World War, 1914-1918 -- Prisoners and prisons, Turkish
Entire lack of exercise is bad for Britons, and looking back to that
winter I marvel that we quarrelled so little. Once the split of houses
was over we practically did not disagree at all. We played cards, and
chess, and backgammon. We had a few books. We talked. And we were
silent. Sometimes we had concerts. We were not much in the singing line,
but we made plenty of noise. Also there were alleviations. Those must
not be left out, or this chapter would seem more gloomy than is true. A
few parcels came, a few home letters, some food, and some books. Several
of us accomplished the reading of Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall,” which
probably we should never have done except in prison. And extraordinarily
interesting we found it, especially the later volumes which deal with
the history of the Crusades and the Turks. And I had two occupations
unshared by the rest, which took up much time, for I wrote verses and
had jaundice.
There was a sheet of ice on the floor, where water had been spilled,
when I went to bed, and twelve days later, when I got up, there was the
same ice still there. So cold it was. It was too cold to hold a book, so
I used to lie all day and devise meetings and dinners with my most loved
friends after the war.
From the tiles we had a widespread view of snow-covered plain and range
beyond range of mountains. The ground floor, so to speak, of Asia Minor
is about 3,000 feet above sea level. That is the average elevation of
the plains, and from that level rise the mountains. They are bare and
bleak, unclothed by woods, white in the winter, green for a brief and
beautiful spring, and for the rest of the year the colour of dust. Even
in the tropics I have not seen more gorgeous sunsets than those we
used to watch from the roof top, while below us lay the dark streets of
the town, channeled through the white roofs, and half-obscured by a mist
of smoke.
In the daytime those roofs were not altogether without interest.
Sometimes we saw people on them, but more often cats; real Angora
long-haired cats, basking, fighting, and lovemaking. We got to know a
lot of them by sight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account