Western Mail, Thursday 21 September 1933, page 2
A SNIFF OF CAIRO.
Before the Gallipoli stoush in '15, three of us thought we'd like to wander through the native quarter of Cairo. Turning into a long, narrow and thickly populated street, we hadn't gone far when we found our healthy Australian stomachs were being severely taxed by the variety of odours of native foods and worse.
"Let's get out of this," said Peter, and we gripped our nostrils and hastened on in the hope of coming to a cross street. We walked and walked and no corner appeared. It was quite half an hour before we finally escaped into the fresh air all in agreement that it was the longest lane without a turning we'd ever struck.
In recounting the experience during a spell of trench duty at Anzac. Peter confided that he had been a sufferer from nasal catarrh for many years, and as a rule could smell nothing. "But." he assured us in the digger tongue, "that day in Cairo I could smell everything.
FGH, Three Springs.