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

Sisters at Salonica

page 19

Sisters at Salonica.

A very happy family is the Kookaburra Clan of Sisters at Salonica. One learns something about them from "Pio Memoria", a little magazine, issued last Christmas. It is hand-written,
The Squaoron Will Move Out

The Squaoron Will Move Out

in a dainty script, with a clever cover design, and many charming illustrations, all Kookaburra craft. "Horas non numero nisi serenas" is the Clan's motto, and the records bear witness that it has had many shining hours to count. " Mum " is the head of the Kookaburras, and her chicks include " Persephone", "Iolanthe", "Zylanetta", "The Musical Twins," and "Clyde." Here is one of the latter's limericks:

There once were some patients in Greece,
Who found their food daily decrease;
For bacon they sigh,
"Give us dripping " they crigh;
Oh, surely in Greece there's some grease"

A very limited edition of "Pro Memoria" was issued, and it can not be obtained now for love or money; even the "K.O.C." could only borrow a copy for one "shining hour."

"March Hare" writes, from Salonica: At present our hill hospitals are nearer town, so that by now we have really all been launched into Society. At one hospital we are nursing prisoners of war. The Bulgar is a fine fellow, and several, having knowledge, have declared their intention of coming to Australia with us, as "souvenirs". But the Turks! Whatever moved Allah to create them? Salonique is a dirty, crooked spot, with wonderful natural facilities, hitherrho caimly ignored. The British have converted many goat tracks into roads that will outlast eternity. It was here that "St, Paul, in bygone ages, used to do his bit of shopping." But St. Paul must necessarily have been a wealthy man, if he shopped here; the Greeks will not be beaten down in prices. Had an amusing experience recently. I stopped before one of the many newly-opened shops, and was invited to enter. Deciding that the beaming proprietor was a Gyppo, I shook my head and said, "Feloush kateer." His smile became broader, he exclaimed, "You speak Arabic?", then hastily called the rest of his family, who, all together, entertained me with a recital of their religious beliefs, social customs, and ever to much that I couldn't understand. Finally, I escaped, followed by a chorus of "Sieda, Sister." It reminded me of good old Cairo days.