ON THE FRINGE OF THE HOLY LAND
After the decisive victory of the 9th January, Rafa had been formed into an
advanced base for the next attack on the Turks, who had retreated some
twenty miles to immensely strong positions, of which Gaza formed the right
and Beersheba the left flank, with Sheria in the centre. During the whole
of February, troops of all arms had been steadily marching eastwards across
the desert. By the middle of March Rafa presented an inspiring spectacle.
Every day brigade after brigade of cavalry, artillery, and infantry poured
in, dusty, thirsty, and leg-weary, but in high spirits at leaving the
desert behind at last. One infantry division in particular--the 52nd
Lowland--had good reason to be thankful, for, coming straight from
Gallipoli to Egypt, they marched and fought every yard of the way across
Sinai.
The mounted division certainly did the same, but it takes an infantryman
thoroughly to appreciate the joys of tramping in full marching order over
the sand. The 52nd, moreover, did most of their marching before the wire
road was laid. Where all did so well, it is rather invidious to single out
any one division, but I do not think any one will object to throwing a few
bouquets at the Scotsmen, except possibly the Turks, who heartily disliked
them, especially behind a bayonet.
By now the railway had caught us up again, and almost daily long supply
trains come in from Kantara with loads of rations and forage. Also the
Egyptian Labour Corps arrived in hundreds and once more made the day
hideous with their mournful dirge. But if this eternal chant made one yearn
to throw something large and heavy at the performers, their work compelled
profound admiration. They must have beaten all previous records in laying
the line from Sheikh Zowaid to Rafa and were preparing to carry it forward
at the same pace. It was a characteristic of the railway now and later, to
appear in all sorts of unlikely places, and it was quite a common
experience to be awakened two or three days after our arrival in some
remote spot, by the shrill whistle of a locomotive.
The most striking thing at Rafa, however, was the organisation of the
water-supply. The great tanks that had done duty farther down the line were
brought up and long rows of them stood by the side of the railway. There
were fanatis literally by the thousand, ready to be filled and carried
forward when the time came. This apparently liberal provision was very
necessary, for except at Khan Yunus, six miles away to the north-east, Rafa
represented the only place for twenty miles whence to obtain water.
Though we could see the Promised Land, we were not there yet, nor did we
know much about the state of the wells after the Turks had finished with
them. Until we had advanced into and consolidated the country near to Gaza,
therefore, we had to carry every drop of water with us, sufficient,
moreover, to last for several days.
What the infantry would have done without the camels, one shudders to
contemplate, for they were practically the only means of water-transport.
Right into the firing line they would come at sundown, drop their fanatis
and fade away again. Nobody bothered to find out whence the camels came or
whither they went, but they were always there when wanted. It is no
exaggeration to say that the desert and subsequent campaigns would have
been impossible without the camels, both in their carrying and fighting
capacity. The mounted units for the most part used water-carts, though
these in turn were filled from fanatis brought up as far as possible by
camels.
By the time headquarters arrived at Rafa on the 20th, preparations had
about reached their zenith, and on the 23rd we moved out, with six days'
marching rations for men and horses loaded on to the limbers, which looked
uncommonly like business.
Our destination we did not of course know, and we were content at the
moment to be crossing the border into the Holy Land. Before us lay the
gently undulating plain, in the midst of which nestled the smiling village
of Khan Yunus, a beautiful sight, and one never to be forgotten. Everywhere
was green; fields of young barley rippled in the light breeze, palms and
almond trees nodded to the morning, and between the rows of cactus and
prickly pear ran the slim grey ribbon of the caravan road winding away to
the north.
Peeping out from amongst the trees were the flat-topped roofs of the
village, at the entrance to which in the most commanding position stood the
ruins of an old castle. Only the grey weather-beaten walls remained, but
the odour of antiquity was on the place, for it was built by Saladin,
Prince of Saracen fighters and conqueror of our own Richard the
Lion-hearted. How appropriate and impressive a place for the beginning of
the great Crusade!
Many places of historical and biblical interest did we see in our
wanderings, but I think the memory of our first real glimpse of the Land of
Goshen will ever remain the most vivid. Disillusionment came later, as it
does everywhere in the East, yet on that spring morning Khan Yunus, shining
like an emerald, came as balm to eyes weary with the aching barrenness of
the desert.
The Turks had originally intended to hold the place, probably on account
of its valuable water-supply, but thought better of it and retired to Gaza.
When we rode through the village the engineers were already busy repairing
the walls of the deep well in the market-place, one that had probably done
duty for hundreds of years, to judge from the state of the steps leading up
to it; they were in some places worn almost flat. The water was ice-cold
and wonderfully refreshing after the lukewarm, chlorinated stuff which had
corroded our insides for so long.
It was easy to see that an enemy of unpleasant habits had recently been in
the place. Few inhabitants were abroad, with the exception of the crowd of
dirty, ragged children watching the engineers at their work, but nothing
short of a bomb would upset the average Arab urchin.
It was the custom of the Turks here and elsewhere in Palestine to allow the
unfortunate fellaheen to grow and garner their harvest of barley or millet
without let or hindrance, after which they commandeered the major portion
and gave in payment--a promise! Most of the inhabitants are still waiting
for the redemption of that promise.
When they found that the British were prepared to pay in cash for what they
took, they acted on the sound principle that what is lost on the swings may
be gained on the roundabouts. Until a fixed and reasonable tariff was
adopted, we performed the function of roundabouts with great spirit and
dash, though at considerable cost. Meanwhile the fellaheen refilled their
pockets or wherever they keep their money, and lived in fatted peace.
We had scarcely halted to await orders on the outskirts of Khan Yunus
before an aged Arab, rather the worse for wear, arrived with a basket of
large and luscious oranges for sale. Ye gods, oranges! And we had seen no
fresh fruit for months! The old gentleman was fairly mobbed, and we cleared
his stock for him in a very few seconds. When he had recovered he went away
to spread the glad news abroad that a large body of madmen had arrived
thirsting for oranges, and, moreover, eager to pay for them.
Presently the ladies of the village came out _en masse_, all with baskets
of oranges, some as big as the two fists. We had a glut of them. Personally
I ate ten--this is not claimed as a record--and never enjoyed fruit so much
in my life; it was a very satisfying experience.
Later in the day we rode into the village again to water the horses and
fill the water-carts. As the well was not yet in full working order the
engineers had dug a large shallow hole in the ground, lined with a
tarpaulin, and not unlike a swimming bath in appearance. This was filled
with water from fanatis brought up by the camels, and connected up by
hand-pumps to the canvas troughs erected alongside, by which ingenious
means we were enabled to water the horses in comparative comfort. For this
blessing we were truly grateful after our recent experiences in the desert.
Coming back we met some wretched half-starved Bedouins fleeing into the
village for safety. One mournful little cavalcade struck the eye
arrestingly as it passed. At the head of the party and mounted on a white
donkey rode the handsomest Arab I ever saw in Palestine, with clean-cut
features and large, sorrowful eyes. Behind him, also on donkeys, rode his
womenfolk, heavily veiled, and his retainers in burnous and flowing robes.
Hereabouts the road was strewn with leaves and branches blown from the
trees, and the whole made a picture startlingly suggestive of that
representing Christ's entry into Jerusalem.
It must be remembered, lest this scene be set down as a figment of the
imagination, that the people of this land are still the people of the
Bible: their dress, their habits, their methods of travelling are precisely
as they were two thousand years ago. The husbandman still uses the
cumbersome wooden plough of the Old Testament, the women still go with
their "chatties" down to the well at sunset, to draw water and gossip with
their neighbours, as did Rachel before them, and any day can be seen,
tending their flocks, shepherds the exact prototype of those who followed
the Wise Men of the East to the cradle of the world.
I am not going to suggest that this incident of the fugitive sheikh was
instantly linked up with the sacred picture, the process was gradual.
There was first a sense of being on familiar ground, of having witnessed
the whole scene before somewhere, which was followed by the transition to
the Bible stories of childhood's days. Then came the inevitable dénouement,
and the picture was complete. Similar scenes constantly recurred the
farther we advanced into Palestine, and it was impossible that they should
leave no impression.
We found our orders waiting for us when we arrived back at our halting
place and at once hooked in and started again, only to be held up a little
way out by the congestion of troops who had marched into the village during
the morning. The cactus-hedges bordering the lanes afforded admirable
protection from observation by enemy aircraft, some of which were hovering
in the neighbourhood.
Dispatch-riders on motor-cycles threaded their way to the front in and out
amongst the horses with amazing skill, the cavalry swung forward _en route_
for the open country, staff officers galloped along the lanes, and in a few
short moments the whole atmosphere had changed from pastoral peace to the
tense excitement of military activity. Every few moments an enemy plane
came over to have a look at Khan Yunus, though it is doubtful whether they
saw very much, for an army could easily have hidden itself between the
hedgerows of the village.
So great was the bustle that most of us fully expected that the first
battle in the Holy Land was about to begin. It was by now high noon and
insufferably hot, and the soft alluvial dust churned up by motor bicycles
and galloping hoofs rose in suffocating clouds. We were penned in by the
high cactus-hedges and not a breath of air could reach us to dissipate the
choking dust. We had, it would appear, escaped the sand only to encounter a
worse enemy, and to add to our discomfort, we were still wearing the serge
tunics of the winter months. Nor could we ease ourselves by taking them
off, for this was a lengthy business, first necessitating the removal of
water-bottles, haversacks, bandoliers, and revolver-belts; and orders to
move might arrive while we were _in medias res_. The early morning
rhapsodies about Palestine were, like ourselves, rapidly melting away under
the influence of these trials to the flesh, and as the blazing hours wore
on with no change in the situation, we began strongly to feel that the
country was vastly overrated.
All through the afternoon generals, colonels, and minor constellations
charged past and disappeared, and with every fresh layer of dust on our
already begrimed faces, we thought that the moment had surely come to move
out of that atrocious lane. But for the entire absence of gunfire, you
would have thought that a frightful battle was going on somewhere beyond
our narrow prison. Not until sundown did we at last receive orders to go
forward till we were clear of the village--and camp for the night!
For most of us whose imaginations had been fired by the scenes we had
witnessed, this order came as a bitter disappointment. Later in the evening
we learnt what has already been told earlier in this chapter: that we had
still some fourteen miles of the country to cover before we could get in
touch with the Turks. While we had been waiting in the lane the cavalry had
made a reconnaissance in some strength, in order to see if any Turkish
patrols were in the neighbourhood. Apparently the "All clear" had been
reported, hence our peaceful return with the instructions to be ready to
start on the longer journey at a moment's notice.
The horses, at any rate, were satisfied to stay the night at Khan Yunus,
for they were mad with delight at finding themselves amongst the green
again. They broke loose and charged into the fields of young barley, they
trampled on it, they lay down and rolled in it. Finally they ate it and had
to be treated for pains in their insides. The men who were doing
picket-duty in a mounted unit during the first few weeks we were in
Palestine aged perceptibly with the responsibility of preventing the horses
from stuffing themselves with the unaccustomed green food. It was quite
enough to keep our horses fit in the ordinary way without having colic to
add to our joys.