h
one wore the minimum of clothing. At four or five one dressed again,
after a bath, and took a look at the wards to see any bad cases. Then
the evening began, in which life became more possible. Dinner was
usually a cheerful meal. After dinner what to do was a great problem.
One just did nothing. During all this time everyone became thin. Any
sickness, even a slight attack of diarrhoea, brought down weight
rapidly. There was the case of a certain sergeant, whose immense girth
was much revered by the Arabs. One can understand, perhaps, how it
comes about that fatness is admired in the East. It is so rare. It is
much easier to be thin. The sergeant went into hospital for a few days.
When he came out he had lost his glory even as Samson was shorn of his
strength in a night. His clothes hung about him in huge folds. What had
taken him years to produce was lost in six days, and with it went the
respect of the Arabs. There is practically no fat in the country. There
was no dripping for puddings. The cattle were all lean.

It is necessary to say a word about the Indian _personnel_ attached to
the hospital. These were the water carriers, washers and sweepers. They
had been immensely pleased at the idea of leaving Basra. But at Amara,
where they found things little better, there was some lamentation. In
temperament they were mere children requiring a father. But of one
venerable and aged man I would like to record a few things. He was a
gaunt, tall, grey-bearded fellow as thin as a stick-insect, and he
performed the most menial of all services, being a sweeper by caste. But
what he did was done with passionate devotion. He had seen service in
France and spoke a few curious French words. Troops on active service in
France certainly are taught some strange phrases. All day he toiled with
his kerosene tins and brushes and when he had nothing to do he invented
something. He would, for instance, dust the palm trees outside the mess,
pausing always to salute even the shadow of an officer on the horizon in
a stiff cramped fashion, and then applying himself with silent zeal to
his remarkable task. He came one day in some grief and said that he had
heard that his daughter in his village in India was to have married a
certain man. He, the father, had contributed 100 rupees towards the cost
of the ceremony. The suitor had taken the money and then announced his
intention of marrying someone else. News of the fraud had reached the
venerable