Letters From Baghdad

by Bell, Gertrude

  The hot silence has been broken by 20 big gun shots, which announce the end of Ramadhan. Even I hear them with thankfulness. It has been oppressive to think of people thirsting through these long days.

  A Reuter says that Edwin has gone to the India Office. It's splendid. He will be my chief, you realize. Won't that be fun. I wish you would go and see Sir A. Hertzel, the Permanent Under — Secretary. He is a friend of mine, and an ally.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, July 27, 1917.

  Another week — it's less hot. I don't think we're likely to have a second bout such as we've had. It has caused as many casualties as a battle and what is tantamount to another breakdown in the hospital arrangements. I have a long letter from Beatrice [Lady Brownrigg] — will you please thank her for it if you're seeing her...I can't pick up the thread where I dropped it two and a half years ago; I can't. And it becomes more, not less difficult. Oh if one could look forward and see a time when thought should stop, and memory, and consciousness, I'm so tired of struggling on alone.

  Still I'll do it, as you know. At least it's easier here than in England.

  On the feast day after Ramadhan Sir Percy and I paid the Naqib a congratulatory visit. Our personal relations with him are useful as well as pleasant. Sir Percy is so charming with the people of the country, grave and kind and attentive. I don't wonder they respect and trust him. He never himself realizes how strong his personal hold is, but we count it one of our best assets. The satisfaction that it is to work for a Chief who is always at the height of the situation ...

  I paid another before breakfast call yesterday, on the Jamil Zadah family, some of my oldest friends here. They are landowners, very rich, upright, honest people, staunchly pro-English. Their friendship is worth having. I sat for a long time talking to Abdul Rahman Effendi, the head of the house, — and then with him and his wife and sisters whom I also visited — I knew them before — and came away with a warm sense of cordial and even affectionate companionship. It's when one gets that that one gets the best that can be had. Abdul Rahman's friendship takes also an agreeably tangible expression! He sends in weekly a great basket of fruit from his estate — at this season it's filled with huge white grapes.

  Oh and more muslin gowns came last week: — a red letter week! That makes 7.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, August 3, 1917.

  I must tell you I've been on the sick list this week and am not off it yet. Having survived the heat I caught cold with the first chill morning and a cold in this country reduces me at once to a state of maddening and unconquerable feebleness. It's no good forgetting it; — one has to knock under. So for 4 days I've done absolutely nothing and am still much as before, confound it. But the first day when I was lying in my comparatively cool room in the office and cursing, in came Col. Willcox to pay me a friendly call — I could have embraced him, his visit was so Opportune. So now he comes regularly to see if I have pneumonia or consumption — but I never have. Well, he told me some interesting things about the heat wave and its consequences. (It began on July 10 quite suddenly with a temperature of 112 and ended on July 20 with a temperature of 122.8. In between it was frequently over 120. He notes that 115 is the limit of human endurance. The moment the temp. rises above that point, heat strokes begin, and when it drops below, they end. We could have saved many lives if after the crisis was over there had been any cool place to put the men in. But there wasn't and after fighting through the heatstroke they died of heat exhaustion. I suppose if we had had masses of ice we could have made cool places, but ice was lacking. It happened once or twice that we well people went without it because the hospitals needed all there was. I don't think I shall stay through the whole of next hot weather unless there is any very strong reason for it. I shall come to England for a month and return in September. But who knows what we shall be all doing by then. I don't believe we shall still be fighting. Some way or other peace will have to come about.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, August 10, 1917.

  I've had rather a slack week getting gradually better and I now consider that I'm returned fit for duty...

  The worst of the extreme physical weariness which is apt to attack one in this climate is the mental weariness, not to say desperation, which accompanies it. You feel as if you never again would lift a finger without exhaustion and for all the iron and arsenic you are taking three times a day you're persuaded you'll not get well — not that you want to get well, far from it. However I hope I'm through it now for the moment. ...

  The thermometer rarely goes much over 110 and is sometimes below that.

  The truth is that we are living in a rather exasperated state, concerning which I refer you to Edwin, to whom I have just been writing a long letter on Mesopotamian economics.

  I've invested in a cock and four hens, for to lay me eggs, but so far without any very marked success. They don't lay many more eggs than my gazelle, or to be exact they've laid exactly one more. I never liked hens and I'm contemplating the conversion of these into roast chicken. On the other hand the dates in my garden are ripe and very good. The fresh date is a thing apart.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, August 31st, 1917.

  I am coming out of hospital to-morrow. I am perfectly sound but very slack. I don't suppose I shall be much better till the weather begins to cool down, which it ought to do in the latter half of Sep. It is still damnably hot.

  There have been some very good articles in the Spectator lately on War Economies, sound common sense about attempts to fix prices and regulate markets. Will you tell St. Loe [Strachey] if you see him that I've found them most useful as propaganda. Every economic mistake that could be made has been made here, with the result that all trade is at a standstill and food prices have quadrupled. I turned up a document the other day in which one of these announced blandly that he felt no anxiety at the rise in the cost of living, because nothing would be easier at any moment than to fix a maximum price. As a cure for scarcity. I ask you! Doesn't it rouse 'Nôhnisch' laughter.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, September 3, 1917.

  I didn't go to Samarra after all, Doom struck out, as the poet says, like a blind camel and he caught me straight and full. For with my box and bedding packed, my dinner almost carried to General Lubbock's hospitable board — I was going to dine with the Father of Railways On my way to the train — I began to feel curiouser and curiouser and anyhow very certain that I had fever. And then Col. Willcox drifted in (Providence always directs the angelic man to my door just when I want him) took my temperature and shattered my Plans — I held out for two miserable days in my own house, too achy and above all too headachy to stir, and then came into hospital with a temperature of 102. Sandfly fever. Everyone has it. I don't know how I've escaped it so long. They don't know what it is really; they haven't caught its microbe yet. But you get your money's worth out of it, if only from the intolerable headache. Quinine is no good. They give you febrifuges and phenacetin and feed you only on slops, all of which things being unfit, so to speak, for human consumption, you find yourself pretty ragged when at last the devil thing goes.

  I'm really over the thing — its gone. But there's no doubt I shall feel cheap for a bit and as soon as I can I shall go away for a fortnight. Col. Willcox is very keen that I should do this and I think it will be salvation. Its so beautifully cool now that one can go any-where. They are extremely kind to me in this hospital. They treat me as if I were a Major General.

  Damnable as sandfly fever is it isn't a matter for the smallest anxiety so please feel none, you and Mother. I feel ashamed of behaving like this.

  To F.B.

  BAGDAD, September 6, 1917.

  There's one thing I forgot to answer in some old letters from you and Father. Please, please don't supply information about me or photographs of me to newspaper correspondents. I've said this so often before that I thought you understood how much I hate the whole advertisement business. I always throw all letters (fortunate
ly they're not many in number) asking for an interview or a photograph straight into the waste paper basket and I beg you to do the same on my behalf...

  I've been five days out of hospital and I feel much better though still rather weak in the knees and imbecile in the mind. But another day or two will put me right. My quiet leave hasn't been quite as peaceful as might have been wished for the second night after my return I found a large wasp in my bed. I found him by the simple process of lying on him, upon which he retorted after his kind. The next night when I came back from the office I went to look at my pony and found him having a bad fit of colic. We had some restless hours doctoring him and walking him about, and finally he recovered.

  It's still very hot, but the temperature is falling, though very slowly. The nights are quite pleasant, but in the middle of the afternoon it's usually about 112. I won't deny that when you come to September here you feel you've reached about the limit of human endurance. I shan't stay through the whole of next summer.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, September 15, 1917.

  I've got a day out with the week and find suddenly that it is Saturday morning and mail day instead of Friday as I fondly hoped. Fortunately the most important letter — to Bridget [Richmond) — I wrote last night. I asked the kind Red X Commissioner, Major Stanley, about your launch. He says it is the best on the river, never sick or sorry. I went to a party this week — the first party I've been to since Delhi. There was a regatta on the Tigris and G.H.Q. entertained us all at tea. I think, by the way, I was one of the hosts, since we're included in G.H *Q. I didn't see much of the regatta because there was a glaring sun an the river, even at 5 p.m. but I sat under an awning and talked to all the Major Generals and felt that I was seeing life. It resulted in my going to tea next day with General Marshall, he commands the 3rd Corps, a very interesting man whom I had just met as he passed through Basrah last summer and hadn't seen since. I went to see some carpets and china which he had bought, very pretty and I should think one or two of the rugs very good, but I know less and less about rugs I find. He is coming to see two of mine which are also rather pretty. But I no longer buy any on account of the War Loan — that was a little burst when I came to Bagdad. It's really getting cooler; my room at the Office is never above 91 and these last two days I haven't needed a punkah till 10 O'clock. Its so blessed. Apropos of the Red X I can't tell you how beneficent they are here. I get my money's worth — or yours — out of them, for Major Stanley is always supplementing my needs with various odds and ends otherwise unprocurable. However, as I served them for a whole year I feel less reluctance in sponging on them for comforts. I'm much better, almost quite well. Its time too. This country is a desperate place for recovering from anything. You go staggering on feeling like a worm long after there has ceased being anything the matter with you. But its all the more pleasurable when at last the worm begins to turn.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, September 21, 1917.

  We are having deliciously cool weather, between 70 and 80 and quite cold at night. I want nothing better but I think the moment of sudden transition is rather trying even if it is enjoyable. One doesn't know how to adapt oneself at first. I had an afternoon out this week — General Cobbe and I went to Kadhimain, 2 or 3 miles above Bagdad, a sheikh town with a very sacred mosque. I remember last time I was there, in 1909 it must have been, how I hurried past the gateway of the mosque with a sidelong glance into the courtyard. Turbaned gentlemen did us the honours and escorted us well within the gates to the very edge of the courtyard. Except as an unexampled privilege there wasn't much in it, for it's all the worst modern work, gimcrack and hideous, with tiles 30 years old already peeling from the walls and no loss either. Nevertheless I was vastly entertained, having been nowhere since I came to Bagdad.

  Kermit Roosevelt turned up this week with letters of introduction to me and to Sir Percy. We both liked him — a very pleasant creature, quite unostentatious. He is serving here as an engineer and has three brothers in the American army in France. They are doing their bit, aren't they? I still dine out of doors, but I sit indoors afterwards, with all doors and windows open. It's most pleasant. I'm longing to begin riding again and indeed I did begin a few days ago, but it wasn't a great success — I felt too tired afterwards. So I shall be very prudent and wait a little longer. It isn't a time of year to play pranks; nearly every one has little goes of fever when the heat begins to drop. I've escaped that luckily. My dear love to all my family. I write indifferently to you and Mother as the letters are equally to you both.

  To F.B.

  BAGDAD, September 25, 1917.

  I'm writing this week because I'm going to Samarra for a day or two. It will be very nice and I think it will do me good for I've not been very flourishing this last month since I came out of hospital and it will be a pleasant change of air and scene. I haven't stirred out of Bagdad since I got here in April. But its amazing how unmonotonous it has been. ...

  To think that I've been nearly two years without a maid! but I'm exceedingly tidy, thanks to your good supply of clothes. Oh would you please send me a pair of plain tortoiseshell combs. There's a lizard walking about my walk and catching, I suppose, sand flies. God prolong its existence!

  To H.B. and F.B.

  BAGDAD, October 12, 1917.

  I'm better and going to-morrow to the Convalescent Hospital, a mile down stream from Bagdad...

  Maurice doesn't sound very flourishing, which worries me. I do hope he'll come back to R'ton now to set about his own work. Its very difficult not to feel a growing depression. Perhaps I'm rather influenced by being so slack still and certainly the last two months have been horrid. However I expect the winter will set me right and I shan't stay here all through next summer, war or no war. It wouldn't be profitable. -

  I can match you at food — we've had no butter all the summer and when we have it its turned and I would rather be without it. I've forgotten what potatoes taste like — the meat is almost too tough to eat., chickens ditto milk turned — how sick one gets of it! Bread I never eat what one gets is fairly good, quite good indeed, but that doesn't affect me — much. Its all right when one's well, but when one's feeling rather a poor thing one does hate it all.

  Well, — well — I daresay I'll write from Samarra in a different key.

  To H.B. and F.B.

  OCTOBER 18th, 1917.

  Yesterday came your telegram through Admiral Hall enquiring after my health. I'm afraid you will be rather agitated when you come to hear that I've been ill again which I haven't told you in my present reply. But I'm now very nearly well of my fever which I don't suppose I should have had if I hadn't been rather run down before. I've been for the last 6 days at the Convalescent Hospital, a delicious place on the river about 2 miles below Bagdad. They have taken immense care of me and I've got well with great rapidity. In 3 days' time I'm going up to Samarra for a week to stay with Gen. Cobbe. I hope to return in far more flourishing health than I've been since August and since the cold weather is now definitely beginning and the winter climate is delicious I'm as well here as anywhere. Whatever happens I shall not stay here all through next hot weather. I spend my days very peacefully, breakfasting in bed, reading and doing a little work afterwards. I spent this morning in Bagdad getting warmer clothes from my house and doing various odd jobs. The mail had just come in. Bless you both. I can't tell you what it is to have your love and sympathy always with me...

  I might be able to see Mrs. Taggart's grandson if he's at Bagdad. I'll try anyhow.

  [Mrs. Taggart was a woman at the Clarence ironworks, a very old friend.]

  It's bad hearing that there's no more parcel post to Mesop. You don't seem to be aware — indeed I only knew of it by letters of congratulation received this mail from Sir Reginald Wingate and others — that I'm a C.B.E. I am, however. Its rather absurd...

  I have a delightful letter from Beatrice Chamberlain which I really must answer, but time is too short this week.

  To H.
B.

  BAGDAD, October 18th, 1917.

  You know your friendship is more to me than anything. What a thing it is to be able to talk of friendship with one's parents. Those who haven't got it don't know what it means.

  I'm much better. Even after my racketty morning at Bagdad I don't feel a bit tired, and I've been writing letters all this afternoon. But oh, I do long to be back at work! However, I'll be patient this time and take the Samarra time to get really well in.

  To F.B.

  BAGDAD, October 26th, 1917

  Thank you for your congratulations — I don't really care a button about these things. As for Samarra, I've no luck with it, for just as I was starting — actually stepping into the launch to go and dine — with General Lubbock on my way to the station, came a telegram from General Cobbe putting me off. Turks had heaved into sight and there was a possibility of active operations. They've since heaved out of it again, and I may after all go up presently, but I've ceased to believe it. I'm very much enjoying being back in the office though I'm not much more than a half timer as yet. Still I'm getting better every day. The weather is delicious but it is extraordinary how one feels the cold. My room at the office is now under 70, but after sunset I sit wrapped up in a thick coat and add to it a woollen comforter to walk home in. It's a way the human frame has of showing resentment for having been called upon to endure a temperature of 122. I find that this is the season for gardening operations; I've some vegetables, peas, lettuce, onions and a local sort of mustard and cress — the latter I've not only sown but eaten. And in order not to be too utilitarian, I've bought 7 Pots of geraniums and 4 of carnations besides sowing carnations and eschscholtzia. I wish I had snapdragon seeds. A clump of chrysanthemums is coming into bloom, and my rose trees are flowering. Everything comes to life when the summer is over, even the washed out European. And one forgets at once how infernal it was. I hope my bijou residence won't prove too damp in winter; it's so nice being quite away by oneself. Anyhow it's particularly pleasant now.