CONTRASTS IN EGYPT

Greymouth Evening Star, 16 March 1937, Page 12

CONTRASTS IN EGYPT

NILE'S ANCIENT GLORIES. In the Temple of Amun at Karnak gangs of peasants still spend their days hauling huge blocks of masonry, each 30 centuries old, about the courtyards (writes R. V. Machell, in the London “Daily Telegraph’’). Frequently their efforts slacken and the foreman urges them on with a song whose rhythm exactly fits their work, a long-drawn monotone as they bend to haul on the ropes and an exhilarating crescendo as the stone rolls forward a few feet.

Though the men take up the chorus enthusiastically, few of them understand its words, which bear little resemblance to modern Arabic. Egyptologists believe that these hauling songs which Nile fishermen and labourers have used for centuries, are the only spoken survival of the language of Ramses and Hatshepsut.

From such a scene one might suppose that in many respects the Egypt of King Farouk has not changed fundamentally since the Pharoahs. But a walk in the cool evening though the dusty back streets of Luxor shows another side of the picture. The cafes and pavements are practically deserted and in only one building is there any sign of activity. A large barn-like structure, it is packed to the doors. Amun forgotten, the peasants who a few hours before had been working in his temple are now completely, absorbed in the adventures of Om Kalsoum, Egypt’s most popular film actress. In every town and’ village from the Denta to Wady Halft one can see similar contrasts. Electric light bulbs trace garish patterns round minarets, camels try to retain their dignity qnder loads of clattering petrol tins, and in the smallest hamlet heated political oratory pours from street corner loud speakers. History can be watched in the making in many parts of the world to-day. But nowhere is the spectacle of present endeavour so dramatically contrasted with an all-invading sense of the past as in post-Treaty Egypt. In the last few months alone there has been a tremendous- increase in national consciousness, while the country is making a determined effort to shake off the lethargy of recent centuries, and to prove its fitness for recognition as an adult State. Foi- this reason, a visit to Egypt at the moment is a more enthralling experience than ever before. Travel, as I have just done, slowly up the Nile, stopping day after day for leisurely visits to the temples and monuments of ancient Egypt. Then, when you reach Aswan, step into an aeroplane and you will cover the 550 miles back to Cairo, with its skyline of mosques, minarets, and sky-scrapers, in fewer hours than the steamer took days. The civilisations of 5,000 years are crowded simultaneously into your vision; Egypt is history seen through the wrong end of the telescope.

Nothing in the world can compare for restfulness without a moment’s tedium with the journey by steamer up the Nile. In the bows an Egyptian sailor stands with a long pole in his hand. Every few yards he dips it into the river to take a sounding. Generaly the depth is only a few feet, and his voice, proclaiming the results, rings out most of the day.

Ours -was the first steamer of the season to travel up to Aswan, and the bed of the river is so transformed every year by flood deposit -that a new course has to be plotted each Winter. The sailor’s warnings and an occasional dull thud when he proves unduly optimistic and the flat-bottomed steamer grazes a sandbank are the only interruption to the complete tranquillity. On either bank history slides slowly by. Peasanas in the field spend hours working the shadufs, primitive waterlifts, which, like their wooden ploughs, have suffered no modernisation. With earthenware jar and counterweight they raise the water from terrace to terrace until it reaches the level of the fields. The work is arduous, but they perform it cheerfully, dipping their vessels into the Nile and emptying them as many as 60 times in a single minute.

WHERE DESERT BEGINS. Further on a solemn buffalo is slowly turning a huge waterwheel? Camels laden with quantities of green forage and sugar cane pace along the roads. The long leaves reach down to the ground, so that only the camels’ heads remain visible. Seen from behind, their gait exactly resembles the progress of a stately Victorian hostess, her bustle curtseying at every step. Behind the boat circle quantities of kites; here and there a grey heron stand's pensive on a sandbank. Grass, at first sight as green as any in the i Thames Valley, edges the river. For the width of two or three fields the cultivation is surprisingly rich. Then suddenly, with no intervening halfcultivated ground, the desert begins. Within a mile or two of the Nile, all the way from Cairo to Aswan, come endless ridges of rocky hills, guarding the valley from the Libyan and Arabian deserts. Their colouring changes endlessly; grey in the morning, it becomes pink as the day advances, and fades to an unforgettable violet when at sunset the Nile itself takes on the appearance of iridescent silk. No brief list cou,ld catalogue the amazing treasure house which every traveller in Upper Egypt can explore for himself. But there are a few recollections which remain so vividly in the mind that they may give some idea of the endless variety and richness of Egypt’s still living history. One did not need to be an Egyptologist to catch one’s, breath when, in Ramses lll.’s great temple of Medinet Habu, a hawk circled round the courtyard and settled on a ledge. Only a few feet away was its perfect counterpart—a figure of Soker, the falcon-, headed Theban god of the dead. Detail for detail, each line of the god’s features reproduced the form of the twentieth-century bird beside it. Then, at Abydos, there were the long flights of steps running down a steep incline and disappearing into deep tanks of green water. They are situated close to tlie Temple of Sethos 1., which contains some of the finest mural reliefs ancient Egypt ever pro-! duced. What lies at the foot of the { steps has yet to be discovered. As, soon as the water covering them is pumped away it wells up again from some subterranean source. There is,’ however, reason to believe that it

guards what for centuries was revered as the secret tomb of Osiris.

Very different is one of the deities commemorated at Karnak, in a tiny cell, so dark that on entering it one can at first distinguish nothing, stands stands a figure of the lion-headed goddess, Sekhmet. Sent to earth by the other gods to punish mankind for its transgressions, she became so fearful that she had finally to made drunk with wine, snared and confined in the temple. Her statue stands there still. At night it is an awe-inspiring sight; a shaft of moonlight falls on it, and, as the clouds cross the sky, Sekhmet seems to be stirring on her pedestal. Surprising enough, it is from the air that one obtains the most faithful impression of the boldness of the Pharaoh’s architectural designs. Seen from above, the temples stand out in all the majesty of their original conception, and it is not until the aeroplane drops comparatively low that one is reminded -that the buildings are in ruins.

The flight from Aswan to Cairo remains the most indelible impression of all. Starting from a desert aerodrome, with the inhabitants still marvelling at -the novelty of an all-Egyp-tian air line, we headed straight for the Nile. For a hundred miles we flew along Egypt’s backbone. The whole complicated irrigation system was spread out beneath us with scores of skilfuly dug canals extending the life of the nation.

VALLEY OF THE KINGS. The deserts stretched away on each side, merging imperceptibly into the sky. On the river the while sails of the feluccas might have been gulls’ wings. Luxor came into sight, and then, as we crossed the river, we passed low over the Colossi of Memnon. Proqdly alone, there two gigantic figures sat gazing out across the valley; one felt that the roar of our engines was jarring rudely on their reverie. In two minutes we had crossed the hills which, to the Pharoahs, seemed so impenetrable, and were looking down into the Valley of the Kings. The entrances to Tutankhamen’s tomb, and to that of Menepthes, Pharoah of the Exodus, were clearly discernible. One remembered the long and —to those of us on donkeys—agonising journey we had made through 'the valley a few days before. Then we had seen it in all its desolate grandeur; the ease with which we pierced its secrets from the sky seemed almost impertinent. Back to the river for a stretch, and then we cut across the eastern desert. Only the shadow of the aeroplane, racing across the sand, gave us any idea of our speed. In the distance we could see the Nag Hammadi Dam, lying like a twig across the river. The' Nile disappeared and for half an hour we saw only desert. Until one has flown across it, the desert seems monotonous. But, from above, it takes on extraordinary variety. The contours and ridges make strange patterns in .the sand, comparable to the leaves and ferns traced by frost on a window pane. Here andi there a string of camels, with only its | shadow visible at first, crossed the waste.

At last throe great shapes loomed up on the horizon—the pyramids of

Giza. Before they were reached came half-a-dozen other groups of pyramids —Meidun, El Lisht, Dashur, Eaqquara, Abusir. The aeroplane circled over them as Giza grew larger and larger. Banking steeply, we seemed to come within a few feet of the summit of Cheops’ and' Khefren’s monuments. Then the spell was broken. History personified by the Sphinx below us gave way to progress in the shape of the new Heliopolis golf course, with curious khaki-coloured greens. Looking, as we returned to earth, at this sandy St. Andrews, I thought for a moment of Sakhmet still alone in her cell. The Nile journey was over; we had travelled through time as well as through space.