CHAPTER III 



GENERAL SIR JOCELYN WODEHOUSE BECOMES MY 

 HOST AT MURREE 



OUR road becomes gradually steeper and steeper as 

 we get nearer to the mountains. The poor horses 

 are driven at a hard gallop, and only now and then 

 does their tormentor stop to breathe them. 



It is a relief to feel it growing cooler, for even now, 

 after a drive of eight hours, we have reached a height 

 of 6000 feet. Here lies Murree, the big hill-station 

 for the British troops. 



All branches of the service on the north-west 

 boundary are gathered together here in the hot 

 season to spend a most peaceful time. Their 

 weapons are balls and clubs ! The hottest of 

 conflicts take place on the green lawns and race- 

 courses, on foot, on horseback, with arms, legs, 

 and lungs. Balls of all sorts, from the smallest 

 to the largest, fly through the air, and he who 

 does not himself throw, hit, chuck, kick, knock, 

 fling, or catch, looks on all the more eagerly for 

 his inactivity. 



