“Into the Land of Egypt”

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXVII, Issue 12470, 3 October 1938, Page 3

“Into the Land of Egypt”

OASIS! (18). The courtesy of Egyptian officials is something which must be exeperienced to be believed. The Captain of Police called on me, and the Captain of Coastguards followed him. They called to present their compliments, and to hope that I was enjoying Egypt and the particular portion of Egypt which lay under their charge. “Let us sit down and drink coffee, unless some of us would prefer a stronger drink,’’ I suggested. “Coffee is good,” they replied.

So we sat down on the terrace of the little hotel beside Lake Karoun, where green lizards flash in the sun and where the hoopoe, which is the jay of Egypt, flies busily from tree to tree.

When the coffee came, we talked of many things, but the most interesting things were our particular jobs in life. They asked me questions about newspapers and books, and I answered them as well as I could. Then I turned to them. “What is the worst crime you have to deal with?” I asked the captain of police. . “Murder,” he replied, sipping his COff GG. “How many do you have in a year?” ~ “About seventy or eighty, he replied. “And the population of your province is about 500,000?” “Yes, that is so. Many ot our murders are—what is the term in English?—family squabbles, they are handed down from one generation to another, and, when a murdei happens for no reason that you can tell, if often means that two greatgrandsons haje. . .” He paused for the word, and made the expressive Egyptian gesture ot finality; a sudden wiping of the palm of one hand across the palm of the 0t “Another difficulty,” he continued, “is that everyone in a village knows who did the murder except the police. This makes murderers very difficult to trace. You have to watch. You have to listen. No one will help you to find the murderer. They know nothing. Nothing! “But why does it take s\°, lon |rw work off a family squabble? Why should great-grandsons commit .a murder because their great-grand fat ''lh, that’is not so easy to answer. There is a tradition among the fellabin that a murder of this kind must be committed with the same instrument as the original muider. and on the same spot. “The law of atonement? “If you like. But you can see how carefully men avoid the place where their fathers were murdered. Years generations— may pass before such a meeting happens. But when it does happen —skh!” . . He drew his finger expressively across his throat, and sipped his coffee. , , _ v o»» “What crimes do you deal with. i asked the coastguard. . ~ “Nowadays I have no real crime, he replied, “except when the fishermen make "their nets of too close a mesh. This is a very simple matter. 1 collect the nets and burn them once a month. This happens to be the day of burning. Ydfi can see the smoke over there.” We looked along the lovely foreshore and saw three c °astguards, men in blue blouses, wide Turkish trousers and tarbushes, poking at a fire on the sand. “Why do you say that you have no crime nowadays?” I asked. “Because until recently I was stationed on the Suez Canal, where had much crime. Oh much. •• • He paused and made the gesture of abundance which is used all over the Levant. The left hand, palm upwards, lightly beats The air, as if patting n small, inyisiblG ball. “In those days,” he continued, “I caught the smugglers of cocaine and hashish and heroin. And they are indeed clever people. There are some who drop packages of drugs worth thousands of pounds from steamers in the canal. These packages are wrapped in oil silk, aiid are weighed down with salt. As the salt melts, the packages float to the top of the water, where men, who have been watching from the banks, row out and pick them up.” • “But there are many, many tricks. There. are men with false tops to •their tarbushes. There are men who: walk with hollow canes. There are men who hide drugs most skilfully on donkeys and camels. And there was once a man in Palestine who even got a kerosene tin full of drugs in the royal saloon of a train in which j a great lady was travelling. And I

By H. V. MORTON (Author of “In the Steps of the Master,” “In the Steps of St. Paul,” “In Search of England,” etc., etc.)

where do you think he put it?” “I have no idea.” “Under the royal lady’s bed.” The police captain looked at his watch and said: — “If you are ready, shall we go and pay some calls?” I had no idea what he meant, but I love surprsies, therefore I took my place unquestioningly in a smart limousine driven by a police orderly. Off we sped over the mud embankments, hooting loudly to warn camels, oxen, donkeys and buffaloes of our appraoch. Passing through a village, I saw about 150 small girls lined up under an archway. It was a school. I asked if we could stop a moment, and, as we entered, the schoolmaster called the children to attention as if they had been troops on parade. The little girls were charming.

and well behaved, but curiously grave. They did not giggle or nudge one another or whisper as sometimes little girls are known to do when faced by strangers. They stood, looking so solemn and serious, with their dark eyes fixed on us. Some wore bracelets and necklaces, and most of them'were barefoot. . The master told us that he had a class of girls in the mornnig and boys in the afternoon. Just before we left, the children lifted their shrill little voices in the Egyptian National Anthem and, saluting us by holding their little hands over their hearts, moved two by two up the steps into the school. It was an interesting glimpse of the new Egypt. We rushed on until we came to a peaceful little village among palm trees where the omdah, or mayor, a dignified elderly man, was waiting for us at his garden gate. He led the way into a bower of roses; the big red roses that bloom all through the Egyptian winter. There were banks of purple bourgainvillea and masses of honeysuckle falling from trellis-work arches. We sat enjoying the shade, while the hot Egyptian morning lay in blinding whiteness beyond the tunnel of leaves. Servants appeared with coffee and with oranges from the trees around us; the best oranges that I have ever tasted.

A hoopoe, which is one of Egypt’s tamest birds, and the most inquisitive, flew to a bough near us, lifted his cockade of feathers, and called for his mate to come, dud see what queer pOOpie had invaded the garden. Mrs. Hoopoe flew doWli, and also saf'watching with afl eye like a gold boot button. “Do you know,” asked the oindah, “how the hoopoe got the crest of feathers on his head? Well, I will tell you. “Solomon was once making a long journey across the desert. The sun was hot, and there was no shade. Suddenly the king found himself moving in shadow, and, looking up, he saw that the hoopoe was flying above him, making a shade with his wings. “All day the hoopoe flew thus, and upon the next day he was there also, flying above the head of the king. “When the juorney was ended, Solomon, who, as you know, could speak the language of the birds, called the hoopoe before him, ami asked what he could do to reward him for his kindness. “ ‘I should like a crown of gold, O king, like the crown you wear,’ answered the hoopoe—for you can see what a cheeky little bird he is! ‘O, hoopoe,’ replied Solomon, ‘I think you are a foolish bird, for a crown will not bring you happiness; nevertheless, if that is your wish, you shall have a crown of gold. “And, as Solomon waved his hand, a gold crown came and settled upon the hoopoe’s head. “Some months later the hoopoe appeared before Solomon, and the king said, ‘O, hoopoe, what is it you wish this time?” And the hoopoe answered, O, king, take from me this crown of gold, for the sons of met covet It, and my life is in peril. I have no peace from the sun’s rising until the 'dark. F

And Solomon smiled in his beard and waved his hand. The gold crown faed from the' hoopoe’s head, but, in order that the bird might not go unrewarded for his service, the king replaced it with the beautiful gold crown of feathers, which, as you can see fro yourself; he wears so proudly. That is the story as it is written and as it is told. . . .” The omdah turned to me with a charming smile, and the hoopoes nodded their crested heads. We said good-bye to our host, and plunged again into the heat and dust of the roads. But I shall always remember that garden with its running water, its green shade and quiet voices, for it is the peculiar genius of Moslem peoples to make an oasis on the other side of any garden wall.