old man in Mesopotamia and caused him to tremble with wrath.
Could the great Sahib, who was his father and mother, write to the
Viceroy of India and demand justice? To which the great Sahib in
question, after considering the matter gravely, replied, "Write to the
pig who is the son of a pig and say to him that unless he marries thy
daughter before two moons have passed then will the Viceroy himself be
informed by a telegram which I myself will send, and justice shall be
served out in this evil matter." The joy of the old man was great and he
hastened away to get the letter written. Next day he was clattering his
tins and brushes with a devotion to duty that was as worthy of a medal
as many things in the war. I was told the marriage was now certain to
come off. Still, it seems a bad beginning to matrimony, and if a man is
a pig, and the son of a pig, his children will presumably also be pigs.

There was an Arab theatre at Amara, and in September they produced a
play, in Arabic. It was based on a topical incident. No Arab was allowed
to go into camps, hospitals and so on, without a pass, and this was
amazing to the Oriental mind. The scene was a bare stage, lit by flares,
and an audience of bearded Arabs, Arab police and a few British officers
in the front row. On the stage sat a fat woman mournfully shaking a
tambourine, and between whiles going to sleep. Up the middle centre lay
a fat man, groaning. It was evident that he was playing a sick part.
Beside him lamented his wife, a dancing girl, squat-nosed and heavy
hipped. The low comedian entered. It is not in the interests of the
public to describe him too closely. Eventually he assumed the part of
physician. His treatment of the patient followed the plan of exorcising
a devil. He hit and kicked him, spat on him and jumped on him. There was
no improvement and the man died. The problem was now how to bury him.
The low comedian said he would attend to that and heaved the fat man on
his shoulders and went off to the cemetery. After an interminable pause
he reappeared still carrying the corpse. He dumped it on the ground and
made a gesture of despair. "It is no good," he said. "I cannot bury him.
I haven't got a pass!" This brought the house down and the fat woman
woke up and applied herself vigorously to the tambourine. At the theatre
at Basra, when European films were shown, the Arabs always laughed very
much at the amount of kissing that white folk indulged in. It seemed