ARAB SENTIMENTS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 154, 1 July 1940, Page 5

ARAB SENTIMENTS.

WILL HELP BRITAIN.

"GERMANS ARE GREAT LIARS."

PALESTINIAN SCENE.

This report on the Arabs' attitude toward the Allies' army of the Near Knst was written by an Australian newspaper man who is a special representative with the A.I.F. (Australian Imperial Force) for Australian papers. (By JOHN HETHERINGTON.) Somewhere in Palestine the track curled round the side of a ridge, and flat country opened out before us. The air above it rippled with the heat of the summer morning. "First stop dead ahead," said the intelligence officer at the wheel of the army truck. An Arab village lay about a quarter of a mile ahead aoross a stretch of open greon plain. We were far from the main roads of Palestine. For an hour or more we had jolted on, sometimes following camel tracks, sometimes taking to the open fields. Once, we had been all but stuck in the sandy floor of a wadi (dry watercourse). But, with the help of its four passengers shoving vigorously behind, the army truck had pulled out after four attempts. The truck nosed down a narrow street running between two rows of mud houses. We came to a clear space. The intelligence officer swung his wheel and brought the truck to a standstill in front of one of a row of niud buildings. He stepped from the truck, and, with his interpreter, approached three Arabs.

"I wish to see the mukhtar (head man)," he said.

One of the Arabs replied. "He says the mukhtar is out gathering taxes," the interpreter said.

! "Last time I was here the mukhtar was away. It is important that I should see him to-day," the intelligence officer insisted.

Again, swift Arabic phrases were exchanged. ,

"He saye he will find the imukhtar," said the interpreter.

The crowd around us stirred suddenly and opened up to allow a tall slim Arab to pass through. "The mukhtar."

He shook hands with each of us, murmuring "Saida." Then he led us away in the direction of his house. As we went, the mukhtar and the intelligence officer talked through the interpreter.

How are your crops?" the intelligence officer asked. "They are bad this year, Hadi." "Perhaps, if God wills it, they will be good next year." The mukhtar led us through a low doorway, opening straight on to the street, into the chief room of his house. The shadow of three men bulked in the doorway. "What do you think of the restrictions on the sale of land imposed by the British Government?" the intelligence officer asked. The mukhtar considered a moment. "They are good," he said. A white-bearded elder sitting near the deor epoke in swift phrases, gesturing with his hands. "He says," the interpreter told us, "that the land restrictions are good because if the Arabs Qiad continued selling their land they would have been 'beggars in the streets." Cannot Defeat Britain With Words. At last we rose to go. The mukhtar pressed us to remain for lunch, reminded ue of our promise to come again. Then, led by the mukhtar and surrounded by the eiders, we returned to the truck and climbed on board. We caime to our second village about mid-afternoon. The mukhtar was away, but his elders led us with proper ceremony to the house of one of their number, a tall old man -who would inevitably be a leader in any community. "I thank you for receiving me in the absence of your mukhtar," the intelligence officer said.

The old man bowed. "My humble home is honoured by your "presence." While we drank coffee* I noticed that the 1.0. had swung the conversation to the sti'bjeet of radio.

"You have a radio eet in the village?" he asked.

"Yes. Wβ have four." It was said with some pride.

"Have you a powerful eet? Can you hear London!"

"We have one eet on which we can hear London, Rome, all the European stations."

"And Berlin?" the 1.0. asked. "Yes, Berlin, too." "What do your people think of the German programmes?"

The elders sat back, grasping their knees and rocking with laughter when the question was interpreted. The tall old man spoke, and the interpreter told us: "He says the Germans are great liars. They make hie people laugh. He says they are fools to think they can defeat Britain with words." "That is splendid," the 1.0. said. "It is because we must teach Hitler he cannot do as he likes that we Australians are here, learning to fight among you, a fighting people." "We Are For Britain." The elders listened intently while the interpreter translated. Then the tall old man spoke again. "We are for Britain. We Arabs want to see the defeat of Germany. We want to share in it, our men fighting beside the English and the Australians." We headed Tor home, following tracks where wheeled vehicles rarely go, travelling between fields of standing corn which brushed the mudguards as we went by.

; At evening we came to another village. We drove through it, and on the outskirts, we met Arab women, their faces veiled, carrying home water in earthenware pitchers borne on their heads. They were coming from a well where men were drawing water for the village.

We fetched out cups and dipped up a drink each.

"The best water I've had in Palestine," said the 1.0.

Dusk was falling, and we said farewell to the drawers of water, climbed into our trurfk and pushed on our way. As we moved off, I turned and glanced back.

One of the men at the well was tiltjing water into a woman's pitcher. Beyond, a camel patiently waited until he should be prodded into motion again. On a knoll farther back, an old man stood, hands clasped on a- staff, staring out at the sunset.

It might have been a scene from Palestine in the time of Christ. Only the rumble of our engine set the time ae 2000 years on. — iv Zj^s.