from their liberation from Turkish rule must have been
exceedingly apparent.

The situation in Palestine differed in many ways from that in Mesopotamia,
but in none more markedly than in the benefits derived from the
propinquity of Egypt. Occasional leaves were granted to Cairo and
Alexandria and they afforded the relaxation of a complete change of
surroundings. I have never seen Cairo gayer. Shepherd's Hotel was open and
crowded--and the dances as pleasant as any that could be given in London.
The beaches at Ramleh, near Alexandria, were bright with crowds of
bathers, and the change afforded the "men from up the line" must have
proved of inestimable value in keeping the army contented. There were
beaches especially reserved for non-commissioned officers and others for
the privates--while in Cairo sightseeing tours were made to the pyramids
and what the guide-books describe as "other points of interest."

When I left Mesopotamia I made up my mind that there was one man in
Palestine whom I would use every effort to see if I were held over waiting
for a sailing. This man was Major A.B. Paterson, known to every Australian
as "Banjo" Paterson. His two most widely read books are _The Man from
Snowy River_ and _Rio Grande's Last Race_; both had been for years
companions of the entire family at home and sources for daily quotations,
so I had always hoped to some day meet their author. I knew that he had
fought in the South African War, and I heard that he was with the
Australian forces in Palestine. As soon as I landed I asked every
Australian officer that I met where Major Paterson was, for locating an
individual member of an expeditionary force, no matter how well known he
may be, is not always easy. Every one knew him. I remember well when I
inquired at the Australian headquarters in Cairo how the man I asked
turned to a comrade and said: "Say, where's 'Banjo' now? He's at Moascar,
isn't he?" Whether they had ever met him personally or not he was "Banjo"
to one and all.

On my return to Alexandria I stopped at Moascar, which was the main depot
of the Australian Remount Service, and there I found him. He is a man of
about sixty, with long mustaches and strong aquiline features--very like
the type of American plainsman that Frederic Remington so well portrayed.
He has lived everything that he has written. At different periods of his
life he has dived for pearls in the islands, herded sheep, broken broncos,
and known every