SERBIAN AFFAIR

Evening Post, Volume CXVI, Issue 42, 18 August 1933, Page 7

SERBIAN AFFAIR

WINNING AN ISLAND'

LIFE NEAR A FAR FRONTIER

FOEGOTTEN WAR

Some people declare that village life is dull. They would change their minds rapidly if they came to the small hamlet on the banks of the Drina in which I have been staying, says a writer in tho "Manchester Guardian." Across the river lies Bosnia, where they pay no tax on tobacco. We are in Old Serbia, so wo pay! The village recks of tobacco smoke, but "there is very little demand for tobacco," says tho village storekeeper. Yesterday wo Avon an island for Serbia. Today wo arc celebrating the victory by a holiday. According to the postman, who, of course, reads all our postcards and comments freely on them, we are entitled to two hundred holidays every year if only wo obeyed the Serbian Church calendar." But this is how we won the island. All the village grandees repaired to the river, where bouts were in waiting. I was invited as a guest and as a witness to see. that fair play was observed. We entered the boat and were rowed to the island in midstream. A similar fleet came from Bosnia. Solemnly we measured the distance from Bosnia to the island, and that from the island to Serbia. Tho spring floods had been kind to Serbia. We had gained four metres of mud and so reduced our distance from the island. Bosnia, it appeared, had lost some mud, and, consequently, tho island, which had been in her keeping for the last twelve months. Of course we invited the losers to the celebration, and they, of course, accepted the invitation, as tho Serbs had douo as losers tho year before. TOO EXPENSIVE. Not many of the peasants from this area migrate to Belgrade. They consider that life in that city is far too expensive for an honest man. At home in the village their wants are few, and it is easy to become affluent if one uses one's wits and one's hands. Besides, a man cannot control his wife in a city, Stefan told me. I. have seen what Stefan means by controlling his wife. She must walk two yards behind him as he comes from home to the cafe; sho must carry his baggage; she must stand until he has greeted all his friends and wait till he has been served with his glass of "rakija" before she sits down at the table to.. consume a cup of ■ Turkish coffee. I have seen her hoist tho pig' he bought on to her shoulders and march back homo with it. I can beliovo that it would bo difficult for him to control his wifo in Belgrade. Last week we had a motor race in the village. More precisely, we took part in the Sarajevo-Belgrade motor race. Wo were on the direct line of route. The first car was duo to pass us at 10 o'clock. We were ready at nine, arid steadily drank cup after cup of coffee until twelve. Not wishing to lose'our point of vantage at the cafe, we ordered lunch, and then drank coffee until throe-thirty, when tho first car arrived. It was in difficulties. Our good Vclja, the blacksmith, was ready with hammer and chisel. He worked, hard. The second car, and tho third, and the seventh crawled towards Belgrade. Then he declared that the car was ready for the road. jSo doubt tho driver eventually reached his destination and replenished his vocabulary. Jlay his words bring us better roads. NOT RELIGIOUS. The Serbian peasant, judging him from this village, cares little for religion. He goes to church if there happens to be one near at hand. It is an excuse for a gossip, and it is useful to- be able to say "I am an orthodox believer" when there is to be a distribution of Government benefits or jobs. Tho peasant docs not object to the priest himself; on the contrary, he pays twopence a year to the Parish Council for the maintenance of a Minister of the Faith, and ho takes full advantage of his services when he is born or marries or dies. In winter the priest is a social asset to the*village; for he can play cards, sing, tell tales, and will rarely refuse to test the inside of a bottle of' fiery spirit when asked to do so. . This was a devastated area in 1918. The only sign we can see now of tho war is a 'monument on the mountain top to the right of us. Under it lie 70,000 dead Serbians and Austrians.' Young Ivan with a gun over his shoulder called at my house this morninsf on his way up the mountain. He was in search of the wolf that has been devouring local sheep. The Vasha—a, country fair—is taking place this week. Tor months the local committee has spent weary hours listening to requests for stands and booths. The funds thus collected go towards the upkeep of the roads. A weekly fair would not suffice to make them first-class ones! i COLOUR OF LIFE. We have brass bands, string bands, fiddlers, gusla players, and organs, each producing its' own melody in defiance of its neighbour. There are roasted pig, broiled sheep, rakija, and Turkish coffee to sustain us when we are weary of dancing—we all dance at some part of the day at tho Vasha. Wo eat our food under the shade of the trees that border tho main road. Merry-go-rounds, lotteries, shooting ranges tempt •. the venturesome. Oxen at 10,000 dinars a pair are offered to the serious-minded; and the thrifty housewife can bargain ■ for her winter fuel or examine cotton thread from Lancashire which she will use to niako tho household sheets when the weather is too cold for outdoor occupations. A bundle of rags that lay at my feet a moment ago uncurled slowly. Two sloe-black eyes gazed into mine and a grimy hand slipped out from the filthiest part of the bundle. In the eyes there lurked mystery and cunning i and the fullest joy of living. I slipped a dinar into the hand, and the gipsy woman chuckled as she darted off to try the same trick on another unsus- \ pecting stranger. Two small boys stopped mo as I turned homewards. They offered me cherries at half the market price. The current price in the village is pure robbery, but the price I was offered needed a robbery to account for it. "Truly Methuselah was a happy man to live so long in tho country," murmured a wizened old peasant of nine and ninety summers as he sipped slowly the glass of burning plum brandy I offered to him. In this village lam inclined to agree with him. |