It was in August, 1907, one Tuesday morning, that I landed from a P. & O. steamer at Gibraltar. I had not been there before but I knew what to expect. From a distance of many miles we had seen the Rock towering above the town and dwarfing the big, smoking men-of-war that lay at anchor at its base. Ashore was to be seen ‘Tommy Atkins,’ just as one sees him in England, walking round with a little cane or standing stiff with bayonet fixed before a tall kennel, beside him, as if for protection, a ‘Bobbie.’ The Englishman is everywhere in evidence, always to be recognised, if not otherwise, by his stride--which no one native to these parts could imitate. The Spaniard of the Rock (whom the British…
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