Item 06: Letters sent by Robert Christian Wilson to his family, 1918-April 1919 - Page 338

[Page 338]

He must have thought I was tight, at first, I think, because he came up with a gasp and a sickly sort of grin, as if he was going to try and humour me to go down stairs again.

However seeing that I was quite sober, he stopped in wonder, so I strode past him, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head when I sat down in the drawing room as if I owned the place. He stood at the door and just stared hard at me for about five minutes; then without taking his eyes off me, he edged up the passage, and called out in Arabic to one of the police down below.

Evidently, they put him wise to me, as Yanks would say, for he cleared out quick, and afterwards came creeping into the room with an extra cup and saucer.

I could see it only needed one strategic move on my part to complete the victory, so I said "Walad, take my hat and cane". The day was mine!!! he crept over with downcast eyes, took my hat and glided out of the room. It was when I was leaving, however, that I found out how complete my victory was. I had said "Good bye"' to Capt Trelawny on the top of the stairs, and gone down on my own, and was just reaching the bottom, when I saw the two door keepers, suddenly stiffen and as I passed out they both sprang to a smart salute, with a look on their faces, as, if they could only get one glance, even, from such a high person as me, they would live in happiness for the rest of their lives.

But after the way they had treated me before, I would not even deign to notice them, so just slightly raising my cane to show I accepted their salute, I strode out and up the street; I guess my grin when I got out of sight would have put envy into the heart of a Cheshire cat.

While I was in Port Said I heard the first Arab singer that I ever thought was worth listening to.

I never saw the singer, but it was a priest in a near-by mosque, and he used to go up to a platform near the top of the minarette, and sing from midnight to daylight. It was bitterly cold weather, but it was lovely moonlight and I used to lie awake and listen to his singing. It was all in Arabic of course, and had no rhyme, but tones of rhythm, like their chanties, and the priest had a beautiful, clear, ringing voice.  I wondered if that was how David made up all his Psalms in the old days. It sounded very like Psalms the priest was singing, but it seemed an awful pity to waste such a glorious voice on a sleeping world, and such a cold night too. It would have been different if he had only been serenading his lady-love.

I left Port Said by the mid-day train on Saturday. Harold Thomas came up to the train to see me off.

There was not anything of unusual interest on the trip up. Going down on the Canal past Kantara, I was noticing the miles and miles of barbed wire entanglements on the Eastern bank put there in 1915. To think that at certain intervals right across the Sinai as far as El Arish there are similar defences, with hundreds of miles of wire, and also netting roads everywhere. I wonder if they are going to roll it all up, and if they do I hope they won't use for it. It is wonderful to see the difference in the irrigation land at the different seasons of the year