We remember the Long Valley as an Arcadian dell.

Veterans of the Soudan recall the black sand-storms with regretful sighs.

The thin, red dust comes everywhere, and never stops.

It blinds your eyes, it stops your nose, it scorches your throat till the invariable shilling for a little glass of any liquid seems cheap as dirt.

It turns the whitest shirt brown in half an hour, it creeps into the works of your watch and your bowels.