CHAPTER III
MALTA: THE NAME I WAS TO HEAR THROUGHOUT ANATOLIA
Our first stopping-place was Malta, the name I was
destined to hear from one end of Anatolia to the
other.
Was it not of Malta that Angora was born; and since "the trouble" in the East, Malta has been turned into a universal dumping-ground for officers' wives and refugees. Whenever M. Kemal Pasha lifts his little finger, or Rauf Bey opens his mouth, the women, and children are bundled off to Malta. They return, indeed, on any excuse, at the first opportunity (as why should they not?), until a panic-stricken Government again sends them to exile. One lady with us had done the trip in this way four times!
Constantinople, without our women, makes one wonder if it were so wise as it appears, thus to play for safety! After all, cannot the Englishwoman endure what the Russian, Greek and Armenian are left to put up with? If the husband is in danger, should not his wife be with him? "We want to 'protect' our women," I had been told, and there is no finer ideal than chivalry. But, after Constantinople, I would suggest that we women also "want to protect our men!"
Softening, perhaps, the frankness for which my "French" education has been so often held responsible, I would only say: "There are alluring distractions!"
And in marriage I pin my faith upon the Italian proverb: "Keep to the women and cows of your own country."
