Amidst the universal joy—booming of guns, ringing of church bells, cheering, and the screeching of ships’ sirens—I am gloomy and ill at ease. I cannot share in the thanksgiving and tumultuous welcome of Peace; my mind is dark with foreboding, oppressed by thoughts of three things that have made so many happy lives miserable during the Great War. With the knowledge that huge stocks of dubbin, bully and biscuits are on hand, how can a chap be joyful? They must be disposed of—not cast into the incinerator—and thoughts of the woe that they will cause make me sorrowful. The war has ended, and with it the need for dubbin. Stacks of the beastly stuff must be disposed of before we are demobilized. There is no market for it, and nobody would take it as a gift. Offer it to a Light Horseman or a driver, and you would see stars not of the firmament. But I’m sure that The Heads won’t let it be wasted. It’ll be read out in orders soon, that all saddlery and harness must be anointed with dubbin once daily and twice on Sundays. There’s a good time coming! Bully and biscuits are even dearer than dubbin to the granite hearts of Q.M.’s, but they’ll have to issue them now by the ton. Rapid consumption is the only way to get rid of the pyramids of B and B left on hand through Fritz throwing in the towel sooner than the Supply Office anticipated. Army biscuits are beyond the capacity of Gyppos and Bedouin; if we strewed them broadcast over Palestine, they would lie there untouched, and ruin all agricultural prospects: even a stump-proof plough would crumple up if it struck an army biscuit. We can’t dump our stocks in the sea: think what would happen in a collision between a liner and an A. B.! No; we’ve got to eat the lot, empty every tin of bully and biscuits, and take the consequences like heroes. “ARAM.” [Illustration: _FROM GENERAL CHAYTORS HDQTS._ _After the Battle of BIR EL ABD_ ] [Illustration: _THE FIELD OF BATTLE FOR RICHON LE ZION_ _Morning 15th Nov_ ] [Illustration: _THE BATTLE of BEERSHEBA_ _Drawn for Anzac M^{td} Div Hd Qts KHASHIM ZANA_ ] [Illustration] Reconciliation Full many a time we’ve known the call to arms, The sudden storm ... the aching aftermath, When spent companions slumbered ’neath the palms, And wooden crosses marked the wake of wrath. Full often have we saddled up and sped Over the sand, sweeping along at large, Braving the fitful hurricanes of lead, Galloping down resistance in the charge. Mute sorrow and great hardship have been ours, Long journeyings and escapades in force— But have we not beheld the poppy-flowers Nodding in red confusion on our course?