Sunday 23 June 1918
It’s not your turn for a letter & this isn’t a letter at all at all – but I’m just posting a scrap with the date to show you that I’m still OK, bonzar, fit & well. I saw the enclosed article in a paper – & though that possible the information there contained might not have met your hye [?] & its more or less interesting : so it’s going all the way back again.
I see that the worthy writer says the ‘Dome of the Rock’ is the correct name of the place commonly known as the Mosque of Omar. Well I’m not prepared to argue the point with him, but it’s the first time ever I’ve heard it so called. I’ve seen those numerous tomb stones & some of those underground tanks in which the water is stored – & we have watered our neddies at Solomon’s Pools many a time as I think I’ve told you.
Some of our chaps are changing over tonight & going down to the horses – my slumbering friend Wm Lonsdale-Hughes is going down & Mitch will be up tonight – I’m lucky enough to be left up here a bit longer away from the dust etc. I posted a letter to Lic a couple of days ago – no news about these days.
Seems a long empty Sunday today somehow – it shouldn’t be so cos every day is much as another here. But you can’t help remembering it is Sunday sometimes. I saw our useless lump of a parson on his back in his tent this morning: he evidently is still there – if only we had a decent man here we might enjoy a bit of a talk from him this evening – but this article – ach! What he ever came to the war for I can’t think unless he reckoned on the station of Officer being a guarantee of an easy job – no risks – cos he was frightened to stay & help look for & bury a chap not many miles from here – nicked off when Jacko mentioned that he had seen the search party – which of course found the man – but by that time the parson was ‘mafish’ [gone] having imsheed [disappeared] at the iggery [hurry up] so to speak.
Also I don’t like the colour of the bottles he keeps in his tent: they can’t all be for medicinal purposes. I don’t know what the crawling humbug belongs to at home but I never want to see him there or anywhere else.
After which easing of my mind I’ll have tea – I hear ‘Dad’, as we call our head cook, calling ‘come on for your lime juice’ which denotes bacon, porridge, stew, boiled meat & veggies – or tea & tea – whatever is on.
So Hooray – we’ve got a tin of apricots so will do all right without any ‘tonic’ such as some people need.