Land Of The Pharaohs

Private E. H. Price, of the New Zealand Expe ditionary Force, on active service abroad, has sent to his mother, Mrs. J. Price, of Savu Savu West, Vanua Levu, Fiji, the following amusing verses, labelled “written in a dug-out’’.

'V/'OU’VE heard of this land of the Pharaohs, Through which flows the old river Nile, Where the Sphinx and the Pyramids gambol In Egypt’s most dignified style?

To this land of sin, sand and sorrow.

We came in the bloom of our youth.

You have heard that we’re all of us heroes— But now you will hear all the truth.

It was there in the sands of the desert, That I wasted two years of my life, A-cursing the Nazis and Hitler, And thinking of home and the wife.

Cursing the flies and the sandstorms.

Which cover our rifles with dust, And the rats which ran over our faces, While searching for stray bits of crust. ’Twas there I developed a loathing, For the endless old bully and beans, And I’d lie in my bunk at night dreaming, Of trifles and jellies and cream.

The scorpions, snakes and beetles, Creep into our blankets at night, And if one’s not careful next morning They give one a hell of a fright.

Now that the winter has started, The fungus commences to grow.

And all of the boys who are able, Are sporting a seven-a-side mo’.

Some of the lads are ambitious, And aim at the Kaiser Bill style, But other chaps' herbacious borders Look just like a hedge that’s on trial.

When first we arrived in the desert, We thought we’d see Arabs and Sheiks, But though we’ve been up here for months now We’ve not seen an Arab for weeks.

The Sheik owns a mud-covered hovel, Which he shares with the flies and the ants, And if you like dirt, filth and odours, Then here is your chance for romance.

We’d read of the palm-green oasis, With date palms asway in the breeze.

And wells with their crystal-clear water— I wish I could find one of these.

For I never saw even a palm tree, And the water was never too clear— It was dirty and stank like a cesspit— No wonder we drink so much beer!

You can see why we’re sick of the desert.

The sand and the flies and the dust.

We wouldn’t stay here for a minute— It’s simply the fact that we must.

But when all the Nazis are finished, And our work in the army is o’er, We’ll leave all our troubles behind us.

And return home to roam—never more!

Every Saturday morning the Suva Red

Cross Shop is open for business, selling everything from flowers and plants through cakes, sweets and preserves to

second-hand clothing and what-have-you.

Since March, 1941, (when it reopened

after a two months’ spell during the worst of the hot weather) to December, 1941, the

takings reached the quite respectable

total of £1,302.