At Ouchak, I frankly declined to spend another night in a luggage train. I admired the Turks’ resourcefulness in coping with the extremely limited service of trains—the women inside a luggage-van and the men on the roof. I do not regret the fact that I have probably endured even more discomfort than other European visitors to Angora, since I have attempted and achieved more. But for the moment it seemed really essential to pause and rest.
We were told they had only one private train car on this side of the break in the line, which had been reserved for the Minister of Finance, whom we should probably soon meet. Engines were terribly “short,” and most of the trains had been burnt by Greeks.
The Governor drove us to the house of one of the wealthiest men in the town, once the headquarters of King Constantine. Our host proved to be a mere lad of twenty, who was nevertheless directing a large carpet factory which had partially escaped destruction, with considerable efficiency and skill.
Thanking us with graceful dignity for the honour of our visit, he gave immediate direction for our reception in his noble guest-chamber. He apologised for the bareness of rooms, rifled by Greeks; but, in my judgment, the rich and wonderful carpets were furniture enough.
As M. Kemal Pasha had taken over the house from King Constantine, our host asked me, in joke, whose “bed” I would choose! I naturally at once replied M. Kemal’s. “Ah no,” said he, “you must not decide without seeing both.”
Being always afraid of air-raids, the Greek sovereign had taken an underground suite, certainly arranged with great taste and every attention to creature comfort. Lit and heated by electricity, the arrangements closely resembled a German trench. M. Kemal Pasha had slept on the first, or top, floor, and as I like to think, under my white satin covering, worked with irises. It was a proud moment for our host—that I should occupy a bed already honoured by M. Kemal!
I told him how at Gerbervilliers Sœur Julie once let me sleep in a bed previously occupied by Cardinal X., and even conferred on me the supreme honour of using his Eminence’s sheet! That “last touch,” said my host, he, “unfortunately, could not repeat. The Pasha’s sheets!—well, they were not here.”
We soon sat down with the Governor, the Mayor, and other “notables,” to a well-cooked meal of Turkish delicacies, supervised by our host himself. My only criticism of Turkish dishes is based on their “fattening” qualities, and the pleasure in flavours which tempt one to over-eat.
More “notables” appeared for an afternoon reception, in strange and picturesque costumes: Deputies, hodjas, and judges. How I longed to borrow that judge’s saxe-blue silk robe for a dressing-gown; but, knowing that he would “give” me anything for which I expressed a fancy, my honour sternly forbade the request! Everyone had left their shoes on the mat, and sat in their stockinged feet. My muddy boots were a disgrace.
They all talked Nationalism, overjoyed by the recent victories and, I cannot deny, bitter against Great Britain.