We left camp early again this morning, & were taken to the drome. People taking their fruit to the market - on their heads & on trucks, a busy scene all along the road.
Again we left earth, and flew away from this pleasant spot by the sea, into the desert. Was there no end to this waste? Mountains, dried up rivers and lakes an a few villages that looked deserted, passed slowly beneath us - then perhaps a road with a few vehicles on. What did their drivers think? What must their barren sun scorched high peaked mountains have made them felt like?
Our next stopping place was surrounded by palms - and to rest one's eyes upon them again was grand. We arrived to find that this camp was beautifully laid out - typical of the Italian love for beauty. We were to spend the night under canvas but we had camp beds to sleep on. The food was good, and the tea was poured out to us by an Italian prisoner. He was young, pleasant, with a smile for everyone. Could we have been fighting young men like this one? War seems so mad and futile, people whom we might have befriended became our deadly enemies simply because the ruling powers of the countries must be at a state of war. What had he done to make our men want to kill him, what had we done to make him want to kill us! Nothing; but we are told we must fight. That is war.
After tiffin (mid-day meal), we had a shower, and another pleasant Italian pumped the water for us. He too, made a better friend than an enemy.
At this camp I first saw an oxen cast. Here are slow beasts that amble along however much the driver might shout at them. I believe that most of the shouting was done to keep himself company, & to let the beasts know that he was still there, otherwise they would probably lie down in the shade of the first tree they came to.
We spent the evening in the mess. No beer was obtainable, but this did not worry a teetotal. With plenty of lime & water, I was very content. The food had been good - and plentiful, & I felt grand. I slept well that night.
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