Joyce's War (6 page)

In the afternoon Mahomet collected us and we set off in a taxi to visit the mosque of Hassan. We walked under the pulpit and, turning to Mecca, made a wish, this being the correct thing to do. It was a fine mosque, lofty and austere and dignified, with lovely mosaics on the walls. Then we went to the citadel, which is a fortress, to the Alabaster mosque. Surely this is the most lovely church I have ever seen – thick red Persian carpets on the floor, solid carved alabaster columns and hundreds of crystal spheres hanging from the roof. How entrancing it must have looked when the lights were lit; the sun shining in from the western windows made the crystal chandeliers miracles of beauty, and all the colours of the rainbow. There were two pulpits, one built with the mosque 120 years ago, and the other opened only a week ago by King Farouk. It was perfect, in a modern style, with gates of solid gold in an intricate pattern of leaves. All was peace and light there and we were loath to leave and go out into the hot sun again.

But we piled into the taxi once more and made for the pyramids. I have always wanted to go to the pyramids and it seemed strangely familiar to stand under their shadow in reality. The Great Pyramid took 30 years to build, ten years to quarry the stone, ten to lay the foundations and ten to finish it. There is no cement used anywhere to hold the stone together, and the men were changed every three months. We had a camel ride too, three of us, and had our photographs taken at the top with the pyramids behind us.

We went back to the hotel later for dinner but the night was yet young and at 8.30 we set off once again, two taxis this time, with Mahomet as our guiding star as before. The idea was to see the pyramids by moonlight with the dervishes and the feasting and carousing which went on all night, the occasion being a sort of thanksgiving for the cotton crop. It appeared that after the crop was harvested, all the eligible young men of the village decide to get married, and did so forthwith on the one night around much jollification and very much noise. We marshalled camels once again and a long string of us rode in the moonlight, weaving in and around the houses, watching the dervishes wailing and chanting from the Koran, small groups drinking tea, the thick sweet tea with lemon that we had drunk in the afternoon at Mahomet’s house, or tiny dolls’ cups of Turkish coffee.

We visited the house of one bride, a young, frightened, rather lovely girl, sitting on the roof top with her maids and her family and as many others as could squeeze in. She was awaiting the arrival of the groom, who had probably only seen her twice in his life before, and everyone was standing or sitting or dancing. He came then, the young groom, flying up the steps in his colourful robes and into the room where the young bride had been hurriedly conducted. But in a moment or two he was out again, flourishing her handkerchief high over his head in triumph, and was off to join his friends. Apparently he came to claim her permanently some time later. We had been to the houses of the bride and her bridegroom in the afternoon, and had shaken hands with them and wished them luck. As we arrived at the house of the bridegroom, the band, which was evidently hired to play to the company, somewhat strangely switched to ‘God save the King’,
which we did recognise, fortunately, and we were quite touched. We went at length to Mahomet Ali’s house again, to drink the sweet lemon tea and had our fortunes read in the sand – under the moonlight. We were tired but entirely happy as we climbed into the taxi and set off for the hotel, arriving somewhere between 1 and 2am.

Friday, September 20th 1940

We had a quiet day, much needed, and at night there was a dance given by the Australians. They were pathetically delighted that so many of us were Australians and New Zealanders and we were told that many of them had not spoken to their own womenfolk – or any English – since the war began. One persistent gentleman badly wanted me to accompany him to the zoo on Sunday, but as I didn’t care for zoos and didn’t care for him, I declined. Not daunted he found out the number of my room at the desk and rang me up at 1am and again when I was in the bath the next morning, since when he has been silent and, I hope, moved far away. I met quite an amiable boy from Sydney and as he had his chief’s car we went for a run in the moonlight, and to the fort of the pyramids for the fourth time in two days. Home at 2.30.

On Saturday, we took Mahomet and in two cars about seven of us went out to the ancient city of Memphis and Saqqara
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where very little remains but flat roofed dirty hovels and an enormous lime-stone figure of Rameses the Great, lying prone on great stones. On his head the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt and the false beard which was a sign of royalty. His wife is carved on his leg. It might have been done yesterday instead of 6,000 years ago. Nearby, in an enclosure, is another colossal statue of Rameses, in his heyday, with the crown of Upper Egypt only, before his later conquests. There is a belt swathed around his waist, with his name thereon and his sword in its sheath. The face is superb, with its perfect cast of features and the smile so real it was positively uncanny. A most amazing piece of work.

We packed in again and set off across the desert to Saqqara where it was desolate enough in the middle of the desert: nothing but the lone and level sands stretching far away. We descended into one of the tombs where Mera
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was buried in the first dynasty. The mummies and the gold and such treasure which were buried with them are, of course, in the Cairo museum, now alas closed for the duration of the war, but the walls are carved with inscriptions and perfect bas relief scenes depicting the various interests of the king during his lifetime. Here fishing from a boat, Mera watching the dancing girls, Mera hunting or supervising his cooking – all this and more perfectly plain for any eye in any century to read. A good deal of the work was coloured with dye from flowers, and, except for where tourists have with their customary imbecility rubbed or scratched it away, the colour remains perfect after 4,000 years. In an alcove was a statue of Mera himself. In another apartment, Mera’s wife and scenes illustrating her days covered the walls there. Across another stretch of sand we entered another tomb, the SRMO of the Egyptian court, the court doctor in fact, and there was an enormous theatre table, where apparently he got someone to sit on the patient, while he proceeded to remove something or another. Next door was a smaller tomb, the last resting place of the doctor’s daughter – it seems this girl married the king’s son. In the car again and down into another tomb where the colouring was marvellously fresh and clear. In another room were two mummies, rather revolting but a very amazing sight.

We started for home and then through the fertile Nile valley, the cotton crops, and the corn and the endless date palms, so cool and green against the bare yellow sands. We had dinner and Ted called in the car for me and we went for a run – first to Heliopolis and then, after various attempts to get on the road to Ismailia and being stopped at the boundary gate three times by fierce-looking Sikhs with wicked-looking rifles, we gave up and went down and sat for a while by the moonlit Nile. I fear it was exceedingly late, or should I say early, when I crawled into bed.

September 21st 1940

I didn’t get up for breakfast but messed about unpacking and so on. We have space to spread ourselves in this large room now and I think I may fairly say that we are taking advantage of it. Bill comes over for lunch and we lie about or iron respectively. Mona and I have purchased a lovely little iron – universal – for 85 piastres and simply wallow in our ironing; it is such a treat to have one to ourselves. We go off to the Church of Scotland in our beautiful grey belvederes, white hat, shoes, stockings and gloves, the three of us in a gharry, and we feel like pocket Queen Victorias and look like Yeomen of the Guard. A nice little church but the padre had a dreary voice and would work his eyeballs up and down. The sermon was something about the sins of the fathers being revisited upon the children, but I dozed off before I learned the real reason for all this. Later we had dinner and Bill went back to Helmieh and I went out for a run with Ted for a time, but got back soon after 11pm. He goes out to the Battery
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today for the rest of the week.

September 22nd 1940

Up betimes
–
Mona and I are sleeping in a large four-poster now with a magnificent mosquito net surrounding us – and take it in turns to see if any of our letters have arrived – but in vain. We then do a little shopping and buy some little water coloured sketches of Egypt – camels and pyramids and so on. Three of the girls overheard Matron in her doorway say that we may draw £2/10/- in advance pay, three times a month, so we shan’t starve after all. We have written to the matron of the 61st general hospital, which is now in Nazareth, to ask for our letters to be sent on to us here, as Matron doesn’t seem to think we are going to Palestine at the moment and we pine daily for some mail. Bill comes over and we have tea brought to us in our room and then go into town for further shopping. We have not long deposited Bill at her bus station and now I am trying vainly to get this journal up to date. I shall fall into bed any moment now …

September 23rd 1940

To the bazaars to pick up our dressing gowns and slippers and then we purchased other materials for mats and coverings for our future home or hut. I spend between 2 and 4pm ironing quite happily, and then after eating a large and luscious mango we departed to the dressmaker for a fitting of our white tricolenes. We went to the pictures and then Raffles, and, as we had had no dinner, called in at the Casino and had sandwiches and coffee followed by an ice – vanilla, chocolate and mango mixed. It was delightful sitting there on the terrace, in the cool night, with the world going by below us: cars and lorries, Egyptians, Arabs, Australians and British soldiers, and a few QAs – the whole motley crowd. After many years we shall remember the nights in Cairo – just like this. And now to bed under the mosquito netting. We have just heard that the
City of Benares
has been sunk and all but a few of the evacuee children drowned.

September 29th 1940

On Wednesday evening Mahomet Ali hired a felucca
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for us and we spent about one and a half hours on the Nile. These ancient boats have gone up and down the Nile unchanged for thousands of years. It was delightfully cool, scudding through the water with the starry sky above us and the palms and hibiscus lining the river banks.

On Thursday Bill came in from Helmieh, looking very worn and tired – they all loathe it out there – so preserve us from ever following suit – and may we yet land in Palestine. We went to Tommy’s Bar for sandwiches and coffee instead of having dinner at the hotel.

Yesterday I had a letter from Mother re-addressed from Colwyn Bay and one from the padre whom I had befriended in London. I had a siesta after lunch and needed it – and a final warning from Flossie, the Matron-in-Chief, that we must not in any circumstances have anything to do with, what they are pleased to term in the army, ‘other ranks’, which means that our fellow Australians, who are not officers, we must firmly but tactfully ignore.
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How lacking in all feeling and humanity the army is. Now we have been allocated a separate lounge where we may not be contaminated by the mere rank and file!

October 2nd 1940

The Eve of the Feast of Ramadan

Bill Williams was off today, and came over from Helmieh last night to sleep. As it happened none of us slept as it was particularly noisy without and the beds creaked unmercifully each time we turned. We did some shopping and began the process of opening our accounts in the National Bank of Egypt, Lloyds’ agent there; in case the paymaster should ever think fit to send us a cheque. This seems unlikely, but it looks well to have a banking account, even though there is nothing in it.

As tonight is the beginning of Ramadan and we knew the mosques were all to be lit up, we asked Mahomet Ali to suggest something interesting for the three of us. It was decided that he should meet us at 4pm in a taxi and we would go to the Governate where we would watch the Governor of Cairo lead a procession from the law courts. This sounded interesting enough but it transpired that we were to have one of the most thrilling and picturesque evenings of our lives.

Mahomet Ali, always mindful of our welfare, spoke to the major of the Egyptian troops and got permission from him for us to go and stand on the pavement in the best possible position to see the governor emerge. It was like a scene from
The Talisman
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to see the long rows of white Arab horses with their superb riders and their orange and red helmets flying in the breeze. Then came the military band playing
Colonel Bogey
with great zest, followed by the infantry smartly turned out in khaki, with leather poches around their waists on which were the moon and stars of Egypt and, of course, the usual fez. The lieutenant colonel of the Cairo city police came over to us and gave Mona permission to take photos. We chatted to him and asked him numerous questions and were delighted when he told us that we could go with him to the Mohammedan Park to watch the ceremony which was about to take place there. We were given right of way through the gates and conducted to a sort of enclosure outside the law courts. The roof was open to the heaven but the walls were hung with tapestries of brilliant colours and intricate design and the floor was covered with huge Persian rugs on which there were rows and rows of chairs, some of them very ornate. While we sat there drinking out of tiny cups, delicious spiced tea, we were introduced to various notable people who wandered in and out, mostly sheiks and army officers.

Then we went outside again to watch the scene with eager eyes and scarcely believing our good fortune. The band played under the awning, the soldiers ‘at ease’ in front of us, groups of smartly clad officers in white and scarlet and gold chatted under the palms, flowers falling from the jacaranda tree almost at our feet, people crowding onto the flat roofed houses opposite, soft-footed servants running about putting lights up for tonight under the trees, coffee thick and sweet (Turkish), sweets, cigarettes coming around in swift procession. In between we were being presented to various officials, while press photographers took several group photographs and, it appeared, mostly of us. The patrician features of the sheiks and of the high priests as they arrived for the ceremony gave the impression that the scene was part of the Arabian Nights’ entertainment and not 1940, and we were part of it all.