Had you asked my Tiadatha If the show was very thrilling, If the lovely ladies sang him Haunting songs of joy and sadness, He’d have told you in a minute That he hadn’t time to notice. He was always much too busy Shouting “Un, deux, trois” with Frenchmen, Drinking lager beer with Serbians, Swapping caps with ice-cream merchants, Helping several rowdy Russkis To lasso the band conductor, Having special little Ententes With a boxful of the Navy; Much too busy ragging Bertha, Andrée, Denisette or Dolly, Much too busy dodging Zizi, When she clamoured “Champagne cider.” And when A.P.M.s came prowling, He would disappear sedately With a beer mug in one pocket, And a tin tray in the other, Finish up a noisy evening With a game of “Ring-a-roses,” Then jolt campwards in a gharry To valise and well-earned slumber. * * * * * Do not fear my Tiadatha Gently sliding to Avernus, Losing all the pleasant manners Taught him by his lady mother, Do not fear one day to find him Clapping hands at Rumpelmeyer’s For another chocolate éclair, Breaking plates and things at Prince’s When his lunch is long in coming, Looting beer mugs at the Palace Or lassoing the conductor— He must do as Salonique does, For there’s nothing else to do there. Some there are find Salonica Dirty, dull and evil-smelling. Bored to tears, they sometimes ask you What on earth there is to do there. But I make reply and tell them Salonica’s what you make it. London can be just as boring As a dug-out in the trenches, Or a dug-out in the trenches Can be merrier than Murray’s— If you’ve got the right coves in it, Got a little drop of whisky, Other climes and other morals: When you go to Salonica, Be an idiot for an evening, Make a noise with Tiadatha, Drink your beer and pinch the glasses, Raid the band and rag the fairies, Dance a fox-trot with a Frenchman, Get a little mild amusement Even out of Salonica. CHAPTER IX UP THE LINE Often in those days of digging, Days of weary treks up country, Days of strenuous manœuvres, Came the listless private soldiers, Came the corporals and the sergeants, Spoke a work with Tiadatha, Saying, “What about this war, sir? Do you think we’ll ever find it, Ever see a Boche or Bulgar, Ever show ’em what we’re made of?” “Never fear,” said Tiadatha, Speaking with prophetic insight. “There is time enough for fighting, Time enough for Boche and Bulgar; Though it may be long in coming, Yet you’ll get your share of fighting, Get your bellyful of fighting Ere you’ve finished with the Balkans.”