Outback Penguin

by Stuart Kells

  Dozens of small rowing boats were waiting to take us ashore. The boat I was in became jammed between the V.S. Strasbourg and a coal barge; the ensuing language between our boatman and the men on the barge was so powerful that it shifted the barge without any help from the natives. The shore was only a couple of hundred feet away so it did not take us long to get there. The boatmen demanded six pence each which we paid, only to find that, on the quay, was a proper pay box where we again had to ‘dub up’ – five pence this time. Also there was a notice there: ‘Do not pay the boatman anything, pay here.’

  Visitors to Port Said please note, and save yourselves six pence.

  Once on shore I found Toby, Madame and Miss Dobie and, as they had hired Dragoman number fifteen, I joined them and we ‘did the sights’ together. Directly we were through the customs gate we were pestered with Egyptians (I suppose they would be), who wanted to sell us confectionery, fruit, antiques, rugs etc. And they simply would not leave us however little notice we took of them.

  As soon as one dropped off, another took his place. And they were dressed in most weird get-ups, most of them wearing a garment that resembled a long, flowing nightshirt (of any colour) and they all wore fezzes. Naturally, they asked ten times the amount they expected to receive. Turkish Delight started off at 1/6 a box and finished up at two boxes for one shilling. Strings of beads fell from fifteen shillings to 1/6. Silk shawls from £5 to ten shillings. All the policemen were wearing heavy overcoats and carried dangerous looking truncheons; as it was a hot day I felt very sorry for them. Our first visit was to a high-class curio shop where Madame bought a fine hand-worked silk shawl for £3.10.0 and I bought an imitation Egyptian cigarette case for a couple of shillings. Then we called in at a cigarette store where real, genuine Egyptian cigarettes could be purchased from two shillings to seven shillings a hundred. The time being 11.30am, we proceeded to a restaurant and sat at a table on the verandah where we could get a good view of the streets. The restaurant was a corner building. I partook of eggs and ham, bread and butter, bananas and a bottle of lager.

  The guide then recommended going for a drive, so he obtained a strange sort of a ‘carriage’ for us and we tumbled in. The guide sat with the driver and explained everything to us as we drove along. Some of the buildings were very fine. The Suez Canal Company’s offices, the Governor’s house, the English Hospital, mosque, schools etc. We drove along the sea front and then turned into the native quarter where all the buildings were of wood and tumbling down. At the last fire, the guide said, thirty-six houses were destroyed. This, he said, at one time was practically all there was of Port Said. But since the Canal has been built the town has naturally grown quite a lot. Besides seeing the native quarter we could also smell it, and it is somewhat doubtful which I remember best: the sights or the smells.

  The narrow streets were teeming with Egyptians. There were a few butchers’ shops there, but one could hardly see the meat for the flies. The same applied to the dates outside the greengrocers’ shops. The womenfolk were all dressed in black, their faces covered from their eyes downwards, the same garment appearing to act also as a head covering. Between the head covering and the portion of the garment that covered their faces was a small piece of gilt metal, or wood, about the thickness of a candle and perhaps three inches in length. It lay between the top of the nose and the forehead.

  When we came to the mosque we dismounted and had a good view of the Mahommedians praying; everything seemed very clean, but also bare. We walked through the gardens, but there were no leaves on the trees. I suppose it is still winter there. Feeling slightly thirsty, we sat outside one of the restaurants and had some coffee, then, as Madame wished to buy an ostrich feather, we repaired to the same place we had visited in the morning. I forgot to mention that on our first visit the proprietor gave us some coffee, the best I have had since I left ‘Millamolong’. Madame selected the best feather in the shop, for which she had to pay £2. This business being completed, we journeyed back to the ship and left at 4pm sharp.

  At the entrance to the Canal, with his hand extended in that direction, is a fine statue of Lesseps. A little further on we saw the mast of a ship sticking up out of the water and, on enquiring, found it to be all that is visible of a boat of this company that was torpedoed during the war.

  There is one fresh passenger in the second class, a French female who gives her profession as dancing. She is slim, of medium height, brunette and uses plenty of rouge, powder, scent and ‘eye black’, so I doubt if I shall try very hard to make her acquaintance.

  Thursday, 25 March 1926

  For the last couple of days I have been having a real fine time. I have spent about forty-two of the last forty-eight hours in my berth gazing at a few rivets on the ceiling of my cabin. The night before last I did not sleep a wink, just tossed and turned and occasionally exchanged a few words with Toby, who occupies the berth above me and who was, and unfortunately still is, in a worse plight than myself. He suffers from an hereditary complaint which has been giving him trouble for years past: an ulcerated stomach.

  This morning I am much better, thanks to the kindness and attention shown me by all my friends. Madame has obtained hot water and mixed up lemon drinks for me at all hours of the day and night. Unfortunately, there are no lemons to be obtained on the boat so I have had hot lemon squash. Miss Dobie has dosed me with Chlorodyne. And the dispenser, Jack, has given me various kinds of lozenges, painted my chest and back with iodine, injected menthol or eucalyptus up my nasal organ, and also given me special headache tablets. For besides an ordinary cold – the worst for four years – I have also had a terrific headache.

  Last night I was awakened by the sound of the ship’s siren, and on getting up and looking out of the porthole I found that the cause of all the excitement was that a boat of the same company was passing us only a couple of hundred yards away. This morning, when I went on deck on my way to see the dispenser, I was surprised to see, on the starboard side, a large volcano, the summit of which was enveloped in a cloud. It appeared to be on an island which was just large enough to hold it. Its name, I am told, is Stromboli.

  Friday, 26 March 1926

  While I am writing this we are passing Corsica. The town seems to be composed of houses and buildings of all the same age and design, and none of them particularly prepossessing. There appears to be one main town and several small villages, all connected by dozens of isolated houses scattered all over the place. Most of the buildings are of a light colour with blue or red roofs – slate or tiles, I suppose. We are passing very close to the island but, unfortunately, it is raining which renders the visibility very bad.

  The nature of the land is hilly and fairly rocky, and all the available land is cultivated. To do this, the ground is levelled (more or less) and hedges and banks built, so the general view of the place is rather pretty. A couple of hours ago we could see some mountains whose peaks were covered with snow. I am writing in the cabin where I am trying to cheer up Toby who has been very bad for the last couple of days and is now on a strict diet of milk (powdered and condensed) and medicine.

  Straight ahead of me, through the porthole, is the top of a craggy peak. One half is visible and the other hidden by clouds. Lower down, a couple of houses and some terraced gardens. On the shore is a cluster of houses and a church. And in every direction there is not an inch of good land that is not cultivated. I wonder what Corsicans do for a living? I also wonder which house it was that Napoleon was born in? They all look ancient enough.

  My cold is better today and I feel in quite a cheerful mood. In one week’s time I shall be home. It gives me great satisfaction to be able to write that and know it’s true. Tomorrow I hope to partake of a good dinner, well served, have a haircut and a hot bath, and sleep on a comfortable bed with a soft pillow. For if there is one thing that is harder than flint, than tempered steel, than the hobs of the house of the Great Stoker, it is the pillows provided in the second class on the Ville de Strasbourg. In or
der to try and cheer up Toby I read to him a few chapters from The Wonders of Salvage by David Masters and I came across one rather interesting item. During the war the ‘richest’ prize salvaged was the Westmoreland, which was torpedoed with cargo and specie to the value of £3,000,000. I take it that the boat we raced to the Suez Canal was the same boat that was salvaged.

  Interlude now for an indefinite time; I am going to have a talk with the premier maître who has sent me a bill for eighteen francs for cigarettes I have never received. Whether I shall do any more writing before we reach Marseille remains to be seen.

  Hotel de Paris, Marseilles

  Sunday, 28 March 1926

  The Ville de Strasbourg arrived at Marseilles about 8am yesterday, but we were not allowed to land until an hour later. After passing through the customs, Madame, Miss Dobie, Toby and I hired a taxi and proceeded to the Hotel de Paris. This is a very comfortable hotel but no real meals can be obtained here, only a snack, coffee, and bread and butter or cakes. I have a very decent room with hot and cold water, easy chair, and writing table and chair. By the time we had had a meal the morning was a thing of the past. The weather was not at all kind to us, as it was overcast and raining until well on in the afternoon and it has been showery ever since. In the afternoon we all went shopping and I was very surprised to find how cheap everything was. Of course, this is chiefly due to the exchange being in our favour. Yesterday the rate was 139½₣ to one pound sterling and 135₣ to the Australian pound. With this as a guide, I will give the price of a few articles I saw priced. Soft felt hats from thirty to eighty francs. Ready-made suits 120–160₣. Tailor-made suits 200–600₣. Shoes fifty to 100₣. Shirts from sixteen francs. Twelve-gauge shotguns, single barrel from 200₣, double from 300₣. I had a couple of quite good meals for six francs. So English money goes a long way here.

  In the evening, Madame and Miss Dobie went to the cinema and Toby and I went for a walk. Attracted by a very bright light on the quay side, we investigated and found that a scene was being filmed by a cinema company. An aged ‘salt’ advanced towards an ancient sailing boat alongside the wharf, and when his objective was reached he peered cautiously over the side. Then, turning slowly, he beckoned to some confederates, who advanced quickly; these consisted of two gendarmes, two cowboys, a naval officer, three or four sailors and a couple of nondescripts. When all were gathered together they held a conference and that was the end of the scene. We strolled back to the hotel and were in bed by 10 o’clock.

  This morning, after a good hot bath – the first for five weeks – I leisurely dressed and went down to Toby’s room. We had an omelette each and then went for a walk. Our objective was the church of Notre-Dame de la Garde and on our way we passed through a very pretty public garden. By some skilful planning the designers of this garden had turned a small stream into a miniature waterfall with a lake at the bottom. All paths are made of rough stones and although they were kept fairly clean they were not good to walk on. A top dressing of fine gravel and tar would make a big difference. After a good stiff climb we eventually reached the church which is built on a rock high above Marseille and which commands a fine view of the city and harbour. The day being cloudy, the visibility was poor but we could see what a large town Marseilles is and we could also pick out several of the main public buildings. We could see the place where the Ville de Strasbourg had berthed (she left for Le Havre, Dunkirk and Antwerp at 8 o’clock in the morning).

  A sort of terrace runs right around the church and a good view can be seen from any side. It was very windy and cold up here so we did not remain long. Coming back, we descended by means of a scenic railway for several hundred feet. The car was the weirdest contraption I have ever seen and only a frail wire gate was placed to prevent passengers from falling out. Note for novelists: this is a fine place to get rid of a villain.

  In the afternoon, Madame did some more shopping and I read, wrote and smoked. This evening the others have gone to a show but I preferred to come back here and do some writing, so I left them to it.

  Of Marseilles itself I have not a very good opinion. I should imagine it to be a place harbouring a very cosmopolitan crowd. Some of the buildings are good but most of them would look much better if they were cleaned. At least one main street is far too crowded with stalls and other obstacles. The Notre-Dame de la Garde certainly helps to make the place, as the gilded statue of Our Lady with Child can be seen from most parts of the city. The trams are very small, but this may be a necessity owing to the narrow streets and sharp corners they have to negotiate. Nearly all the male population are of small stature and are not healthy looking. The females are far too much painted.

  Of one thing I am certain, I shall be glad, on or about Wednesday next, to get among English people again.

  Hotel Cailleux, Paris

  Tuesday, 30 March 1926

  Here I am at an hotel again, after one of the most dreary railway journeys I have ever experienced. And, as usual, I am also in a bit of a fix. Last Sunday I wired home and said that I would send another telegram giving the time of my arrival. Directly I reached Paris, I tried to book a seat but found that they were all taken for the next two days on all trains to Calais or Boulogne. I have neither the inclination nor money to stay here three days. And if I try and jump a train how am I to let you know I am coming? Certainly somewhat awkward, but I think I will find some solution to the problem.

  We arrived at the station at Marseille about 7.30pm last night and from then till 8 o’clock, when the train left, I did not see a single porter. The station was very badly lighted and the platforms only half the height of an English one. Our carriage was not joined to the train until a few minutes before the departure and our luck was dead out as in our compartment was one of the most cantankerous females I have ever set eyes on. She had one corner seat and the corner seat opposite her had been booked by a friend of hers who had died the day before. She collared her late friend’s ticket and used the seat by placing an umbrella and a fur wrap on it. And do you think she would let either of us use that seat? Not much.

  A young Frenchman was sitting next to the unoccupied seat and he was so disgusted that he got up and walked out, not returning until the train had reached Paris. The compartment was unbearably stuffy and yet this pleasant ole dame insisted on closing the door into the corridor. Luckily, we soon discovered a method of obtaining fresh air. One of us had lit a cigarette and immediately, with a contemptible sniff, our friend would literally fling the door open. As the journey progressed, so the temper of the ‘fly in the ointment’ became worse. She sniffed, snorted and argued the whole night through. Sometimes she would sit in one corner seat and sometimes in the other. As we only had two ten minute stops during the fourteen hour journey you may imagine we were soon tired of her ‘dog in the manger’ tactics, and although the journey was tiring it was more relief I experienced at leaving her then leaving the train.

  We reached the station – ‘P.L.M.’ – at 10 o’clock and took a taxi to the nearest hotel, the Chemin de fer du nord. This, although a small hotel, is very comfortable and English is spoken here. This afternoon I went for a walk for an hour and a half. I did not pass any well-known place or street and did not see anything at all of unusual interest. Madame and Toby had gone out by themselves, and walking about strange cities by myself is not a favourite pastime of mine. I shall reserve the pleasure of visiting all the sights for another visit. Now, I’m ‘here because I here’ and that’s the end of it.

  ‘Broomcroft’, Coombe Dingle, Bristol

  Sunday, 18 April 1926

  On the morning of the thirty-first of March, the day after my last entry, I rose early and half an hour before the train was due out I was seated on my suitcase in the corridor of one of the carriages, and was very pleased to note the number of English people there were about. The train rushed through to Boulogne in no time. I quickly embarked on the boat; the only delay was in showing ones passport in order to obtain an embarkation slip, without which it was
impossible to get on the boat.

  The sea voyage lasted about one and a half hours and very glad I was to see the White Cliffs of Dover. It took some time to pass through the customs, but about three-quarters of an hour after landing I was seated in the train travelling towards London at sixty miles an hour. This portion of the journey was great. To be in England again after all these years. To see green fields, streams, old thatched cottages, wild flowers. Some of the railway cuttings were one mass of primroses. I thought to myself it was well worth going away for a few years if it was only for the joy of returning.

  Think of it, o ye hardened travellers, ye Globe trotters. Think of the first time you came home after a long stay abroad. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were signing, the trees were just bursting forth into their spring garments and the whole landscape was covered with flowers. How I loved it all. How fine it was to think of hot, dusty days at Renmark, with a north wind blowing. O, Ye gods, it was glorious. ‘One crowded hour of glorious life. Is worth an age without a name.’ And I lived that hour then, in fact two hours. Everything was just perfect. Nobody to meet me at Victoria, so I took a tube to Paddington and, leaving my luggage in the cloak room, I walked to Lancaster Gate. Auntie Annie seemed very pleased to see me and she showed her pleasure in a very practical way by giving me a ‘fiver’.

  I had sent a wire home from Dover saying that if I was not met at London I should go on home. So I caught the 6.30pm from Paddington and arrived at Temple Meads about 9 o’clock. Here, I found father and Mr Perry (a neighbour at Coombe Dingle) waiting for me and we were soon in the latter’s car speeding on the last lap of my journey home. How good the old city looked that night. How homely. From the Perry’s I walked to ‘Broomcroft’, a few score yards. And there I was welcomed by Mother and John. Allen was shut up in his room, isolated with Scarlet Fever, and he is still there. I had heard of this both by letter at Marseilles and from Auntie Annie. After a talk and, incidentally, supper, we went to bed.