Just got into a big town. Resting here for a few hours, so snatched the
opportunity to scribble this. Can hear all the church bells ringing.
This is a very nice country indeed. Every bit of land is cultivated
and there are tons of fruit of all kinds everywhere. The people here
are about the cleanest I have seen. They are all wild with joy to
think we are here helping them, and every single one tries to give us
something. We get more food, drinks, tobacco, smokes, and fruit than we
hardly know what to do with. It seems a bit funny to see the boys going
fighting with cigars on, but it’s a fact. Have a pocketful myself at
present: _Corpl. Tupper, 4th Hussars_.
Invited Out!
I put on a clean shirt, washed, shaved, and regular brush-up. We
arrived at the house, or rather mansion, and were quite out of place,
as we thought, walking on polished tiles in the passage with our big,
heavy boots. It was a perfect slide. We took a seat by a big, round
table, had wine, cakes, tea, cigars and cigarettes. To our surprise,
this lady’s father was mayor of ----. The lady, whose husband was
with his regiment about eleven miles away, sang us two songs in
English--“The Holy City” and “Killarney.” It was a perfect treat to
have one’s legs under a table and drink from cups and saucers. Next day
we thought it was a dream: _Pte. Pakeman, Army Service Corps_.