Shattered life

Dragon, 1 December 1942, Page 14

Shattered life

Drifting over the plains and mountains to our Camp came alluring stories of beautiful sirens who were said to frequent a somewhat mysterious place they called The Shatter. These sirens (so the rumour said), preyed on the feelings and desires of men, and they were stated to show a preference for soldiers and had no prejudice against those from our Brigade.

Soldiers as a class seldom flee from temptation in any form and the temptations that rumour ascribed fo The Shatter possessed no terrors for them, especially those who had braved the blandishments of Tiger Lil and Tarzan, and other notables of Cairo. The writer being one of those realists who has a penchant for investigation of such places, joined a specially conducted weekend trip. The very atmosphere of the petrol buggy in which this party was conveyed showed that all were making the long arduous trip full of expectation. They had all apparently heard of the temptations to which they were likely to be subjected, but all were feeling that their powers of resistance were not likely to prove strong.

The seats of the petrol buggy could have been more liberally padded and the writer thanks the dieties that his posterior was better covered than those of many others. However, expectation is a great thing—many say it is the greatest—and after four hours of particularly slow travelling, we at last arrived. The prospect was pleasing. The show was palatial, and the Eves were present, though not in large numbers as rumour had proclaimed. The soldiers lost no time in invading bedrooms, and razors and hair pomade were soon in free use. Looking their best the soldiers were soon all down for dinner with their resolutions to resist the sirens still further weakening.

The sirens were gracious, they displayed a willingness to dance after dinner, they were not averse to partake of our liquid refreshment, but the willingness to tempt the soldiers seemed to be lacking. That willingness was not a prevalent desire The soldiers, the long, the short and the tall, kept flitting from flower to flower. Their hopes, once high, began to slide like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland . . . Gradually faded away.

As the evening wore on the whole scene rather brought back memories of the old rake in Oscar Wildes "Women of no Importance," who, when asked whether there were any virtuous women in society, replied with a deep sigh, "Yes, unfortunately, far too many."