Ribbit! Ribbit!

When I discovered that today is World Frog Day, I doubted that I could find any frogs with a Salonika connection. Then a memory stirred of a story read in The Mosquito – the journal of the Salonika Reunion Association – but would I find it again … ?

Well, yes I did! It seemed worth remembering, so I had noted the reference and here it is from issue 28 of December 1934 (p89), entitled: A Matter of Taste.

In the spring of 1918, while pursuing my lawful occasions in the cool depths of a bush-filled and unfrequented ravine, I met two men of the P.B.I. who had laid aside their war equipment for a time and were following a peaceful occupation. Their rather queer appearance and actions interested me. They had their trousers rolled up to their knees and their bare feet thrust into their army boots. They carried long switches cut from a bush, and as they splashed along in the shallow water they struck right and left at all the good sized frogs they came across, and these they carefully deposited in sandbags carried over their shoulders. This, I thought, must be a new form of sport or a fresh manifestation of Balkan Tap. On claiming their acquaintance, however, they explained it was neither, and gave me the most prosaic reason for their seeming folly.

It appeared that at one time their battalion had as neighbours a battalion of Frenchmen, and these epicures had introduced my new friends to the gastronomic delight of friend frogs’ legs. Operations were suspended while I listened to praise of the dish, and received instruction in its preparation. My friends were also kind enough to invite me along to their quarters later in the evening to sample their cooking.

I have no reason to suppose that friend frogs’ legs are not all that was claimed for them, and they certainly provided a ready means of augmenting or varying the official diet, since this sort of ‘game’ was plentiful. It is all a question of taste. All the same, I am glad the Q.M.G. did not find it necessary to have an issue of frogs’ legs “in lieu” of our usual rations.

I made my excuses and declined the invitation, with thanks. Afterwards I sometimes wondered if I had done right. Perhaps if I had – but no, no – my “innards” rebel. Pass the Bully, please!

Y. V. Sigs.

Army Service Corps cooks in an improvised cookhouse in Salonika; no sign of any frogs’ legs, unless they’re already in the camp kettles! From the collection of Private J. A. Gilchrist of 244 Company, ASC.