IN EGYPT STILL
LOCUSTS AND EGYPTIAN NIGHTS--THE GREAT BARRAGE--IRRIGATING THE
DELTA--THE SCOT AGAIN--EGYPTIAN ROADS--ARABIAN NIGHTS--CAIRO BY
NIGHT--A MAGIC OF COLOUR--"A SOUND OF REVELRY BY NIGHT"--THE "GRANDE
FÊTE DU 75."
Yes, we were biding our time in Cairo; and I am telling no secrets when
I say that the Australians swore terribly in Cairo. We had left our
happy homes in order to take part in the war, and here we were burning
our heels on the Egyptian sand--day after day, week after week. No
wonder many of us, as we tramped along on a route march to Helwan on
the day preceding Good Friday, said we would prefer to be spending the
day at the Royal Easter Show in Sydney.
On the right of our line of march lay the Nile with its green strip of
verdure on either side, and a dozen pyramids out westward. The day was
as hot as a furnace. The mirage seemed to shimmer on the rim of the
earth, and horsemen, camels and Bedouins a few miles away seemed to
be floating in the air. Like white wings gliding up and down the Nile
were the triangular sails of the native dhows--wonderfully picturesque,
with their tremendous spars that tower into the sky. At old Cairo there
was a veritable forest of masts. The rudders of these river boats are
huge things, and the noses are painted in gaudy colours, and are always
turned up disdainfully, as if they had been bumped against a pier.
You had heard of the Plagues of Egypt; we have seen them, and are able
to vouch for the authenticity of the Scriptures. Instead of hot cross
buns, Easter brought us a plague of locusts. The entertainment started
at about three o'clock in the afternoon and lasted till after sundown.
Millions and billions and quadrillions of locusts danced and sang for
us. The air was absolutely full of them, darkening the sun--big yellow
and brown and black things, mostly about two inches long. They sounded
like thousands of whirring wheels, and they dropped on the roofs with a
noise like rain. Where they landed they left everything bare as a bone.
All along the Nile the "gyppies" turned out and banged tin cans to
drive them off. Here was an invasion, if you like! The telegraph wires
were black with them--like long beads. Some of the beautiful Ma'adi
gardens were quite spoilt. These locusts of Egypt have absolutely no
love for the beautiful--in fact, the more beautiful a thing is the more
delight do they take in devouring it.
But even a plague of locusts does not last for ever--and Egypt does.
Egypt the wonderful! Egypt the kaleidoscopic! No, gentle reader, do
not waste your sympathies on us. It was tiresome work, marching,
training--training for the front, which for months never seemed to get
any nearer, and some of "the boys"--those of them who were "spoiling
for a fight," as the saying is--used at times to kick over the traces
and paint the town vermilion; but there are compensations in Egypt
for all who would seek them. What did it matter that we had no hot
cross buns for Easter, no hard-boiled eggs, no ling, no salmon? We had
omelettes and quail on toast, and chicken and curry and strawberries
(no cream) and oranges and custard and jelly and Turkish coffee and
Nile fish and pancakes and fritters and iced butter and beautiful jam
and marmalade--and cigars. So we managed to get "a snack," you see.
And I know that I, for one, had no desire just then to swap places with
any man in Australia.
On Easter Sunday some of us went out to see the Barrage--one of the
most wonderful works in Egypt. Mohammed Ali started it to irrigate the
Delta, but his engineers made some mistakes and the works were looked
upon as a white elephant--until Britain took charge. Wonderful the
things that Britain does! A board of eminent engineers examined the
whole scheme and decided that it would cost over £2,000,000 to complete
it. But a Scotsman came along--Sir Colin Campbell Scott-Moncrieff--and
he fixed the whole show up for £1,200,000. Right at the apex of the
Delta triangle they have laid out beautiful gardens, with lovely
flower-beds, canals and grassy lawns; and it was a treat to rest our
tired eyes on the green grass after the everlasting sand, sand, sand of
the desert.
It was night when we got back to camp. Oh, those Egyptian nights! The
winter cold has gone, and spring is in the air. The nights are fine and
fair, clear and cloudless, with the moon pure silver. The reflections
in the Nile are just wonderful. The huge date palms stand out sharply
from a star-spangled sky that somehow has a tint of green in its blue.
One thinks of the Arabian Nights. The very street scenes make one
think of them. Motors glide up and down the streets with rich Syrians,
Greeks, Egyptians, Italians, Frenchmen and Englishmen, going to the
Continental, or to Shepheard's, or to private entertainments. It is a
gorgeous splash of colour. They had no motor-cars that I remember in
those old Arabian Nights, but the magic of the thing and the colour of
it all were surely much the same. And the roads of Egypt--how beautiful
they are!--clean and smooth as a billiard table. Are there any finer
roads in the whole world than the Mena road and that to Heliopolis?
Fifty miles an hour is easy. I sometimes shudder now when I recall the
races that we used to have along those roads at night, crying "Egre!
Egre!"--Faster! Faster!
One night stands out--a gorgeous night--a carnival in honour and aid of
brave little Serbia. Kipling says that "East is east and west is west,
and never the twain shall meet"; but he surely has not seen a Venetian
carnival in Cairo, with its intermingling of the progressive Occident
and the picturesque Orient. One will always remember that. When the
tourists from the West overrun the land of the Pharaohs, as they do
once a year, a Venetian fête is held at Shepheard's--the social event
of the season. Sightseers from England, idle rich from the Continent,
plutocrats from America, tourists from the four quarters of the world,
all meet and make merry here. This year of grace witnessed a somewhat
different spectacle, it is true. It was a polyglot gathering of all
nations, to be sure, but the tourist element was wanting. In the place
of the tourists, however, was the "Army of Occupation." Hundreds of
officers, British, French, Egyptian, Australian and New Zealand, in
smart uniforms, gave striking colour to the scene, which was made
additionally picturesque by the vari-coloured silks and satins,
scarfs and veils of the ladies. The garden was a blaze of splendour.
There were the flags of the nations, there were flowers and palms and
purling fountains, mirth and music, lights and laughter, and over
all--confetti. All night the air was thick with confetti, like snow
falling off a rainbow. Revellers flew hither and thither, flinging it
everywhere. Merry maidens threw handfuls of confetti and eyesful of
bold glances at the sun-tanned colonials. There was no respite until
the ground was ankle-deep with confetti.
Tired at last of the revelry, we adjourned to the Moorish Hall, and
while the orchestra played the ravishing strains of the barcarolle we
danced the red stars to their death.
Loud explosions in the courtyard sent us rushing forth once more. And
then we saw the most wonderful pyrotechnic display in all the world.
Without warning, odd corners of the garden burst into a blaze of light.
Rockets, Roman candles, Catherine wheels, shooting stars and all the
fireworks we loved as youngsters were there in full working order,
but ever so many more and ever so much grander than at those "Queen's
Birthday" exhibitions which ourselves when young did eagerly frequent.
Shall we ever forget that final burst of coloured lights outlining the
words "Hurrah for Serbia!" Not _I_. No more than I shall ever forget
the deeds of glory of the Serbians.
And I remember another fête--the "Grande Fête du 75," held in the Cairo
International Sporting Club's grounds, in honour of the 75 millimetre
field gun of the French, and in aid of the sick and wounded soldiers
of the "Army of the East," then at the Dardanelles. There was a great
crowd present. In the viceregal stand was a distinguished gathering of
generals, consuls, ministers and diplomats. Scores of beautiful French
girls, escorted by British officers--by way of emphasizing the Entente
Cordiale, no doubt--meandered amongst the crowd selling commemorative
medals. There were military sports by day, and there was a torchlight
procession round the arena and through the streets of Cairo by night.
Then we went back to our camp in the desert to wait for the word to
"move on." But I will never forget those Egyptian nights ... and one
girl of girls. Tall and stately, like a queen she moved amongst the
revellers. The rest of the dancers were just the frame round her
picture.... We danced. Her blue eyes laughed into mine.... And the
world has never been the same world since.