Other formats

    TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  


    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

The Kia ora coo-ee : the magazine for the ANZACS in the Middle East, 1918

['J.A.P.': Chameleons are in demand as flycatchers...]

* * * * * *

"J.A.P.": Chameleons are in demand as flycatchers in Desert camps, every one seen being mopped up, and led into luxurious captivity. The other day, the O.C. of a unit in Palestine was doing inspection when he spotted a big specimen. He caught it, and handed it over to the Orderly Corporal. Inspection was continued, with the non-com. marching solemnly behind his officer, holding the lizard at arm's length.

* * * * * *

"Birdy's Batman": During one period of the Gallipoli campaign there was a certain Major, noted for his bulky figure and wonderful luck in escaping from danger. One morning, however, news came down our trench that the Major had been injured. "What!" exclaimed one of the men, "has the old chap stopped one at last?" "No," was the reply, "they were lowering him into his dug-out, and the rope broke."

* * * * * *

"Waipune": Talking about mirages. We used to patrol the desert between Mersa Matruh and Bareni. One day we spotted a beautiful mirage in front of us. There was a glorious lake with shady trees on the bank, and it was all as real as anything we had left behind in Australia. One of our chaps carried a fishing line with him, and blowed if he didn't bait the hook with a piece of bully, and start fishing in that lake. It was a hot day, and the fisherman soon fell asleep, but was suddenly awakened, some hours later, by-something tugging at bis line. Visions of a fish supper loomed before him; but judge his disappointment when he saw that he had hooked one of the many vultures which hover over the desert sands. Gone were the lake and the trees, and stretching for miles was sun-dried desert. The mirage had lifted.

* * * * * *

"W.O.": When we were camped near Rafa, 8 Gyppo came round the bivvies to collect empty jam tins, etc His greeting was always the same: "Sieda. Finish rubbish?" One morning he picked up a sheet of paper which had blown out of the Sergeant Major's bivvy. It was a poem to some "bint" named Violet. Holding it up, Ali, with a pleasant grin, inquired, "Finish rubbish?" I wonder if he could read English?