emerged on the dark hillside.
What intense relief! The air fresh and cool—stars above—the bay so peaceful. The fairy lights of the hospital-ships bespoke havens of rest. As we climbed down the track I laughed at the bullets zipping about; but it was not a usual sort of laugh; I seemed to be half on earth and half somewhere else.
They took us to the main beach dressing-station where our little lot were attended to and then laid out with the rows of wounded to wait for the day. I sat by King the remainder of the night. I nearly cried sometimes—I was not hurt at all—but those hundreds of poor maimed chaps lying there on the sand were trying to help one another with a joke, a whispered word—a smile—a look.
...In the hospital-ship Salta. What a contrast to the Franconia! Long lines of clean bunks, clean tables and chairs and decks, lifts up and down the holds for bringing in the badly wounded. Actually nurses, that smile at a man, and kindly doctors. Fancy getting into a real bed at night! This ship is just heaven.
A few days later—We are having a lovely trip, we lucky ones who can move about. Gus Gaunt is aboard—he knows every nook of the ship, and has taken me to where the best eats can be got. We promenade the place regularly. Poor King is having a rough time. The nurses and doctors are kindness itself to the wounded.
September 9th—Steaming into Alexandria. Poor King died last night at twelve and was buried at sea this morning. King was always game. He was a gentlemanly sort of chap, too, and he died game.
Back in the Egyptian Government Hospital again. How strange! And I’m glad. Same doctors, same smiling nurses, same good old tucker, and unceasing attention. Gus Gaunt fills the bed next to me, all smiles. Neither of us is hurt badly, though; we won’t be here long. We have been issued with parcels from the Australian Comforts Fund, and private parcels. They were jolly well appreciated by everyone.
September 20th—All we convalescents were gorged with cakes and good things at the Recreation Cricket Ground by the whites of Alexandria who have been helping the wounded ever since the war began. Mr Harrington, I believe he is the postmaster, and his friends are thought no end of by the wounded men.
September 21st—I wish the war were over. I am getting such a longing for the bush again. I saw Darby MacNamara and Trembath yesterday at the Deaconess Hospital. Both are being shipped to England.
September 29th—We are at Ras-el-Tin convalescent home now. It is a big stone place of enormous corridors, with a huge courtyard in the centre. Rules not in the least oppressive, plenty of leave, a liberal allowance of pay, and Captain Dwyer, the Adjutant, a man thoroughly liked by all the cosmopolitan hundreds. We are mostly Aussies and En Zeds; but there are quite a number of Tommies.
Adjoining us on one side is the Sultan’s palace, with its smartly uniformed Egyptian soldiers full of the pomp and sneering haughtiness of the East. At night the languorous city is lit up, it comes out and lives, the stars twinkle from a deep velvet sky, the American man-o’-war is signalling with coloured lamps, all the close-packed vessels are illuminated; here and there arises a queer native song, the plaintive melody of some reed instrument. And if a man be outside, passing the big shadowed wall of some private quarters, quite likely he will hear a soft laugh from inside amongst the rose bushes.
October 19th—This is the first place where I have really seen value for the money that Australia has lavished on her wounded. The Australian Comforts Fund have sent us easy chairs, tobacco, lollies, and pipes, and a game of indoor tennis. State School kiddies sent us little bags full of soap, toothpowder, etc. And we have received lots of parcels with socks and kind notes. It was great! Showed us after all we are not forgotten. ... Thought out another invention while in hospital, and yesterday worried Captain Dwyer about it. To my surprise he was quite interested. Has promised to see a submarine officer about it.
10
December 1st—We have been quarantined. An outbreak of scarlatina. All well, now. Captain Dwyer made time drag far less heavily by getting us all sorts of games. By the way, the invention came to nothing. The submarine officer could not be found. He has disappeared on secret duty. A number of Intelligence Officers are living in the native quarters, as Kitchener used to do. Any that the Arabs find out, they slit their throats. Those chaps live fascinating lives but they must be possessed of a sort of supernatural courage.
December 4th—Medical Board declared me on Class B. Am on guard duty here now, until judged fit to return to the Peninsula. ... I tried hard to enlist with the Composite Regiment. They are all recovered wounded men from all regiments and armies, going out to quieten the Senoussi Arabs who have started a Holy War in the Tripoli desert. Nearly all the able-bodied soldiers are now on Gallipoli.
December 5th—The city is seething with unrest. There are rumours everywhere that at Christmas the Greeks are to unite with the Arabs and murder all foreigners and Christians. They think we are getting beaten on the Peninsula. What a surprising shock awaits the mob if they tackle this walled convalescent home. We are ready.
December 10th—Alongside our frowning entrance gate there is a forbidding wall. We know that inside is a garden. A stone house towers up, the narrow windows ominously barred. We are told the place is a harem, so of course it is of interest to us. While on guard duty this morning I noticed a head of fuzzy black curls peering between the bars of a top window. I stamped my iron-shod rifle-butt on the stone flags. The head turned into a strangely pretty face, the big black eyes trying hard to gaze between the bars. I smiled hard and it brought a scarlet-cloaked Egyptian girl to peer over the shoulder of the little dark curls. I smiled—they smiled back. I sloped arms smartly and gave them a military salute. They smiled a whole lot and acknowledged the salute by the Coptic sign. I threw them a kiss. They seemed puzzled but smiled as if they realized what it meant. I threw more kisses; they nodded vigorously and made the Coptic sign and pressed hard against the bars. I beckoned them to come down into the garden and talk to me over the wall, but they shook their heads, and smiled and made the Coptic sign. Suddenly they drew back, the shutters closed, I “sloped arms” and limped sternly up and down my beat. I’m leaning against the wall now, writing in the old diary. I always carry it in the haversack.
Two hours later—A shuttered window of the big house has just been partly opened. I was watching all the time. She of the curly head was just visible. The Red Riding Hood girl was behind her and another Egyptian girl trying to squeeze a look in, or rather, out. The third girl smiled very much when I threw kisses. The window was so directly above me that I could see the henna stain on her tiny fingers, when she reached out over the curls and twinkled them through the bars. But they all made the sign across their eyes when I tried to coax them down into the garden. After a while the shutters were closed. I will be quite sorry when my forty-eight hours’ guard ends. ... The city is ominous with rumours. It is almost certain there will be trouble with the Arabs.
Next day—During the night there were two little sparks of light from the dark window of the big house. I was standing under a lamp and waved my hand. The cigarettes waved from the window. Later, in the small hours, there was a persistent little tapping coming down from that window. But if they thought I was going to scale a forty-foot wall to a shuttered window, they found I was no blooming Romeo at all. ... Heard sad news of the poor old 5th today.
1916
January 3rd—Detailed for Cairo to-morrow to rejoin regiment. Goodbye Alexandria. It has been quite a happy stay here: the convalescents of all units are a huge happy family, the great dark city outside, intensely interesting. We could not believe the news of the Evacuation.
January 5th—Cairo again! Am at Gezira Overseas Base. From here they draft all convalescents to their separate units. It is exhilarating to be moving about among large bodies of men again, to experience the warm comradeship of everyone, with the feeling in the air that there might be something doing. Last night a regiment of Yeomanry fully accoutred passed us on the big English bridge over the Nile, going to an unknown destination. Their heavy horses rumbled over the bridge, their scabbards rattled, bits champed, sparks flew from hooves as the silent English regiment rode by. The 1st Light Horse Brigade are soon in harness.