"THE BATTLE OF THE STREETS"
I SHALL pass over the Turkish fiasco at the Suez Canal. Suffice it to
say the thing was foredoomed to failure. Whatever hopes the enemy may
have cherished of breaking through and causing a rising in Egypt were
squashed by the arrival of the Australian and New Zealand Expeditionary
Forces. With those forces actually on the scene it is hard to
comprehend what devil of rashness and crass folly impelled the Turkish
leaders to go on with the venture. Perhaps it was pride; perhaps German
influence lay back of the move; perhaps some queer twist in the Eastern
character—who knows? Not I. But this I do know: they came on bravely
enough—as Turks always do—and were slaughtered like sheep. It was
just a glorified shooting match. Poor devils!
Reader, have you heard of the "Battle of the Streets"? That isn't its
right name, but it's near enough. Anyway, it was fought in Cairo,
the scene being a locality much in favour by the painted ladies for
residential purposes.
No one I have spoken to seems to be quite clear as to what actually
started the scrap. One yarn was to the effect that a New Zealander had
been stabbed; another was that some Australians had been robbed of a
biggish lot of cash. Letting the reason go, however, there is no doubt
that things were fairly lively in Cairo that night, and at one time it
looked an odds on chance that the whole street might have been burnt.
I happened to be in Cairo that evening having a run round in company
with three mates. We had got comfortably outside an A1 dinner and a
bottle of light Greek wine when the row started. As a matter of fact,
we drove slap into the mix-up in a _gharri_, and before we got shut of
it the battle had developed into a first-class slather-up. The street
was packed full of Australians and New Zealanders, with here and there
little groups of badly scared _effendis_ working overtime in their
efforts to get clear of the struggling mass of grim Colonials, who, to
an ear-splitting accompaniment of yells, cat-calls and coo-ees, were
devoting their energies to an all-round wrecking and smashing game.
_Crash!_ went a wardrobe as it struck the ground with the impetus
acquired by a forty-feet fall from a top-storey balcony. _R-i-p-p!_
went the balcony itself as it followed hard on the heels of the bedroom
furniture. Hither and thither rushed the lightly-clad love-ladies
screaming as only Eastern women can, and stopping only to hurl a bottle
or other missile at some grinning Vandal who ducked quickly, then went
on enjoying himself. Soon the street bore the appearance of a West
Indian town that had bumped up against a cyclone. It was a work of art
threading one's way through it with all those household gods hurtling
round one's ears.
Presently the street was illuminated with a dancing red glare as the
stacks of piled-up furniture broke into flame. Soon a house itself
began to belch smoke and fire, the bone-dry woodwork responding eagerly
to the licking tongues of flame that ran lizard-like from doorway to
eave, and danced merrily through the interstices of the sun-scorched
shutters and blistered piazza rails. In a minute the lofty structure
was sheathed in rolling smoke clouds, pierced with darting spears of a
ruddier hue; the whole house was blazing fiercely, the roar of the fire
blending with the wild shouts and cheers of the excited incendiaries as
they danced a mad corroboree round the burning wreckage in the street
below.
Another sound—the clang of a bell—broke on our ears as the
fire-engines came racing up. Out came the hose; the police, who had
hitherto remained in a state of "armed neutrality," endeavoured to
clear a way for the native firemen. That settled _them_; no Colonial
will stand the touch of a nigger's hand on his shoulder.
"Rush the adjectived, asterisked, double-starred sons of lady dogs,
boys!"
The "boys" did so. I never saw a command obeyed so promptly and with
such unanimity. The black police were just as quick to appreciate the
general unhealthiness of the locality, and left with one accord. The
firemen, bereft of their lawful guardian angels, followed. The hose
was cut, and the engines were captured. This done the mob proceeded
with the work they had set out to accomplish—the cleaning up of one of
Cairo's cesspools.
Another interruption! This time from the "Red Caps," the military
police, a little coterie of well-fed, rather pampered, and intensely
self-consequential johnnies who were openly accused by the
Australasians of suffering from "cold feet." Perhaps this was just
a bit unfair, as they knew Cairo like a book, and knew all there
was to know about their own special job. But our chaps could never
understand why an active man of military age and training should remain
permanently on a soft town job (as _they_ did) instead of going on
active service with the other boys. Come to think of it, who could?
And some of the military police I have run into have had feet like
refrigerated mutton. They didn't join the army to be shot at. Not much!
Which perhaps accounts for their zeal in hunting down the unfortunate
Tommies who, coming home from the front wounded or on leave after a
pleasant little spell of "killing or being kilt," may have neglected to
salute an officer, to have buttoned up their greatcoats, or committed
some other such grave military offence—running him down, I say, and
seeing to it that the erring one received every single day of "C.B."
that hard swearing could procure him. Such, in far too many cases, is
_their_ conception of soldiering.... And the previous sentence reads
for all the world like an Irish bull. All the foregoing by the way,
however.
The police behaved like looneys. They seemed to imagine they had a mob
of English Tommies or niggers to deal with, but when they began trying
to force their horses on top of the crowd they soon dropped down to the
fact that they were up against something tougher. They were told pretty
straight to go home and eat pie and not come meddling round where they
weren't wanted. They didn't like being treated that way and showed it,
so they had to be shoo'd off. At this they seemed to lose their top
covering altogether, and, being armed with revolvers, opened fire on
the crowd.
It was now hell with the lid off. A number of the boys were hit, which
sent the rest fair mad. You should have seen those Red Caps do a scoot!
I don't think they got away unharmed; one I heard never got away at
all. They had been looking for trouble, and I reckon they found all
they wanted. You don't shoot down the chaps from the Colonies and get
away with it: "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," is the motto
of the men from Down Under.
Our little party now came to the conclusion that it was time to take
the back trail. We could foresee what was likely to happen. Already
strong mounted pickets were coming in from the New Zealand camp. We
made tracks for Shepheard's Hotel, but found all exits from the scene
of hostilities barred by cordons of dismounted men. We looked at
each other. There were four of us, all six-footers and all at least
thirteen-stoners. There was only one thing to do—and we did it. When
the part of the line we charged had regained its formation we were too
far away to make pursuit worth while.
The "Battle of the Streets" eventually ended through the combined
effects of thirst on the part of the law-breakers and the arrival of
strong pickets to the aid of the Powers that Be. There was certainly a
biggish lot of damage done, and the natives who saw the scrap got the
scare of their lives. But I fancy there weren't more than a house or
two burned down—more's the pity! Had the whole quarter been gutted
there wouldn't have been many voices raised in mourning, and it would
certainly have been no loss to Cairo.
One result of the row was the curtailment of leave to visit the city.
From this time on we had to obtain special passes to do so. Signs were
not wanting, however, to show that our stay in Egypt was drawing to
a close. No one regretted it; the weather was growing hotter day by
day; we had seen 'most all we were ever likely to; we were in hard
training, fighting fit, and were looking forward with eagerness to
having a dust-up with the enemy. In a word, we had attained to that
top-knotch pitch of condition in which we felt we must fight some
one—or burst. Hence when the call did come we boarded the train for
Alexandria with hearts as light as our pockets, and the determination
to show "K. of K." that the trust he had placed in our "Ragtime Army"
would never be betrayed.