River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1918-07-25

be. InlS sort OF CnlQg WOulu De 0uIIEG~
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 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 promfscuous
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 thrOng strides
a 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
there, khaki-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 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-endina
stream. Leaving the English quay, we
come to 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, fol
wherever the English soldier goes he
dearly loves to christen places after
familiar spots in the home country. II
may be a communication trench or II
may be q road or street, it is all one to
him and a name it has. In the middle
of all this is tall khaki-clad military
policeman. With a wave of his arm
he holds up the stream of traffic to all
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 few lorries and a swarm of noisy
Orientals after the traffic in Piccadilly
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 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. a 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 wanderer in
| the East.