OUR ARMY IN EGYPT.

Taranaki Daily News, 19 May 1916, Page 3

OUR ARMY IN EGYPT.

(New York Herald)

The most interesting feature of life in Cairo to-day, says, the special correspondent of the New York Herald there, is the Australian invasion. Excuse me, I should not Ray Australian, but Australasian, as New Zealandcrs and Tasmanians form no unimportant part of the contingent cent by the distant British colonies. How many troops are here from the three islands in the Pacific I shall not attempt to state—for I do not know. The/ do not know: themselves. None knows except the General Staff. And if anyone did know he would not be permitted to send the information out of the country. But there are enough of them here to dominate the life of Cairo. They are seen—and heard—as much and as persistently j'as the kites, which perch on every tree top. You might as well expect to look up to the sky without seeing a kite as to look down the street without seeing an Australasian. And they are continuing to come—-war-stained "Anzac" veterans from the Dardanelles and recruits from home. Although a large percentage of the original corps from Australia and New Zealand was British born', they, as well as the genuine Colonials seem much more American than English. The way they walk, the way they act, the way they talk, the way they think, is exactly like Westerners from the United States. A PUZZLE TO THE BRITISH. They have the songs and' the slang nf our Pacific coast, and the same daredevil spirit, the ' same unconscious democracy, that makes the American a wonder and a perplexity to his stolid conventional Anglo-Saxon cousin. Colonials and Americans must appear the same to the Englishmen. They are accepted as people that actually exist and speak the same language. But they are never understood.

If .von have ever had anything to do with English nrmy circles, can you imagine (in officer in khaki, in his Britannic Majesty's uniform, coming up to you in a hotel dining-room—to you, in absolute stranger—and saying. "Do yen mind my sitting at your table?" And then he tells you where he is from, and about his wife and how many kiddies he has, and all that sort of thing. He accepts with alacrity your invitation to go to the cinema.

The next evening you are seated at the same table, ami a common soldier comes in. Tlie great room at She|iheard's Hotel is something he lias never seen the. like of before. But lie f.om((S in! The tables are filled. He is evidently embarrassed. But he continues to come! You ask him to sit with yon. He sink-: down into the chair beside you and puts his cowboy hat under it. You hand him the bill of fare, all in French. "Sly fi—" he, exclaims. "What is all that?" You translate the different courses to him, and he chooses the one he knows. "Ham and spinach.'' You try to explain that it is table d'hotel and that the courses will come one after the other. ALL ORDKR HAS! AND SPINACH.

"No," he says; "tell the waiter to bring me ham and spinach. I'm not much for fancy dishes." So he eats three helps of ham and spinach. Between mouthfulls he tells you that lie in orderly for an Australian officer and that they have just landed. The officer takes his orderly to Shephenrd's Hottl. No difference between master and man.

Cafes, cinemas, music-halls, shops, restraurants, are full of Australasian; in khaki. And they spend their money only as men from a. new world knowhow to spend. They ride everywhere in cabs, they set their shoes shined five times a day, they eat dollar dinners ''and they buy rugs and hammered brass and silks anil eiirios to send to the home folk. They take the whole sidewalk and most of the street. I have never seen them saluting an officer—except in the barracks. They arc the joy (for gain) and the fear (for blows 1) of the donkeymen, whose poor beasts rarely stand idle in their hifin;plaees by the public garden. They make love to the girls behind the counters in shops, and they smile,on all womankind alike in the streets, courtesy to old, gallantry to middle-aged, ardour to young.

The Pyramids and tlie Sphinx have seen many a strange aifflit. in their day. But t daresay that if stone on the edge of the desert could show its emotion, we should be able to record tlie astonishment of the monuments of the Pharoahs, for they have never seen anything like the Australians. and New Zealanders. ■ CLIMB FASTER THAN GUIDES. A whole battalion goes to the assault of Cheops on .1 Sunday afternoon and you see them swarming up the aides lifting themselves from stone to stone with incredible agility and calling on the guides who would show them tlie conventional path.of ascent to go to a place warmer than tlie desert. But flesh can do what stone cannot. Tlie camels do give vent to their feelings. They kneel with a groaning for the unwelcome burdens. They also rise with more groans. And they go forward, soldier laden with a veritable gnashing of teeth. A camel naturally distrusts his best friend, and be never expresses enthusiasm over his work. What, then, are his sentiments towards the khaki-clad who poke him with canes and twist his tail? The camels of Gir.a will not soon forget the Australasian invasion.

Mischievous, even unruly, and enemy to the amenities of military discipline are the Australians and New Zealanders. But precious are they for all that in the eyes of the Oeneral Staff. A year ago, when they .first einne, amazement, distrust, anger, filled the soul of the British officer. Ho did not undrrstand this type of man—so he did not understand this type of soldier. H> had his misgivings. But now lie : -'8

And although lie does not yet understand the mentality of the Australian, he appreciates to the full his courage and his strength, his endurance and his intelligence. When the British officer is inclined to be provoked or annoyed, he thinks of the Dardanelles. And then he realises that these Colonials, turbulent and rough, are soldiers to swear by, not to swear at.

For under fire they never faltered, at the mouth of hell they hesitated not a moment,, and, when the heat of conflict with its inspiration had passed, they proved that they could serve also by waiting, and that no suffering was too great to be endured, no disaster too overwhelming to shatter their nerves. "Have you been to the Dardanelles?" I asked a boy beside me at the cinema the other night. He could not have been more than seventeen, and his face had never known a razor. "Four times," he answered simply. "What do you mean? How did thnt happen ?"

"Well, the first time I did not get ashore. I was wounded in the boat, and sent back to Egypt. Then, when I was cured, I went to Anzac. There a shell burst in the trench. I saw Alexandria on a hospital shin a second time in five week?. I went back again, and got dysentery. They evacuated me the third time to Egypt. I went back the fourth time to Suvla, and had no better luck. A Turkish sniper got me in the shoulder. I was just upon getting out of the hospital from that, when my regiment evacuated Suvla Bay. We are all eager now for revenge. As long as'the Australasian rhvasion of Egypt is continued, there is little fear of a Turkish invasion.