' opening ' on a 
 farm. He is quite happy where he is, but he thinks 
 it would be fairer to the kiddies, as he has practically 
 nothing laid by. But he is really perfectly contented, 
 and so are all his pals. The fiery Socialists he has 
 read of were too lazy to work themselves, so they 
 tried to pinch other people's money. Besides, SociaUsm 
 was a profession the same as steam-roller driving, 
 and he hadn't time for both. He had to work hard in 
 the daytime, but his hours weren't too long. Besides, 
 it was extraordinary what a lot of life you saw at 
 the job. It was perfectly wonderful how many people 
 would stop to talk to steam-roller drivers — all sorts 
 and kinds of people. It seemed these people had 
 nothing else to do all day. Then when the day was 
 over, and he got back home, his wife didn't care for
 
 88 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 going out to shows, even if they had a chance. So 
 they would sit together with the children clustering 
 round them. 
 
 Who is a happy and a contented man in this world ? 
 H. said after thinking some time : " It's wot's in a 
 man, not wot's outside, that really counts." Though 
 this is not original, you cannot accuse H. of plagiarizing. 
 He has struck at the great truth. The sense of work 
 accomplished, the devoted love and comradeship of 
 a wife, little children to greet you when the day's 
 work is over, and a happy home — these are simple 
 joys, but they are the best gifts that God can give.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE DEATH-TRAP OF THE BALKANS" 
 
 K is on the extreme left of the British Hne : about 
 
 two miles west of it lies the Vardar river, and beyond 
 
 the Vardar the French hold the hne. K , on the 
 
 left bank of the Vardar, is used by the French as 
 railhead. Railhead plays a very large part in modem 
 warfare — it is the farthest point to which it is possible 
 to use the railway, and although some distance 
 behind the Hne, it is the beginning of the Front. 
 All stores, food, and ammunition are unloaded here 
 into Ordnance, Supply, and Ammunition Depots. 
 The transport of the Division, motor-lorries, limbers, 
 and pack-mules draw their supplies from railhead 
 daily : so that throughout the day and the greater 
 part of the night there is a ceaseless flow of traffic to 
 and from railhead. As there is only one railway for 
 this part of the line, the French and British share it. 
 
 When I first set eyes on K I reaUzed the meaning 
 
 of the expression ' hatred at first sight.' There was 
 something sinister, something repellent, about it. 
 Italians would call it antipatico, but we have no adjec- 
 tive in English which properly expresses the meaning. 
 Perhaps the nearest approach to an expression of this 
 
 89
 
 90 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 feeling of shrinking dislike, with which some persons 
 and places inspire us, lies in the lines about ' Doctor 
 Fell.' My camp was on the reverse slope of a hill 
 facing the Bulgar lines. Reverse slopes are distinctly 
 to be cultivated in these parts : for a certain lady, 
 known famiUarly as ' Katie,' who lives in a cavern some- 
 where beliind the Bulgar lines, pays particular attention 
 to the station, and would send us Uttle presents at 
 a range of over ten miles. On these occasions a camp 
 near the top of the reverse slope of a hill is immune 
 — more or less — from Miss Katie's kind attentions. 
 But if the hill is not very steep, the foot of the hill 
 is not quite so safe. The reason is that a shell, to 
 clear a hill at all, must go some way over the top : 
 so that just underneath the reverse brow you are quite 
 safe. But if the hill has a gradual downward slope, 
 there is no reason why the shell shouldn't fall at the 
 foot of the hill. Thus the position of the camp affords 
 a good criterion of the character of the O.C. Those 
 who are energetic but timorous, pitch their camp 
 near the top of the hill ; those who are brave but 
 lazy, at the foot. I, being timorous and lazy, lived 
 half-way up. From the top of our httle hill, towards 
 Salonica, stretches out the unwholesome swamp of 
 the Vardar marshes as far as the eye can see. These 
 marshes make K the most unhealthy summer- 
 resort in the whole of Macedonia, and have earned 
 for it among the natives the title with which I have 
 headed the chapter. To the east hes Ardzan lake. 
 As the sun reflects its dying rays on the lake, 
 the shades and colourings of Ardzan resemble some 
 exquisite vision of the land of dreams. Farther still, 
 the enemy positions stand out. The huge Behsliitza
 
 DEATH-TRAP OF THE BALKANS 91 
 
 range completely dominates our positions dong the 
 whole of the Doiran and Vardar Front. Grim, un- 
 yielding, they seem to defy us, laugliing at the pigmies 
 who would attack them, contemptuous even of our 
 guns that can make no impression on their rocky sides, 
 Plere lies the answer to that oft-repeated question : 
 " Why don't we do something in Salonica ? " Last 
 year the French, this year the British, have attacked 
 these mighty defences — defences not of the enemy, 
 but of Nature — and we have both failed. Nothing, 
 I suppose, is impossible in this war. Positions even 
 more formidable than these have been captured by the 
 glorious Itahan Army, as it presses on remorselessly 
 to its goal. But an overwhelming superiority in men 
 and heavy guns must be brought to bear on these 
 defences — men and guns that are needed even more 
 elsewhere. And each man, each gun, each shell, must 
 run the gauntlet of the Mediterranean before it reaches 
 its distant base. Let no man talk Ughtly or contem.p- 
 tuously of this campaign. Only those who have seen 
 its difficulties can realize the magnitude of the task. 
 
 n 
 
 It was one of those hot days that marked the begin- 
 ning of the summer. The sun, as if aware that winter 
 was over, and the day of its ascendancy at hand, beat 
 down pitilessly on the Vardar marshes. An unwhole- 
 some vapour rose up from the ground, killing the 
 
 breeze. By the station of K the usual flow of 
 
 traffic passed to and fro. Motor-lorries, wagons, and 
 pack-mules entered the little station-yard, were loaded 
 with their burdens, and moved away again along the
 
 92 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 road towards the Front. At each end of the station- 
 yard a military policeman regulated the traffic, and 
 as each vehicle or animal was loaded, another came 
 in to take its place. It was just the ordinary daily 
 routine that goes on smoothly behind the lines — 
 monotonous but peaceful. Far away in the distance 
 the muffled booming of guns could be heard from time 
 to time. But to-day the firing was fitful ; it was as 
 if both ourselves and the enemy were overcome by 
 the heat, and had forgotten the great struggle of war. 
 All was peace. 
 
 Gradually the men working at the station became 
 aware of the distant hum of aeroplanes. A few of 
 them paused for a second and gazed up into the sky ; 
 but the glare of the sun Winded them, and they could 
 distinguish nothing. So they wiped the sweat from 
 their foreheads, and turned again to their work> The 
 hum of the engines grew louder and louder : and 
 suddenly over the crest of the hill they appeared — a 
 swarm of aeroplanes flying low in formation of attack. 
 Perhaps there were ten, perhaps fifteen — who can 
 say ? An officer blew five blasts on his whistle — the 
 signal for taking cover. The station-yard, a moment 
 ago so peaceful, bristled with men running to and fro 
 in breathless excitement. Some threw themselves 
 into a ditch ; some ran from the station to the ad- 
 joining fields ; some crouched behind stacks of corned 
 beef : others found their way to a dugout near the 
 station-house. Many stood v/here they were, gazing 
 stupidly at the sky, as if mesmerized. The lorry- 
 drivers took cover under their lorries ; some of the 
 wagon-drivers lay down by their wagons, others ran 
 away, leaving the mules uncared for. The mules
 
 DEATH-TRAP OF THE BALKANS 93 
 
 alone seemed unaffected by the general excitement. 
 Not half a minute after the alarm had been given, 
 the leading aeroplane circled over the station like a 
 bird of prey, and dropped one bomb as a signal. In 
 a moment the whole earth shook with explosives. The 
 noise was indescribable. Huge chunks of solid earth 
 spouted up into the air, and fell back again whence 
 they had come. In a few seconds the planes had 
 discharged their deadly burden — all but one, who, to 
 maintain the traditions of the Fatherland, dropped 
 his bombs on a hospital a mile away. And so they 
 sailed back again over the hills. 
 
 Save for an ominous crackhng in the Ammunition 
 Depot, where an incendiary bomb had set fire to some 
 rifle ammunition, no sound could be heard. The men, 
 though dazed, sat up and looked round on the scene. 
 One man would never look up again ; he lay peace- 
 fully on the ground — one more soul had paid the 
 ghastly toll of war. A couple of men, who were 
 slightly wounded, walked painfully towards the 
 hospital : others, who could not walk, were carried 
 away by their pals. 
 
 In the station-yard five trucks of high explosives 
 were still standing : though the trucks were splintered 
 with shells, the contents had been preserved, and a 
 stack of hay twenty yards away was untouched. 
 Opposite the entrance to the station lay the remains 
 of what had once been a motor-lorry. The fields 
 round the station were Uttered with shell-cases, with 
 here and there a shell or a grenade that had not 
 exploded. A couple of broken limbers, battered 
 beyond recognition, lay by the road, with their team 
 of mules lying quietly beside them.
 
 &4 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 The next day, except for the empty shell-cases, 
 which httered the fields, and the ruins of the station- 
 house, all traces of the disaster had been removed. 
 The sun beat down pitilessly on the Vardar marshes ; 
 the flow of traffic passed in and out of the station- 
 yard, the poUcemen stood on duty, regulating the 
 traffic. Life behind the hnes had resumed its unevent- 
 ful routine.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 on and off the struma 
 (August 3, 1917) 
 
 Those who have never been to Salonica are, practically 
 without exception, labouring under the delusion that 
 life out here is one long round of gaiety. A certain 
 comedian even w'ent so far as to sing a song in the 
 music halls, advocating Salonica as an excellent place 
 for a rest-cure. I do not know the comedian's name : 
 but I warmly advise him, if he holds life dear, to avoid 
 meeting any members of the Salonica Army after the 
 war. Although personally I deplore his ignorance, 
 there are many who take a stronger view of the case. 
 Let us omit to mention such absurd trifles as tem- 
 pestuous blizzards in the winter, blazing sun in the 
 summer : the disappearance of thousands of letters 
 and parcels at sea : ' leave ' after two and a half years 
 — if you're lucky : the digging of trenches and the 
 building of roads all the day and most of the night, 
 with now and then, for a change, an attack on a 
 mountain-range that would tax the knowledge of an 
 expert mountaineer to climb : the absence of any 
 kind of billets or comforts — such trifles, calculated to 
 relieve the monotony of war, we will omit from our 
 
 reckoning. Let us merely invite the illustrious come- 
 
 95
 
 96 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 dian to take his ' rest-cure ' for a couple of months 
 on the Struma Plain in the summer, and I guarantee 
 he will sing a very different song. 
 
 The Struma Plain is a vast stretch of flat ground, 
 perhaps fifty miles in length and twenty miles across, 
 hemmed in north and south by mountain-ranges. The 
 southern range is held by the British ; the northern 
 range, with the famous Rupel Pass, and the town of 
 Seres nestling against the foothills, by the Bulgars. 
 About half-way across the Plain the river Struma 
 winds its sinuous course, and now forms the boundary- 
 line between ourselves and the enemy. 
 
 When I first came to the Struma Front, late in May 
 of this year, the British, who had crossed the river 
 last September, held villages and positions beyond it. 
 which they had wrested from the enemy after severe 
 fighting at the end of last year. I was in charge of 
 an advanced Dump at Kilo 72, about three miles on 
 to the Plain from our foothills, and I remained there 
 ten days. I shall never forget those ten days so long 
 as I live. The atmosphere on the Plain is like that 
 of a hothouse. Every breath of air is jealously guarded 
 by the mountains, and struggles in vain to penetrate 
 into the Plain. Flies and mosquitoes swarm round 
 every camp, yet you have not the strength in this 
 living tomb to brush them from you. 
 
 Last summer we took up our positions by the river 
 banks, and clung to them during the summer. God ! 
 How we paid for it in sickness, agony and death ! 
 This year we have learnt our lesson : early in June 
 we abandoned all the positions so hardly won, and 
 recrossed the river. Now there are only a few cavalry 
 patrols and infantry detachments, guarding the bridge-
 
 ON AND OFF THE STRUMA 97 
 
 heads, still left on the Plain. The rest of our troops 
 have been withdrawn to the hills. Occasionally we 
 send out stronger patrols beyond the river, to surround 
 certain villages, but this is only the matter of a few 
 hours. The few unfortunates who are compelled to 
 live at the bridgeheads enjoy every possible protection 
 against disease, and are frequently relieved. 
 
 When I left Kilo 72 and moved up to Kilo 61, I 
 realized the difference between hell and heaven. Kilo 61 
 is on the summit of the hills, 2,000 feet above the 
 sea. Though the days are hot — the temperature in 
 the shade varies from 85° to 100° — there is nearly 
 always a breeze blowing, and it is possible to breathe 
 at night. That ghastly panting and suffocation which 
 I shall always associate with ' Struma nights,' is an 
 evil dream of the past. Off the Plain, soldiers are 
 merry once again — no longer crawling, lifeless weak- 
 lings. Malaria is far less prevalent this year. To 
 those who were seized with it last year, it may be a 
 lasting heritage of Macedonia : but those who have 
 recently come out are practically immune. 
 
 To-day is beautifully fine. In the morning a haze 
 gathers round the distant mountains, and shrouds 
 them with a dehcate veil. But in the afternoon the 
 atmosphere clears, and distance disappears as if by 
 magic. With the naked eye you can see the minarets 
 of Seres and the winding track of the Rupel Pass over 
 to the left. The Plain, with its tiny villages, its green 
 shrubbery with here and there a cluster of trees, and 
 the river twisting its way through like the coils of a 
 giant snake, forms such a pleasant and attractive picture. 
 But those who lived last summer by the river banks, 
 stifled by the heat, pestered with insects, stricken with 
 
 7
 
 98 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 disease, have come to loathe the Plain — yes, and fear 
 it as if it were some evil spirit — for they know. 
 
 There to the left, that Uttle track, the Rupel Pass 
 — what visions and thoughts it must conjure up in 
 the mind of any patriotic Greek ! ' Look on this — 
 and on that ! ' The Pass of Thermopylae : the Rupel 
 Pass. About twenty-five centuries ago, a glorious band 
 of Greeks, but three hundred strong, fought at the 
 Pass of Thermopylae a battle that was to decide the 
 fate of their nation — nay, the fate of civiHzation. 
 Undaunted they stood their ground, and held this 
 pass against the massed attacks of the hated invader. 
 There was nothing of the finesse of diplomacy in them ; 
 fair speeches meant nothing to them — they were just 
 simple folk defending their wives and children. At 
 length Leonidas their leader and every men of the three 
 hundred were slain, and the pass was won by the Bar- 
 barian. But the enemy had been held up long enough : 
 the work was done. Such a deed can kindle even 
 now the spark of enthusiasm in our breasts, for time 
 is powerless to dim the lustre of such heroism. 
 
 And then — in 1916 Greece, torn with inward dis- 
 sension as in the days of Thermopylae, is once again 
 called upon to take a decisive part in the struggle for 
 freedom against tyranny. Once again her territory, 
 which she has won with her life's blood, is threatened 
 by a barbarian foe. The Bulgar stands at the gates 
 of Rupel — what will Greece do ? Alas ! She is weighed 
 in the balance and found wanting. A Greek Army 
 Corps, under the infamous Hadjopoulos, obedient to 
 the orders of a traitor-king, surrenders itself and the 
 pass to the foe, without firing a shot, without raising 
 a finger to defend the national soil.
 
 ON AND OFF THE STRUMA 99 
 
 Thermopylae : Rupel ! How illustrious the tale of 
 the one, how infamous that of the other! Leonidas: 
 Hadjopoulos ! Both called upon to rescue Greece in 
 her agony, history will ever couple together their 
 names, as a contrast of valour and treachery, glory 
 and shame. 
 
 As in the case of indi\dduals, so too in the case of 
 nations, Providence is not generally prodigal of her 
 gifts. Once, perhaps, in its lifetime, or twice, a nation 
 is given a chance, once or twice it comes to the parting 
 of the ways. If it be led astray by evil counsellors, 
 if it wanders from the right path, the chance may not 
 come again, and one more fair name is wiped off the 
 slate of history. 
 
 But to Greece Fate has been kind. United once 
 again under the leadership of a great patriot, she has 
 been given another chance to redeem her past failure. 
 Thousands of Greeks are burning to blot out the dis- 
 grace of recent history. To such the sight of the 
 Rupel Pass serves not only as a reminder of past 
 humiliations, but also as an incentive to future glory.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 
 
 (fl) The Archie-man 
 
 This morning I went over to see a friend in charge 
 of an ' Archie,' or anti-aircraft gun. His gun is only 
 two hundred and fifty yards from my Dump : so that 
 if ever I happen to forget him for a few minutes, it 
 is not long before the ear-splitting shriek of his ' Archie ' 
 reminds me again of his existence. I happened to 
 ask him if there was any chance of his fragments and 
 ■ duds ' falling on my Dump, He reassured me that 
 any place within two thousand yards of ' Archie ' was 
 immune — unless, of course, he was careless and hap- 
 pened to put in a short fuse ! " What would happen 
 then ? " I asked anxiously. " Oh, of course you'd 
 get it in the neck all right if I did shorten the fuse." 
 There was a short silence. " By the way," he said 
 casually, " do you think you could let me have a few 
 extra tins of milk ? " I looked at him severely, but 
 he carried it off very well, though I think I detected 
 a twnkle in his eye. " Archibald, certainly not," 
 I replied. " Blackmail is a punishable offence — even 
 for ' Archies.' " "If you can prove it, of course," 
 he added. ' Archies ' are generally regarded with 
 hostility. The fact that any shell fired into the air 
 
 100
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 101 
 
 must come down again to earth in fragments, together 
 with a shell-case, is attributable to the laws of gravity, 
 and not to the malevolence of ' Archie,' But it is 
 difficult to remember this when a large lump of shell 
 comes sizzling through the air and grazes your left 
 ear. Besides, though I hate to say so — for one does 
 not like to depreciate another branch of the Service 
 — Archiemen, as a general rule, are apt to be callous. 
 Not being unmitigated asses, they never fire vertically 
 into the air, so that they are immune from their own 
 fragments. So when you tell them, with considerable 
 feeling, a story of some hairbreadth escape from their 
 shells, they are apt to displa}^ signs of ghoulish laughter. 
 " You've got to take your chance," they say, knowing 
 very well that they never have to take theirs. 
 
 And yet, as the following sad tale of the ' Archie ' 
 will show, Horace was perfectly right when he said : 
 
 Raro antecedentem scelestum 
 Deseruit pede poena claudo ; 
 
 or, to put it in the vernacular, You're bound to ' cop ' 
 it sooner or later. 
 
 (6) The Gilded Staff 
 
 Poscimur. Yesterday the greatest honour to which 
 a humble subaltern could aspire was bestowed upon 
 me — an honour before which the Victoria Cross pales 
 into insignificance. I have been invited to mess at 
 the ' Seats of the Mighty.' I have no illusions : 
 it is not because I possess any supereminent virtue 
 that qualifies me for this august position : it is not 
 even because my table-talk and society chit-chat is
 
 102 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 considered an acquisition : no, it is simply because 
 they draw rations from my Dump, that I have been 
 invited to mess with the Staff. In civihan hfe it might 
 be considered a trifle unusual to invite your butcher 
 or your baker to live with you, in the hope of thereby 
 obtaining better food ; but in the Army it is the most 
 natural thing in the world. Even so I was amazed 
 that I, a poor subaltern, should be asked to sit at meat 
 with those whose red hats and multicoloured tabs 
 adorn the country-side more brilliantly and more 
 effectively than all the beauties of the local fauna 
 and flora. 
 
 I don't wish to dazzle the reader ; nevertheless I 
 will mention a few of the celebrities in this Mess. First 
 of all there is a Colonel, a ' C. of E.' Padre, the sort 
 of man who would think nothing of chatting with a 
 Bishop — in fact, I think it would be the Bishop who 
 would feel honoured. Moreover, the Colonel, though 
 earthly honours mean nothing to him, wears specially 
 coloured tabs of his own. (Let me here note that 
 the happy suggestion that all chaplains should adopt 
 the uniform of the Flying Corps, and wear ' wings ' 
 as an outward symbol, has not yet been adopted.) 
 
 Then there is a D.A.D.O.S. Colonel, who wears blue 
 tabs and a red hat. (I'm not absolutely certain about 
 these colours — I hope the reader will make allowances 
 for my defective eyesight.) Perhaps that little word 
 ' Dados ' may mean nothing to you but Deputy- Assistant 
 Director of Ordnance Services ; perhaps it may not 
 even mean that. You realize that ' Dados,' though 
 as a rule only a subaltern, is a power in the land, com- 
 pared to whom the Commander-in-Chief is a Minor 
 Royalty. Also, on occasions, when you have searched
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 108 
 
 in vain for his Stores for four days and four nights, 
 you are liable to confuse him with that extinct bird, 
 the Dodo. But a Colonel ' Dados ' — it is almost 
 profanity to write his name ! 
 
 Next comes that redoubtable personage, the Assistant 
 Provost-Marshal. (He is always known as A. P.M., 
 but I teU you frankly, if you have the bad taste to ask 
 him if these initials stand for ' A Policeman ' he 
 doesn't like it a bit. You can take it from me, it 
 isn't done.) Among future generations of small 
 children the A.P.M. will replace the Bogey-man, who 
 has long been discredited as a ' wash-out.' Should 
 you, through ignorance of the ninety-fifth ruling on 
 the subject of sword- frogs, venture to issue forth with 
 one (or without one, as the case may be) : should you 
 slay a fellow-officer in a fit of natural anger, because 
 he picks his teeth with a fork, or hums ' Tennessee * 
 out of tune : worst of all, should you lose your iron 
 ration : you are handed over tied and bound with the 
 chains of Military Law to the A.P.M. Expect no 
 mercy from this military Rhadamanthus : for verily 
 you shall not come out thence until you have paid the 
 last farthing of your Field allowance. Unlike the 
 Padre and ' Dados,' who are restricted in the matter 
 of ' tab ' colours, the A.P.M. wears any colours he 
 likes — it depends on his complexion or his public 
 school. For, you see, the A.P.M. was not made for 
 Military Law, but Military Law for the A.P.M. So 
 often does the A.P.M. change the colour of his tabs, 
 that he is known as the chameleon. 
 
 Next on the hst comes the A.D.A.P.S. This may 
 perhaps mean no more to you than Assistant Director 
 of Army Postal Services; perhaps it may not even
 
 104 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 mean that. The word ' Adaps ' is erroneously con- 
 nected in some people's mind with the idea of adapt- 
 ability. But when I tell you that on the few occasions 
 I have changed my location it took him three months 
 to re-address my letters, you will see how wrong this 
 interpretation of the magic letters proves to be. He 
 is also the man — I suspect — who steals my Fortnum 
 and Mason parcels and then sends me a sympathetic 
 note a few days later, regretting that they have been 
 ' lost at sea.' (This phrase is nearly as useful as the 
 late Premier's ' wait and see.') 
 
 Finally, I will tell of the Field Cashier— perhaps the 
 most important of all. He generally pretends he is 
 a bank-clerk or something similar ; as a matter of 
 fact he is a multi-milHonaire and a philanthropist — an 
 unusual combination. About three times a month 
 he comes to see' you, and out of sheer kindness of heart 
 presents you with the local equivalent of a ' fiver.' 
 (Out here he gives 125 drachmae. Much to my dis- 
 appointment, I found on arrival here that obols had 
 ceased to exist. That old saying, with its variants, 
 " If I had an obol, I would give it to you," would be 
 a particularly happy retort to the Balkan News vendor.) 
 Moreover, this particular Field Cashier is an enthusiastic 
 but bad bridge-player, so his value in the Mess is further 
 increased. There are other minor stars in the Staff 
 constellation — but I will detain you no longer. For 
 though the contemplation of Divinities is intensely 
 gratifying to lesser folk, a superfluity of details is apt 
 to encourage the familiarity that breeds contempt. 
 
 To such a galaxy I was bidden : but the prospect 
 overwhelmed me. I have supped with Princes and 
 discussed tea with Archdukes. But there are some
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 103 
 
 circles into which I could never venture, for I am 
 ' a very 'umble person.' I remembered the fate that 
 overtook those ladies for whom Zeus had a penchant 
 — for ' those whom the gods allow to mess with them 
 die young,' And so with all deference I refused the 
 invitation. To justify their existence, however, lest 
 they think their invitation was wholly lost on me, 
 I will try to send them a few tins of milk, and — yes, 
 perhaps two tins of strawberry jam. 
 
 (c) The Monstrous Regiment of Adjutants 
 
 It was a very hot day, and I was preparing for an 
 after-lunch siesta, when a Signal-Orderly came in. 
 
 " The Adjutant of the , Lieutenant , wishes 
 
 to speak to you on the 'phone, sir." I sighed regret- 
 fully, for the Signal Office is nearly a mile away, and 
 mentally anathematized the whole race of Adjutants. 
 I did not know this particular Adjutant, but they are 
 all alike. Fancy wanting to speak to any one at this 
 hour of the day ! Adjutants are paid half a crown 
 extra a day to worry the life out of harmless individuals 
 like myself. They have an unholy passion for futile 
 information on such unproductive subjects as ' the 
 number of teeth in your maternal grandmother's head 
 before she was married.' Before going to bed they 
 read, instead of a Bible, selected paragraphs from 
 ' King's Regulations,' and dream peacefully of lurid 
 courts-martial. On parade they have the eye of a 
 hawk, and the temper of a fiend. In the Mess they 
 unbend (you can hear their mental joints painfully un- 
 bending) and refrain from the more flagrant forms 
 of shop : telling anecdotes on such subjects as ' When 
 I was a subaltern,' or ' I remember how I scored off
 
 106 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 the D.A.Q.M.G.' In fine, they are narrow-minded 
 pedagogues temporarily invested with mihtary powers. 
 
 I was roused from my ' reverie ' by the signaller 
 giving my armchair a vicious kick. I obtained 
 a vicarious reprisal against the Adjutant. When I 
 reached the Signal Station, perspiring at every pore, 
 I felt positively wicked — the ' old Adam ' in me was 
 thorouglily aroused. I determined to aggravate the 
 Adjutant as far as possible. At length I was ' through.' 
 
 " Hallo ! Are you the Supply Officer of the Corps ? 
 I'm the Adjutant of ." 
 
 " I can't make out if you're talking or merely drinking 
 soup." 
 
 "I say I'm the Adjutant of . Can't you hear 
 
 me?" 
 
 " That's much better. Pleased to meet you. 
 Adj. Hot weather for June, isn't it ? " 
 
 ' ' Look here, you sent up the meat short this morning. 
 According to G.R.O. (General Routine Order) one 
 million and four we were entitled to one tin of ' bully ' 
 per man — you only sent up two-thirds." 
 
 " What says the poet, dear Adj. ? ' A little 
 learning is a dangerous thing.' Your attentive mind, 
 which seized on G.R.O. one million and four, has 
 failed to grasp G.R.O. a million and twenty-seven, 
 which has just appeared. It is useful, you know, to 
 take in G.R.O. 's daily, and not spasmodically. You 
 know, I'm afraid you've got an unbalanced mind." 
 
 A pause whilst he verifies my statement ; a grunt 
 signifying grudging assent. He continues in a louder 
 key : 
 
 " Still you gave us our bare ration. After all, a 
 little give and take."
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 107 
 
 " Dear old thing, experience has taught me to beware 
 of our old friend ' give and take.' It really means 
 ' all give and no take.' ' Heads you win, tails I lose ' 
 sort of stunt. Besides, you must remember I am a 
 Supply Officer, and not a philanthropist." 
 
 This excites him. His voice becomes louder and 
 louder. I am beginning to enjoy myself. 
 
 " We've had practically no fresh meat this week — 
 ' bully ' every day. I tell you, the men are absolutely 
 fed to the teeth. Things are getting pretty serious. 
 If this goes on much longer, we shall have a mutiny." 
 
 " A mutiny ! But how thrilling ! Do let me know 
 when it's coming off. I wouldn't miss it for worlds ! 
 But really, old man, I'm afraid the discipline must 
 be rather lax in your push. Perhaps a change of 
 Adjutant ? " 
 
 " Damn it, I haven't come here to be insulted. 
 I " 
 
 " You know, really I'm beginning to wonder why 
 you have come." 
 
 This is too much for him. He replaces the receiver 
 with a bang. 
 
 I walked back with a light step, feeling it was worth 
 it after all. When I got back to the dugout, I wrote 
 him a letter: 
 
 " You PRICELESS Old Thing, 
 
 " Life out here is very monotonous, and I 
 welcome humorous relief. For noble services rendered 
 in that cause, I am sending you a lorry containing all 
 the samples I have on the Dump. I'm afraid it will 
 quell the mutiny, to which I was so ardently looking 
 forward. But you have certainly deserved anything
 
 108 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 I can do, and I don't grudge it you. All that I have 
 is yours. Nay, I am even glad you compelled me 
 to walk one mile down to Signals and three sweltering 
 miles back. Were you by any chance at Charterhouse ? 
 I remember your name and initials very well. If so, 
 I fagged for you for one solid year. Revenge is sweet. 
 
 " Yours gratefully, etc., etc." 
 
 The next day I had a reply. Here it is : 
 
 " You Young Devil, 
 
 " Yes, I was at Charterhouse, and I remember 
 you quite well now. You were the most hopeless, 
 incompetent fag I ever came across. [This is untrue.] 
 By Jove, if only you were my fag once again, what 
 wouldn't I do to you ! 
 
 " Thanks awfully, all the same, for the lorry-load 
 — it will come in very useful. Drop in for dinner 
 next Thursday, and we'll talk over old times. 
 
 " Yours, etc." 
 
 {d) The B.R.C.S. 
 
 Next door to me there is a small post of the British 
 Red Cross Society. I imagine most of those who have 
 been wounded or gone sick on this part of the line 
 will remember the B.R.C.S. with gratefulness. They 
 have a large marquee overflowing with the good things 
 of this world : lemonade, cigarettes, biscuits, tea, 
 eau-de-Cologne, and many other attractions. All the 
 Motor Ambulance convoys carrying the sick and 
 wounded from the Struma stop at this oasis, and the 
 afflicted partake of its grateful comforts. When they
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 109 
 
 move off again to the Casualty Clearing Station, ten 
 kilos farther on, perhaps they feel a little more relieved 
 and contented by the helping hand which has been 
 extended to them. There are never more than four 
 men at the post, as a rule only three, and it is no 
 light job. Convoys pass through at all hours of the 
 day and night ; and there is always a fine brew of tea 
 ready for them. Just think of the amount of 
 ' washing-up ' there is to be done — all the married 
 fellows there talk gleefully of that ecstatic but indefinite 
 date, ' after the war,' when they will show their wives 
 how washing-up really ought to be done. I often pay 
 them a visit, and they are always working, and always 
 cheerful. Of course this is only one branch of the 
 vast work which is carried out so efficiently by the 
 B.R.C.S. In France, Egypt, Mesopotamia, Salonica, 
 Africa — wherever there are soldiers, there j^ou will 
 find the B.R.C.S. always labouring to reheve the sick 
 and wounded. Tennis-nets, racquets, and balls for 
 hospitals, indoor games for those who cannot leave 
 their beds, books innumerable, fly-catchers — everything, 
 in fact, imaginable — is supplied by them. When so 
 much money is being squandered away by undeserving 
 or inefficient charities, it must be gratifying to the 
 thousands of subscribers at home to know of one which 
 extracts the utmost benefit out of every penny of 
 the contributions. ' Si monumentum requiris ' — ask 
 the British soldier. 
 
 Although the work is sufficiently arduous to tax 
 the strength of a fit man, there are no ' shirkers ' in 
 the B.R.C.S. To be admitted on to their Staff, it is 
 necessary, I believe, either : 
 
 {a) To be blind, deaf, or dumb ; or
 
 110 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 (6) to be sixty years old (preference to be given to 
 Crimean veterans) ; or 
 
 (c) to have three incurable diseases, one of which 
 must be mortal. 
 
 The other day a magnificent-looking man arrived 
 from England to join them. He was suffering, however, 
 from ulceration of the stomach, Bright's kidney disease, 
 and fatty degeneration of the heart. The general 
 consternation, therefore, at the B.R.S.C. H.Q. can 
 be easily imagined when, two days after his arrival, 
 a challenge, signed by him, offering to fight any one 
 in the Salonica Army for a purse of a thousand drachmae, 
 was discovered in the Balkan News ! I fancy this 
 illustrious pugilist must have been sent home, dis- 
 qualified. 
 
 Another sad case I may mention concerns the driver 
 of one of their Ford lorries. This gentleman had to 
 return to England, as he had, by excessive use of the 
 clutch, worn out his wooden leg, and he was unable 
 to obtain ' spare parts ' in Salonica ! 
 
 One of the four workers here is, by profession, a 
 distinguished journalist — more especially, a hterary 
 critic. I expect you know the kind of criticizing : 
 " Our gratitude to the author would have been greater 
 if, in addition to the photograph of himself — or even 
 instead of it — he had given us a map." (From what 
 he subsequently told me, it is highly improbable that 
 this book will ever be published — so I will wiUingly 
 take the risk of a libel action.) In a foohsh moment 
 I sent him across what I had so far written — it has 
 just returned. 
 
 Let me repeat — it has just returned, with additions 
 in the form of running comments. Eagerly I scanned
 
 STRUMA NOTABILITIES 111 
 
 them for signs of approbation — but in vain. An occa- 
 sional — a very occasional — ' good stuff ' was all I could 
 find, on which to feed my hungry soul. (Incidentally 
 I detest the expression ' good stuff.' I can picture a 
 journalist of the seventeenth century writing ' good 
 stuff ' across Hamlet's soliloquy. Comparisons, how- 
 ever, are odious.) 
 
 Then I turned to adverse comments. Gentle reader 
 — but this appeal is a mockery. There never will be 
 a gentle reader. I have been slain — rightly slain, 
 I have no doubt — and one more corpse is piled upon 
 the heap of aspiring authors, who have been dealt a 
 death-blow by criticism. But I die in glorious company 
 — for the dead are of all kinds, from the sublime to 
 the ridiculous: from Keats to myself. For I am 
 ridiculous. The mountains of Macedonia have brought 
 forth this work : 
 
 Parturient monies, nascitur, ridiculus mus. 
 
 Gladly I bore alterations, repairs, and deletions in 
 the text. Adjectives of an unfriendly nature, such 
 as ' sententious,' ' egotistical,' and ' meaningless,' were 
 applied to my ' purple patches ' : but I continued to 
 smile. My philosophy was described as ' trite ' and 
 ' hackneyed,' but still I endured. ' Diffuse ' and 
 ' urmiethodical ' met me at every turn, but I never 
 turned a hair. The coup de grace came at the end in 
 a resume. Of course, I was not unprepared. For — 
 I reasoned — if he can throw out these adjectives lightly 
 as he reads the pages, what will be the cumulative 
 effect of his resume ? And I shuddered. With tightened 
 lips and a stiff upper jaw, I awaited the final onslaught.
 
 112 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 But I did not get far : the first sentence completely 
 flattened me out. " Experiences and Reflections of 
 a Young Supply Officer " ! I think I could have 
 suffered any other adjective — ' maudUn,' ' inane,' 
 ' half-witted ' — but ' young ' ! There are some insults 
 which slay outright. 
 
 I shall continue the book, but on strictly Tariff 
 Reform conditions — it will be for home consumption 
 only.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ARMY TYPES 
 
 (a) The Snob 
 
 War has given a fillip to the gentle cult of snobbery, 
 which, in the stress of these democratic days, was 
 beginning to lose its savour. The snobs of Thackeray's 
 era have cropped up again, though they are thinly 
 disguised in a military cloak ; or, to be more accurate, 
 ' British Warm.' Society novelists have altered their 
 Dukes and Earls into Major-Generals and Colonels, 
 comic rehef in the lower strata of life being afforded 
 through the medium of ' batmen ' or mess-waiters, 
 instead of the time-honoured humorous butler. Hoary 
 anecdotes in the ' smart ' pages of Snippety Snippets, 
 " anent a certain Bishop famous for his bon mots, who 
 does not live more than a hundred miles from Picca- 
 dilly Circus," have taken a fresh lease of life : they 
 are now introduced by a new formula : " A good story 
 is going the round of the trenches anent a certain famous 
 ' Gunner '-Major, whose bon mots are famous in every 
 Mess in France." But still, plus ga change, plus c'est 
 la mime chose. 
 
 The military snob is comparatively rare in the Army, 
 but in certain Messes he flourishes and abounds ; and 
 unfortunately it is a very catching disease. It is 
 
 8 "S
 
 114 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 possible, however, to be inoculated against it with an 
 injection of a sense of humour. The snob in the 
 Army is the most obnoxious thing that exists outside 
 Germany. He invariably possesses a cousin or an 
 uncle who is at least a Major-General, though unknown 
 to the pubhc. Once this illustrious relative (who is a 
 blood-relation of Mrs. Harris) has been properly estab- 
 lished, mythical letters on every topic of military 
 interest are attributed to him, and the game rolls merrily 
 on. Early this year another humble individual and 
 myself were discussing the significance of the then 
 recent German withdrawal in the West. Towards the 
 end of a heated argument, X, our tame military snob, 
 who had been listening to our conversation with an 
 air of bored contempt, turned towards us, and said 
 casually (he always talks casually) : " As a matter 
 of fact, you're both wrong. My cousin — the General, 
 you know " (this condescendingly) — " wrote to me 
 
 only yesterday about it. He says " He stopped 
 
 short as we all three remembered simultaneously that 
 
 there had been no post for a fortnight ! Since that 
 
 fatal lapse X has become discredited, and doubts are 
 
 freely expressed in his presence on two points : {a) 
 
 whether his cousin really is a General, and {b) whether 
 
 he has a cousin at all. So ended the career of one 
 
 of the most promising snobs that ever polluted the air. 
 
 Although he is nearly always a subaltern, the snob 
 
 endeavours, generally without success, to ingratiate 
 
 himself with Field Officers. For he believes infallibly 
 
 in the divine right of promotion. The sight of any 
 
 one wearing ' red tabs ' fills him with unholy dehght, 
 
 but he does not think highly of medals, as they are 
 
 largely worn by ' bally Quartermaster*.'
 
 ARMY TYPES 115 
 
 But let me hasten to add, in fairness to him, that 
 though he is dazzled by the contemplation of famous 
 Generals, he does not hesitate — by way of showing his 
 open-mindedness — to sling mud at them on every pos- 
 sible occasion. Stories of the quarrels of our great 
 leaders — stories spurned and ridiculed by all decent- 
 minded persons — are certain to obtain a sympathetic 
 hearing from him ; for he is not even loyal to the caste 
 before which he grovels. He tabulates this scandal 
 in a book, and embellishes it with details culled from 
 the plentiful stock of his own unwholesome imagination. 
 If any one is foolish enough to invite him out to their 
 Mess, he entertains the company with some of his 
 more lurid tales of dissension in the Higher Command, 
 interspersing these alleged altercations with a variety 
 of oaths. He has only one opening to his conversa- 
 tion : "Of course, I hate scandal : but I happen to 
 know this. Anyhow, don't let it go any farther," 
 etc., etc. 
 
 Crime in the Army is a hydra-headed monster beast ! 
 But I have not yet heard of an ofhcer being court- 
 martialled for the offence of military snobbery. Let 
 me here suggest — humbly but firmly — to those in 
 authority, that this, the most loathsome offence possible, 
 should in future be punished with the severity it 
 deserves. 
 
 (&) The Cook 
 
 It is not given to every man to go to Corinth : to 
 fewer still is it given to go into the cook-house. In 
 the French Army the cook holds his appointment 
 because he is a good cook : in the British Army he 
 drifts into the cook-house because he is hopelessly
 
 116 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 incompetent as a soldier. The only other quaUfica- 
 tions necessary for this post are a grimy appearance 
 and an intimate knowledge of the mouth-organ. If 
 you possess these claims to distinction, your future 
 is assured In the historic words of Kipling : 
 
 You'll slay the world, and everything that's in it. 
 And what is more, you'll be a cook, my son. 
 
 An Army cook generally possesses the cheerful flow 
 of spirits engendered by the constant contemplation 
 of the sufferings of his less fortunate fellow-soldiers. 
 A trait of philosophy and optimism enables him to bear 
 with equanimity the taunts and gibes which are freely 
 showered upon his unworthy head. He also possesses 
 the gift of repartee, and thus with voluble, if crude, 
 retorts he illustrates the truth of the saying that " It 
 is more blessed to give than to receive." 
 
 In cooking he does not adhere to any known text- 
 books of the culinary art, but relies rather on his own 
 instincts and originality. For instance, he judges to 
 a nicety, by listening attentively to the howls of exe- 
 cration that greet his latest performance, to what 
 extent it has appealed to the popular fancy. If by 
 any chance his efforts are greeted with the silence that 
 gives consent, he improves the shining hour by serving 
 up the same dish at every meal for the next month, 
 oblivious of the saw concerning the unfortunate school- 
 master, who was slain by the oft-repeated cabbage. 
 Although he is not slavishly ruled by any particular 
 laws or methods, he acknowledges and endeavours, 
 within reason, to emulate the art of that illustrious 
 chef, Mr. Csesar Borgia.
 
 ARMY TYPES 117 
 
 In his own unit, although persona infratissima, he is 
 treated with the respect once accorded to the Deities 
 of Olympus, who held aloof from common clay. For 
 he is immune from parades and other woes of lesser 
 mortals. Realizing the wisdom of the old Roman 
 motto, ' Let them hate, so long as they fear,' he con- 
 tinues his career of crime unperturbed and unabashed. 
 It is well for Charlie Peace, Dr. Crippen, and other less 
 able craftsmen of their trade that their ignoble efforts 
 were cut short by the hangman before the Army cook 
 came into existence : else had they died of very shame. 
 What says the Bard of Avon ? — 
 
 There are more crimes in heaven and earth, O Crippen, 
 Than were ever dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 
 I fear that those eminent statisticians who have 
 proved to their own satisfaction the diminution of 
 crime since the beginning of the war have omitted 
 to take into account the efforts of Army cooks. There 
 are thousands of cooks to-day, in France, Mesopotamia, 
 Egypt, and Salonica, who continue their work of crime 
 
 Unwept, unhonoured, and unhung. 
 
 Finally, let me correct a common delusion. The 
 battle of Waterloo is erroneously supposed to have 
 been won on the playing-fields of Eton. As a matter 
 of fact, being in possession of ' inside ' information, 
 I can assure my readers that it was really won in the 
 cook-house. 
 
 (c) The Nut 
 
 The common belief that Party Politics and Nuts 
 expired at the beginning of the war has been falsified
 
 lis MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 by subsequent events. On the contran-, both of late 
 have shown a marked recrudescence of acti\-it\'. The 
 Army Nut, though he exists in everj' branch of the 
 Ser\-ice, is especially conspicuous in the Army SerNice 
 Corps. The reason is ob\ious : in the A.S.C. he has 
 much more opportunity for the cultivation of nuttish- 
 ness — he does not have to go to the trenches, which 
 charming locaIit\' has dealt a death-blow to many a 
 Nut. In the A.S.C. the Nut is beautifully dressed, 
 booted and spurred : his breeches are a dream, and 
 he wears yellow kid gloves both during the bUzzards 
 of winter and the swelterin? heat of summer. 
 
 A friend of mine — the ne plus ultra of Nuts — was 
 sent out here from England to join a Di\-isional Train. 
 On arrival he reported to his Colonel, who (for a Colonel) 
 was a remarkedly well-dressed man. But my friend 
 — to use a colloquial expression — ' had him fairly beat.' 
 The Colonel was positively tongue-tied \N-ith admira- 
 tion, and for a quarter of an hour walked round him 
 in a circle, gazing at his garments from ever\' possible 
 angle. My friend grew rather alarmed at this unusual 
 beha\-iour, thinking the Colonel must be mad. At 
 length, to his intense relief, the Colonel spoke. " By 
 George ! It's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen ! 
 Come into the Mess, and we'll celebrate the occasion 
 vdih a bottie of ' phiz ' ! " 
 
 But, Uke every other great man, the Nut has his 
 base imitators, who are not worthy to %^ind on his 
 puttees : fellows who have " all the nodosities of the 
 oak without its strength, all the contortions of the 
 Sybil without her inspiration," These miserable crea- 
 tures, the forged bank-notes — ^nay, the ' dud ' cheques 
 — of Army hfe, think that by the assumption of a ' gaw-
 
 ARMY TYPES 119 
 
 blimey ' cap and a rakish expression they have achieved 
 the consummation of nuttishness. There is a motto 
 that warns us rightly of cads in Nuts' clothing. Let 
 us beware of them : for they should be banned by 
 all right-minded persons. 
 
 Those, however, who aspire seriously to be included 
 in the sacred ranks of nuttery must not be led astray 
 by the belief that a Nut need only be an ornamental 
 clothes-prop. Oh no ! oh dear me, no ! His labours 
 do not by any means cease at that point. For the 
 benefit of those whose education has been so sadly 
 neglected, I will enumerate some of the other attributes 
 of a Nut. 
 
 First of all he must possess an exhaustive knowledge 
 of all matters pertaining to the latest musical comedies 
 and revues. If he has been on active service a long 
 time, ignorance of the penultimate and antipenultimate 
 revues and musical comedies is condoned. But if 
 he is given leave, he has much arrears of work to make 
 up. He must also claim the friendship of either Mr. 
 George Grossmith or Mr. George Robey. Furthermore, 
 though this is less important, he should have two or 
 three signed photos to adorn his tent or dug-out, of 
 fair charmers whose smile, as it has aptly been remarked, 
 ' savours of odolatry.' He must also run a concert 
 party or Pierrot troupe. In addition to designing all 
 the scenery and the costumes, and the arduous duties 
 of stage-manager, he must sing one of the three follow- 
 ing songs : — ' The Galloping Major,' ' Gilbert the 
 Filbert,' 'Jones of the Lancers.' 
 
 For these songs he must wear a monocle, not as if he 
 was afraid of it and was trying to edge away from it 
 aU the time, but as if it were really a necessity, without
 
 120 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 which life would be unbearable. He may, of course, 
 pretend, for a joke, that he can't ' keep his bally eye- 
 glass in his eye ' ; but it must be made quite clear 
 to the audience that this is only a humorous ' gag, 
 and not a stern reality. 
 
 His language on and off the stage must be carefully 
 studied : officers of his own rank are accosted as 
 ' priceless old thing,' ' dear old man,' or ' old skin.' 
 (This mode of address, by the way, is not only used when 
 speaking to lifelong friends, but also — and especially 
 — to officers he has known less than five minutes.) 
 Officers of senior rank are greeted as ' My dear Field- 
 Marshal,' or ' My dear Colonel,' as the case may be. 
 His epithets are numbered. Any thing or person 
 meeting with his approval is ' quite priceless,' ' top- 
 hole,' or ' capital.' Any thing or person he dislikes is 
 ' beastly rotten,' ' bally awful,' ' not quite the thing, 
 what ? ' In circumstances of great excitement he 
 must keep absolutely calm ; and, above all, no sentence 
 is complete without the adjective ' old.' 
 
 In Salonica, aspirants to this honourable profession 
 have immense difficulties of transport to face. Glorious 
 garments ordered from England have a way of being 
 sunk en route, and the Nut is faced with the gloomy 
 alternatives of obtaining raiment from the Scylla of 
 Ordnance or the Charybdis of Venizelos Street, whose 
 sartorial atrocities are in direct contravention of the 
 regulations laid down by the Hague Convention. 
 
 Before the war the Nut failed to enjoy any great 
 degree of popularity in the public mind, because he was 
 considered rather useless and inane. But the war 
 has given him an undeniable locus standi. Anything 
 that can raise our drooping spirits, anything that can
 
 ARMY TYPES 121 
 
 take our minds off the eternal subject of war, is of the 
 greatest value to the moral of the fighting troops. I 
 can pay no greater tribute to the Nut than by declaring 
 that in the German Army such a type would be impos- 
 sible. Beyond a doubt the Nut has done much to 
 add to the gaiety of our Army. 
 
 {d) The General 
 
 In presuming to raise my youthful voice on such a 
 lofty theme, I am encouraged by a strange and unusual 
 sight I witnessed the other day. A certain Division 
 gave a horse-show, at which every one who is any 
 one, from General Sarrail to myself, w^ere present. 
 A special stand had been erected for notable persons 
 — unfortunately, they omitted to hang up a placard, 
 ' No one beneath the rank of Brigadier-General need 
 apply.' Hither a few irrepressible subalterns, includ- 
 ing myself, found their way. For half an hour I sat 
 surrounded by the Great Ones of this world. Major- 
 Generals abounded, and Brigadiers were as common 
 as the household fly. If I had been a bull instead 
 of a subaltern, I should have been driven stark, staring 
 mad. When General Sarrail arrived, and the Corps 
 Commander, who was practically sitting next to me, 
 rose to greet him, I felt a thrill of vicarious greatness. 
 I was a trifle disappointed all the same, for I had been 
 informed from an authoritative source (my batman) 
 that the French C.-in-C. invariably kissed our Corps 
 Commander on both cheeks when they met in public. 
 As a matter of fact his greeting was " Tout ce qu'il y a 
 de plus bourgeois " — he just shook hands with him. 
 
 Apart from this distressing little incident, which,
 
 132 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 in the case of a lesser man than myself, might have 
 marred the whole afternoon, my happiness was un- 
 clouded. For the first time in my military career I 
 was able to observe Generals at close range. In fact, 
 there was one General down whose neck I breathed 
 so persistently — in an unsuccessful attempt to count 
 up the number of his ribbons — that he became quite 
 uncomfortable. Fancy being able to make a General, 
 feel uncomfortable ! I could not have felt happier 
 if I had had an opportunity of tickhng the toes of the 
 Lord Mayor of London ! I felt Hke Mark Twain in 
 the American War, when he said there were so many 
 Field Officers about New York that one day he threw 
 a stone at a dog, missed the dog, and hit three Colonels ! 
 There was a big dog in the Grand Stand — if only I 
 had had a stone by me ! 
 
 You must pardon me if I Hnger on this subject — 
 but surely my elation was not unnatural. As a rule 
 a General arrives in a cloud of red, damns you eternally 
 or pats you on the back (this depends largely on his 
 liver), and lo ! he is gone before you have time to observe 
 the cut of his breeches or the length of his spurs. But 
 now at last I had leisure to study him carefully. I 
 felt like the man who dined with the Kaiser, or his 
 equally illustrious friend who took tea with Tirpitz. 
 
 At this point perhaps, to justify the article, I had 
 better give some of my impressions. First of all, 
 then, the General is a human being — he can rag and 
 laugh and joke just the same as you and I. This is 
 an important and unexpected discovery — I never 
 realized before that a General could unbend without 
 hurting himself badly. Have you ever caught a 
 General unbending ? I never have. Secondly, a General
 
 ARMY TYPES 128 
 
 can tell a funny story. You know that one about 
 the musical comedy actress — and the young curate : 
 quite so, we'll leave it at that. Thirdly — but I don't 
 really need go on with the article. For a General 
 is really an overgrown subaltern, hiding his youth- 
 fulness beneath a screen of gold oak-leaves. Which 
 incidentally accounts for all that is best in the spirit 
 of the British Army.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 
 
 I HAD, working under me, at my Dump on the Struma 
 Front, about sixty men all told. They were about 
 as motley a collection of individuals as you could find 
 — loading parties from two Battalions, a permanent 
 guard of gunners, my own A.S.C. men, and a baker's 
 dozen of Greeks, Turks, and Bulgarians. Furthermore, 
 there were half a dozen representatives of units fed 
 by me, who were permanently attached to the Dump 
 ' to see fair play ' — that is, they check the weights 
 of the rations issued to their own unit — see that they 
 are getting the right quantity of everything, as laid 
 down in the Ration Scale. With such a quaintly 
 varied crowd it was hardly to be expected, even by 
 the most sanguine lover of mankind, that unity and 
 concord would reign— human nature is human nature. 
 Even the best of us forget at times that our enemy 
 is the Hun, and not any particular unit of the British 
 Army who has for the moment offended us. 
 
 I had felt subconsciously for some time past that 
 trouble was brewing — there was a stormy feeling in the 
 air. Finally, various ' differences of opinion ' cul- 
 minated in a free fight between a gunner and an A.S.C. 
 man. Finding caustic repartee of no avail, they pro- 
 ceeded to settle the matter after the fashion of primeval 
 
 124
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 125 
 
 man. When I had to give judgment later on, I found 
 it an exceedingly difficult case with which to deal. 
 Both sides produced four witnesses (from their own 
 unit, it is needless to say) who were prepared to swear 
 on oath that ' the other man ' struck first. Subtle 
 distinctions between ' gently pushing ' and ' striking ' 
 were freely used with unconscious sophistry. As a 
 Socratic dialogue it delighted my heart : as a case 
 to be settled in the Orderly Room it filled me with 
 despair. At length, seeing it was impossible to bring 
 a case of assault against either of the two belligerents, 
 I bound over both parties to keep the peace, dismissed 
 the case, and ordered a concert. 
 
 You might possibly think that the first thing to do, 
 if you want to make a success of your concert, is to 
 obtain the services of eminent artistes. However 
 that may be in civilian life, your plan of campaign in 
 the Army has to be worked out on different lines. 
 The first thing to do is to obtain ' refreshments ' for 
 the audience— and by refreshments I mean principally 
 beer. Beer, if distributed in ample, but not excessive 
 quantities, is the decisive factor in the success of your 
 concert. Beer gives any ordinarily shy soldier the 
 beUef — generally, I fear, unwarranted — that he is a 
 Caruso or a George Graves in embryo. Beer opens 
 the valves, so to speak, of the voice : and after a judi- 
 cious dose has been administered to the audience you 
 will have no difficulty in persuading nine men out 
 of ten to come up on to the stage and sing a song, 
 dance a dance, or recite a recitation. Moreover, the 
 remainder of the audience will be more ready to notice 
 and approve of qualities hitherto unsuspected in a 
 pal's efforts. In other words, all you have to d
 
 126 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 is to establish a jovial atmosphere — and the rest will 
 follow naturally. 
 
 The evening chosen for the concert was a trifle 
 overclouded. But I had given strict orders to Ser- 
 geant X., my chief N.C.O., that there was to be no rain, 
 and I had no fears for the future. Sergeant X. fears 
 neither man nor Quartermaster. When he wants a 
 thing done, it is done. And that's all there is to it. 
 He is the most amazingly capable, and the most 
 amazingly ignorant, man I have ever met. (In curious 
 confirmation of this latter statement, he has just 
 this moment been in to see me. I tendered him an 
 ' Othello ' cigarette, which he accepted with the re- 
 mark that he had been there. I looked at him in 
 amazement, and asked him if he had ever been to 
 the Island of Hamlet. He corrected me gently, 
 saying that Hamlet was not the name of an island, 
 but a race-horse. On second thoughts he remembered 
 that it was not ' Othello ' but ' Orfano ' he had been 
 to — though no doubt they were the same.) 
 
 A small veranda outside my dugout had been 
 converted into a temporary stage, and at a quarter 
 to eight my ' Ministry of All Talents,' as some one 
 facetiously termed them, trooped in, each man carry- 
 ing his feuteuil — a biscuit-box — and the inevitable 
 mug. They proceeded to encamp in a semicircle 
 round the veranda, and were served with biscuits, 
 cigarettes, and beer. Meanwhile I turned on the 
 gramophone, t\l don't know much about gramophones : 
 but this particular one, which I had borrowed from a 
 friend (henceforward a friend no longer) was appar- 
 ently suffering from a severe attack of bronchitis. 
 Speaking dispassionately, I should say it would have
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 127 
 
 been difficult even for a musical critic to distinguish 
 between records of Tetrazzini and Harry Lauder. 
 However, it served as a curtain-raiser, and as such 
 was not intended to interfere unduly with the conver- 
 sation of the audience. 
 
 At eight o'clock the serious business of the evening 
 began. As stage-manager, it was my duty to sit all 
 the time in an obscure corner of the stage, and to 
 announce each item, and to ' call on ' various gentle- 
 men after the manner of the leader of a minstrel troupe. 
 I glanced at my programme — it had been adorned 
 with literary but illiterate embellishments by the 
 pen of Sergeant X. I found there were only eight 
 numbers all told. As the evening went on, however, 
 various men, attracted by the promise of backshish 
 (i.e. free) beer, joined the party and offered to ' give 
 a turn ' (one man with a husky voice did give me a 
 turn — but that's another story). Also several mem- 
 bers of the audience, stirred to emulation by the efforts 
 of their pals, announced their firm but ambiguous 
 intention of ' doing something.' Really the stage- 
 manager had no cause for complaint — except that 
 perhaps he was suffering from emharras des richesses. 
 
 The first song was sentimental—' Thora,' I think. 
 The audience knew the words better than the singer : 
 and when through stage-fright he was ' stuck,' they 
 always helped him out. He sang very well, though, 
 and with a good deal of feeling. Next came a humorous 
 song : ' Gussie.' The singer made me acutely conscious 
 of the absence of a piano, which might have kept him 
 in his place, by giving him the right key. He started 
 on a lofty falsetto note, two or three notes above 
 Caruso's ' high C,' I should imagine. He then de-
 
 128 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 veloped suddenly, and without any warning, into a 
 basso profondo, and the remainder of the song was 
 dehvered from somewhere in the region of his boots. 
 The third vocaUst gave us a pathetic ballad (I forget 
 its name), telling of the sad fate that overcame a 
 youngster who went to the Bank of England, armed 
 only with one penny, to buy gold for his mother and 
 daddy. This meritorious enterprise, which should 
 prove an eye-opener to insolvent financiers, unfortu- 
 nately did not meet with the success it deserved. 
 For the blue-eyed lad (I feel sure he had blue eyes, 
 though this particular was not mentioned in the ballad), 
 was incontinently knocked over by a motor-car (in 
 the execution of his duty). I suppose I must be 
 callous, for the song filled me with a mirth that I had 
 much difficulty in repressing. The remainder of the 
 audience, however, took it au grand serieux, and I 
 began to understand why melodramas are so popular 
 in England. The truth is, we are very simple folk, 
 and simple emotions, simply expressed, move us 
 most easily. Though ' Tommy ' has an inordinate 
 sense of humour, this kind of sentiment is powerless 
 to make him laugh — for it touches something human 
 deep down in his heart ; and after all a sense of humour 
 only exists on the surface. 
 
 The programme followed its inevitable course. Our 
 ' star-turn,' a corporal from the Red Cross, was at 
 first unofficially announced to me missing, being in- 
 volved in a deathless struggle at chess. Further 
 investigation, however, proved the previous announce- 
 ment to be incorrect, and he was immediately called 
 for. First of all he gave us ' The Sunshine of your 
 Smile,' a popular favourite, and afterwards, as an
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 129 
 
 encore, a charming Irish ballad. His singing was 
 greatly appreciated, and the audience remained abso- 
 lutely silent throughout — a remarkable tribute to his 
 singing. The rest of the programme was uneventful. 
 There were plenty of popular songs, the chorus being 
 taken up with increasing volume, as the audience 
 ' warmed to it.' A Scotchman sang a song in Gaelic, 
 which was received respectfully but not enthusiastically 
 by a somewhat mystified audience. In fact, their 
 reception of it reminded one of that accorded by the 
 British musical world to the weird cacophanies of 
 Richard Strauss in the days of long, long ago before the 
 Kaiser had disturbed the peace of Europe. My bat- 
 man, who displays new and unsuspected talents every 
 day, gave a step-dance, simultaneously accompanied by 
 a gramophone — though, to borrow from a famous 
 wit, the gramophone was slightly more simultaneous 
 than my batman. He was given an encore, but was 
 unable to respond to the popular demand, as the heel 
 of one boot had become detached by his strenuous 
 efforts. Some one gave a serio-comic recitation en- 
 titled ' Spoltz.' It reminded me alternately of the 
 late Sir Henry Irving in the ' Bing Boys ' and Mr. 
 George Robey in ' The Bells ' — hence, I suppose, the 
 term ' serio-comic' Another man volunteered to 
 sing ' Tipperary,' to please the Greeks ! It is an 
 amazing thing that ' Tipperary ' is regarded by every 
 one except Enghshmen as England's National Anthem. 
 At any rate it had an electrical effect on the Greeks : 
 one of them immediately expressed his desire to give 
 a Greek dance. I turned on the most likely gramo- 
 phone record — ' The Turkish Patrol,' — and he proceeded 
 to g>Tate with reckless abandon. Finding himself ' the 
 
 9
 
 180 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 cynosure of every eye,' he became bashful, and con- 
 cluded the dance off the stage, where his movements 
 were shrouded in outer darkness. In spite of its 
 anti-climax, this performance was received with im- 
 mense fervour. 
 
 Then there followed a ' navvy comedian,' who told 
 humorous but obscene anecdotes. His subsequent 
 lifelike impersonation of a man the worse for liquor 
 brought down the house, and very nearly brought 
 down my veranda, which was of flimsy construction. 
 
 After ten o'clock I thought of bringing the concert to 
 a close, but all the same I had a feeling that every- 
 thing was not as it should be : there seemed something 
 missing. What could it be ? I scratched my head — 
 this gave me an inspiration. No one had as yet 
 discovered that he had a * home in Tennessee ' I I 
 knew that no evening was complete without this 
 song, and it would constitute a legitimate grievance 
 on the part of the audience if they were deprived of 
 it. However, the last singer ' obliged,' and the 
 audience joined in the chorus to a man. Surely the 
 author of ' Tennessee ' must have been a genius — it is 
 impossible to believe that any ordinary mortal could 
 have invented such words ! 
 
 After ' Tennessee ' had been completed (which took 
 some considerable time, the audience finding it neces- 
 sary to sing the chorus not less than ten times), I con- 
 sidered it time to bring the concert to a close. There 
 were still many potential stars, though, who had not 
 had an opportunity of twinkling across the footlights 
 (i.e. three candles and one swinging lamp). In a 
 short speech I ventured to hope we should have them 
 on some future occasion. After ' God save the King,'
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON 181 
 
 three hearty cheers were given for the stage-manager ; 
 and the men returned to their tents in a thoroughly 
 contented frame of mind. 
 
 It may not have been a great concert, but it was 
 certainly appreciated — subsequent letters home, which 
 I had to censor, left no doubt as to this. Moreover, 
 the concert has had a very salutary effect on the moral 
 of the men. After it there were no more quarrels, 
 and all the men lived happily at peace with one another, 
 and worked very much harder. Thinking the matter 
 over, I am not sure that ' King's Regulations ' or 
 ' The Manual of Military Law ' would have approved 
 of my action in the matter. But I am convinced 
 that my noble ancestor. King Solomon, would have 
 adopted this solution of the problem.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 QUEER CARDS 
 
 {a) Sergeant Laprop, M.A. 
 
 He came up the other day to draw rations — or rationals, 
 as he called them : and for about a quarter of an 
 hour he entertained me with discursive conversation 
 on things in general. 
 
 Although personally, he said, he was in the Infantry, 
 and had done his bit to drive the Vulgarians back to 
 their capital. Sofa, he thought there were far too many 
 young men in the Accelerating Services, such as the 
 Army Audience and the Army Veteran Corps. But 
 there, it wasn't for him to criticize, and each man, 
 having a consciousness of his own, must be guided 
 by his own principalities. 
 
 He had only been on the Stumer, but he was very 
 keen to visit the Dorun Frontier. And he was told 
 the monastery captured by the French and Servants 
 last year was a very pretty place. Funny thing there 
 were no monks in it. 
 
 He remarked that the Greek question was indeed a 
 tangled skin, but he sincerely hoped that M. Venizurlo 
 had found the dissolution of the problem. Matters 
 had reached a climate, he explained, owing to the 
 question of the Sicilian crops. If we had allowed the 
 
 182
 
 QUEER CARDS 188 
 
 Loyalists to sequester these crops, there would have 
 been absolutely no holding King Constantinople. So 
 we had cut the gauging knot, and turned him out 
 of his capital, the Athenaeum. He wasn't certain 
 what had become of ' Tiny ' (as he was called by his 
 friends), but imagined he had gone to join his brother- 
 in-law, the ex-Czar of Russia. 
 
 What did I think of the political situation at home ? 
 There was no doubt Mr. Lloyd George was an energetic 
 man : but was his ministration Conservatory or Libera- 
 tive ? What with all these new apartments that 
 had been opened in London hotels, and the Director 
 of National Servitude, and the Food Destroyer, you 
 simply didn't know if you were standing on your heels 
 or your toes. Then, instead of Zellerpins, there were 
 airy planes dropping booms on London every day — 
 no, he was glad to be out of it — Unactive Service was 
 good enough for him. 
 
 By this time his breath was beginning to fail him : 
 so, signing his indentation, he departed, 
 
 (6) Ellessdee Back 
 
 It seems incredible, but I suppose, nevertheless, 
 that it is the case, that there are still quite a number 
 of people alive who know nothing of Ellessdee Back. 
 In case the reader should be one of these unfortunates, 
 allow me to introduce you to each other. Ellessdee 
 Back — Gentle Reader. Gentle Reader — Ellessdee Back. 
 Two such famous people should surely know each 
 other. But — I hear you ask — what is Ellessdee Back ? 
 Is he a famous Hun General, or a new dance, or an 
 American cocktail ? No, gentle reader, he is none
 
 184 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 of these things : he is — I quote our only English 
 journal out here, the Balkan News (that spicy little 
 journal that sparkles with the humour of ' Comitadji ') 
 — he is, I repeat, ' the Whiteleys of Salonica.' You 
 notice that I am careful, by the use of inverted commas, 
 to show that this is a quotation, and not a simile of 
 my own choosing — I do not wish to be involved in 
 a libel action with Whiteley's, Anything, anything 
 in the world, gentlemen, may be obtained at this cele- 
 brated emporium, from Pitkin's onion-flavoured drinks 
 to a cessation of hostihties. Until you had read 
 Ellessdee advertisements you were probably unaware 
 that an onion-flavoured drink was a ' delicious summer 
 beverage.' But such, he tells us, is indeed the case. 
 There are many things you may learn from Ellessdee. 
 Until you saw his price-list, you might have thought 
 it incredible that a guinea autostrop razor could be 
 sold at two pounds five shillings. You might have 
 doubted that football ' shorts,' which become ungummed 
 if you look at them, could cost ten shillings. Again, 
 two square inches of gauze, euphemistically termed 
 a ' fly-catcher ' — though I never yet met the fly that 
 was fool enough to be caught by one — costs five shil- 
 lings. As I say, you may learn a lot from Ellessdee. 
 But I see you are not satisfied even yet. We know 
 now about the shop and its wares, you say ; but what 
 manner of man is Ellessdee himself ? Come, reveal 
 to us his personahty. Gentle reader, you have me 
 at a loss. Honestly, I cannot tell you, for I do not 
 know. The man is wrapt in mystery. We know 
 now that Shakespeare's real name was Bacon. How 
 if Ellessdee's real name proved to be Bill Adams ? 
 It would be disappointing, I admit ; but one must
 
 QUEER CARDS 185 
 
 face the possibility. Some swear that he is an Austro- 
 Boche, and are in favour of sending Ellessdee back 
 to Germany. Others declare that he is really an 
 officer in the British Army. Personally, I doubt it : 
 for in that case we should infallibly have won the 
 war — or lost it — long ago. Many gather from his 
 gift for Hebraic imagery, which surpasses the efforts 
 of the late Isaiah (not to mention Deutero-Isaiah), that 
 he is of Semitic origin. I cannot say for certain — 
 I merely throw out suggestions. 
 
 But if you are of a persistent nature, order a copy 
 of the Balkan News. You may find no news of the 
 war, but you wiU find in the advertisements some key 
 to the identity of Ellessdee Back, the ' hidden hand ' 
 in the Balkans. 
 
 (c) Lieutenant C. White Shaw 
 
 I am not by nature timorous : life has but few 
 terrors for me. But I admit for once I was com- 
 pletely cowed. 
 
 I was sitting quietly in my dugout on a hot day, 
 dreaming of iced champagne, when he came in. I'm 
 wrong — he didn't come in ; he threw himself through 
 the door. He then shook hands, with the gentleness 
 of a ' tank.' Although it is a week ago, I still find 
 difi&culty in writing. When I had more or less re- 
 covered from this unexpected attack, I surveyed him 
 carefully and vindictively. He was a subaltern in 
 the Engineers — very tall, and very brawny — the sort 
 of thing you meet when you come out without 
 your gun. 
 
 " May I have a drink ? " he bellowed. Although
 
 136 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 this appeared to be a request, I knew instinctively that 
 it was an order. Apologetically I lay before him 
 the contents of my cellar, of which I gave him the 
 freedom. When he had drunk about six bottles of 
 beer, he sat down in my only deck-chair and started 
 a conversation. I'm wrong, it wasn't a conversation, 
 it was a monologue. Now and then when the pro- 
 tagonist was out of breath, I answered inane questions 
 or volunteered drivelHng remarks, after the manner 
 of a Greek chorus. 
 
 " How was it the Germans were beaten off at the 
 beginning of the war ? " I looked into his face, seeking 
 there a suitable reply. I found none. " The angels 
 of Mons," I began, cautiously feeling my way. He 
 seemed displeased, and roared at me : " No, it was 
 the Royal Engineers who beat them off." Possibly 
 it was. Anyhow, I wasn't there, so I couldn't say 
 for certain. In any case it wasn't worth contradict- 
 ing him— so I agreed hastily. " Who won the battle 
 of Waterloo ? " Paralysis of the mind seized hold of 
 me — I felt like a schoolboy undergoing a viva voce. 
 For the moment I couldn't remember who won the battle 
 of Waterloo, but I murmured gently " Bill Adams." 
 It appeared that I was wrong again — it was the Royal 
 Engineers. I told him I didn't doubt his word. But 
 I was beginning to understand the game ; and when 
 he shouted, " Why did the Boer War drag on for 
 more than two years ? " I answered without hesita- 
 tion, " Because of the Royal Engineers." I was 
 soon sorry I said it. He grew wild and started raving. 
 I began hastily to make my will on a piece of paper. 
 Perhaps he thought I wasn't worth killing — anyhow, 
 he spared my life for the moment.
 
 QUEER CARDS 137 
 
 I offered him a cigarette : he accepted it with the 
 haughtiness of Wilhehn II (or was it Edward I ? — I'm 
 afraid my history wants rubbing up) acknowledging 
 the keys of the town from the burghers of Calais. 
 " Why do you smoke these beastly things ? " he inquired 
 in a voice of thunder. I grinned feebly. I thought 
 it would be wiser to say nothing. " Here, take one 
 of mine — I picked it up in Salonica," I looked at 
 the cigarette, and remembered the condition of the 
 Salonica streets. I saw no reason to doubt that he 
 had picked it up there. His cigarette was even more 
 overpowering than his personality — I wished I hadn't 
 lit the beastly thing. Aren't they jolly good ! " he 
 yelled. I assented faintly, and prayed for the war 
 to end. . . . 
 
 After that, as they say in naughty novels, I knew 
 no more. I remember dimly that he told me the 
 story of his hfe. Reticence and the cigarette forbid 
 my repeating all he told me. He seemed to have 
 done an awful lot — but I could quite believe it. Gradu- 
 ally I recovered consciousness. An idea seemed 
 to strike him. " Do you live alone here ? " I 
 answered that I did, " So do I. I'll come and mess 
 with you. You want company, you want stirring up." 
 In spite of the intense heat, an icy shudder ran down 
 my spine. He got up to go. " I'll move in to- 
 morrow." 
 
 But God is a just God. I never saw our friend 
 again. That very night he was stricken with malaria, 
 and he was lost in some hospital at the Base. If he 
 ever returns — which is not likely — I shall know what 
 to do. I shall place an armed guard outside my 
 dugout.
 
 188 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 {d) The Greek Labourer 
 
 A schoolmaster, who had been to Greece, once told me 
 that with a knowledge of ancient Greek it is perfectly 
 easy to make yourself understood in this country. It 
 was consequently with a feeling of pleasurable antici- 
 pation that I, classical scholar of Charterhouse and 
 Exhibitioner of New College, Oxford, prepared to 
 exhibit my wisdom to the native. 
 
 My opportunity was not long in presenting itself. 
 A few weeks after my arrival in this country I was 
 placed in charge of a Dump, and was given twelve 
 Greek labourers to assist in the loading and stacking 
 of supplies. My Sergeant had been out here a long 
 time, and informed me he spoke Greek very well. He 
 asked me if I could speak Greek at all. I replied, 
 not without dignity, that I had devoted ten years of 
 my life to the study of the language, and could there- 
 fore consider myself tolerably proficient. He seemed 
 impressed, and suggested I should come along straight 
 away, and talk to them. " There's some forage I 
 want loaded on that limber, sir. You might give them 
 the order." I followed him to the Dump ; there I 
 found twelve dirty-looking ruffians, in various stages 
 of disattire. They all wore a head-dress consisting 
 of an oat-sack : but beyond that their raiment was 
 distinctly neglige. The foreman came up with a 
 grin and saluted. " Chaire ! " I said. The foreman 
 continued to grin, but made no reply to my kindly 
 salutation. (I learnt afterwards that x"'P^ is now 
 pronounced ' hairy,' and means good-bye.) I cleared 
 my throat, and began in my best sixth-form-at-a- 
 public-school manner : " Di panta tanta ta epitedeia
 
 QUEER CARDS 189 
 
 epi teru hamaxan epithesthi." The foreman's grin 
 grew broader : but he made no effort to comply. I 
 began to grow nervous — hang it all, had I got the 
 right word for forage ? I tried again, substituting 
 ' Chree ' for ' Di ' — it is more polite to tell him that 
 "it is his moral duty in the sight of Zeus " to load 
 the forage, rather than that he must do so. The 
 foreman looked rather dazed. At last he spoke. " No 
 speak English." I collapsed. My Sergeant came 
 to the rescue : " Hi ! Johnny, Oxo " (o^o means 
 ' quickly ') " you put oats on limber, savvy." And 
 that was what the wretch called Greek ! Without 
 a moment's hesitation ' Johnny ' collected the men 
 and got to work. As for me, I hid my head for shame ; 
 and I did not feel any happier when the Sergeant said 
 consolingly, " I expect it was Latin you learnt, sir, 
 not Greek." I only recovered my aplomb a few days 
 later, when I came across a Greek newspaper, and 
 succeeded in translating part of it to my Sergeant. 
 He was much impressed : true, he could make the 
 Greeks understand what he wanted done ; but to read 
 a paper scored with those weird hieroglyphics, that 
 was beyond him altogether. But though my com- 
 placency returned to a great extent, and though I 
 soon learnt, more or less, how to pronounce modern 
 Greek intelligibly, I always left it to my Sergeant to 
 give orders. Never again ! 
 
 Taken as a class, the Greek labourer is a good worker, 
 and, if he is well looked after, a fairly honest knave. 
 There are, of course, a good many hopeless ' wrong 
 'uns ' among them : and in every case it is almost 
 impossible to inculcate into them even the rudiments 
 of sanitation. They regard cleanliness as a harmless
 
 140 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 foible of the British, but one that should not be in- 
 dulged too much. There are many thousands of 
 them working on the roads, in the camps and dumps, 
 and at the docks, and if it is work they can understand 
 they work hard, and as they are acclimatized, they 
 need not break off during the heat of the day in the 
 summer. Many of them are Macedonians, though a 
 large proportion come from the islands, especially 
 Cyprus. They receive three drachmae (equivalent of 
 half a crown) each day and their rations. ' Minors,' 
 those under eighteen, I think, only receive two drachmae. 
 When they have worked for a fairly long time with 
 the same unit, a real affection springs up between them 
 and the British soldier, an affection which even sur- 
 mounts the difficulties of language. 
 
 At Katerini we had one labourer on our Dump called 
 Angelo. ' A Greek merchant from Constantinople ' 
 (i.e. a Turk), he had lost all his money during the war, 
 and had come to Salonica to start afresh and earn 
 a living as a common labourer. He was a huge- 
 limbed fellow, well over six feet, and tremendously 
 powerful. He assisted our butcher in cutting up 
 the meat, and he could shoulder a 200-lb. quarter 
 as though it were a feather-weight. 
 
 Every day he worked overtime, tidying the Dump, 
 and making little paths to prevent us being drowned 
 in the mud. He soon became a great favourite with 
 the men — wherever they went, they took Angelo with 
 them. He was as happy as a sandboy, and forgot 
 all about his financial troubles. On my twenty-first 
 birthday, which I celebrated there, I gave the men 
 a small dinner. There were only a dozen fellows, 
 so I suggested they should invite a few friends.
 
 QUEER CARDS 141 
 
 Of course Angelo was unanimously invited, R. and 
 I went down to the Dump for a few minutes after 
 dinner. We found them drinking their port, and 
 Angelo, who had already looked on the whisky when 
 it was yellow and the beer when it was brown, was 
 now endeavouring to look on the port when it was 
 red. He made a gallant effort to rise to his feet, and 
 after several unsuccessful attempts, at length managed 
 to attain the desired position. Under the circumstances, 
 I think it was surprising how he managed to perform 
 this feat ; but his next effort was even more surpris- 
 ing. He proceeded to give us his idea of a Turkish 
 love-song. I have never heard anything like it before, 
 and I hope I never shall again. It was received with 
 great enthusiasm by the men, and I believe it was 
 encored again and again after we left. I can only 
 say that if it was really a Turkish love-song, and not 
 a figment of Angelo 's heated imagination, Turkey is 
 distinctly a place to be avoided. Next morning 
 Angelo was very apologetic about his previous even- 
 ing's lapse ; and he worked harder than ever at his 
 little path. 
 
 But Angelo 's happiness was destined, like all good 
 things, to come to an end. G.H.Q. decided we weren't 
 wanted any more at Katerini, and we received orders 
 to march to the Vardar Front. When Angelo heard 
 we were leaving, he applied to come with us : but it could 
 not be allowed, " Very well," said Angelo, " I will come 
 unpaid, just as a friend ; and I will work harder than 
 ever." Again his request was refused — he must remain 
 at Katerini. In despair, Angelo went down on his 
 knees, and begged to be allowed to come ; but the 
 authorities were adamant. For the next few days
 
 142 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 Angelo went about his work just the same ; but he 
 was a changed man. Before, he was always cheerful 
 and talking a strange hngo of his own ; but now he 
 never opened his mouth, and he seemed to have aged 
 suddenly. Of course the fellows did all they could, 
 with words and little presents, to console him ; but 
 he was inconsolable. At last the day came when we 
 were to leave Katerini. We went to the big barrack- 
 square — all cleaned up, and presenting the mournful 
 aspect of a deserted camp — to say good-bye to him. 
 He fell on our necks — literally — and kissed us each 
 in turn, whilst all the time tears were running down 
 his cheeks. Certainly there was an element of the 
 grotesque in the sight of this huge fellow sobbing like 
 a child ; but I think we all had a lump in out throat 
 as we left him standing in the square, the most ludicrous, 
 pathetic figure imaginable. 
 
 (e) Corporal Hynx, S.P. 
 
 For three weeks he was the despair of my life, and 
 then we were separated. Perhaps you may think 
 I learnt something about him in those three weeks, 
 as we were always together. I didn't. I learnt 
 absolutely nothing. Inscrutable as the gods of old, 
 who came down to earth for a short span, showed them- 
 selves to mortals, and then returned again whence 
 they had come to their mysterious dwelling-place 
 on Mount Olympus, I knew him for twenty-one days, 
 and then he departed out of my ken. Official reports 
 averred that he had been admitted into hospital, but 
 for all I know he may have gone back to Mount 
 Olympus.
 
 QUEER CARDS 148 
 
 The manner of his coming was inscrutable. My 
 chief — nay, let me be frank — my only clerk had sprained 
 his ankle, whilst endeavouring to stop a runaway 
 horse. I applied to the Base for some one to replace 
 him, and I was informed that on a certain day Corporal 
 Hynx, S.P., would report to me for duty. I waited 
 about all day, but there was no sign of him. 
 In the evening I happened to walk into the office, 
 and found a corporal seated at the table, working out 
 figures. How had he arrived ? No one saw him 
 come. He must have come down on a motor-lorry 
 bringing forage, disguised as a tibbin-band. 
 
 When I had recovered from my surprise, I addressed 
 him a few words of greeting and exhortation, giving 
 him the freedom of my boudoir and the second bath- 
 room. I also hinted delicately that I should be glad 
 to know how he got here. The only reply he vouch- 
 safed was, " No, sir." I looked at him in amazement. 
 He reminded me of Harry Tate's chauffeur. 
 
 For three weeks we sat together in the same stuffy 
 office, working. Apart from " Yes, sir," and " No, sir," 
 which he uttered without any bearing on the context 
 of my questions, but rather as if he were working 
 on a system (just as fooHsh individuals at Monte Carlo 
 back ' red and black '), this man of mystery only 
 volunteered two statements during the whole of the 
 three weeks. Statements ? You would hardly call 
 them statements — they were non-committal formulae. 
 The first formula was in answer to any remark, oath, 
 or exclamation of mine. " Ah, that would be so, 
 sir." Although it was frequently inappropriate, it 
 was dehvered with intense gusto and an air of un- 
 fathomable concentrated wisdom. Deep, that was
 
 144 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 what it was. Before I give the second formula, I 
 must, by way of explanation, state one fact about 
 Corporal Hynx. Whatever may have been his other 
 accomplishments, his mathematics were poor. In 
 fact, they were execrable. Which brings me to the 
 second formula. " Ah, that is a mistake, sir." When 
 I pointed out, as I was compelled to do about fifty 
 times a day, that the addition of two and two could 
 not conceivably produce five (unless, of course, your 
 initials happen to be ' G.B.S.'), he delivered the second 
 formula. There was nothing apologetic about it : 
 on the contrary, it was given out with an air of finality, 
 as if the incident were thereby closed, greatly to his 
 credit. After a time I grew to dread the second 
 formula even more than the first — it seemed to put 
 me hopelessly in the wrong. First of all I apologized 
 for correcting errors. Finally I ceased to correct 
 them at all. I left it to others, who, not being under 
 his influence, made huge corrections in red ink and 
 appended sarcastic comments. A deep rot set in in 
 my work — my mathematics became as bad as those of 
 Corporal Hynx. If he had not departed as he came 
 — mysteriously — one fine day I should probably 
 have been cashiered from the Army for inefficiency. 
 
 But sometimes I think Corporal Hynx chose the 
 wrong avocation in life. His deep-set eyes, his massive 
 forehead, which might have contained a great deal, 
 and, again, might have contained nothing at all, would 
 have been invaluable in a diplomatic career. Yes, 
 England may have gained an Army clerk, but she 
 has lost a Secretary for Foreign Affairs.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AS OTHERS SEE US 
 
 {a) Subalterns (as Pictured by the Editor 
 
 OF ) 
 
 Scene : A pretty little farm-house in France, some- 
 where behind the line. A commodious and clean 
 billet, nicely furnished with four chairs and a 
 table. The walls are plashed with war-maps. 
 As the curtain rises, four Subalterns are seen, 
 smartly dressed. They are wearing spm's, a 
 ' Sam Brown ' belt, and a studious expression. 
 Two of them are pondering over the latest Daily 
 Mail war-map, which is spread out on the table ; 
 a third is studying ' King's Regulations ' ; whilst 
 the other is engrossed in ' Infantry Training, 
 Part II.' Through the window is wafted the 
 faint odour of flowers. An atmosphere of 
 restrained melancholy seems to hang over 
 everything. 
 
 WiLBERFORCE. Really, my dear Horace, the situa- 
 tion on the Eastern Front is most reassuring. Mr. 
 Hilarious Bilge proves quite conclusively in his latest 
 article in Mud and Water that if other things are equal, 
 and if the Germans are beaten by the Russians, of two 
 
 10 "5
 
 146 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 things one is bound to result : either the Russians 
 will be victorious over the Germans, or the Germans 
 will have to acknowledge defeat at the hands of the 
 Russians. 
 
 Horace. But surely, Wilberforce, it must be appa- 
 rent to you from the map that even if the Russians 
 capture Binck, and advance along the line Zphtel- 
 Rspltq-Snumph, they will be faced with the even 
 
 more formidable position, [The position is so 
 
 formidable that I cannot spell it]. 
 
 [They proceed to illustrate the position on the 
 Eastern Front, using tins of pate de foie gras issued 
 by the A.S.C. Plantagenet throws down 'In- 
 fantry Training, Part II ' wearily on to the table.] 
 
 Plantagenet (disgustedly). Really I find this chapter, 
 ' Forming Platoons in succession of companies from 
 the right by successive echelons on the left,' rather 
 dispiriting and vexatious. 
 
 Wilberforce (turning abruptly from the pate de foie 
 gras, in a voice of pained surprise and indignation). 
 Upon my soul, Plantagenet, it grieves me deeply to 
 hear you speak in disrespectful tones of that instructive 
 little book. What would the dear Adjutant say if 
 he heard you ? 
 
 Plantagenet (sullenly). Well, anyhow even you 
 must admit that it is rather incomprehensible. I'm 
 sick to death of it. 
 
 Horace (severely). For what reason does a paternal 
 and generous Government allow you the sum of eight 
 shillings and sixpence a day ? It is not, I trow, 
 only that you may slay Germans on the field of battle, 
 but also that you may strive to perfect yourself on
 
 AS OTHERS SEE us 147 
 
 the drill-ground. Industry and obedience are neces- 
 sary to success in battle. 
 
 Plantagenet : Well, Jones, in my platoon, who 
 got the V.C. for capturing twenty-five Germans single- 
 handed, didn't know anything about drill. 
 
 Horace {making a point). But then if he had only 
 studied ' Infantry Training,' who knows how many 
 more Germans he might not have captured ? [Who 
 does ?] At any rate, I do not wish to argue with you. 
 As I am your senior officer by two days, I shall con- 
 sider it my duty, if you persist in your laziness, to 
 report the matter personally to our dear Brigadier- 
 General. 
 
 Plantagenet is cowed by this awful threat, 
 and meekly resumes ' Infantry Training, Part II.' 
 Horace and Wilberforce resume their mimic 
 warfare.] 
 
 Montmorency {who has been wrapt in the subject of 
 Dostoevsky's famous novel, lays down ' King's Regula- 
 tions ' with reverent care, and addresses his three friends). 
 Do you know, dear friends, that I beheld a young 
 Subaltern Officer this morning, actually addressing 
 words to — Hm ! I blush to mention it — to a young 
 damsel of the country ? 
 
 [Sensation."] 
 
 Wilberforce {who was not educated at a public school 
 for nothing). tempora ! mores ! 
 
 Plantagenet {not to be outdone). Well, well, Tempora 
 mutaniur, nos et mutamur in illis. 
 
 [The other three gaze at him in stony silence. 
 Plantagenet collapses, and never speaks again.]
 
 148 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 WiLBERFORCE (solemnly). Before we retire to rest, 
 my dear fellow-companions, there is a matter on which 
 1 wish to speak to you all. I have just read a most 
 enlightening article on the deplorable effects that the 
 rum issue has on the Army. As you know, no reforms 
 can be hoped for, unless they come from within. I 
 propose, therefore, that we issue an appeal to the leading 
 papers, to abolish the issue of rum. We are all agreed, 
 I think, that had it not been for the rum issue the 
 war would have been over practically before it started. 
 
 [As the curtain comes down, the four are seen 
 
 sitting together, holding each other's hand, and 
 
 sipping water as they compose this portentous 
 document.'] 
 
 (&) Subalterns as they really are (thank God !) 
 
 Scene : Any old Mess-room behind the Une — that is 
 to say, a dirty Httle room in a farm, looking out 
 on to a manure-heap. The room is furnished 
 with three chairs, of which the aggregate number 
 of legs is nine, a knock-kneed table, and a fourth 
 chair, which, not long ago, was a milk-case. The 
 walls are papered with Bairnsfather cartoons 
 and Kischner's sketches of ladies in various stages 
 of decollete. There are four ' Subs.'— Bill, Harry, 
 Dick, and John. They are dressed in men's uni- 
 form, and are covered in mud. They are all 
 drinking vins du pays, purchased at the local 
 estaminet. Bill and Harry are studying La Vie 
 Parisienne, John is reading the Bystander, and 
 Dick— the Uterary member of the Mess— is toying
 
 AS OTHERS SEE US 149 
 
 with John Bull. Through the window is wafted 
 a strong odour of — well, not flowers. They are 
 all subUmely happy. 
 
 Bill {pointing out to Harry the drawing of an alluring 
 damsel emerging from an egg-shell, in La Vie Parisienne). 
 I say, she's rather a little topper, isn't she ? Don't you 
 wish she was here, in this mouldy old farm-house. 
 
 Harry (expressively). Oo-er ! 
 
 Dick. Anyhow, it's jolly nice to get away from Fritz 
 for a bit. This place may be a bit niffy (and it cer- 
 tainly is), but you do get a bit of peace and quietness 
 here — there's no ' strafing.' {Grunts of whole-hearted 
 assent from the other three.) I vote we have a bit of a 
 binge to-night. I've got a parcel from F. and M., 
 and John's had something from Blighty too. 
 
 {Simultaneously.) 
 
 Harry. 'Ere, 'ere ! 
 
 Bill. Ra.ther ! 
 
 John. Top-hole idea ! 
 
 Bill, {making a discovery in his valise). Hallo ! 
 What the Hades is this ? ' Infantry Training, Part II ' ! 
 My hat, you fellows, see me punt it through the window. 
 
 {He takes a flying kick at it. The unoffending 
 volume sails through the window — which is merely 
 an aperture in the wall, and is, fortunately, guilt- 
 less of glass-panes — and lands on the head of an 
 indignant cook. Shrieks of laughter.'] 
 
 John. Don't you let Redtape find its mangled 
 remains, that's all. Or he'll have you up before the 
 old man, sure as stink.
 
 150 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 Harry {philosophically). I wonder why all Adjutants 
 are such narrow-minded blighters ? 
 
 Dick {forgivingly). It isn't their fault, really — 
 they're hardly human. You wouldn't be if you had 
 to struggle about all day with a thousand different 
 Army Forms. 
 
 [There is a pause as glasses are refilled. The 
 battle-cry of our New Armies '^Cheero ' echoes on 
 every side.] 
 
 Harry {a serious-minded fellow really). I wonder if 
 there's any war-news lately ? 
 
 John. Yes, there's a topping Bairnsfather cartoon 
 this week. 
 
 Harry (persistently). No, I mean real war-news. 
 
 Dick [contemptuously). Oh, that ! No, there never 
 really is any news — or if there is, you never see it in 
 the papers. Why, bless you, what you see in the 
 papers never happens at all. It's only put in to give 
 people something to talk about at home. Who's ever 
 heard of any one taking the newspapers seriously ? 
 
 {None of the three can find an answer to this 
 question — it is doubtful if any one can.) 
 
 Bill. I heard the Brigadier tell our old man that 
 some new country — Guatemala, or America or some- 
 body — had joined our side. Funny old bird ! He 
 seemed quite excited about it. I always did think 
 he was a bit balmy. 
 
 Dick. Anyhow, we all know how our own particular 
 war is going — that's good enough for us. Come on, 
 you chaps, let's pay a call on little Suzanne at the
 
 AS OTHERS SEE US 151 
 
 estaminet across the street. She promised she'd let 
 me have a kiss the next time we came out of the 
 trenches ; and, by George ! I'm jolly well going to see 
 I get it. Hope she doesn't say ' napoo.' 
 
 [Exeunt omnes, to see the fun. 
 
 (c) The Infantry-man {loquitur) : 
 
 The next war that comes, I shall join the A.S.C. 
 There's a ' cushy ' job for you ! — no fighting, and a 
 nice bed to go to every night. What have they got 
 to do ? Just turn out their limbers for a couple of 
 hours every day for five or six miles behind the line, 
 trot to the Dump and back, and then work's over for 
 the day. At night they have concerts and cinema 
 shows. Shells ? Why, they don't know what they 
 are — except by hearsay. Army Safety Corps — that's 
 what they are. Then who hears the news, and sees 
 something of the country-side ? Why, the A.S.C, of 
 course. 
 
 Now just look at our life, compared to theirs. We're 
 stuck up in a stuffy trench all day. Our work's never 
 over. Out wiring at night, or building up parapets 
 under heavy fire. Any sleep we get is on a damp 
 floor made of mud, with rats promenading over our 
 faces. And when we're in rest, it's just as bad — 
 if not worse. Rest ! Why, the word's a mockery. 
 All day long we're drilling or route-marching with 
 a pack on our backs that weighs a ton, and Army boots 
 hke great lumps of lead. Or if it isn't that, we're 
 sent to a bombing-school, or a machine-gun school, 
 where you hardly have time to eat your buUy-beef 
 and biscuits. News ? Why, Lord bless you, all the
 
 152 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 news we ever get comes from the rumours that are 
 issued by the A.S.C. Concerts ? The only concerts 
 we hear are played by the big guns. 
 
 And then one day there comes a ' push,' and we 
 go over the parapet. Some people at home imagine 
 a ' push ' is rather good fun — full of glorious excite- 
 ment, God ! It's just hell ! And you're lucky if 
 you come out of it at all. Oh ! I tell you, an infantry- 
 man's hfe is a dog's hfe. Give me the A.S.C, every 
 time. 
 
 {d) An Army Service Corps Driver {loquitur) : 
 
 I'm about fed up with this game. Out on convoy 
 from six in the morning till late at night ; and then, 
 when you get back, you're expected to polish up your 
 harness ! And the weather ! Now if I were in the 
 Infantry, I should be in a dugout most of the day, 
 and that's a certain amount of cover against rain and 
 snow and sleet. As for mules, I'd give ten years of 
 my life never to set eyes on one again — the obstinacy 
 of those bally animals is enough to drive you crazy. 
 
 Wish to goodness I could get a transfer to the In- 
 fantry, You do know when your work's over there. 
 A nice cosy dugout, and no mules — by George ! life 
 would be worth living again. After all, who minds 
 a few shells now and then ? Why, I've been bombed 
 four or five times, and I don't expect it's much worse 
 than that. Besides, you can always take cover in 
 the Infantry, whilst in the A.S.C, when the bombing 
 starts, you've jolly well got to stand by your mules. 
 And then when you're in the rest area, you have all 
 the time to yourself : and jolly concerts and ' shows ' 
 at night.
 
 AS OTHERS SEE US 153 
 
 And what credit do we get in the A.S.C. ? When 
 you've been out over ten hours in the rain, some Staff 
 Officer comes up and ' strafes ' you for having dirty 
 harness ! And who hears of an A.S.C. driver getting 
 a medal ? Now if I'd been in the Infantry, I might 
 have got the V.C. by now. Then if there's a ' strafe ' 
 and you're in the Infantry, you soon get reHef of some 
 sort. You may get snuffed out — well, if you are 
 ' napoo,' the whole thing's over ; and the next world 
 can't be worse than this one. But the chances are 
 you'll get a Blighty one, and then you have six months 
 of England, Home and Beauty. Who's heard of an 
 A.S.C. man getting six months in Blighty ? It's the 
 monotony of the life that kills you. Next war, give me 
 the Infantry every time !
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 ARMY PROBLEMS 
 
 {a) Messing 
 
 I don't think civilians fully realize the possible horrors 
 of that Army institution, the Mess. To them it suggests 
 a collection of lifelong friends gathered round the festive 
 board with the sole objects of making merry and toasting 
 the King. I'm afraid they ignore one simple fact. 
 Before the war, when we were civiHans, if I didn't Uke 
 B. my course of procedure was simplicity itself — I gave 
 B. what is technically termed ' a miss in balk,' and hence- 
 forward B. and I never met again. But nowadays if 
 Providence and the War Office combine to place B. and 
 myself in the same company of the same regiment, we 
 cannot avoid each other. On duty and in the Mess, 
 he will always be there : after a time, instead of treating 
 him with the contempt he deserves, I become infuriated 
 at his presence, and seek out every petty method of 
 aggravation, as if I were still a silly little schoolboy. 
 Yes, I have seen two officers, married men who have 
 passed the eighth lustrum, squabbling together and 
 wrangling, for all the world like naughty little children 
 in the nursery. And yet they were both of them ex- 
 cellent fellows and good officers. " Mere trifles," you 
 say. No, you are wrong. This is indeed one of the 
 minor tragedies of the war, 
 
 164
 
 ARMY PROBLEMS 155 
 
 This quemlousness is, I fear, more prevalent in the 
 Auxiliary Services and at the Base than among the 
 fighting troops. If you and B. are in the Infantry, 
 facing death practically every minute of the day, even 
 though his conversation or his moustache may annoy 
 you, you have other and more important troubles 
 upon which to ponder. But behind the line, where you 
 have all the minor vexations and annoyances of war, 
 without its dangers, this spirit of cantankerousness has 
 much more scope for activity. Any slight eccentricity, 
 a mannerism of speech or a peculiarity of gesture, is 
 sufficient, after a time, to fill you with undying hatred 
 for the man who possesses it. If only your sense of 
 humour is sufficiently strong not only to show you that 
 the other man is ridiculous, but also that you are ridicu- 
 lous yourself, you have nothing to fear. Unfortunately 
 this brand of humour is rare. 
 
 A friend of mine, something of a misogynist, as you 
 will see, told me that Army life did not tend to encourage 
 his matrimonial instincts. In his own Mess he lived 
 with four other officers, with whom he had practically 
 nothing in common — it was as bad as being married 
 to four wives for the ' duration.' That stale, and — to 
 him — hitherto senseless expression, " the same old face 
 opposite you at breakfast every morning for the rest 
 of your life," was now invested with a new and sinister 
 meaning for him. Hitherto he had imagined that the 
 plea of ' incompatibility of temper ' was merely a ruse 
 de guerre — now he knew that it was an actuality. Please 
 do not think these are my own views that I am advancing 
 — they are merely the carpings of a foolish man. All 
 the same, they represent the view of many others. 
 There can be no doubt that the two qualities essential
 
 156 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 to happiness in the Mess in these trying times are tact 
 and a strong sense of humour. When you have four 
 or five men gathered together from every walk in life, 
 and from every corner of the Empire, confined together 
 week after week, and month after month, it is only 
 by that and a sense of humour that you can reconcile 
 the differences and harmonize the discords that must 
 arise. If you follow the principles of British justice 
 and believe each man an honest fellow till he is proved 
 a rogue : if you are prepared to probe beneath the out- 
 ward surface of a man, which is often rough and for- 
 bidding, and accept a man at his real value : you will 
 have done something to get on with the war. To use 
 the expression Mr. Asquith quoted the other day on 
 a rather less suitable occasion, " Let us pass on ; for 
 God's sake let us pass on." 
 
 (b) Distinctions of Rank 
 
 Perhaps this is a problem which especially affects 
 short-sighted people like myself. For me life is one 
 prolonged agony of doubt whether the gentleman I 
 have just passed on the road is a lance-corporal on 
 full pay or a Major-General. There is so little to tell 
 you. You cannot catch hold of the arm of a passer- 
 by and ask leave to examine his shoulder-straps, in 
 order that you may ascertain his rank. It simply isn't 
 done. 
 
 In the sultry climate of Macedonia during the summer 
 months, things are even worse. Every one goes about 
 in his shirt-sleeves, and wears a ' topee.' If you are 
 an officer, you are supposed to wear your badge of rank 
 on the shoulder ; but very few officers do so. ' And 
 there's the rub.'
 
 ARMY PROBLEMS 157 
 
 I was sitting in my dugout, the other day, writing, 
 when an elderly gentleman, quite obviously a Quarter- 
 master (I pride myself on my powers of deduction), 
 stepped in. Let me here mention, for the information 
 of those fortunate individuals to whom this race is 
 unknown, that a Quartermaster is the reincarnation 
 of Ananias, and incidentally a ist Lieutenant. At that 
 particular moment the very thought of a Quarter- 
 master was displeasing to me : I sighed longingly for 
 the good old days when an Englishman's home was his 
 castle — I would have let down the drawbridge and 
 hung up a notice outside, " No one but good swimmers 
 need apply." 
 
 This being impossible however, I said abruptly : 
 " Well, what do you want ? " Just like that. He 
 replied evasively that he had just come along to look 
 me up. I knew what that meant (to ' look some one 
 up ' is a recognized formula in the Army, and signifies 
 thirst), and I offered him a drink with an ill grace and 
 a disgust I made Uttle attempt to disguise. What 
 was I to a Quartermaster ? and even more pertinent 
 question : What was a Quartermaster to me ? 
 Finding no answer to either of these edifying questions, 
 I got up to pour out his drink. As I arose he seized 
 on my chair — the only comfortable one I have got — 
 and installed himself therein, as if it had been made 
 for hun. It hadn't, as a matter of fact — it wasn't 
 strong enough. . . . 
 
 I dusted him with an energy born of hatred, and 
 gazed ruefully on the remains of my deck-chair. He 
 sat down again on another chair, and began to talk. 
 The story of his military career may have been one of 
 breathless interest. I cannot say — for I began to doze.
 
 158 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 I suppose ten minutes must have elapsed — anyhow, 
 it was ten minutes later when I woke up with a start, 
 and heard him say : " So of course I transferred from 
 the Blankshires to the Bottlewasher Rifles, as there 
 was more chance of promotion." As I had made no 
 contribution to the conversation for some time, I 
 thought something was expected of me. So I asked 
 him languidly when he was likely to get his third ' pip.' 
 " Well, you see," he said, almost apologetically, " I 
 am a Lieutenant-Colonel at present, waiting to become 
 a Brigadier ! " I nearly fell through the floor in 
 amazement and horror. At length I recovered my 
 scattered wits : " You a Colonel, sir ! Well, I would 
 never have beheved it possible — you look so absurdly 
 young ! " (As a matter of fact, he didn't. He looked 
 like a contemporary of Methuselah.) Anyhow, I re- 
 trieved a desperate situation, for my polite mendacity 
 filled him with glee {Vanitas vanitatum ! Omnia 
 vanitas !) On the strength of it he invited me to 
 dinner the same night, and regaled me with excellent 
 fare and a detailed account of some campaign in which 
 he had taken part— I think it was the Crimean. 
 
 I could tell many a similar tale, of which, however, 
 the conclusion was not so happy. A young and en- 
 thusiastic acquaintance of mine in the Flying Corps, 
 beheld one day a man riding across the aerodrome— 
 a performance which for obvious reasons is fraught 
 with danger not only for the rider (which doesn't really 
 matter), but also for any 'plane that comes home 
 to roost at that particular time. So my friend ad- 
 dressed the rider in language which could not possibly 
 be termed parHamentary. Further investigation, as 
 the object of his vituperation drew nearer, disclosed
 
 ARMY PROBLEMS 159 
 
 the fact that the rider was none other than the Corps 
 Commander. Even so the situation, if deUcately 
 handled, might have been saved — for, strictly speaking, 
 not even the Corps Commander should ride across the 
 aerodrome. Unfortunately, although, as I said before, 
 my friend was enthusiastic, he was not tactful. He 
 pleaded in extenuation of his language that he had 
 mistaken the Corps Commander for a Sergeant-Major ; 
 and this explanation was not well received. For 
 though lowliness is as conspicuous in the Army as 
 elsewhere, no Corps Commander really likes to be 
 mistaken for a Sergeant-Major. My friend passed a 
 distinctly mauvais quart d'heure, from which he 
 emerged with the galling realization that his know- 
 ledge of English was by no means complete. He is 
 now rather a less enthusiastic young man than he used 
 to be. 
 
 Of course there are some mighty personages you 
 can always recognize at a distance. The Army Com- 
 mander, for instance, always flies the Union Jack 
 on his car. This reminds me of a good tale, which 
 se non e veto, e hen trovato. A certain private, recently 
 arrived in this country, was warned by his Sergeant 
 that the Army Commander was a man distinctly to 
 be avoided, because nothing escaped his notice. As 
 he was marching up-country along the Seres road, 
 he spotted a car coming towards him, flying the Union 
 Jack. Knowing what to expect, he broke away from 
 the ranks, and made a blind rush for the nearest ditch. 
 The Army Commander, amazed at this unusual 
 behaviour, stopped his car, sent for the luckless 
 private, and asked him what he thought he was doing. 
 Not a bit abashed, our friend rephed : " Well, that's
 
 160 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 the Union Jack all right, ain't it, sir ? Sergeant, 
 'e says to me, 'e says : ' If you sees the Union Jack 
 flying on a car, take my tip, and 'op it like 'ell.' That's 
 wot I done." History does not record General Milne's 
 reply. 
 
 But in all seriousness I plead that something should 
 be done to assist the blind in this matter. Age counts 
 for nothing. There was a venerable old gentleman 
 whom I believed to be our G.O.C., and to whom I 
 accorded my choicest salutes. One day I discovered 
 he was a subaltern in the Army Veterinary Corps. 
 Even that emblem of pre-eminent sagacity, the red hat, 
 is often a snare and a delusion. Many a young A.D.C. 
 is accorded the honours due to a General. Really, if 
 the War Office don't take drastic steps soon, I shall 
 seize the nearest dog in Macedonia, attach it to my 
 person by a piece of string, and hang a placard over 
 my tunic : ' Pity a Blind Subaltern. I can't 
 
 SEE IF YOU ARE A GENERAL OR A SeRGEANT-MAJOR.' 
 
 (c) Manners 
 
 Although I call this an Army problem, it would be 
 more accurate to call it a problem of peace. Just 
 take any friend of yours, dear ladies, and try to 
 remember him as he was in the days before the 
 Kaiser played his practical joke on the rest of Europe : 
 the inimitable way in which he anticipated your every 
 wish ; the . grace with which he stepped forward to 
 open the door for you after dinner ; the chic of his 
 general tournure ; the ease which he displayed in the 
 essential things of life, such as handing you into your 
 motor or offering you an eclair at tea — one of those
 
 ARMY PROBLEMS 161 
 
 horrid cakes, containing a new and offensive tooth-paste, 
 which squirts itself into your neighbour's eye if you 
 don't go gently — picture him, I say, as he was in those 
 days, perfect in all things that cotmt ; and then think 
 of him as he will be after the war — gauche, uneasy, 
 fumbUng, forgetful. And his manners — gracious me ! 
 He simply won't have any left ! Instead of toying 
 delicately with your dainty pate de foie gras, he will 
 wolf it ! He will be a relic of barbarism. A friend 
 of mine, who had spent over two years on the Peninsula 
 of Gallipoli and in the wilds of Macedonia, was at 
 last granted his well-earned leave. The second day 
 at home he was sitting in his wife's ' holy of holies,' 
 her boudoir. By an unwritten decree as immutable 
 as the laws of the Medes and the Persians, no smoking 
 had ever been allowed in the boudoir. To liis wife's 
 indignation, he unconsciously opened his cigarette- 
 case and proceeded to light a villainous Virginian 
 cigarette. After a few puffs, he looked up, and caught 
 his wife's outraged stare. Guiltily he threw his erring 
 cigarette on to the floor, unmindful of the existence 
 of such things as Turkey carpets. Suddenly he re- 
 collected his surroundings. A gasp of horror came 
 from his wife, as my friend, hoping to hide the traces 
 of his crime, stamped the cigarette-end into the carpet ! 
 " Of course," he said afterwards, as he tacitly accepted 
 my proffered Woodbine, "it is ripping being at home 
 again and all that. Besides, it makes you realize that 
 Active Service also has its advantages ! 
 
 No, it simply won't do. Before we are allowed to 
 mingle again with the fair ones, we shall have to undergo 
 a course of manners, and learn again the Arts of Peace. 
 
 11
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY 
 
 When I die, Haute Avesnes will be found inscribed on 
 the tablets of my heart. For my first four months 
 of Active Service, I lived there in the little village on 
 the hill. It is about five miles behind Arras, and touches 
 the Route Nationale from Arras to St. Pol, a long 
 straggling village, typical of so many others in this 
 country. It has two streets, one rising at right angles 
 from the Route Nationale, the other running parallel 
 to it. At the apex where these two roads meet, there 
 is a little square where a trough has been erected by 
 the British for watering their animals. Overlooking 
 the square stands a church and a big farm. There are, I 
 suppose, in Haute Avesnes two to three hundred souls 
 — typical French farmers, each family owning a few 
 acres of ground. Although Haute Avesnes is not 
 more than six miles from the Front, it has only once 
 been shelled, and on that occasion no damage was done. 
 UnUke its neighbour, Acq, which has suffered badly, 
 it is unscarred by the ravages of war. From it you 
 can hear the booming of the guns, and, in the still of 
 the night, the patter of machine-guns. Occasionally 
 a hostile aeroplane flies rapidly over : but otherwise 
 there is nothing in the Uttle village to suggest that 
 it is so near to the Front. Of course the villagers 
 
 162
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY 168 
 
 have seen something of the war. Uhlan patrols trotted 
 dovm the Route Nationale at the beginning ; and for 
 weeks afterwards they had lived in hourly dread 
 lest the tide of battle should engulf them too. But 
 Fortune had been kind ; the tide had receded, and 
 though for two years now war had been knocking at 
 their door, they had ceased to heed it. ' Business 
 as usual ' was their motto, and they carried on their 
 work with that sublime contempt for war which seems 
 to live in the heart of every French peasant. 
 
 A fortnight after we had said good-bye to England, 
 our Division were sent up the line. Train Headquarters, 
 consisting of the Colonel, the Adjutant, the Senior 
 Supply Officer, the Padre, another subaltern, and myself, 
 were billeted in the big farm. We took over from a 
 Scotch Divisional Train, who had relieved the French, 
 four months previously. Although the novelty of 
 having British troops in the area had greatly pleased 
 the inhabitants, our predecessors had kept themselves 
 to themselves, as Scotchmen will, and saw little of 
 the family to whom the farm belonged. But on our 
 arrival nous avons change tout cela : the boundary- 
 line between the Officers' Quarters and the family's 
 was quickly effaced. They were a large family — 
 M. Dujardin, his wife, four girls and a little boy, and 
 lastly, Turco and Caput, the two dogs. As I write, 
 I have before me a group of Train Headquarters, officers 
 and the family, taken just before we left. 
 
 M. Dujardin was a fine type of Frenchman, well 
 educated and refined to a degree uncommon in these 
 small villages : a rather thin face with a neatly pointed 
 beard. Till we knew liim better, he seemed sensitive 
 and reserved, almost to the degree of taciturnity —
 
 164 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 for he had none of the effusiveness which one generally 
 associates with Frenchmen. Always serious and pre- 
 occupied, his face seemed to soften when the children 
 were with him, and you saw glimpses of the Dujardin 
 of pre-war days. His wife, too, wore a serious mien — 
 God knows she had reason to do so ! Her hair had turned 
 grey, and there were hues on her face, deeply furrowed, 
 which had not existed before the war. How that 
 woman worked ! From five in the morning till nine 
 at night, she was not idle for a minute. Till the 
 day's work was over she never sat down even to 
 a meal. Before the war things had been different : 
 they had comfortable means : labour was plentiful, and 
 she could Hve a life of ease. But war had changed 
 everything. Expenses had to be cut down, and labour 
 was unobtainable. So, like a sensible women, Mme. 
 Dujardin, instead of brooding, put her heart and soul 
 into the work. She lost her looks, but she saved the 
 situation. But though she did the work of six women, 
 she never neglected the children. How she loved them ! 
 it was almost pathetic to watch her with les enfants. 
 When the war broke out they were all at school — at 
 Trouville, I think. With stem self-denial she had 
 refused to let them come home for the holidays — it 
 was too dangerous. But soon the war settled down to 
 trench-warfare, and danger was remote. When mid- 
 summer came round, they decided, after terrific con- 
 sultations, that the children could now come home 
 en vacances. How empty the big farm must have seemed 
 without them ! Even for us the place was completely 
 changed by their joyous presence — what must it have 
 been for the father and mother ! 
 It was easier to obtain favours from Maman than
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY 165 
 
 Papa. When we pleaded for an extension of the 
 hoUdays, we approached Maman first. She received 
 the deputation with outward horror, beneath which 
 there shone an ill-concealed J03'. (I reahzed then the 
 meaning of Horace's male pertmacem.) Having obtained 
 Maman's support, we tackled the harder male problem. 
 At first M. Dujardin raised his eyes to heaven in an 
 appeal — apparently for moral support. It was un- 
 heard of, it was impossible. Could not Messieurs 
 les Officiers comprehend ? Messieurs les Officiers could 
 not comprehend, and gently pointed out how useful 
 the children would be in helping to bring in the harvest. 
 If they remained, we, the Army, would provide wagons 
 for the transport. A gleam of pleasure — for he was 
 only human — Ut up M. Dujardin's eye at this un- 
 scrupulous bribe. But — Just Heaven ! — what of 
 their education ? It would be neglected. How could 
 he, their father, countenance such wickedness ? GUbly 
 I came forward with a promise to teach them history, 
 geography — anything, in fine, he wished for. Besides 
 the EngUsh they were learning — was not that toujours 
 quelque chose ? As I say, M. Dujardin was only human : 
 he capitulated before our continued onslaught of 
 speciousness with such ease that the children, who 
 had feared a hard tussle and a doubtful issue, regarded 
 us henceforth with open veneration. 
 
 Jeanne, the eldest of the children, was nearly sixteen. 
 She was like her mother : not pretty, but with lovely 
 blue eyes and a rosy complexion. Still a girl in many 
 respects, she was developing every day into a woman. 
 She ' mothered ' the other children in the most delight- 
 ful way. If they behaved badly she reproached them 
 so gently, and with a suspicion of prudishness " Ce
 
 166 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 n'est pas bien, ce que vous fattes \k.' On the whole 
 her gentle sway was accepted without a murmur. 
 From the blush that rose to her cheeks whenever he 
 came near, I think that H. (the other subaltern, 
 a married man) occupied her maiden heart to the 
 exclusion of all others. He used to sit in the garden 
 with her, solemnly improving his poor French, and 
 teaching her Enghsh. Some day soon, I suppose, 
 Jeanne will be married, and the young girl will be 
 absorbed in the happy mother. I envy the lucky 
 swain who woos and wins her, for he will have won 
 a priceless treasure. Marie, who was just a year younger, 
 was absolutely different from her sister. She was pretty, 
 wayward, fascinating, and a born coquette. I don't 
 think she will be content to marry in her own set when 
 she grows up ; she will aspire to something higher. I 
 think her guardian angel is going to have a pretty busy 
 time of it. She had none of Jeanne's placidity : already 
 she tossed her pretty head if things did not please 
 her. In a way she was more French than Jeanne, and 
 I'm afraid there was just a tiny touch of the shrew in 
 her. Let us hope that in the fullness of time this ten- 
 dency to shrewishness will disappear. But if it doesn't, 
 let me warn her future husband to beware that he does 
 nothing to displease her. 
 
 The next two girls, Lucie and Nelly, were just jolly 
 healthy children — their characters had not yet developed. 
 Lastly came Gaston, aged eight, the undisputed Lord 
 of Creation. They all spoiled him : but though he 
 knew that his word was law, he behaved, as a rule, 
 with magnanimity, and accepted their tribute in truly 
 regal fashion. Occasionally he was naughty. On 
 one memorable occasion he attached a fly-paper covered
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY 16T 
 
 with flies to the cat, and the unfortunate animal chased 
 itself as far as Arras. It was never seen again, and is 
 presumed to have fallen honourably in battle. On this 
 occasion Jeanne scolded him gently, ' Ce n'est pas bien, 
 ce que tu as fait,' and Gaston was quickly brought *:o 
 a realization of his own turpitude, and wept incon- 
 solably for the cat, indigna morte peremptum. Gaston 
 and the Padre were staunch friends ; though the latter, 
 try he ever so hard, failed completely to acquire any- 
 thing approaching French pronunciation. He carried 
 it to extremes, and insisted on calling the children Jane, 
 Mary and Garston — to every one's intense annoyance. 
 But ' Garston,' with a persistence worthy of a better 
 cause, never gave up trying to teach him. Hideous 
 strains of an unintelligible lingua franca would be 
 wafted from the garden into the office, where the 
 Adjutant was endeavouring to unravel some unusually 
 intricate Army correspondence. Then there would 
 be gnashing of teeth : " For God's sake stop that 
 beastly bleating. Padre, and leave the wretched child 
 alone ! " " But he likes it," comes, in indignant tones 
 from the Padre ; " don't you, Garston ? " A diplo- 
 matic but ambiguous grunt shows that Gaston does 
 not wish to be involved either way. The word ' Garston ' 
 is generally too much for the Adjutant, and a well- 
 directed ink-pot concludes the argument. 
 
 I have never in my life seen such well-behaved 
 children. At first, of course, they were naturally shy, 
 but even afterwards, when we had all become great 
 friends, they were as nearly perfect in their behaviour 
 as human children can be. Sunday afternoons 
 belonged to them. Wars and the rumours of war 
 were discarded for the time : mere mortals such as
 
 168 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 Generals were powerless in the matter — for Sunday 
 afternoon was theirs. Once an important Staff Officer 
 came to see the Colonel on business on a Sunday after- 
 noon. He discovered the Colonel in the Mess, playing 
 with the children — and a pretty picture it made. So 
 the important Staff Officer forgot there was a war, 
 forgot even that he was a Staff Officer, and joined in 
 the game. When he left, a couple of hours later, he 
 looked about fifteen years younger ! When Sunday 
 tea was first mooted by us, Papa and Maman were a 
 little doubtful — surely the children would be a nuisance. 
 But the will of ' mon Colonel ' prevailed. M. Dujardin's 
 invariable formula was " Ce que mon Colonel voudra." 
 At 4.30 punctually, there would be a timid knock at 
 the door, and Jeanne ushered in her Httle flock. For 
 tea the Army ration was liberally supplemented by 
 cakes, short-bread, and sweets sent from home, and 
 timely purchases from the Httle town of Aubigny, which 
 was only a few miles away. When they had all ' taken 
 in ' as much as possible, Gaston would gaze wistfully 
 but resignedly as the remains of the feast were being 
 cleared away, conscious that he had more than done 
 his bit, and if there was anything left, it was because 
 " il n'en pouvait plus." The table cleared, we devoted 
 our attention to the popular game of the moment. Our 
 repertoire was always being increased : ' Dumb-crambo,' 
 'Up, Jenkins,' 'Grab,' 'Animal-grab,' 'Hunt-a-thimble,' 
 ' Hide-and-seek,' and a host of others, kept us busy 
 for a couple of hours. I think the favourite was 
 ' Animal Grab.' At the beginning Gaston would 
 always choose a pig, because it was so easy. But when 
 he realized it was the others who benefited by its easi- 
 ness, he chose some more recondite animal. To see
 
 A HAPPY FAMILY 169 
 
 the Colonel and Gaston endeavouring to imitate respec- 
 tively a goose and a frog was one of the most glorious 
 sights I have ever seen. It would be hard to say which 
 of the two enjoyed the game more. 
 
 Those were halycon days at Charterhouse Farm ! 
 (When we came there it was Tay Farm, but one day, 
 by a bloodless revolution, I altered the board outside 
 the farm, mindful of another place on a hill.) No 
 wonder that each of us left behind there a portion of 
 liis heart — it is in safe keeping.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DICKENS AND THE WAR 
 
 I AM not an expert Dickensian. Like many thousands 
 — nay, millions of others, I have read all that he has 
 written, and I love the man and his works. Now and 
 then I meet some one who " does not care for Dickens 
 — because he is too vulgar." I do not agree with him, 
 I do not rave at him ; I only feel sorry for him, genuinely 
 sorry, as I should feel for a man who has not known 
 the love of a mother. This morning I fell to thinking 
 of Dickens and the war — where should I find now those 
 thousands of characters I have known and loved so 
 well ? Somewhere they must be — for they are as real 
 as you and I. And then as each fresh character stepped 
 forth in my mind from the enchanted pages, I knew 
 instinctively what he or she would be doing in war- 
 time. May I write of a few ? 
 
 Mr. Micawber is stiU waiting for something to ' turn 
 up.' Each morning, as he opens his daily paper, he 
 expects to see that the Germans have been driven 
 across the Rhine. Each morning he sighs a little that 
 his hopes have not been fulfilled : but it is with the same 
 eager expectation that he takes up his paper on the 
 morrow. Early in the war he wrote a personal letter 
 to the War Office, informing them that, acting on the 
 advice of Mrs. Micawber, lie had decided to offer his 
 
 170
 
 DICKENS AND THE WAR 171 
 
 services to his country in some military capacity, 
 feeling that perhaps the War Office might find scope 
 for such ability as he might possess. Unfortunately 
 this letter shared the fate of the many epistles he has 
 penned to his wife's family, asking for temporary 
 assistance of a pecuniary nature. When things go 
 badly, Mrs. Micawber tells her spouse that the War 
 Office have only themselves to blame for not accepting 
 his services — to which Mr. Micawber reluctantly agrees. 
 The Moratorium at the beginning of the war gave him 
 — financially — a new lease of life, but he has been 
 unable to subscribe to the War Loan. Let us not 
 judge Mr. Micawber harshly. If he were a Cabinet 
 Minister — as some aver he is — or was — his unfailing 
 and unfounded optimism might be dangerous. But 
 as he is really only one of us, his courage — for he needs 
 courage — does us good, and counteracts the baleful 
 influence of pessimists. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, having been ignominiously expelled from 
 a Red Cross Hospital, has lost her job, and has at last 
 retired to private life and the bottle. She indignantly 
 confides in Mrs. Harris the tale of her hardships, and 
 is apt, when she is ' far gone,' to denounce Betsy Prig 
 as a spy in the pay of the ' Kayser.' In addition to 
 the bottle, which only touches her lips, when her friends 
 are ' dispoged ' to pay for it, her one consolation in 
 life is to relate to Mrs. Harris divers mysterious happen- 
 ings of certain ' Rooshuns,' who passed through England 
 at the beginning of the war. As the afore-mentioned 
 ' Rooshuns ' and Mrs. Harris have a great deal in 
 common, I feel sure the topic must prove congenial 
 to all parties. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Stiggins is having the time of his
 
 172 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 life. You will see his handiwork in nearly every news- 
 paper you may open. But if you search for his name 
 at the foot of the article, you will search in vain. For 
 Mr. Stiggins is one who does good by stealth. Let 
 me give you a specimen : — 
 
 " To the Editor of The Crank. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — I wish to give pubhcity to the following 
 incident : Two nights ago I was in the trenches with 
 my platoon. It was a bitterly cold night, and an issue 
 of rum was made to my men. Out of seventy men 
 in my platoon, there were, I regret, five incurable 
 drunkards, who seemed to enjoy their rum issue. But 
 the other sixty-five men only drank the rum because 
 they had to. How long are we going to tolerate the 
 issue of this poisonous liquid, which brings with it an 
 atmosphere of bestiality, ruins the moral of our fighting 
 troops, and is regarded with loathing by nine-tenths 
 of the Army ? 
 
 " Yours, etc., 
 
 " A Sober Subaltern." 
 
 Sometimes Mr. Stiggins is a ' Non-Alcoholic N.C.O.,' 
 sometimes a ' Conscientious Colonel.' But all his 
 appeals are written from the Front, and the burden 
 of his refrain never changes. Dear Mr. Stiggins, how 
 happy you must feel, as you sit under your smug roof^ 
 penning these articles, and drinking— tea ! 
 
 Mr. Podsnap became notorious, towards the end of 
 July 1914, for his violent letters to the Press, advo- 
 cating the ' Splendid Isolation of England.' But 
 gradually, as the war went on, revealing on the one hand 
 the undying glory of our Allies, and on the other hand
 
 DICKENS AND THE WAR 178 
 
 the brutal violence of German ' f rightfulness,' Mr. 
 Podsnap changed his views completely. He began to 
 write glowing articles on ' The Heroism of our Noble 
 Allies.' Finally he wrote a public apology to the 
 newspapers, in which he rescinded his four famous 
 articles written before we came into the war : ' England, 
 Keep Out of it,' ' To Hell with Serbia,' ' Hang 
 Russia,' ' Damn France.' Poor Mr. Podsnap ! I 
 cannot help feeling sorry for him. It is not pleasant 
 to see your idols brought to the ground with a crash 
 — it cannot but be humiUating. But he has put up 
 fresh idols — real idols made of flesh and blood — in 
 the place of those old ones which were made of wooden 
 prejudice. All honour to him ! It is even better to 
 have made mistakes, and to acknowledge them, than 
 never to have made a mistake at all. If there is some- 
 thing a little pompous, something a little ostentatious 
 even, in his renunciation of his shattered idols, we can 
 forgive him easily — for his heart is in the right place. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff has abandoned architecture for the 
 ' duration,' and is now employed in doing War-Work. 
 As, of course, he lives near Salisbury, he has advertised 
 in the local papers that his house is now open to three 
 or four young subalterns encamped in the neighbour- 
 hood, " who desire, in addition to the joys of a home 
 from home, to acquire the right attitude of mind and 
 moral influence calculated to brace them for the coming 
 struggle in France." Second Lieutenant Thomas Pinch 
 and one or two other young men promptly answered 
 the advertisement ; and though they find the ' nominal ' 
 billeting charge of five shillings a day rather a drain 
 on their modest incomes, they are happy in the assurance 
 of Mr. Pecksniff that the money is promptly handed
 
 174 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 over to deserving War Charities. Mr. Pecksniff's 
 enemies hint darkly that he considers himself ' a de- 
 serving War Charity.' Bat we need take no notice 
 of the base voice of slander, which assails all great 
 philanthropists. Those who take an interest in his 
 charming daughter, Miss Charity Pecksniff, will be 
 glad to hear that she has at last entered the bonds of 
 holy matrimony. A short-sighted ' second loot,' who 
 was home on leave, proposed to her from sheer ex- 
 uberance of spirits. Not only did she accept him, but, 
 profiting by the fashion for ' war-weddings,' she 
 married him the very next day. A week later, when 
 he was back in the trenches, he heaved a gentle sigh — 
 some say, of relief. 
 
 We have all seen photographs of Uriah Heep. I 
 saw one the other day. He was taking an airing some- 
 where near Dartmoor, smiHng with leering 'umbleness 
 at the camera. UnHke the Americans who are not 
 too proud to fight, Uriah is too 'umble to join the 
 Army. He is like the hly, in so far as it toils not, 
 neither does it spin — further I will not press the re- 
 semblance. Make the most of it now, Uriah ! The 
 Day is dawning when the war — our war, not yours ! 
 — will be over. When that day comes, I don't think 
 your life will be a very enviable one, my friend ! 
 
 Mr. Squeers — to England's undying shame — left 
 the country a few years before the war, in despair of 
 ever obtaining true recognition of his merits in this 
 benighted country. In Germany he has found his 
 ' spiritual home.' Since the war, his name has become 
 famous throughout the Fatherland. Being of an adapt- 
 able turn of mind, he remembered some of the harmless 
 little tricks and pranks he played on the wicked and
 
 DICKENS AND THE WAR 175 
 
 aggressive pupils of Dotheboys Hall. So he suggested 
 to the All-Highest that some of his pleasant little games 
 should be adapted to the treatment of the Belgians. 
 He was promptly despatched to Belgium, as Minister 
 Plenipotentiary for the Propagation of Kultur, As a 
 reward for his inventive genius and malignant services, 
 he has been decorated with an Iron Cross once a month 
 by a grateful Emperor. You may also read his articles 
 on ' The Cruelty and Bestiahty of England ' among the 
 indictments of other learned German Professors. 
 
 Mr. Turveydrop, that master of deportment, has, of 
 course, ' joined up.' He soon won undying fame on 
 the drill-ground, where the elegance with which he 
 ' formed fours,' the exquisite manner in which he turned 
 ' right about,' have made him the pride of the regiment. 
 His accomplishments were deemed more suitable to the 
 drill-ground than the trenches, where his adiposity 
 would make an excellent landmark for an enterprising 
 German bayonet. He was recently promoted, and is 
 now a drill-sergeant. A few weeks ago the recruits he 
 was licking into shape were inspected by His Majesty 
 the King. To his immense satisfaction. Sergeant 
 Turveydrop was personally compHmented by his 
 Sovereign for the admirable work he had done. 
 Between you and me, the Sergeant's Mess are getting 
 rather tired of the account of that thrilling interview ! 
 
 Mrs. Jellaby has abandoned the natives of Borio- 
 boola-gha to their fate. She is now busy organizing 
 a thousand War Charities, and has worked indefati- 
 gably for really deserving causes. Her house is crowded 
 with famihes of Belgian refugees. They all love the 
 eccentric lady. For, truth to tell, she looks after them 
 very much better than she looked after her own children.
 
 176 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 The war has changed her from a fussy, foohsh woman, 
 to a noble, charitable lady. 
 
 Mark Tapley is in the trenches. If he has not yet 
 been awarded the V.C, he certainly deserves it. His 
 Battalion are the happiest and the best in the whole 
 of the British Army — and Mark is the hfe and soul 
 of the Battalion. The humorous placards he posts 
 up in ' No Man's Land ' cause infinite pain and vexation 
 to the sober-minded Boche, and fill our men with 
 unbounded glee. The occasion on which he popped 
 his head over the parapet, admirably disguised as 
 Hindenburg, in full view of the horrified enemy, is 
 related with whole-hearted joy throughout the British 
 Arm5^ Fortunately he has hved a charmed existence, 
 and has never been wounded. The fact that he has 
 never ' stopped one ' is the one thing that spoils his 
 complete enjoyment of the war. For if he had to Ue 
 in ' No Man's Land ' for twenty-four hours or more, 
 severely wounded, he feels there really would be some 
 merit in being jolly. Bless you, Mark ! — may you come 
 through the war unscathed ! So long as Britain con- 
 tinues to produce men of your kind — and she does, by 
 the thousand 1 — we need not fear for the future. 
 
 Mr. Pott, the illustrious editor of the Eatanswill 
 Gazette, has abandoned Party Pohtics. Although he 
 is too old to fight, he is doing his bit all the same. He 
 has joined hands with his once-hated rival, the editor 
 of the Eatanswill Tribune. (?) Together they are direct- 
 ing their energies and imagination into a worthier 
 channel — the destruction, on paper at any rate, of the 
 Hun. 
 
 Do you remember the gentleman with a husky voice 
 in ' Bleak House ' ? He is only referred to once,
 
 DICKENS AND THE WAR in 
 
 but somehow he Ungers in my memory. When the 
 family party at Sir Lester Deadlock's country seat 
 were gathered together round the French maid, there 
 was an embarrassed silence. No one spoke French — 
 or at any rate, no one was prepared to take the risk 
 of exposing their ignorance. At last the gentleman 
 with the husky voice began ' esker ? ' but though he 
 tried several times, he could never get any further. 
 A short time back I met him in France — he is an inter- 
 preter ! His voice is still husky, and I'm afraid his 
 knowledge of French does not extend much beyond 
 ' esker ? ' However, as his duties consist chiefly in 
 buying eggs and finding billets for incoming regiments, 
 he manages fairly well by pantomimic gesture. Besides, 
 most of the French farmers and maires are beginning 
 to understand EngUsh fairly well. I'm afraid he will 
 never make a good hnguist, but he is very popular in 
 the neighbourhood, and affords innocent joy to many. 
 
 Mr. Bumble is head of an important department 
 for pensioning sailors and soldiers who have been 
 disabled during the war. His unique experience in 
 the workhouse eminently quaUfies him for this office, 
 as he knows quite weU how much a man requires to 
 live ' in comfort.' Moreover, as he will probably return 
 to his old job when the war is over, he has devised an 
 excellent scheme whereby soldiers and sailors are so 
 munificently pensioned for the trifling loss of a leg or 
 an arm that they are practically bound to return to 
 his tender charge after the war, in his capacity of Master 
 of the Workhouse. 
 
 And the others ? Nicholas, John Westlock, David, 
 Oliver, Martin — they are all at the Front in their 
 thousands. They are not there because they like it — 
 
 12
 
 178 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 they are there because the job has got to be done. 
 Some of them have made the supreme sacrifice. Others, 
 thank God ! are still going strong. May they live 
 to reconstruct poor old England, when the bloody 
 strife is finished !
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 OUR ALLIES 
 
 It is almost an impossible task to generalize concerning 
 a nation ; but I feel this book would not be complete 
 without some attempt to give a pen-picture of the 
 soldiers of the Allied Armies that are gathered together 
 at Salonica. 
 
 The Frenchman is, of course, the dominant figure 
 in Salonica. Whether there are actually more French- 
 men out here than British, I cannot say. At any rate, 
 they are the pioneers, the Expedition is in their capable 
 hands, and all the other Alhed Armies are directed 
 and controlled by the French G.H.Q. What strikes 
 you most about them is their unconventionality, both 
 in habits and in appearance. The rigid discipline of 
 the British Army is admired, but not adopted by them. 
 A French officer told me that if you endeavoured to 
 march a French Battalion up to the line in the inexorable 
 formation known as ' fours ' there would assuredly be 
 a mutiny. Perhaps this is an overstatement — on parade 
 the French are as smart as any army in the world ; 
 all the same, in the small things that don't matter, 
 the French Army is much freer, much more democratic, 
 than ours. Again, in the matter of dress, such an insti- 
 tution as the A. P.M., who arrests you if you are not 
 wearing regulation dress, is quite unknown in the French 
 
 179
 
 180 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 Army. Honestly, I don't think I have ever seen two 
 French officers dressed quite ahke. Each appears 
 to be guided solely by his own predilections in the 
 matter. Some prefer one kind of dress, some another. 
 Some like the British uniform, some prefer the French. 
 The greater part prefer a mixture of the two. But no 
 two French officers are ' as alike as two peas.' 
 
 It is a pleasant and an instructive sight to watch a 
 French and a British officer sitting together at a caf6. 
 The conversation is nearly always conducted in French 
 — ^which is contrary to the universal pre-war conception. 
 We were constantly being assured of the fatuity of the 
 English system of learning French. The bitter know- 
 ledge was rammed down our throats, that though not 
 one Englishman in a thousand could make himself 
 understood in French, every Frenchman spoke EngUsh 
 fluently. As a matter of fact the war has proved this 
 supposition to be quite incorrect. Nearly every 
 English officer has a smattering of French, whereas 
 very few Frenchmen can speak English ; at any rate, 
 if they can, they hide their light under a bushel. The 
 conversation then, generally in French, takes the 
 approved form of a Greek drama, a protagonist ably 
 supported from time to time by an intelligent chorus. 
 
 We may not talk very much, but, beyond a doubt, 
 we are excellent Hsteners. The Frenchman is practi- 
 cally never silent, and assists his expressive voice with 
 even more expressive gestures. He takes much more 
 interest in the war than we do. Supposing he is a 
 gunner, he worships his gun and invests it with human 
 motives and powers by a system of thought which is 
 termed ' the pathetic fallacy.' The stories of French- 
 men kissing and hugging their beloved ' Soixatne-
 
 OUR ALLIES 181 
 
 Quinze ' must be absolutely true. For us war is a 
 boring necessity ; for them, although they realize its 
 horrors more acutely than we do, war seems to possess 
 a ' grandeur ' which compels almost their ecstacy. 
 Incidentally, they are more pessimistic about the war 
 than we are — or perhaps they know more about it. 
 
 The Frenchman is still the grand seigneur of Europe. 
 There is something magnificent, though to us a little 
 grotesque, about his every movement and gesture. 
 Whatever he does, no matter how small and insignificant 
 it may be, he does it passionately with his heart and 
 soul. When he says good-bye to a friend, he does not 
 murmur nonchalantly ' Cheero ' or 'So long,' nor 
 offer a tepid finger-shake as we do. He seizes his friend 
 violently, as if he were about to execute an Apache 
 dance, and gives him a handshake he will not forget 
 for months to come. As often as not he embraces him 
 lovingly, and kisses him on both cheeks. As time 
 goes on, though, both of us have changed a little — we 
 have grown a trifle more impetuous, they have become 
 more hlase. Neither of us will change very much — 
 for it is a matter of temperament rather than of custom. 
 But each nation, by way of compliment, seems to have 
 assimilated something of the characteristics of the 
 other. We have borrowed of their elan and dash : 
 they have borrowed of our sang-froid and our ' Sam 
 Browns.' 
 
 The Italian officer is very quiet and self-possessed. 
 When the French, Russian, and British subalterns 
 make merry at one of the music halls, the Italian never 
 joins in — he sits by himself or with other Italian friends, 
 apart from the rest of us. He seems rather sad and 
 melancholy : I always think of him as a new boy at
 
 182 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 school, who feels home-sick. Once, I believe, at the 
 White Tower, an Itahan officer, stirred by the glorious 
 notes of ' Vesti la giubba ' from ' Paghacci,' which 
 the band was attempting to play, stood up in a box, 
 and started singing in a magnificent tenor voice. As 
 if by magic, the rowdy audience grew still in a second, 
 and at the end of the song the whole audience rose to 
 their feet, and cheered him with all their might. But 
 this is an exceptional incident : as a rule, the Italians 
 hold aloof, and are very careful not to make themselves 
 conspicuous. Of course it must be remembered there 
 are few Italians in Salonica— the majority of them 
 are in Albania. When a British Brigade relieved an 
 Italian Brigade on the Doiran Front in 1916, there 
 was much fraternizing : bully-beef and macaroni were 
 freely exchanged between the men. As engineers, of 
 course, their reputation is world-wide, and I know that 
 the stone huts we ' took over ' from them on the Doiran 
 Front were greatly appreciated during the winter 
 bhzzards. No one seems to know much about the 
 Italians, because they do not wear their hearts on their 
 sleeves. Many of them, though, speak perfect English : 
 and among those who have had the pleasure of knowing 
 them intimately they inspire the greatest affection. 
 
 The Russian officer is perhaps the most attractive 
 of all. Physically he is a magnificent fellow, and 
 completely dwarfs the rest of us. I have seen — I 
 suppose — about a hundred Russian officers, the shortest 
 of whom could not have been less than five foot ten. 
 The majority are over six foot tall. They are very 
 broad across the shoulders, and seem, in fact, to be 
 a nation of giants. I often wonder if they have selected 
 only their finest and tallest men to send out here !
 
 OURALLIES 188 
 
 Though hampered by difficulties of language, the 
 Russians and the British are the best friends in the 
 world. Before the war both countries were regarded 
 by the other with unjustifiable suspicion — suspicion 
 fomented by Germany and increased by the foolishness 
 of politicians. Intercourse in Salonica, however, has 
 been a revelation to both of us, and augurs well for the 
 future friendship of these two great democracies. The 
 Russian is really very like the Britisher : he is good- 
 natured, simple, and ' sporting.' Perhaps he drinks 
 rather heavily, and at times becomes rowdy : but as 
 a rule, though he drinks hard, he carries his drink like 
 a gentleman. Occasionally a misguided British officer 
 tries to keep pace with him in drinks, but this is gener- 
 ally admitted to be an impossible feat. Whatever is 
 ' doing ' in Salonica, you will find the Russian first and 
 foremost. They are really like great big children-— a 
 nation of Peter Pans, that have not grown up. 
 
 They are absolutely fearless, too. Some time ago a 
 Russian aviator on the Galician Front became very 
 bored because there was no fighting at the time. So 
 he went to his Flight-Commander, and asked permission 
 to fly to Salonica for a change. He was given per- 
 mission ; but was told he could only be spared an old 
 machine which had been captured from the Germans 
 in 1914. Although the 'plane in question had no 
 machine-guns and could not fly higher than five 
 thousand feet, he undertook the flight cheerfully. 
 Eventually, after many hairbreadth escapes (not the 
 least of them occurred towards the end of his flight, 
 when one of our ' Archies,' not recognizing the markings 
 on his wings, fired violently, and only missed him by 
 the grace of Providence and remarkably bad shooting).
 
 184 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 he reached Salonica, and landed at our aerodrome. 
 He seemed very much surprised that he should be the 
 centre of public interest. 
 
 What effect the Revolution has had on their force 
 out here, I cannot say. There are not very many 
 Russian troops in Salonica, and a constant succession 
 of crises seems to have left them comparatively cold. 
 If you only have a garbled and distorted account of 
 what has happened, and that too about three weeks 
 after the crisis is over, it is difficult to take a tremendous 
 interest in things. For by the time you have at last 
 fully realized the significance of any particular crisis, 
 a new crisis is morally certain to be evolving itself. 
 I have never seen the Russians in action. But a French 
 officer, whom I know very well, witnessed an attack of 
 theirs on the Monastir Front. The Russian officers 
 lead their men gallantly forward to the attack, like 
 the French and ourselves. They do not urge them 
 on from behind with knouts and oaths, as some ridicu- 
 lous people imagine. If it had only been possible 
 to send, say, one British Division to Russia, in the 
 place of ' indispensables ' of the stamp of Mr. Ramsay 
 MacDonald, we should have taken a great step towards 
 bringing the two nations nearer together. We have 
 so much in common with them, that any practical 
 opportunity, such as this, to cement personal friend- 
 ships, and so to lay the firm foundations of mutual 
 good-will between the nations, would have been a work 
 of incalculable value. Alas ! such opportunities will 
 not occur again when the war is over. We shall then 
 have to rely once again on the pohtician ; and the 
 man in the street — that is, at present, the soldier — 
 will have no say in the matter. How many wars could
 
 OUR ALLIES 185 
 
 have been avoided in the past if, instead of being com- 
 pelled to listen to a politician's claptrap or the bland- 
 ishments of a King, the ordinary citizen had had a 
 chance of seeing for himself ! For after all ' to see for 
 yourself ' — that is what Democracy really means. 
 
 At the time I write Greece is once again united under 
 M. Venizelos. But though the whole of the Greek Army 
 is now being reorganized, and will soon be taking an 
 active part in the war, the only Greeks we have met, 
 so far, are the Greeks of the National Army. The 
 ' Venizelists,' as they are generally called, are the pick 
 of the Greek Regular Army, which distinguished itself 
 in the two Balkan wars. Nine officers out of ten 
 wear the ribbons of the ' 1912 ' and ' 1913 ' campaigns. 
 They are fine swarthy fellows — they seem more of a 
 type than the officers of other nations. I wonder 
 sometimes if we appreciate sufficiently what they have 
 done. When they saw their country drifting to ruin 
 through the machinations of a traitor King, they 
 followed the lead of Venizelos, and chose the ' harder 
 way ' of exile and banishment. Think what it must 
 have cost them to make the effort ! Disowned by the 
 bulk of the Greek nation, cashiered from their old 
 regiments, their homes and property the prey of a 
 greedy rabble, their very wives and children at the 
 mercy of mob-rule ! How many of us, I wonder, 
 would have chosen the thorny path of honour under 
 such circumstances ? It would have been so easy to 
 stifle the voice of conscience — that ' still small voice ' 
 that is so easily muffled ; it would have been so easy 
 to adopt the safe policy of ' wait and see.' It must 
 be remembered that at the time the Central Empires 
 were still enormously strong, the fate of other small
 
 186 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 countries who had defied Germany was not encouraging, 
 and the issue of the war still hung in the balance. I 
 know of no finer patriotism than this. Yet, considering 
 the sacrifices it entailed among its followers, this move- 
 ment was received at first with lukewarm support and 
 scanty appreciation. Until, several weeks later, Lloyd 
 George came into power, and took the step of sending 
 a representative of Great Britain to M. Venizelos, the 
 National Government was not even ' recognized ' by 
 the Entente. All the more honour to these courageous 
 patriots, who had to meet not only the hatred of 
 powerful enemies, but also the indifference and slights 
 of friends ! 
 
 I had the good fortune to be in Salonica in May 1917 
 when a whole Division of Cretans were being landed. 
 Crete, the native isle of Venizelos, has responded 
 splendidly to the call, and I feel certain these well- 
 built, sturdy httle fellows will make a name for them- 
 selves one day at the Front. The VenizeHst officer 
 likes to be thought very English — if clothes are any 
 indication of the man, he is very English. They all 
 wear khaki, and the Infantry wear ' red tabs ' — one 
 of the few compliments that has been bestowed on 
 that hard-working body of men, the British Staff. Many 
 of them speak English, and delight to converse with 
 our officers at the Cercle. Certain differences of opinion 
 — political rather than personal — arose at one time 
 between them and the Italians. But these were soon 
 happily adjusted, and the Greeks are invariably popular. 
 Some of them are fortunate enough to have their %vives 
 and families with them. We others can only take out 
 and entertain hospital nurses, who, charming as they 
 are, cannot quite fill the acliing void in our hearts. So
 
 OUR ALLIES 187 
 
 perhaps our affection for the Greeks is tinged with 
 jealousy ! 
 
 The Serbians are, in a sense, the most military nation 
 out here. This campaign is especially their campaign, 
 and they try to show, in a thousand ways, gratitude 
 to their big brothers, who have come such a long way 
 to help them. For instance, you never pass a Serbian 
 officer or soldier but he salutes with the utmost punctili- 
 ousness. They are a fine, warrior race, but there is 
 something inexpressibly sad in the face of every Serbian 
 you meet. For each man has passed through the 
 Shadow of Death. For six years they have been 
 fighting continuously — and now, after the ineffable 
 horrors of the Serbian retreat, they are a Nation in 
 Exile. Beyond a doubt they have suffered more than 
 any other nation. Their country, all except a tiny 
 fringe of land and a poor, mangled town that is a town 
 no longer, is in the hands of a savage and implacable 
 foe. Their wives and children have disappeared alto- 
 gether, killed by maltreatment or starvation. What 
 is left of the Serbian nation ? A few score thousand 
 soldiers, fighting on grimly, prepared to die to the 
 last man. Such horrors as these cannot but leave their 
 trace on the face of the sufferers. Occasionally in life 
 you may meet a man, buffeted to and fro by a cruel 
 fate, who has the word ' Tragedy ' written across his 
 forehead. You can read this word on the face of every 
 Serbian. Some of them try bravely to laugh at mis- 
 fortune — one told me that after the Serbian retreat, 
 during which he lived for five days on one loaf of bread, 
 he found that he weighed a stone more than before 
 the retreat ! But, as a rule, their jests are sad, faint- 
 hearted things.
 
 188 MACEDONIAN MUSINGS 
 
 The French and ourselves have done all we can to 
 help them. The devotion of their sick and wounded 
 to our hospital nurses, who have cared for them, is 
 pathetic — it is the devotion of a stray animal that has 
 been taken in and made much of by a king-master. 
 There is something about them that fills you with an 
 emotion too genuine for words. 
 
 I met in Salonica an American who has been out 
 here for some time in charge of the Serbian Rehef 
 Fund in America, for distributing food among the 
 starving refugees. For six months he was with them 
 and amongst them. He told me it was an honour and 
 a privilege to know the Serbians. They were the 
 finest race he had ever met. Coming from an American 
 citizen straight from his particular ' God's own country/ 
 I think this is a remarkable tribute ! But indeed all 
 those who know them, love them as they love little 
 children. 
 
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