The Men

The Men

Letter From Salonica

The Salonika campaign was fought in northern Greece, Serbia and Albania between 1915-1918 and some of our High School past pupils were there. One very descriptive account of 'Salonique', written by L. H. WILLDRIDGE, was sent home and published in the school newsletter, 'The Erasmian', which is still published annually today.


The Erasmian June 1918

A Letter from Salonica,

YESTERDAY, Sunday, I and a chap called Cowley both 'got a pass for Salonique. About 1 o'clock we set off and got a lift on a lorry to the town. Well, believe me, it was like walking into the Arabian nights The colours, shouting, yelling, buying and selling, people of every nationality under the sun, pushing and shoving about, cafés, booths, dancing halls, parties of Serbs wandering about the streets playing violins, and singing wonderful wild kind of music; little Turk boys in all sorts of dirty coloured clothes, jabbering and fighting each other to clean our boots; the stalls in the bazaars selling silks of every kind, and all sorts of things, and the continuous droning cry of oriental voices everywhere!

Well, we made our way through the crowds to the White Tower, which is the fashionable quarter, and went into the Hotel Rome, a very big and grand place. We got a window-seat overlooking the sea, and had Italian beer and smoked—the French and Italian women never wear hats—and all sorts of people were dining. After a while we worked our way everywhere we could find. The whole thing is beyond description ! But Hichens' book, and Kismet, and the Arabian Nights describe the scenes in an oriental town, and you have read them, so you know what I mean.

We went into weird, half-lit cafés, where they were playing music of haunting, wild strains, and on a sort, of platform a girl was dancing. At little tables groups of soldiers of nearly all countries were eating and drinking—the air vas full of cooking and smoking—great bearded Russians, fine-looking but wild Serbs, little shifty-eyed men that looked like Chinese, great negroes (French colonies), and all sorts.

We had all kinds of weird things to eat and drink; and while you sit at the table all kinds of beggars, in most wonderful clothes, come whining for alms, a, yellow, dirty hand thrust out for money. All sorts of music-noises and drums beating; donkey and huge bullock-waggons, the oxens' head and necks decorated with tassels, beads, and coins; Greek priests and some wedding parties. What a make-up. It made your head go round and round. I had my photo (enclosed) taken in a street up against the wall, an admiring crowd of highly-coloured ruffians looking on. In the bazaars if you as much as looked at anything the sellers would run after you trailing huge silk shawls, oranges, wine, etc., and cling to you and shout and yell and dance about; you'd think you were never going to get away.

Turkish women with little jackets of red and black, with gold and silver embroidery and yellow or white trousers, bare ankles and feet, just a kind of sandal, and a veil, and a sort of necklace of coins on their foreheads, and very dark eyes peeping at you; bright eyes and glimpses of visions through lattice windows in houses everywhere, and voices in every kind of broken English inviting you to come inside (! ?) Hawkers selling sweetmeats, in trays on their heads, selling their ware; and an undergrowth of children running about under your feet everywhere.

But nothing I can say would give you an idea of it all. Well, about 7 o'clock we took the road for Dudular and the camp, and got back soon after 8, feeling very tired, but pleased. And such was my day in Salonique.
L. H. WILLDRIDGE.
31/12/'17

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