furnaces, and from a third tank water that had
been allowed to settle was run off and boiled. These were satisfactory.
An hour's exposure of the boiling water in jars of porous
clay--chatties--made it decently cool. Chatties of great size were
procured from the bazaar and placed outside each ward. Nowadays water
comes in pipes from the Shatt-el-Arab, being taken from the middle
layer, which is clearest. The best water comes from the Euphrates, which
joins the yellow Tigris at Kurna about forty miles above Basra. It sends
down a tributary which flows into the Tigris a few miles above Basra.
From here water could have been conveyed in pipes. But the scheme was
thought unnecessarily elaborate and costly.

It must be remembered that in a place like Mesopotamia water is the
main problem. A clear, clean, pure water supply means an incalculable
saving of life. A dirty supply may mean the failure of the campaign. In
order to get good water for troops nothing should be neglected or
overlooked, and no kind of compromise should be permitted. There is
perhaps not a single act in war more criminal and more worthy of death
than to allow troops to muddle along and get what water they can, under
local arrangements, when a pure central supply is possible.

Sick Tommies in tropical climates appreciate soda water. At first we
were told to get our supply from a native in the bazaar at Ashar. The
problem at this time did not concern the soda water but the bottles.
There was a great shortage of soda water bottles in Mesopotamia. Breaks
and bursts were frequent, and it seemed impossible to import any new
ones, and they cost about sixpence each. Our hospital was situated at a
considerable distance from the town. We were not allowed a motor launch,
and the roads were often impassable for bullock tongas, owing to the
floods which were then prevalent. Soda water was therefore fetched by
_belum_. You were poled down the creek to the river, and rowed through
the maze of traffic to Ashar creek. Turning out of the broad swift
river, up the noisy creek you came on the river-side cafes, built on
piles and filled with splenetic-eyed Arabs sipping coffee and various
coloured sweet drinks. A cheap gramophone playing a thin Eastern music,
may be sounding. The conversation is animated and guttural, constantly
interspersed with that hollow, metallic rasp that is like the noise of
an engine exhaust. The town is of white mud and stone, with wooden
balconies