Where Shepherds Watched'

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 303, 23 December 1939, Page 5 (Supplement)

Where Shepherds Watched'

ONE of the strangest Christmastides I have ever experienced was spent in the; vicinity of the holy town of Bethlehem itself a brief year ago. It was a Yuletide which my companion and I will not readily forget. I had come to Palestine on a world cruise which timed its visit to the Mediterranean for Christinas week." On the boat I had become friendly with - :p- pretty American girl, a teacher who Wafe taking her "Sabbatical year" off by seeing the world. We arrived in the Holy City of Jerusalem on the bright, sunny morning of Christmas IJve. (It is doubtful whether there has ever been a "white Christmas" in Palestine.) Obviously the thing to do was to make arrangements to visit Bethlehem that night. The hall porter at the King David Hotel where we stayed warned us, however, that it would bo unwise to go out to the town of Jesus' nativity except with a convoy.

ByJames L. Mowbray

"There is bad trouble on the roads after dark," he said, "and not even the fact that you are only visitors and not residents will save you from the brigands, who are bad people." For some crazy reason, however, Pauline Lovat and myself wanted to travel the eight miles to Bethlehem by donkey instead of with a fast car, so that we might breathe the splendour of the Judean night and live in the same atmosphere as did the Thice Wise Men coming from the East. Firmly we ordered gaily-cajmrisoned donkeys, although, no lightweight, I eyed my own beast rather dubiously at first. With the hall porter filing and wringing his hands at our foolishness, we set off at about eight o'clock, hoping to reach Bethlehem in two hours. The donkeys began at a jog trot, which the donkey boy with his whip behind us explained was their customary gait. Eventually, however, they slowed down to nn amble, more to our liking and in keeping with our mood. Pauline and I thoroughly enjoyed that ■tar-lit trip. Now that the donkeys were no longer scampering, it was a real delight. Over yonder, said the donkey boy in broken English, was Bahr Lut, the Dead Sea, and the Arabic name of which is the Sea of tat. The dark mass of Edom towered over the great unseen lake.

The Story Of A Strange Christmas Eve Spent In The Holy Land.

A monastery named after Elijah, ar.d nailed Mar (Saing) Elias, stood on an eminence over a deep canyon which rolled down to the wilderness of Benjamin on our left; and a_ wide turn in the road brought us within sight of the twinkling lamps and lights of that small Judean town where Christ first saw the light of day. Pauline and I discussed all kinds of things, too abstruse, no doubt, for our small companion to follow. He had fallen silent, anil was busy picking- his teeth . . . Just as we were feeling at peace with the world, three dark shadows loomed up out of the more impenetrable obscurity of the roadside. A growled command bruu-rht our boy and the donkeys to a halt. A low, staccato conversation then took place between our "guide" and the three men. They were clad, I could see, in ordinary Arab peasant dress, and then, with a sickening realisation of the truth, I found myself facing a grim looking rifle held by one of them, a long Webley-Scott revolver by the other. The third stood back in the shadow of a cactus hedge. "He say you no go to Bethlehem; go with him, Effendim, sir,'' translated our boy. Pauline's Laughter _ "Tell him we are Ingllses, touristas, going to see Christmas," I answered. Another exchange of muttered talk. "No good, he say, touriatas must s*,ay hotel always. He say you go with him." Pauline started laughing! I could hr.ve kissed her for it. That laughter certainly broke the tension. She explained afterwards that it was the earnest air of our little Arab donkey boy which seemed so ludicrous, in spite of the danger. The three men joined in with that silvery peal! So did the boy; so did I. In a minute, I thought, the donkeys would start braying in sympathy. From ithe moment, it seemed, the brigands—for such they were—insisted it was a point of honour for us to go with them. No harm would come to us, I gathered, provided we did /not resist; and possibly, if we were good, no felloose (money) would be required for our release. I must say it was a handsome gesture to forego a ransom on the strength of a laugli. Our way turned off the tarred road ws had been pleasantly following, down a rock-strewn path winding into a ravine.

Our sure-footed donkeys found no hardship, although we rocked and shook in oi*r high Arab saddles. Down that path and up another one; down, and up again, for the next hour we seemed to be switchback riding over the hills of Judea. The lights of Bethicliem had disappeared from our view; the field of EpHrath and the tomb of Rachel, which we had wanted to see, were far away. Overhead the stars glimmered, our only consolation. At last we came in sight of a dark mass of iiill. A camp fire burned briskly outside a cave in the hillside. A sentinel challenged us in Arabic, and one of the men replied. Then came the biggest surprise of all. A cultured voice greeted us in English us, stiffly, Pauline and I dismounted and stretched our legs. "1 am sorry that you have been put to all this trouble," the voice drawled from the shadows, "but my men thought it too good an opportunity to miss. Do consider yourselves at home. Perhaps you would care to take part in our humble repast?" Lamb was being broiled on spits over the fire. On tlw? ground, fiat Arab bread rested on paper. "Thank you," I said shortly. "Is this the traditional Arab hospitality to visitors? We were going peaceably to Bethlehem to see the Christmas Eve festivities there." "Ah, my friend, there is no peace in the land to-night or for a long time to come. You Christians may think that 'peace on earth and goodwill to all men' is a fine phrase, but for us Moslems there is strife and war, and the ordinary 'rules have gone by the board." "You sound a 'Varsity man," I remarked somewhat curiously. "I teas a 'Varsity man,"' came the bitter reply. "I am now a rebel, an outlaw, in my own country. Sit down, and forgive me for not revealing, myself." There was a deep hush over the countryside; the breeze rustled in the leaves of the gnarled olive trees. The rebel leader had been speaking to us .from the cave itself. We could not see his features in the gloom. It would be wearying to go into our conversation; I have forgotten most of itPauline took part in her spirited way as we discussed the racial question, the conflict between Arabs and Jews in this tiny land revered by three religions. Our "host" became vehement as he told us how he had left a life of cushioned ease to be in the hills among the rebels, fighting the British troops. Then, with a start, I saw by my wrist watch that it was eleven o'clock. The unknown man his boulder must have seen my movement. He laughed sardonically: "The tourists have had their fill of one sight; they wish to go on to another!"

Pauline protested, an eager note in her voice. "But you understand, don't you, that it has been our life's dream to be in Bethlehem on the night of the" nativity I" she pleaded. "Would you deny us that experience!" "No, fair lady, I would not," he sighed. "Do you know where we are?" Our captor chuckled as we looked round in the darkness. "Just five minutes over the lt r ow of the hill,'" he continued, "is a broad plateau. It is called the Field of the Shepherds." Both Pauline and I smothered an exclamation of surprise. The rebel commander heard it. • The Magi's Field "Yes, the Field or ttie Shepherds, where tliey watched their flocks at night and saw the Heavenly vision! It was across that field that the Magi came nearly 2000 years ago. And you shall cross it too!" He clapped his h^nds. The three grim looking men who had captured us came out of the shadows. Their master rapped out some commands and they nodded. Our donkey boy, too, had appeared mysteriously with his small, wizened face split into a huge grin. Our donkeys were led up. Pauline and I rose to our feet; she stretched our her hand impulsively. "I cannot thank you enough for—entertaining us," she said, "nor for letting us go. VVill you shake hands?" "You will forgive my rudeness, but I dare not come into the light. You might remember me, once seen, and there is your little attendant there, too. No, let's say good-night and good luck!" So we set out for the Field of the Shepherds in the cool night air. It was reached in a few minutes, and our escort faded into the night. The boy took charge. Soon the lights of Bethlehem on the terraced hillsides came into view again. A steep climb over the terraces followed, and within half an hour we were riding down the cobbled lanes of David's town towards the Church of the Nativity, with the sweet sound of choristers' voices welcoming as to witness the miracles of Jesus' birth in a manger. We returned to Jerusalem by taxi under escort, leaving the Arab boy and his two donkeys to come back next morning by daylight. And that hall porter, to whom we told our story, had the time of his life reproving us I **************