On reaching Gibraltar our escort left us, signalling to the transports to follow their own courses. We didn't stop at Gib., but pushed straight on up the Mediterranean. The weather was now quite summer-like, and all on board began to perk up considerably. The sea was a beautiful deep blue, the air had the wine of the South in it, the sun shone brightly, and its setting was glorious.
On sighting Malta we mistook a signal, and made tracks for the harbour of Valetta. Before we could get in, however, we were shoo'd off by the Powers that Be. We didn't seem to be the party they wanted, so we had to hit back to the old trail. Apart from wishing to see the place and getting a chance to stretch my legs, I had a personal interest in paying it a visit, as a great-uncle of mine, who had been a fleet-surgeon during the Crimean War, lay buried in the naval cemetery in Valetta. However, it wasn't to be.
The weather all through the Mediterranean remained as near perfect as they make it, hence seasickness was a thing of the past. We had the usual boat-drills, fire alarms and so forth. At that time there were no submarines down south, so we travelled with all lights going, both aloft and below. What with sea games, boxing, concerts, and cards the time passed quickly. Likewise our money. Faro and Crown and Anchor were the favourite card games; you could lose your partable cash fairly slickly at either. I have seen more than one pound resting on the turn of a single card. I reckon Colonials are to a man born gamblers, so it wasn't surprising that our available capital should be "floating"—in more ways than one. However, some one introduced a roulette table, and our cash soon floated all one way, the "bank" taking no risks and the "limit" being strictly enforced. Needless to say, the bank was never broken—but I fancy the wheel was.
Being in wireless communication with the shore we got an almost daily smattering of news, which was typed out and read aloud in various parts of the ship. Thus we heard straight away of the German bombardment of the Hartlepools. The Russians, also, seemed to be going strong, but we were never quite sure where, as the wireless operator made a queer fist of the names on the map. Come to think of it, it wasn't surprising, for they seemed to get most all of the alphabet into those Eastern front locations, and they sounded jolly like an assorted mixture of coughs and sneezes. It is easy to account for the illiterate state of the inhabitants of those parts; it would take them a lifetime to learn to spell their own names. So I reckon they just give the whole thing best.
We arrived without mishap at Alexandria on the 24th of December—Christmas Eve. It was a beautiful morning as we steamed up the Bay, and we got a fair idea of what the warships had to face the time they bombarded and captured the place. And right here I don't make any beans about stating what I think of that scrap. The town, at that time, was quite open to attack; the forts were old and crumbling; I am fairly sure the guns were not of the latest pattern; and as for the natives who served them, if they were anything like the fellows we ran across I don't think our jolly tars would lose much sweat in knocking the fight out of them. I used to read a lot about the Bombardment of Alexandria, but now after seeing the place (and I had, on various occasions, a good look round the old positions) I don't think much of it.
Once tied up to the wharf it was a case of get our coats off and set to work unloading ship. This took up most of the day, and a very hot day we found it. Some of the packages were fairly hefty and took a deal of handling, and I can't say we were over gentle in our methods of shifting them—at least the flying men didn't seem to think we were when it came to handling the cases containing their engines. Our old hooker was just alive with cockroaches, too, and regular boomers they were; some as big as locusts. As the various packages were swung over the ship's side the beggars kept dropping on us below. We didn't like it; there are nicer things than fishing for lively cockroaches inside your shirt. The natives who were assisting us didn't care a hang about trifles of that kind. They weren't a handsome lot by any means, but they were a fine, stalwart crowd, lively and animated—like their shirts. They wore flowing skirts, elastic-side boots, and stockings that pretended to be white. They are intensely religious, always looking for backsheesh, and have no morals. When we started in to boss them up they didn't seem to know the meaning of the word "hustle," but, ignorant as we were of their language, we managed to enlighten them; truly, the army boot hath its uses.
English money, we found, would pass in Alexandria—with profit to the merchant who accepted it. Thus we were enabled to purchase oranges, figs, grapes, tobacco, cigarettes—in fact, 'most anything one had a hankering for. The native hawkers and bumboat men are a picturesque-looking lot of blackguards enough, in a comic opera way; they are to a man top-knotch liars, and invoke the aid of Allah to help them out in their perjuries. They are truly Eastern in their love of bargaining; also in their smell.
We left the same evening by train for Cairo. The Egyptian State Railways are, on the whole, not bad; the trains got over the ground much faster than I had anticipated: about forty miles an hour, I should say. The accommodation was good enough (no cushions in the third-class, of course), and the whole outfit appeared to be kept fairly clean. The carriages were hitched on to each other like a series of tramcars, a corridor running down the centre of each, and a couple of overlapping metal plates taking the place of the concertina-like arrangement used in corridor trains in England. If you got tired of sitting inside the cars you could always find an airy perch on the platform outside. To go from one car to another necessitated a climb over the platform guard on to the afore-mentioned metal plates. The officials appeared to be all Egyptians, and I am bound to admit they were as civil and courteous a lot as one could wish to bump up against. They knew their work, too, and didn't grow flies. The fares were reasonable—and soldiers only paid half.
Being a troop train, we travelled third class. On ordinary occasions, however, it is only natives who do so, whites going first or second. There are reasons for this; lively ones, too.
The old Dunera had been a temperance ship, hence our chaps had worked up a forty-horse thirst on the voyage. Now drinks were cheap (for the East) in Alexandria, so our crowd, being mostly old campaigners, took full advantage of what they considered a merciful dispensation of Providence. The bank not being too solvent, they couldn't all run to whisky, of course, and many had to content themselves with larger beer "made in Germany"; however, the bottles (and things in general) became a bit mixed en route, so they got, perhaps, even more fun out of the assorted brew than if they had all been sipping at the same fount. Our train travelled to an accompaniment of coo-ees, war-cries, bush ballads, and breaking bottles. It was a distinctly lively trip, and I shan't forget my first Christmas Eve in the Land of the Pharaohs. So far as I recollect, there were no bones broken, either, and not so very many windows.