MY KINGDOM FOR A BLANKET.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XLIV, Issue 14041, 26 April 1920, Page 7

MY KINGDOM FOR A BLANKET.

(By Percival Phillips,)

"Sleeping car to Jerusalem,'' repeated the fat man complacently. "I.suppose we have to thank you youag gentlemen for paving the way," and he bestowed, a condescending smile 011, the two subalterns across the table of the restaurant cat" of the Cairo-Port Said express. , ■ ■ "You've got plenty of blankets, 1 hope?" asked one of them. "And food?" added the other. "Blankets?" queried the civilian, visibly startled. "Why in the world should I , ." .v . The train from Cairo cut him short; shrieked into Kantara: flung him into a heaving mass of' khaki; gathered in a. hqrde of voluble nativeSj and vanished in the darkness towards Port Said. "Blankets?" repeated .the fat man, helplessly adrift on a sea of luggage. "Why, I thought--—" . "Pile into the lorry, said a friendly voice. ' "Up you go on this stack of suitcases. Hold tight.. We're, crossing the Suez Canal. This is the real start for Jerusalem." _ , .. • In such unceremonious way is the . hopeful traveller ushered iiito.thedesert which is the threshold of Palestine. The fat man whom I have taken as a text typifies the ignorance of preSentday conditions in this newly conquered 1 land. True, one goes to Jerusalom—or nearly there, to be exact-mbysleep-: ing car, but it is by 110 means a journey de luxe, nor is the element of uncertainty always lacking. Which is why I write-from' the edge of Gazarr-a howl-'-ing wilderness: in itself-rrinstead of visiting the Church of tlie Holy Sepulchre. The fat man .is back 'in- .Cairo to-night after twenty-four hours-:-: of misery. He solved the riddle about . blankets and food. The gate to Jerusalem—if one goes up by railway—is an arid, cheerless camp"on the edge "of the de6ert, known to thousands of British, soldiers as Kautara East. . , ThroughtTiis gate pass aIL travellers permitted within the preserve called, Palestine. Civilians come armed with a . permit from, the military authorities, at Cairo. All the worid may. .travel to:

Kantara West —a railway shed and a refreshment room on the other side of the canal —but, once acioss the twing bridge, aie at Luge only by perlmssion of an R.T O An Armj lony hauls you and your kit acioss the two-mile gap between the two Kantaia stations Going up,, jou do this at eleven . o'clock at night, There is only one passenger tram north every twenty-toui horns, and it starts liom Kantaia East at 11 30. A weary R T O. peimits the purchase ot a nnlitaiy ticket and allots ycu space in the tiam. Unlike a theatre, standing room is not allowed. No . moie passengcis can be carried than there aie beiths for. Thus- a queue at Cairo may wait three dajs or more for a place "Blankets," lepeats the fat man for the last time, as he stumhlcs along the nairow, unhghted corridor ot a narrow, aged coinage, with a mjstie "Q 231" as his password. "Oh! I see." ' ■ "Q 231" is a leathei-coveied shelf swung on two 1 ' chains above another* leather-covered shelf. The officer on the, shell below is as snug as can be, undei blankets ot his own, and the tat man who carries no such kit regards him gloomily He thinks with even gicater bitterness ot the parable of the foolish vngins as he tries, to undress by the light of successive matches. Ihe Palestine tiam is drawn by an old, old Belgian engine. It& second-cki->s coaches aie crowded with miscellaneous cnilians —of both faexes —stowed away as tightly as parcels in a post office van Behind them is the "general's car." Apparently Palestine is full ot generals, and at least one of them ]&. likely to be travelling at any time oi thtr day or night. When the wander lust does "not claim them, a soldier cook w ho bpends his life going up and down the desert in the comfoi table little kitchen at one end selves tea to thirsty ofhccio who invade him fiom the fin>tclass carnages behind, lie Hide to an It '1 O it you are brave, but at all hazaids make friends with the cook on the "general's car " A long, dry howl from the Belgian engine, a nod from the R.T O , and aw.n you go into the desert "No blankets," bioodi> (he fat man on his slippeiy leather shell; "no blankets, and very' cold Still we shall get to Jeiusalem in the morning." "Shall wc'- 1 " queues, the officer below pleasantly. "I wonder'" Travelling on the Palestine lailway is lust like that Undue optimism about anything leads to fresh shocks. "The line is often washed away," adds the officer. A night of hideous* complaint by the creaking carnages ends in perfect peace just at dawn The tram halts and does' not go on An houi later sleepy voices begin mquiiing if this is Ludd. Ludd is the junction where passengers change lor Jei usalem w lnle the Belgian engine turns coastward to Haifa. Two hours later the inquiring voices show a note oi alarm. B\ the time a faint btreuk ot sunlight is touching the tumble-down native huts beside the line and ragged children are offering oranges at the open windows definite demands are made for the exact truth. Are we heldup? We are. The Egyptian engine-dnver has gone to sleep. The guard has vanished But from the horseboxes of a stalled train alongside comes the inspiring news Line washed away by floods this side of Ludd. y Thiee feet of water on the metals ancl'a bridge gone. The fat man comes to life, horribly dishevelled. He" aches all over and sneezes between questions. The offieef m the Gurkha*, gives him a hard-boiled egg and some ration bread. He t could weep with gratitude. "No, he had not brought any food. Or blankets. A long morning drags wearily by. The wind blows a gale across the desert and sand sifts into every crevice. Young officers bound for Haifa, for Acre, for Tiberias, wheie the Bedouins thrive on I a scientific system, try; to look gloomy at the prospect of going back instead of forward. , Eleven o'clock arrives. Thfe Belgian engine detaches iteelf, reappears at the other end of the train, shrieks again, and is off. _ Back to Kantara East—a six boms' journey through the sandstorm. The washout will last for days. The fat man is in despair. He mutters unkind things about travelling in Palestine. Not w> the young subalterns who were nis companions the mghir before. "I think," says one o'f them with a grave face, "I'd better go .back to Cairo." * ' "Yes," says the other.' "We'll be just in time for the fancy dress ball at Shepheard's." *