Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1918-07-26

be. This sort of thing would be entire
ly out of place in a western land.
Should we attempt it, our fellow men
would resent it, and we should become
| exceedingly unpopular. All this may
| seem rather a small matter to dwell
upon; but it is really one of those Pc
culiarities which make a great impress
sion on the new arrival In course of
time we grow accustomed to it, and
usually find ourselves respecting the
law of the East. Later on we, too,
will indulge in the same promiscuous
habits of conversation.
People of Many Races.
AS we pass from the landing stage
on our road to the base camps it, is
borne home to US that the inhabitants
are of many and varied races, and if
further proof were wanting the clamOr
Of many tongues would at once con-
firm it. Bearded, sun-tanned fishermen,
fine fellows, who would add luster to
any stage production of "Sinbad,"
spruce, well-dressed clerks and mer-
chants and hosts of ragged, monde
script rascalS mingle together on all
sides. Turkish women with yashmak
and quaint trOuserings, all complete,
move side by side with Greek ladies,
arrayed in the very latest vogue, and
needless of the passing threng strides
tall Greek priest umbrella in hand
with his flowing black robes and his
ample locks crowned by the quaint
headdress of his creed-nOt unlike an
inverted tall hat.
Crowds of soldiers of course are
,Cere, lshaki-clad English and Serbs,
Frenchmen, prominent in their new
blue uniforms, sage-cOated Italians and
Russians in their tightly-belted blouse
tunics. Add to all this motley crowd
swarms of partially clad children,
whose never ceasing' cry is penny,
Johnny" and you have some idea of
what a Saloniki crowd is like. Include
the noise, smell and indescribable dirt
and you have Saloniki complete.
Familiar Traffic Officer.
The roadway is packed with traffic,
too. Slow moving bullock carts hold
up the flying motor lorries and the
horse and mule transport of the allies
comes and goes in a never-ending
|. stream. Leaving the English quay, we
come to a large open space, the juno
ton of four of the principal thorough
fares, and here the press is worse than
ever. This is Piccadilly circus, for
wherever the English soldier goes he
! dearly loves to christen places after
| familiar spots in the home country. 1t
may be a communication trench or it
may be a road or street, it is all one to
| him and a name it has. In the middle
| of all this is a tall khaki-clad military
policeman. With q wave of his arm
| he holds up the stream of traffic to al
| low our column to pass. There is
| something very familiar in that majes-
| tic action, it is done so naturally, there
| is no shadow of doubt in his express
sion as to the signal being instantly
| obeyed. Our soldier policeman is in
| his element, his present job is not new,
! it is child's play for him, this handling
! of a few lorrieS and swarm of noisy
| Orientals after the traffic in Piccadiliy
F.! over the sea-or it may have been
the Marble arch-for his name and
number will be found in the roll of
honor of the London police force. He
| has done a bit of soldering since he
left England and now he is once again
the guardian of the public, power to
| be reckoned with.
We gladly received him as an old
| friend, link with home, and later we
appreciate his full worth when, as a
| wanderer on pass, we inquire the way
| to the Bank of Athens or the field cash
Ter. His sphere of usefulness does not
| end there, for he it is who knows
when and where the "busses" go, for
the motor lorry is your only means of
transport to and from the town. He
has a paragraph all to himself here
and he deserves it, for he is one Of the
happy recollections of a wanderer in
the East.