We had very interesting talks with several of the younger men, who had all been in America, but had been recalled by their Government lately, when there were signs of Greece taking the field, which, according to our informants, she would do in September. All we spoke to seemed very desirous to have a blow at Turkey, they wished the Turk turned out of Europe. I had an idea there were no schools here, but I was told every village had its two schools. Young children were taught together, but as they grew up the sexes went to different schools, and education is compulsory to the age of fifteen. All are taught to read and write English. This is due, our man told me, to Alexandria being their greatest mart.
We had coffee, real Turkish coffee, at another place, where we were attracted by a curious advertisement. It was an oil painting of a Scotch lassie in kilt and plaid, dancing with a jug of foaming beer above her head, and alongside her it was announced that they sold "tea, coffee, and milk". Stephen at once wished to buy it, but the terms were exorbitant. To make Turkish coffee you put a teaspoonful of ground coffee in a little pot with an equal quantity of sugar, then run in about two ounces of boiling water, and push this into smouldering charcoal until it boils. Along with this is served a large tumbler of ice-cold water, which you sip time about with the coffee.
Before we could get Dickie away from Varos he insisted on being photographed by Stephen, astride a huge cask in front of a shop, but the cask refused to keep steady--so Dicky asserted, although to all appearances it was most solidly fixed to a substantial stand. Plainly Dickie was feeling weak after his long walk.
_July 31st._--Dickie much stronger to-day. I accompanied him to H.M.M.P. "Aragon" to get some money from the army cashier. We lunched on board and had a glorious meal, everything to eat good, excellent cider with ice, and comfortable lounges in which to smoke. Such things are almost unthinkable after our simple--very simple--fare on Gallipoli. I sat between two New Zealanders who had come over from Anzac last night. One of them said they were only 10 yards from the Turks' trench in one part of their line. The other day a New Zealander shouted across, "Do you want any jam this morning?" "Yes," said the Turks from the depths of their trench. "How many of you are there?" "Eight," was the reply. "All right, here's one pot of jam," and a pot of real jam was thrown over. The next morning the same proceedings were gone through, and the eight got together to get their jam. But this time the pot was filled with nitroglycerine and the Turks were blown to pieces. We are now using hand grenades from home, but till just lately when we had to retaliate on the Turks, who took to using deadly grenades, ours were made hurriedly of empty jam tins. These were filled with nitroglycerine mixed with pieces of old iron, such as shrapnel bullets and pieces of burst shells which we all collected--and most deadly weapons they proved, if a Turk got one in the stomach it simply blew him in two.