12,000 Miles by Train

Evening Star, Issue 19616, 23 July 1927, Page 13

12,000 Miles by Train

Strange Companions German Aviators For Japan Grass-Widows For Hankow [The Diary of a Journey from London to Australia via Russia and China, by J. G. Paton.— Copyright.] No. 12. SVERDLOVSK-ON THE TRANSSIBERIAN EXRESS. Wo had not spoken until this morning. His nationality I knew to be German, but at breakfast I also discovered that ho spoke English iluently. During the war lie fought on many fronts. At present he is one of the half-dozen Germans journeying to Japan to instruct in aviation. What first mado mo notice him particularly was a simple, yet horrible, thing. I asked him the time—because in the express one must put one’s watch on almost every night.

He took out a solid-looking silver watch, an’swered me, and then as he was putting it back in his pocket glanced idly at the smooth-worn back and smiled. “ English, aren’t you?” he said. “ Australian,” 1 replied. “ Well, the war’s been over a few years, but have a look at that.” He passed me the watch with the back facing me. Immediately I saw the big stamped letters, still clear, although the silver around was dull and scratched. “‘W.D.’—don’t you recognise it?” At first I didn’t, and then it dawned on rnc—“War Department.” I laughed. So did he. And then—- “ Funny now, isn’t it?” ho said. “ Forget what poor beggar I grabbed it off. He was dead, anyway. Might have been an Australian, for all I remember. Funny now, but the ivar’s nearly forgotten. Still, might have been your best friend, or your brother. It keeps splendid time, too.” WAR SOUVENIRS. After that he passed mo the butter and we chatted about other things. But it makes one think—here is the trans-Siberian express, so far away ■ from everything, and suddenly a German trophy taken from the dead body of a British soldier. I have seen so many Similar trophies in Australia taken from the dead bodies of German soldiers —perhaps his brother or best friend—that in justice I could only smile and grin, especially as I knew his laughter wasn’t meant as mockery. And such is one of my travelling companions. His compatriots, who are going with him to Japan to teach aviation, are a mixed bunch. A couple of mere boys, fair-headed and typical flying men. A big, solid, genial instructor of the Fritz type, and a lean man who could be taken for an Englishman except for his tan boots and plus fours. They come to our carriage and we go to theirs, and swap tales of different countries and play bridge, although when my friend of the War Depart-ment-watch is absent, it is necessary that we draw our bids on paper until we learn each other’s equivalent for spades and hearts and clubs and diamonds. IN SIBERIA. In the second class, which is oidy separated by a door, and has the same privileges as the first, except that the cabins are smaller, is another English-

man, who, like my cabin mate, is from Shanghai. Sharing his cabin is an American, and if there is much about Russia that that man doesn’t know I would bo content to leave it to others to discover. Ho was a rich mine owner in the heart of Siberia before the revolution. He lost his money, and is just getting back again, because the Soviet—one is sorry to disappoint our Australian Utopians, but there it is—because the Soviet has found that it is more profitable to permit him to lease his own mine and make it work instead of allowing it to lie idle. He goes with us as far as Irkutz; there ho superintends the checking and loading of some new American machinery, and then sets out on a 1,200-mi lo sleigh ride to what will be his homo for the next couple of years. His talcs, told quietly but graphically, could entertain one for more than tho short week ho will be with ns. Just another of tho odd companions that make up our moving world. GERMAN GIRLS. Then, again, in the next compartment to mine is a German woman, with two small daughters. These girls are eight and eleven. With them is a buxom young German woman. They are travelling to Hankow—the mother to join her husband, the other to meet and marry her fiance. Wo wonder what Hankow will bo like by the time newspapers reach us again, and whether the husband will be alive or the fiance is in a position to give his future wife a home that has not been looted. And in the meantime we play dominoes together, and forget that China has its troubles,< just the other side of the horizon that disappears into the long, long waste of Siberian snow. A few Japanese, who never mix with tho rest of the trqin, but sit and ’play cards or read all day, make up the remainder of our passengers, except for the third class, which is. filled wdth peasants travelling from Moscow to their wintry homes, and (literally scores of Chinese, going where heaven only knows, and why, perhaps not even they themselves understand. Everyone eats together, if they wish. —The German aviators may sit at tho same table as the • unkempt Russian peasants, and tho Chinese take their soups from tho same touree as the Britisher. As a matter of fact, however, the third class generally provides its own food.