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We had to accustom our eyes to the change from sand to the steely glint of black basalt country. The vast expanse of boulder-strewn wasteland about us was divided only by the bituminous ribbon over which we travelled. Running parallel to the road was the pipeline that we had followed from Iraq to H4 where the Jordanian customs house was situated within the community that had sprung up around the old pumping station. This pipeline was, at one time, the link between Kirkuk in Iraq and Haifa in Israel. As we continued driving alongside it we noticed, in places unsightly stains in the road where the pipeline had been severed, and crude black oil had spilled into the ground. It was enough to set us speculating on the uneasy political scene that had developed from the time of the creation of the state of Israel. We recalled how when we had applied for our Syrian visa in Baghdad, it was only given after exhaustive questions, and our repeated assurances that we had no intentions of visiting Israel. All maps that we saw in Arab Embassies made no reference at all to Israel, but showed the area as Palestine.

Although our intention was to make Amman our first stop, we extended our drive across the Jordan valley to Jerusalem. This was where we stayed for the majority of our time in the country. The first night we slept at the Cliff Hotel on the outskirts of Jerusalem, near Bethany. The following day we erected our tent in a stony courtyard, immediately behind the hotel. This area had been set-aside especially for campers and was surrounded by a low wall, which allowed a very good view of the rough, terraced hillsides and valleys, towards Mount Scopus. We often heard shepherds whistling to their flocks of sheep and goats, and playing on small pipes, as they sheltered in caves formed by the ledges of overhanging rocks. The sound of bells jingling, as the sheep made their way over the uneven ground, was one of which we never tired.

There were several other campers in the courtyard about us. In the tent next to ours was a young Yorkshire couple, Brierley and Hazel, who seemed to have similar ideas to ours about life. They had also planned to travel to India, but had been turned back about three miles from the border. They told us of some fascinating experiences that they had in Afghanistan, which almost made us wish that we had ventured that far. We also talked about England and the life that we had led there.

Also camping was Clive, a Welshman, who was hoping to drive his 1929 Austin 7 round the world. His small, blue car was in perfect condition, and he had obviously spent a great deal of time restoring it. He had bought it from a farmer who wanted just one pound for it, but after some tough bargaining Clive had eventually beaten him down to twelve shillings and sixpence. The chickens that had roosted in it had to find another home. So far on his journey he had not experienced any mechanical difficulties, but he had encountered a problem with some Arabs who persisted in lifting the back wheels off the ground to stop him driving away.

Two English boys, who had just left school, were travelling for six months in a Land Rover, and an elderly American couple were going to India. Strangely, the latter seemed oblivious of the political difficulties and were completely unconcerned that the borders were closed.

It was Norman Barron, the Irishman that we most admired. He had done several journeys over the years and, at eighty-one, it seemed his enthusiasm for life would never run out. His Morris Minor van, which was by no means new, had been tailored to suit his own requirements. Everything was neatly at hand and, although he had a good deal of luggage with him, he was somehow able to write, eat and sleep, without any undue discomfort, within this small space. He was mainly interested in architecture, which he went to great lengths to photograph. We had heard how he would climb scaffolding and the like in order to take a particular picture. When he showed us his passport, we thought how very appropriate it was that he had recorded his occupation as ‘student’. “I’m always learning”, he said truthfully. With such a friendly group we felt that Christmas in Jordan would be a great success.

On Christmas Eve we made our way to Bethlehem. Set among the rolling hills of Judaea, it is reached by way of a narrow road that winds past village homes, yellow stony fields and groves of twisted olive trees. Again, we saw shepherds tending their sheep. Proudly one of them held aloft a small black newborn lamb for us to see, while in the next field a man was trying to till the difficult, moisture-starved earth with a simple wooden plough. These shepherds’ long flowing robes must have looked very similar to those worn at the time of Christ. Some womenfolk moved gracefully along carrying water vessels on their shoulders. They had been to the well and were now returning to their stone-built homes, which gleamed warmly in the afternoon light.

The little town of Bethlehem, the name meaning ‘house of bread’, came into view. Just before we began to ascend the hill upon which it is situated, we saw a road to our left that led to a plain known as the Shepherds’ Fields. Towards evening, school children from all parts of the world would be gathering there to sing carols.

Leaving our vehicle, we walked towards Manger Square. Beside the Police Station a solitary leaning tree supported ugly cardboard angels and a loudspeaker from which carols were being relayed. The procession of the Anglican Patriarch was slowly making its way across a cobbled courtyard towards the Church of the Nativity. Red and white robes, black felt skullcaps and brocade banners were just visible above the heads of the crowds of sightseers who jostled vigorously for a better view. We fell into line behind the surge of people. The building that faced us did not look at all like a church. In fact, the walls that we saw were those of three convents, the Franciscan, the Greek, and the Armenian. There is a confusing timetable worked out to accommodate the services of the three different denominations, and three Christmases are celebrated each year. The Western Christmas is on the 24th and 25th of December, the Eastern Orthodox on the 6th and 7th of January and the Armenian on the 18th and 19th of January. Once, long ago, men could ride right into the church of the Nativity on horseback, but the main entrance was made small, in order to prevent animals entering. We bowed our heads to enter, and were immediately engulfed in darkness. Blindly following the people in front of us, we went on through yet another door that led directly into the nave of the Basilica. Our first impression was that it was rather gloomy. Four rows of red stone, Corinthian style columns divide the area into five aisles that were hung with ornate golden lamps. The high altar, which belongs to the Greek Orthodox Church, has an ornate iconastasis and several icons, most of which were presented by Russian royalty. To the left was a smaller altar, belonging to the Armenians. This is known as the Altar of Kings, and is said to be the place where the Magi dismounted.

Apparently, when the Persians invaded Palestine in 614, they were intent on destroying all Christian churches, but arriving at the Church of the Nativity, they were amazed to see mosaic pictures of the Magi, in their Persian costume, worshipping the infant Christ. As a result of this, the oldest Christian church in the world was spared.

On either side of the main altar were stone steps, which must have been trodden by millions of people, for they lead to the main shrine, the Grotto of the Nativity. It was once a cave, but it is now so well lit and decorated that it is hardly recognisable as such. A Silver Star is set in the marble floor of a small recess, marking the traditional place of Christ’s birth. The present star was given by a Sultan of the Ottoman Empire in 1852, and around it there is the inscription: Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus Natus est. (Here, Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.) To the right of this and down three steps is the Chapel of the Holy Manger. All around are candles, silver votive lamps, and brass incense burners, the smoke from which has blackened the roof above. People were continually moving through and paying their respects by praying and kneeling to kiss the altar. The church of St. Catherine of Alexandria, built by the Franciscan friars in 1881, immediately adjoins the main Basilica. We witnessed part of a service there during which there was a great deal of ritualistic chanting. Many people were irreverently taking flashlight photographs of the magnificent magenta and scarlet robes of the priests.

All the evening crowds of tourists continued to pour into the Basilica of the Nativity. Maybe for some there was an atmosphere of reverence, but for us there was little peace, and a lack of simplicity. The church was a hive of activity, so we made our way out into the courtyard of the Orthodox convent and joined for a while members of the Anglican church from many lands who were singing carols by candlelight. Then we wandered out of the courtyard into Milk Grotto Street, where there were several souvenir shops filled with articles made from olive wood and mother-of-pearl. Monks of the sixteenth century taught people how to make ornaments of mother-of-pearl, and now this is a trade for which Bethlehem is well known. Hoards of tourists were buying souvenirs and drivers of large cars would sound the horn like mad in any traffic tangle. The events of the last few hours had quickly shattered the idea that we had in our minds of Bethlehem, as a sleepy little town. We resolved to return another day, when things would have quietened down to some extent.

As we made our way home, we heard the almost familiar sound of the Christmas bells ringing out across the land. It was a clear night and the stars shone brightly. Earlier in the evening we had seen the bright planet Venus over in the west and had considered the possibility of that ‘star in the east’. The famous German astronomer, Kepler, had calculated that on no less than three occasions prior to the birth of Christ, the unusual phenomena of a conjunction of the two bright planets, Jupiter and Saturn, had occurred in the constellation of Pisces.

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear, and our thoughts turned to home, where our families and friends would also be celebrating. We had not made any plans, and it seemed that the other people camping were not going anywhere either. We looked at all our letters, cards and parcels and listened to a taped message from our parents and friends that we had collected from the Post Office the day before. We then sat talking with the young couple, Brierley and Hazel Helliwell from Yorkshire. The day passed very quickly, but Audrey did not let it go without producing the traditional Christmas pudding, bought in an Arab store in Jerusalem, but made in England.

On Boxing Day we went to a carol service at St. George’s Cathedral, which is the seat of the Anglican Archbishop. Architecturally it looked rather like a large English church, with a simple modern-styled interior, beautifully decorated with brilliant red poinsettias. We were glad to find that, although many carols would be sung in English, some were to be sung in Arabic.The choir was formed by girls from Helen Keller’s School for the Blind in Jerusalem.

The road from Bethany into Jerusalem, that we took each day, skirted the Mount of Olives. Near the dip, where it met the Vale of Kedron was the Church of All Nations, built in 1924 by the Franciscans on the foundations of a Byzantine and Crusader Basilica. It is so named because people from several countries have contributed towards its cost. Built mainly of pink limestone, it has a beautiful facade in the Byzantine style, with an impressive and colourful Italian mosaic. Inside a sombre mauve light, from circular alabaster windows, creates an atmosphere of gloom and despair, which is very fitting, for this church is built over a rock, thought to be the rock of agony, when Christ prayed that He might be spared. Two doves and interwoven thorns fashioned from wrought iron, rail off the actual rock. Large marble pillars support twelve cupolas adorned with mosaics, each the gift of a particular country and bearing its emblem. Over the altar and in the chapels on either side of it are more beautiful mosaics, showing scenes from the last hours of Christ’s life on earth.

The Garden of Gethsemane is by the side of this church, where gnarled olive trees, up to three thousand years old, still exist as they surely did at the time of Christ. The flowerbeds, edged with rosemary, for remembrance, are looked after by the Franciscans.

Higher up the slope of the Mount of Olives, we came to the Russian church of St. Mary Magdalene, built by Tsar Alexander III in 1888. Characteristic onion-shaped domes were outlined against the sky, while the rest of the church was almost hidden behind dark green cypress trees. White Russian nuns in long black gowns end close-fitting black velvet bonnets, quietly moved to and fro in the church offering candles before a large embossed icon of Mary.

Near the top of the Mount of Olives is a small circular chapel surrounded by an octagonal wall. At the entrance sat the Moslem custodian, reading aloud passages from the Koran. Within the chapel is a marble slab with a depression on it, which is regarded to be the footprint left by Christ as he ascended to heaven. Until 1187 the building was open to the sky, but at this time it passed into the hands of Saladin, who had the chapel covered with the present small cupola. We found that although this shrine dates back to Crusader times, it was given by Saladin to a Moslem family, and now Christians are only allowed to worship there on Ascension Day. It appears that Moslems do not accept Christ’s arrest, and crucifixion, believing that he went directly from Gethsemane to the place of ascension and then to Heaven.

The Mount of Olives, apart from being full of Biblical interest to all pilgrims, offers the most splendid panorama across the Kedron Valley to the old city of Jerusalem surrounding the gilded Dome of the Rock. Beyond, just discernible in the fading light of evening, were some of the new buildings of Israel.

The small road that meanders through the Kedron Valley follows the Kedron Brook over part of its course. This vale is also known as the Valley of Jehoshaphat. According to Moslem and Jewish traditions, the judgment of the world will take place here, between the Temple and the Mount of Olives. To right and to left, therefore, there are many tombs of both Moslems and Jews. There are also four monuments cut from the rock. The first is Absalom’s Tomb or Pillar, which is an elaborate structure with an unusual top, rather like an old-fashioned saltcellar. Behind, and to the left is the tomb of Jehoshaphat. Next is a rock monument called the Grotto of St. James, and farther along is the tomb of Zacharia, similar to Absalom’s Pillar, but surmounted by a pyramid.

Continuing along the valley, one comes to the Virgin’s Fountain, so named because Mary was believed to have washed her Child’s clothes at this spring. Between here and the Pool of Siloam is Hezekiah’s Tunnel, built in the seventh century BC, so that the city of Jerusalem could be fed with water if the Assyrians invaded. It is possible to walk along its entire length of 1700 feet, if one is prepared to wade through the water. The original cutting marks can be seen on the rock wall, also the place where there was a tablet inscribed with Hebrew writing; one of the earliest examples ever found. Now in Istanbul, it reads:

‘Finished is the piercing. And this was the manner of the piercing. While yet the miners were plying the pick each group towards the other and while yet there were three cubits[11] to be pierced, there was heard the voice of each group calling to the other, for there was a crack in the rock to the left and to the right. And on the day of the piercing the miners smote so that each group met the other, pick against pick. And the waters flowed from the source to the pool, 1200 cubits. And 100 cubits was the height of the rock above the heads of the miners’.

We walked back, until we were once again on the road to the old city. Where this road crosses the River Kedron is the Tomb of the Virgin, the oldest church in Jerusalem, dating from Byzantine times. Many steps lead down in increasing darkness to the lower part of the church, where the remains of an old tomb exists behind the altar. Here several, black-bearded, Greek Orthodox priests offered us candles to light. The heavy scent of incense and almost complete darkness, apart from a few flickering candles, made the atmosphere rather claustrophobic, so we were not sorry to return to the light and fresh air again.

The solid massive walls enclosing the old city were built by Saladin in the twelfth century, completed by Suleiman the Magnificent in the sixteenth century and follow, to a great extent, the line of the old Roman walls. Parts of the eastern and southern walls are built with huge stones that date back to the time of Herod. Altogether, there are thirty-four towers, and eight gates, which until 1887, used to be closed before sunset and opened at sunrise.

The eastern wall, at which we had been looking, contained two of the eight gates; the twin arched Golden Gate, blocked by the Turks in 1530, and St. Stephen’s Gate. It was the Golden Gate through which Jesus probably entered the Temple Area on the first Palm Sunday. St. Stephen’s Gate is traditionally where Stephen, the first martyr, was stoned to death. In the northern wall are three gates, Herod’s Gate, the Damascus Gate, or Gate of the Column, and the New Gate. On the west there is only the Jaffa Gate, whilst on the south are the Zion Gate and the Dung Gate. After the conflict in 1948, the New Gate, the Jaffa Gate and the Zion Gate were walled up. On the other side was ‘No Man’s Land’.

Around the Damascus Gate the noise and activity of the crowd gave the impression of having spilled out from behind the city wall. We were anxious to explore so made our way between the people into the old city. Street vendors were selling a great variety of wares and we moved from shop to shop among a surging mass of people. The shops, with green roller shutters, were small, open fronted and filled to the brim with stock. Piles of sticky sweetmeats, boxes of bananas, spices, dried fruits, coffee, tea, vegetables of all kinds, china, glass ware, pots and pans, and leather goods. In fact, everything imaginable was available. With all these colourful sights, came the various pungent smells. Generally we found that the shopkeepers were kept busy, but on occasions when business was slack, they could be seen sitting on stools, talking with each other or drinking tea.

Audrey wanted to purchase a simple flat toaster for use with our petrol stoves, so she wandered off, hoping that she would be able to find one. Very shortly she returned, waving triumphantly and exclaiming,

“All the way from England!”

There were a large number of souvenir shops, too, displaying beautiful olivewood carvings and statues, hand-embroidery, leather slippers, sheepskin jackets, copper and brassware. Stopping to look in one window we were immediately welcomed by the owner, and given seats inside. Tea was sent for and brought in little glasses on a large brass tray. We enjoyed choosing our gifts in such a friendly atmosphere. We were never hurried, for time was obviously not important. Turning off this thoroughfare, we came to streets that were narrow and stepped, with irregularly paved surfaces. The scene had changed. The hustle around the souvenir shops and souks was not repeated in these little alleys, where we found small, barefooted children at play. We remembered that we had seldom seen a Jordanian child crying. They always appeared bright-eyed and cheerful, ready for a game and never agitating for money as one may be led to expect.

Within the city walls there were no signposts, save only a single arrow indicating the way to the Dome of the Rock, which is situated in the vast precinct of the Haram al-Sharif. This ‘Place of the Temple’, or ‘Noble Sanctuary’ is a spacious area of some thirty-four acres on the summit of what is traditionally considered to be Mount Moriah. The first altar on this site was built by King David, and subsequently temples were created by King Solomon, King Herod and the Emperor Hadrian. Constantine built his great Christian church here, but after the Moslem Conquest of Jerusalem, this was replaced by a simple wooden mosque built by the Caliph Omar. Towards the end of the seventh century, the Caliph Marwan decided to erect a more splendid mosque on this holy place, and so, between 685 and 691 AD, the present Dome of the Rock was built.

It is the third Holy Mosque of Islam after Mecca and Medina and the earliest example of Arabic architecture in existence today. Prior to its comparatively recent reconstruction the dome’s outer layer was of lead, but it has been replaced with a covering of gold-plated aluminium, which makes it a shining landmark for miles around, nearly always caught by the sun’s rays. The dome is set above an octagonal shaped building, the lower part of which is of veined white marble. The upper part is covered with fine, blue, green and yellow, Turkish and Persian tiles, with bands of interwoven Kufic characters illustrating verses from the Koran.

Leaving our shoes outside we placed on our feet the soft slippers, which were provided, then stepped over the threshold on to beautiful Persian carpets. Spellbound, we gazed above us at the interior of the huge dome, richly decorated with gold and blue mosaics, the work of Indian artists. In front of us, taking up most of the central floor area was the rock, encircled by a cypress-wood balustrade. Sacrificial offerings were once made here and at one side a hole was visible with a channel that allowed the blood to drain away. Originally we had been unaware that the rock was exposed in such a manner within the church, but now it was clear why the mosque was so called. Not only was this where Abraham prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac, it was also the summit from which Mohammed is said to have ascended to heaven. Soon after the Crusaders came, it was common practice to break off pieces of the rock for souvenirs. In Constantinople it could be sold for its weight in gold. As a result, the rock was gradually diminishing, so to safeguard it for the future, it was covered with marble.

Looking around us at the octagonal shape of the building, and the two concentric circles of marble pillars, we sensed a unity of design that was enhanced by the circulatory movement of the people. In great contrast to any Christian cathedral, there was no ‘reaching out’ of a spire, instead, the all-embracing dome.

Emerging into the bright sunlight, we walked across the well-worn flagstones of the Haram, which were interspersed with mosses, giving the appearance of a patchwork quilt. The city wall, domes, and minarets about us, glowed with a mellow, honey-coloured light. Situated at the top of each flight of steps leading to the Dome, are elegant arches called Mawazeen. It is believed by Moslems, that scales will hang from them on the day of Judgement. A series of these arches on the eastern side of the Haram framed beautifully some of the places that we had recently visited on the Mount of Olives. Passing the marble summer pulpit we walked down broad stone steps and between a small group of trees, until we were standing in front of another mosque. In the early days of Islam, the whole Haram area was known as Al Aqsa, but over the years the name has become associated only with this mosque. The Al Aqsa, meaning ‘the most distant place’, is so called because it is the furthest place from Mecca to which Mohammed went. The first impression we had, as we walked through the great entrance where in 1951, King Abdullah was murdered, was about its size. There was a wide central aisle and three narrower ones on either side. Five thousand people can worship at any one time. The women occupy the aisles on the western side, which are separated from the main building by an iron screen. The splendid minbar, or pulpit, carved from cedar wood is from Lebanon, and the mihrab, or prayer niche, which is probably the finest in any mosque in the Middle East, is from Aleppo. They were both gifts from Saladin. It was nearing the hour for prayer, and men whom we had earlier seen preparing themselves for worship at the fountain El-Kas, the Cup, were entering the mosque and kneeling in rows on the floor. If only we could have stayed longer, but the doorkeeper was ushering us away.

In the southeastern corner of the Haram are extensive subterranean structures known as Solomon’s Stables. We took a stairway down to a very damp and musty smelling area, where we saw huge vaults, the work of Herod the Great. In the dim light we could just discern the tethering holes and mangers, carved in the rock, that were used in the twelfth century by Crusaders, who stabled their horses here.

Among other edifices on the Haram, there is a small cupola supported upon two circles of columns known as the Dome of the Chain. A chain suspended from beneath the dome was said to reach Heaven, and was used in testing a person’s honesty. No one, it was said, could clasp the chain when telling a lie. Although we did not see them ourselves, we read of two columns on the Haram that were partly worn by the action of people squeezing between them. It is believed that no Moslem may enter Heaven if he cannot pass between these columns, and on one occasion someone died in a frantic attempt to squeeze through.

Part of the wall that bounds the Haram, to the west of the Al Aksa Mosque is known as the Wailing Wall. It is where the Jews lament the loss of their Temple, and pray for its restoration. There was no wailing when we were in the vicinity, for it was situated within the old city, to which the Jews did not then have access. One can imagine the scene that occurred recently, when after the six days’ war, the Jews were once again at this most revered place.

We retraced our steps towards St. Stephen’s Gate, beside which is the lovely church of St. Anne. This fine example of Crusader work is in good condition today, because Saladin decided to turn it into a school of Islamic theology, rather than destroy it. It is built on the site considered to be the birthplace of the Virgin Mary, and home of her parents, Anna and Joachim. Having just seen the Dome of the Rock, the design of the interior of this church was plain and severe in comparison. The lighting was dim, but the smoothness of the stone gave a clean line to the lofty pillars. In the crypt was a small grotto containing an altar hung about with many trinkets that had been donated by pilgrims. In the vicinity of St. Anne’s Church is the Pool of Bethesda. At the time of Jesus, those who were lame or afflicted with various diseases would lie beneath porches by the edge of the pool waiting for the ‘moving of the water’. Whoever could bathe first, after the pool had been disturbed, was cured. No doubt a spring existed at that time, but would long since have disappeared, due to earth movement. Looking down to the depths, where recent excavations had revealed more of the five porches around the pool, we could see little other than slimy green mud.

From St. Stephen’s Gate, the road runs parallel with the northern wall of the Haram, and leads into the Via Dolorosa. This is the name given to a route through a maze of streets and souks of the old city. It is the traditional path along which Christ carried his cross, from the courtyard where he was condemned to death, to the place of the Crucifixion on Calvary. After the Crucifixion of Jesus, His Mother, Mary, began to make little pilgrimages with some of the disciples to the hill of Golgotha. On the way she would mark and say a prayer at each significant place along the path taken by her Son, and this is how the fourteen Stations of the Cross are said to have originated. There is, however, little or no record of the Via Dolorosa before the thirteenth century. According to Leslie Farmer, in his most informative book, ‘We Saw the Holy City’, it was located in 1294 by Ricoldus of Monte Croce, who mapped out the most probable way that Jesus went and himself decided where the various events took place. The Gospels supported some of the events others were legendary.

One Friday afternoon we joined the Franciscans who, every Friday at three o’clock, follow the Via Dolorosa stopping at each of the Fourteen Stations that are identified by small plaques let into the wall.

The ‘first station’ is in the courtyard of the Omayyad School, which is regarded as the site of the Praetorium. The Franciscan Fathers, dressed in long black robes knelt on the flagstones, beneath which is the place where Jesus was questioned, scourged and crowned with thorns. They said prayers with the aid of a megaphone, so that all could hear, then rose and moved on.

The ‘second station’, by the Ecce Homo arch, is where Pontius Pilate delivered Christ to the Jews and the people cried, “Crucify Him”. It was here that we noticed an Arab, carrying a polished stick, and dressed in a red fez and a long black overcoat with red lapels. We presumed that his presence signified that Moslem custodianship of all the Holy Places.

The ‘third station’ is where the road dips and meets another street coming in from the Damascus Gate. Traditionally it is where Christ first fell under the weight of the Cross. There is a carving over a doorway to a small oratory at the ‘fourth station’, showing Jesus meeting His Mother.

At the ‘fifth station’ Simon of Cyrene took the Cross from Jesus, when it was thought that He would never reach the place of execution alive. A fragment of column in the wall at the ‘sixth station’, indicates where Veronica offered her head cloth to wipe the face of Jesus.

The ‘seventh station’ is where Jesus fell for the second time, and is in the midst of the market area. It is marked by an archway and a chapel, adjacent to the Street of Bad Cookery, a name given by the Crusaders.

Try to imagine yourself with us in the Old City accompanying the throng of tourists and pilgrims as we wind our way through the narrow streets. Everyday life in the souks carries on just as normal and doesn’t stop for such a procession. Imagine the various scents and smells of spices that pervade the air. Feel the bumps and the jostling as two heavily packed donkeys, pushed from behind by a couple of small boys, force their way ahead of you. Slow down to the pace of the old woman in front, who is only just able to drag her inadequately shod feet one in front of the other over the cobbled surface. Notice the turbaned mullah sitting quietly on a stool half inside a doorway. Hear the calls of the shopkeepers selling every foodstuff imaginable.

“Something for nothing, sir!”

“Step inside, you’re welcome.”

It’s getting more and more crowded. If we are not careful we will lose the main procession. Hundreds of people in flowing, pure white headdresses are moving in the opposite direction. Some women, their faces completely covered by heavy black veils surprise me, as I realise they are actually facing me, not walking away. All these people are coming from the Mosque. It is the month of Ramadan, a period of intense religious activity, and a time of fasting for the Moslems. How on earth is it possible for all these people to find their way through? The Franciscan Fathers are now almost out of sight. We must hurry to catch them up.

The ‘eighth station’ is marked with a black stone cross on the wall of the Greek Orthodox Convent of St. Charalambos. It is where Jesus said to the daughters of Jerusalem, who were grieving at His end,

“Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children”.

The ‘ninth station’ commemorates the third fall of Jesus, near to the place where he was joined by two thieves, also condemned to be crucified on the summit of Cavalry.

The last ‘five stations’ are all within the confines of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This, the most esteemed of Christian shrines, was at one time the focal point of the Crusaders as they marched to Jerusalem. Two million died in their efforts to gain this Terra Sancta. Today, it still exists uneasily at the centre of the religious and political struggles associated with the division of Palestine and supremacy in the Middle East.

The Emperor Constantine, son of Empress Helena, erected the first church on the site in 335 AD. After an exhaustive search of the Holy places, found what she regarded to be the original Cross of Calvary. Three centuries later the Persians destroyed it, and carrying the cross away with them, left behind a ruined city. However the church was rebuilt in 628 by Modestus, a Greek Orthodox abbot. A few years later, the Moslem Caliph, Omar, took the city and proclaimed that the Holy Sepulchre and all Christian shrines should be preserved.

Saladin, having captured Jerusalem from the Crusaders in 1187, closed the Holy Sepulchre for some time before giving it to the Syrian Jacobite Christians. Remembering how previously the Crusaders had gained entry and massacred the Arabs within, he decided that the key of the main entrance door should be held by an Arab family. This arrangement involved, in fact, two families, the Joudehs and the Nuseibehs. To the Joudehs was given the only key of the door, and to the Nuseibehs the right to turn the key in the lock to open or close the door. These rights have been handed down through the respective families from one generation to the next. Each morning, at four o’clock, the ceremony of the unlocking of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre takes place as it has done since the twelfth century.

When we entered, we found it depressingly gloomy inside, and there were huge, ugly timber stanchions propping up the walls that supported the dome. On reflection, we should not have been surprised at the structural conditions, bearing in mind the historical turmoil’s associated with the place and the effects of the earthquake in 1927. Two flights of steps lead up to the dimly lit chapels linked with Calvary, and those who had been following the Franciscan Fathers were all making their way there. One chapel belongs to the Roman Catholics, the other to the Greeks. The Roman, Catholics, the Greeks and the Armenians each hold processions and services every day at set times, which often overlap. In fact, various parts of the Church are owned and zealously guarded by these faiths. The Copts, Syrians and Ethiopians also have their possessions and rights of passage. Clashes between the various faiths have, in the past, caused embarrassment, but on the whole there is a good deal of tolerance.

The ‘tenth station’ where Jesus was stripped of His garment, and the ‘eleventh station’, where He was nailed to the Cross are both in the Roman Catholic chapel. Some beautiful mosaics over the altar have recently been restored, but would be seen to a greater advantage if the lighting were better. Passing between pillars to the equally dim Greek Orthodox chapel, we came to the ‘twelfth station’, where Jesus died upon the Cross. The most credulous are able to touch the rock beneath the altar where the Cross was placed in the ground, and one is shown two more holes, reputed to be where the crosses of the two thieves stood.

The ‘thirteenth station’ is at the altar of the Stabat Mater, ‘where the Mother stood’, and commemorates the body of Jesus being taken down from the Cross and laid in the arms of His Mother. This ‘station’ lies between the two chapels. There is a large image of the Virgin Mary in a glass case, with a prodigious number of gold and silver trinkets. Roman Catholics from all over the world pay their respects to this bejewelled Madonna.

A rather perplexed American woman, completely dazed by what she had seen, asked us,

“Is this really the place where Jesus was crucified?”

When we assured her that this was the believed place, she walked off as if it had been the greatest disappointment of her life. I think many visitors feel this. The fact that there is a shrine or building of some sort covering every conceivable place associated with the life of Christ, disrupts ideas of simplicity that may be present in one’s thoughts about His life.

It is, perhaps, appropriate to add here that there are often alternative sites which lay claim to be the authentic places of events connected with the life of Jesus. The position of Calvary and the location of the tomb of Jesus are the most confusing, as far as any visitor to Jerusalem is concerned.

A great deal of the bewilderment about Calvary stems from the fact that the Holy Sepulchre Calvary is within the existing city wall, and yet it is known that all crucifixions, together with any burials, would have taken place outside the wall. This particular problem is explained by the fact that Agrippa I is believed to have built a wall several years after the crucifixion of Christ, enclosing Calvary within the city. There is, however, another place outside the present city wall, which was established when General Gordon proclaimed, with some support in Victorian times, that in the hill could be detected the form of a skull.[12] Gordon’s Calvary does have the dubious advantage of being outside the present city wall, and it also has an aesthetic appeal, in the hymn,

‘There is a green hill far away,

Without a city wall . . .

The words of this hymn are often remembered, although the Scriptures do not support the words. Similarly, as opposed to the tomb in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, there is another alternative: the ‘Garden Tomb’. This was found later situated in a very pleasant shaded setting, where we could see a cave cut from the rock and, in front of it, a trough, where a stone could be rolled across. Although this appeals to many as the ‘more acceptable’ place, being perhaps, just as one would imagine it to be at the time of Christ. It was not found until 1867, and it was then full of rubbish.

For the last and ‘fourteenth station’ of the Cross, we made our way down from Calvary and walked through the church until we were beneath the Rotunda. Here we found the ornate marble edifice of the Holy Sepulchre. The actual rock of the tomb has been covered with marble slabs, and was guarded by an Orthodox priest. Forty-eight lamps, small myriad pools of orange-yellow light, are always kept burning.

We turned and wandered outside to the charm of the now quieter streets of the old city. It seemed as though we had witnessed the final act of a play, in which the audience were not sure of the merits of the performance. Indeed, for many, it seemed as if they were not all that concerned. There were too many sightseers, too much activity, and too much ornate decoration. We felt that any religion, or faith, was masked by the profusion of the altars, candles and priests.

Arriving back at the camp, we found Abdul waiting for us. A thick set man, aged about forty, he was head of the village of Abu Dees, which was just along the road from the Cliff Hotel. He often came to the hotel, and had spoken with us once or twice. On this occasion, he had an invitation for us to join him in a visit to the nearby village of Bethany. Bethany is known as El Azarieh, because it was the home of Lazarus, who was miraculously raised from the dead. It was also the home of Simon, whom Jesus had cured of leprosy. The family that we were to see were experiencing great difficulties, which they hoped Abdul could help them to overcome. It would seem that an architect had designed their house, the plans had been approved and it was built. Unfortunately, there was one problem; there was no legal way in. On one occasion, when the daughter was married, the neighbour had agreed to a hole being knocked in the surrounding wall, so that the guests could enter, but after the ceremony he insisted that it be made good again. We had to trespass on to their neighbours land, climb a ladder propped against a high wall and jump down to the other side. Abdul introduced us to the family, and once we had all sat down, they began to tell him their problems. He listened carefully, now and again translating to us what was being said. After some discussion, he finally promised to try to persuade their neighbours to be more cooperative. We were pleased to be able to see inside a Jordanian home. It was clean and plainly furnished. About the room were cushions and cloths that were attractively hand-embroidered. Before we left, we were given coffee to drink and some almonds from their garden.

Abdul drove us back to the Cliff Hotel, and asked if we would care to attend a village farmers’ meeting, which was to be held later that evening at his home in Abu Dees. Of course, we accepted, although we did not know quite what to expect. He told us that meetings were held regularly and the farmers came to talk over any grievances that they had. As village chief, he would mediate, and try to solve some of their problems.

When we arrived, we were shown up rough, stone stairs to the first floor of the house. Here we found Abdul amongst twenty or more men, young and old, some with long robes and black and white chequered headdress others wearing western-style suits. Many of them sat idly fingering rows of amber prayer beads. Abdul showed us to a hard settee. No one seemed particularly surprised to see us walk in, so possibly Abdul had already mentioned that we were going to attend the meeting. Audrey found herself the only woman present.

It appeared that the main business of the day had finished, and one of the men came in with two thermos flasks of coffee. It was rather disappointing to see such modern containers, but at least the traditional cups were used, as small as our eggcups and without handles. We were handed one, filled with no more than a teaspoonful of unsweetened coffee. More than once Abdul had said: “Ah, unsweetened coffee, you must have unsweetened coffee with me some time”.

So this was it and we must be careful to be polite. One cup is taken for formality’s sake, to accept two cups is just not done, three is allowed if one is really thirsty, but to have more than three would suggest greed. In order to signify that the cup should not be refilled, one gently rocks it to and fro in the fingers.

While we were drinking most of the men were watching the television, the only one in the whole village. We were surprised to see one at all. A Western film was being shown, accompanied by plenty of flickering and white lines. Behind us, on the wall, were many photographs and when we showed interest in these, Abdul pointed out those taken of himself whilst in the army. In one or two he could be seen accompanying King Hussein, and we learned that he had once been his aide-de-camp.

On later occasions, when Abdul was under the influence of arak, a very potent drink flavoured with aniseed, he told us that he had been asked to resume a former Government post. This depressed him considerably, for he obviously preferred to remain concerned with his village activities, and to continue working his orange farm in Jericho. It was in this connection that an acre of land that Abdul owned was offered to us, hoping that we would consider living in Jordan and would like the idea of managing an orange farm.

Later in the evening, Audrey asked about the women’s traditional dress whereupon, to our surprise, Abdul produced one for her to see and try on. It was long and made of heavy black silk. Around the neck opening, across the bodice and in narrow panels down the sides of the skirt, was red cross-stitch embroidery, beautifully worked by hand. The sleeves were long and loose fitting. A piece of green silk was folded and tied in a sash around the waist, and a white silk veil was used as a headdress, but did not cover the face. Audrey slipped the gown over her dress, thrilled with the opportunity of trying it on. It certainly seemed to make an amusing diversion for the men.

Most evenings, if we were not out elsewhere, we would have a meal in the Land Rover before going into the hotel. The lounge was at the disposal of the campers and, as there was only one woman resident at the hotel, we invariably had it to ourselves. Curiously no one else came to stay while we were there, but we were assured that business would be better later in the year, particularly at Easter. We were very grateful for these comfortable surroundings and often sat there writing our diary and letters home, or talking with Issa, the young manager. He always offered us tea and a special dish, normally eaten during Ramadan, called atayef, a small sweet pancake with a filling of syrup and nuts. Sometimes we sat listening to Arabic music on the radio. Although at first it sounded strange and remote from our appreciation, in time we began to recognise various pieces and even enjoyed listening to them. One popular singer named Um Kalthum could often be heard and audiences would repeatedly applaud. She sang her songs, which often lasted over one hour, again and again, but they never tired.

Within the first week of our arrival in Jerusalem, we decided to contact Kay Wright. She was working with the British School of Archaeology in Jordan, and I had met her before leaving England at the Rover Company’s three-day course. Audrey and I were invited to a large house in Jerusalem where she was living, and here we met the Director and several other members of the School of Archaeology. During the evening we were able to gain a clear idea of the important archaeological sites that we should try to visit in Jordan and Syria. As we had a Land Rover, it was suggested that we should not miss visiting the desert castles to the east of Amman. One or two people present, including a girl from the American School of Archaeology, were keen to accompany us. It was agreed that final arrangements should be made when we were invited to a more formal dinner party on New Year’s Eve.

At the party it was decided that Abu Hisham, who worked with the Antiquities Department and the American girl, should accompany us in the Land Rover. A large Mercedes, with a driver willing to risk his car on the desert tracks, was hired for the other five people. We arranged to meet in Amman, Jordan’s capital, a busy little city built on seven hills. In the residential area are many attractive, flat-roofed villas of white limestone, while in the poorer districts, smaller houses, painted in various pastel shades, huddle together too close for comfort.

Having first picked up Ruth, the American girl we drove to the British Embassy in Amman and collected the key for the hunting lodge, which was at Azraq. Our plan was to spend a night there before driving to the other desert castles. We were also able to collect our visa for Egypt, which we hoped to visit within the next fortnight. The formalities were completed in less than half an hour. Shortly afterwards we filled up at the last petrol station and took aboard a load of olive-tree logs, so that we could have a fire at the lodge.

A few miles northeast of Amman we turned off the road on to a desert track marked with cairns, sparsely though regularly placed. When we lost sight of these we were glad to have Abu Hisham guiding us, as his knowledge of the area saved a great deal of time checking directions.

After we had been travelling for a while, the derelict castle known as Qasr el Hallabat came into view. Large basalt stones from the building lay in heaps about it, whilst others were scattered afar. The Romans erected this fort in about 200 BC in an attempt to check illicit raiding by desert tribes. Two Bedouin tribesmen approached us from their encampment close by and we climbed with them over the blocks of stone and smaller basalt blocks, finding not only a floral motif on one stone, but also part of a Greek inscription which commemorated the rebuilding of the fort.

As we made our way back to the Land Rover, we asked Abu Hisham if he could arrange for us to go into the Bedouin camp. He had a word with the tribesmen, and in no time at all we were inside the simple, open-fronted, black goat-hair tent, seated on the best tribal rugs, which had been especially laid on the ground for us. The air was thick with smoke from a charcoal fire in the centre, and there were many blackened pots and pans, and other odds and ends strewn about. From the shadows of the tent came a woman. She was lean and had rather a gaunt face with a prominent nose, but we immediately noticed her noble expression. Her black head-dress, held in place with a band of material tied low on her forehead, and her long, loose black gown, dusty and faded by the continual sunshine, did nothing to mar her dignified bearing. As she held up a young, brown-eyed, curly-headed child for us all to admire, we could see the blue tribal markings on her long thin fingers. A small girl, with two front teeth missing, and with a strangely old face for one so young, sidled curiously up to see all the visitors, but when someone turned and smiled at her, she shyly darted into the shadows.

The Bedu, ‘Nature’s gentlemen’, as they have been called, are an independent people, living a hard, simple life. The internal combustion engine and the material comforts of the present day have little effect upon their lives. Collectively they are loyal to the King and represent an impressive force at a time of national hostilities. They adhere strictly to a code of hospitality that stems directly from their existence in the desert, in which at all times life is precarious. A traveller will be allowed to share the comforts of their tent and partake of their food for a period of three days. Only after this time has elapsed will the host question the traveller as to his intentions. According to his code, he will even kill his last sheep to provide a feast for the stranger, although he can ill afford to do so. Their numbers are dwindling in the Arab world today, yet these people still represent the quintessence of pure Arab stock.

Reluctantly, we had to leave the tent, for we still had the rough drive to Azraq for the overnight stop. More often than not there was no clearly defined track so we made our own path, trying to avoid sending clouds of dust into the Mercedes, which was behind us. Then the Mercedes speeded up and overtook us, enthusiastically leading the way. Suddenly it appeared to be in trouble on some soft, waterlogged clay. Quickly engaging four-wheel drive, we were luckily able to drive round it and gain higher ground, but then we had to set to and get the car unstuck. By now the driver was a bit fed up. He complained that his car had already sustained a broken starter motor and a broken exhaust and the horn had failed. I wondered: how had he found that his horn had failed out in the desert?

Evening was drawing in and as soon as we were able, we all made for the hunting lodge, deciding to visit the castle in the morning. The lodge was quite a large building of part metal construction. We went inside and rubbed our eyes. It did not seem possible that here, in the midst of the Jordan desert, was a large sitting room with an open-fire grate. There were comfortable armchairs and a settee covered with chintz to match the curtains, a typically English table and chairs, together with copies of ‘The Field’ that were placed conveniently on the table. There was, also, a game register, which served as a visitor’s book. Entries showed that thousands of duck, and other migratory birds rested at Azraq, although numbers are now sadly decreased. After lighting up some paraffin lamps, we began putting logs into the grate, and soon there was a blazing, crackling fire, which gave the room a warm glow. In the large kitchen, there was an ample supply of pots, pans and cutlery, and Audrey had soon cooked a meal for everyone.

During the evening, Abu Hisham went to the Desert Police Post to report our arrival, and later the Chief of the Police called at the lodge to see that everything was in order. He looked splendid in a khaki long-skirted uniform, with bright red tasselled sashes and red leather bands containing cartridges strapped across his chest. At his hip was a gun, and a formidable silver-engraved dagger was tucked in the front of his belt. On his head he wore the characteristic red and white checked kaffiya, secured by a double, twisted black cord, called an agal. The army and the desert police normally wear the red and white headdress, whereas other men wear them in black and white. Abu Hisham interpreted for us what the chief was saying about his work and the camel corps, which was originally formed by a British Officer. Casually, Audrey mentioned that she would like the chance of riding a camel. Little did she know that the following day she would have that very experience.

Before sunrise Audrey and I, who were first up, were looking over to the east, where wisps of smoke curled up from a nearby Bedouin encampment, to a cloudless sky. It was a moment we shall never forget. As the sun appeared above the distant horizon into a purple sea of haze, it caught and outlined in relief the edge of the basalt boulders that were scattered over a wide area before us. Azraq is indeed a wonderful oasis set with palm groves and pools. A plentiful supply of water in such barren waste immediately spells paradise and rest. Although we were up early, we did not get away very promptly after breakfast. When we did leave, we made directly for a fourth century Roman fort.

During the First World War, Colonel T.E. Lawrence, the ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, had his headquarters in a room above the southern gate tower of this fort and this was one of the first places that we went to. Inside there was little to be seen, save the overlapping, stone-slab vaulting of the roof. It was dark and uninviting. Perhaps it was so when Lawrence first entered, for he had to cover the gaps in the roof with brushwood, palm branches and clay, but the rains still battered their way through. He and his companions lit great fires in the middle of the floor and, seated around it, would talk over the events of previous battles, or listen to tales in true Arabian Night fashion. Looking down into the boulder-strewn courtyard into which his camels had been brought each evening, we pondered on Lawrence’s vivid account of his torture by the Turks. It was to Azraq that he had returned, and where he had recovered. We were shown the remains of an old mosque, and found part of the mihrab, which was still intact. Small, mouse-like rodents darted in and out of the crevices, disturbed by the sound of our feet upon the loose stones. In front of us stood a massive, basalt door, against which we pushed with all our might. Slowly, it swung open, pivoted on a ball and socket principle cut into the upper and lower stone framework. Its weight must have been considerable, for it was nearly a foot thick.

The custodian, who had accompanied us to the fort, told us as he took us along to his one-roomed home where he offered us glasses of hot, sweet tea that his father had fought with El Laurens. The roof was made from branches of palm resting across stronger members, and the whitewashed mud walls were decorated with a small collection of postcards, to which we added one of London. What really caught our attention was a simple pencil sketch of Lawrence. It looked identical to the original sketch by Augustus John, which hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in London, but we had no means of telling. The artist had drawn Lawrence in Arab headdress, and had perfectly captured his far-seeing eyes, shrewd and penetrating.

A short distance away were the clear pools. Around them green grasses were dressed with newly spun cobwebs, and colourful birds flew between palms with fibrous trunks. The fan-shaped leaves intertwined to give play between light and shade when looking up, and a dappled effect to the dung-coloured earth below. Yet again we felt the importance of the oasis. It had been evident to us after just a few hours of driving. What relief the sight of the waving palms must give to desert travellers, who even today trek over the vast wastelands by camel. Some of the pools have a high salt content and this is extracted for commercial use. We caught a glimpse of storehouses filled with sacks of salt, and mounds of it, a dirty yellowish-white, heaped behind other buildings.

At the desert police post, to which we had been invited by the chief who had visited the lodge the previous evening, chairs and wooden benches were carried out and we all sat down to await tea. We sat back, unable to understand the conversation, but trying to get the gist of what was being said. Abu Hisham was obviously telling the men about each one of us.

Several times we heard the name of Glubb Pasha mentioned, the British commander of the Arab Legion, who was eventually ejected by King Hussein. They were somewhat surprised to learn that, although we were from England, we did not know Glubb Pasha personally. This, I think, highlights one of the differences between the political scenes in Jordan as opposed to the United Kingdom. In Jordan, there is a much greater degree of familiarity. The king is not so remote as our Royal Family and is often seen amongst his people. His house is open to callers and apparently it is not difficult to arrange an interview.

Looking across to the corner of the fort, we noticed several hulking camels that were saddled and decorated with bright red and black trappings. It was fascinating to watch the varied expressions of these aristocratic and supercilious beasts that had all slumped into sitting positions waiting for the officer-in-charge to give the command to move. Each animal had an indefinable air of authority as it ruminated patiently, unconcerned by our presence.

One of the men told us why the camel has such a haughty manner, and Abu Hisham translated for us:

“Allah has ninety-nine names, most of which can be found in the Koran. Even the rosary, which the Moslem carries, has ninety-nine beads or thirds of that number, in order to assist in the memorising of them. It is only the camel that knows the hundredth name, and he keeps his secret well. That is why he has such a superior air.”

These particular camels or dromedaries, were from good stock, and were well trained. At a spoken command, a tap from the stick carried by the rider, or by pressure from the foot, they will sit, stand, or change direction. They are quite fast travellers and can keep up a good pace all day long, moving on for eight days, if necessary, without water. However they must be allowed to roam, for if kept in complete captivity will inevitably become sick.

“What is the difference between a dromedary and an ordinary camel?” we were asked. Again, Abu Hisham provided the answer.

“It is the difference between a limousine and a lorry. A dromedary can lope along at six miles an hour for at least twenty-four hours and then you have to rest it. A camel can travel for about two miles in one hour, and then you have to rest!”

We were beginning to appreciate Abu Hisham’s company. He was much more friendly and communicative than the rest of the group.

The officer-in-charge brought his camel across to us and ordered it to sit, and then beckoned to Audrey to mount. She did not have any trouble getting on, and was shown how to sit correctly. Her right leg had to be bent round the pommel of the saddle and tucked under her left leg. When the camel was given the command to rise, Audrey held tight. With a great lurch, it came up on its back legs, tossing her forward, then heaved up on its front legs, rocking her back again, but she quickly recovered after the initial jolting, and looked quite confident as the camel was led to and fro.

Later, all the men paraded in full regalia, evidently proud to entertain us, then five of them mounted their camels and rode in the open area around the fort.

In high spirits, and delighted with our experiences at Azraq, we drove on to Qasr el Amra, which was built as a hunting lodge between 705 and 715 AD. Although sadly neglected, it is still relatively sound in structure and has a triple vaulted roof and a dome. Inside, one can see the walls decorated with the remains of fine frescoes, depicting hunting scenes, Saluki hunting dogs, gazelles and the various game animals that were once found in the area. Today, there is little or no game to be found at all. There were also scenes showing dancing girls, musicians, grape vines, peasants working at many crafts, as well as portraits of chieftains. Unfortunately, the whole effect is marred by soot from the Bedouin fires, scratched in Arabic, with visitors’ signatures. Clearing some of the debris we revealed part of a mosaic floor. It is a great pity that sufficient funds cannot be raised to save any further deterioration, for this is such a fine example of the early Omayyad period, around 700 AD. One part of the building housed a Turkish bath, and parts of the duct system for the water from the furnaces can still be seen. A room, known as the caldarium, or hot room, is particularly interesting, because on the interior of the dome there was a representation of the constellations of the night sky, painted on plaster. Although much of it has crumbled away, it is still just possible to make out Ursa Minor, the Little Bear, and parts of Draco the Dragon. It must be one of the earliest attempts to show the zodiacal array on the inside of a dome, and is probably dated somewhere between 500 and 1,000 AD. Outside, beside a wall, was a solitary Bedouin tent, and there were several goats wandering about. We all decided that it was about time for lunch, and as this was as good a place as any, we sat around on boulders, admiring the expanse of the Wadi el Butm[13]. Most of the area is devoid of any vegetation now, though there were a few old terebinth trees and a clump of oleanders. Lizards lazed in the sun, but quickly sought shelter at any sudden movement.

Eight miles southwest of Qasr el Amra is Qasr el Kharana, another Omayyad hunting lodge. This building too, is in a reasonable state of preservation, apart from a crack attributed to an earthquake. It is an imposing three-storey fortress, with round defence towers at each corner. The exterior walls have an interesting ‘herring-bone’ arrangement of bricks that form an effective design, with rows of arrow slits giving views in all directions. We spent some time looking through a series of vaulted rooms, which included a prison and some stables. Rooms on the upper storeys were of a similar design. From the roof there was a commanding view of the area, mile upon mile of arid desert. Some old graves and gravestones were a little way from the castle, though we did not learn whose they were.

The last of the desert castles that we had the opportunity of seeing was Qasr el Mashatta, built in a trefoil shape during the eighth century AD. Although never completed, the facade must have been covered with most intricate and elaborate floral designs. Pieces of it were lying on the ground about the entrance. Abu Hisham told us that he had spent some of his time doing restoration and reconstruction work here and showed us a type of swimming pool and a partly completed mosque. One aspect that sprang to our minds was the similarity between this building and that of the Ctesiphon in Iraq, for here also there had been a large arch of burnt bricks.Common to other ruins, it has had many of its stones removed to a museum, whilst the dressed stones came in very useful when the nearby village of Jiza was built.

Unfortunately, the sun was low in the sky and the light was fading, so we decided that we must move on. It seemed a very short time before we were once again on hard surfaced road. The driver of the Mercedes was relieved to be able to return to a normal fast speed and forged ahead. We crossed the River Jordan by the Allenby Bridge and began to climb the winding road to Jerusalem. Hearing the report of a gun reminded us that it was still the month of Ramadan. This was the signal for Moslems to break their fast for the day, a fast that began at sunrise and ended at sunset.

Having completed our tour of the Desert Castles, we decided next day to revisit Bethlehem and made for the courtyard of the Orthodox Convent, where we hoped to gain access to the tower, which contains the famous bells that can be heard the world over on Christmas morning.

There was only one fault with that day. An insistent guide attached himself to us, and having promised to bring the key that we needed for the tower, led us out of a door into Milk Grotto Street. Almost before we realised what was happening, we had been introduced to the owner of a souvenir shop, who was obviously the guide’s brother. Informing us that we would have to wait a while, the guide rushed off and a couple of chairs were brought forward. We were then told that cheques would be accepted for any items that we wanted to buy. Rather angrily we sat waiting for him to return. After a long interval, presumably to allow sufficient time for shop gazing and the purchase of some souvenirs, he came back, and took us to an Orthodox priest from whom we acquired the key for the tower.

From the top we viewed Bethlehem, with its many spires and rooftops, and looked down into Manger Square and along the road that leads to Jerusalem. Among the surrounding hills there is one known as the Herodium, upon which Herod the Great built a four-towered fortress. The summit of this cone was artificially produced by taking earth from another hill close by.

Having climbed down from the bell tower, we were shown into some burial grottoes, which extend beneath the nave of the Basilica. At one time they were associated with Herod’s killing of all the male children. There were so many skulls lying on the floor, that one didn’t have to use much imagination to conjure up an idea of such an event.

We were now ready to plan our next few days. We had not yet visited Hebron, so the following morning we set off, travelling once again on the road to Bethlehem and thence to Hebron.

Hebron in Arabic is known as the ‘City of Abraham, friend of God,’ and is a very ancient town. In the Old Testament, one can read how Abraham bought a certain cave of Machpelah as a suitable place to bury his wife, Sarah. Later, he too was buried there. Over this cave stands the Haram, a magnificent stone enclosure built by Herod the Great.

The massive blocks of stone, some up to twenty feet in length, were laid symmetrically and without mortar, to form a wall nearly fifty feet high. The principal building within the enclosure is the Mosque of Abraham, once a twelfth century Crusader Church. In this mosque are some beautiful stained glass windows that are seven hundred years old. Even today, Hebron is famous for its coloured glassware of blue, green and amber. Also in the Haram are six cenotaphs above the graves of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and their wives, Sarah, Rebecca and Leah. No one is allowed to enter the cave of Machpelah below these cenotaphs, but one may look down to it through a small orifice in the marble floor. All that can be seen is the glimmer of an oil-lamp.

Amongst the small shops at the foot of the steps leading to the Haram, was one that sold pottery. Looking through the doorway, we saw two men working with wet clay on primitive wheels. They were quite happy for us to stand watching them. After a while one of them gave us two small pots, and asked if we had been to see the kilns. We hadn’t, so as one man wanted to make the journey there, he squeezed into the Land Rover beside us and off we went. There was no doubt as to when we had arrived at the right place, for heaped in huge piles, were hundreds of fired and unfired pots in all shapes and sizes. Their colours varied from cream to dark brown.

The beehive-shaped kilns, of which there were two or three, about ten feet high, were roughly made of bricks and straw. They were covered with dung and pieces of scrap metal. Climbing to the top of one, a workman moved away the covers and reached down inside. Carefully, he withdrew an enormous pitcher that had been fired, but was now quite cold, and lifted it on to Audrey’s shoulders. She tried to carry the vessel confidently, as the Jordanian women do, but feared that she might drop it.

On the return journey to Jerusalem, we stopped at Solomon’s Pools, three enormous reservoirs set amongst fir trees. They are fed by springs from Hebron and rainwater from the surrounding hills, but when we were there, the water level was very low. Almost the entire stepped bottom of each reservoir could be seen. Partly built of masonry, and partly hewn from the rock, they originally supplied water, by aqueduct, to the temple in the Holy City. Herod, Pilate and the Emperor, Septimus Severus, all had a hand in repairing or adding to these pools and aqueducts. In more recent times, the British Army, under Lord Allenby, installed a pump house. The keeper unlocked the door to let us have a look round, but the place had obviously seen better days, and the pump, which used to send water to the storage reservoir to Jerusalem, had ceased working.

We often travelled the road between Jerusalem and Jericho, and having passed through the small village of Bethany, soon found ourselves among the bare, stony hills, where there is not a tree in sight. Looking across this barren wilderness always gave us great pleasure. Rainfall in Jordan is spasmodic, and is often long awaited. When it does come the hills change. Almost overnight their yellow-ochre tints disappear, and a fresh, spring like scene greets the traveller’s eyes.

Some distance before reaching a roadside notice board, which indicates true sea level, we passed the Good Samaritan Inn, once an old Arab khan, which in later years has been used as a police post. It is said to mark the place where the poor man, in the parable of the Good Samaritan, was attacked and robbed. A few kilometres further on a disused Roman road leads off to the left, part of the original road to Jericho, from which the Wadi Qilt, or ‘Valley of the Shadow of Death’, may be seen to advantage. At this point the whole of the Jordan rift valley becomes visible, also the Dead Sea, locked beneath the Mountains of Moab.

The road quickly descended and we can remember our ears popping at the sudden change of altitude. The crisp air of Jerusalem, at 2,500 feet above sea level, gave way to an oppressive heat as we finally dropped down to the River Jordan, which is 1,200 feet below sea level. Like some giant mirror, nearly fifty miles along and almost ten miles wide, the Dead Sea, or Sea of Lot, lay undisturbed at the lowest level on the earth’s surface. It is thought that the Biblical cities of Sodom and Gomorrah are buried beneath it. There is a great density of salt, which excludes all animal life, and gives abnormal buoyancy to anyone attempting to swim in it. Sometimes one can see people either reading a newspaper, playing cards, or even trying to eat whilst floating. The specific gravity of the water varies between 1.02 and 1.25. It contains about 2% of mineral and 10% of common salt, compared to the ocean’s combined average of 3.5%.

A notice at the approach to the Dead Sea Hotel reads:

‘Welcome to the lowest spot on earth.’

Here, the hotel provides clear water showers to wash off the saline content of the water after bathing. Dipping our fingers into the sea, we found that the water tasted most unpleasant, enough to put us off any ideas we had of immersing ourselves. Instead, we walked on towards Wadi Qumran.

A flock of black goats were nibbling at a few stunted bushes. The goatherd, an old man dressed in some very tattered clothing made from sacking, came towards us, giving us a toothy grin through his bristly beard. Audrey gave him the orange that she was carrying. I think that he would have preferred something other than this, but he accepted it gratefully, putting it into an old bag. To me it seemed like, ‘carrying coals to Newcastle’, but perhaps he didn’t have access to the lush orange groves of the Jordan valley, which were not far away. We continued walking until we came to a path that led to a tent, at the entrance of which stood a middle-aged man, the guide to Qumran. Chatting with him, we discovered not only that he was an Albanian, he also knew a great deal about the Scrolls. The story of how two Bedouin shepherds discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls, by accident in 1947, has been told many times, but briefly it is as follows.

Having lost one of their sheep, they set out to search for it amongst the rocky cliffs of Wadi Qumran. One of the men, Mohammed al Dhib, threw a stone into a crevice in the rocks. Maybe this was just an idle occupation, possibly he hoped that the lost sheep was inside and might respond. To his surprise, however, he heard the shattering of pottery within. Although frightened at first, the shepherds returned later to investigate. Squeezing through the narrow opening, and not knowing what they would find, they saw that they were in a small cave. On the floor were a number of tall, cylindrical clay jars, one of which had been broken by the stone. Looking inside the jars they found that one contained three goatskins wrapped in rolls of linen, but the rest were empty. Rather disappointed that they were not filled with gold or silver, the shepherds left the cave taking the contents of the jar with them. There was a strange writing inscribed upon the skins, which they did not understand, so they decided to take them to Bethlehem. Showing what they had found to an Assyrian shoemaker, they were pleased to be offered a few pounds for such an uninteresting discovery. The subsequent movement of these scrolls is uncertain, but gradually they passed into the hands of people who judged them to have latent value.

In 1949, the site of the cave, now known as Cave One, was rediscovered by the Arab Legion. Immediately, a team consisting of officials from the Jordanian Department of Antiquities, the Ecole Biblique et Archaeologique of Jerusalem, and the Palestine Archaeological Museum, carried out an examination of the cave. Amongst the items that were found was a quantity of linen. This was subjected to a carbon test, which resulted in its being dated to 33 AD, plus or minus two hundred years. At this time the cave was believed to be the only one of its kind.

Now the various fragments of the original manuscripts that had been dissipated were anxiously required by the authorities. They were known to be the earliest examples in the world of Old Testament manuscripts. After great difficulties and long negotiations, the Palestine Archaeological Museum purchased the last few fragments for a thousand pounds and then the work of translating commenced.

By this time, not only were the Bedouin shepherds fully aware of the great value of their discovery, they were also conscious of the fact that they themselves had not reaped much reward as a result. So they decided to scour the area over which they roamed, in an attempt to find further caves. In this remote region of rocky and desolate wastes, they had a head start. Soon they had success. The immediate problem of the authorities was that of money to stop the finds being smuggled out of the country. To this end, from its meagre budget, the Jordanian Government, in 1952, gave fifteen thousand dinars, the equivalent of fifteen thousand pounds.

It was in the latter half of that year, that the Bedu made their greatest discovery, that of Cave Four, which produced the largest amount of original manuscript material yet found at Qumran. Our helpful guide showed us where Cave Four was, and after a short hazardous walk out on to the scarp, we dropped down inside it. The cave was empty, and just about large enough to hold half a dozen people.

We decided that we must visit the ruins nearby, believed to have been the home of a religious group known as the Essenes to whom the Scrolls belonged. This pre-Christian sect lived strict and simple lives on the shores of the Dead Sea, praying and waiting for the coming of the Messiah.

In the second century, before Christ, the Essenes established their celibate, Jewish community, a breakaway sect from the Orthodox Judaism of Jerusalem, where an Iron Age fort had once existed. Numbering about two hundred, they spent much of their time studying the laws of Moses and copying Biblical texts. Some of them were astrologers and interpreters of dreams, whilst others farmed, learned how to heal the sick using roots and herbs or made pottery. The scroll jars were made by the Essenes and fired in their own kilns. Excavations at the site of this community have revealed parts of a long narrow table; plaster benches, and two inkwells, inside which dried ink remained.

At the onset of the Roman Invasion in 68 AD, when the tenth legion marched in to quell the first Jewish revolt, the Scrolls were hidden in the caves. Hundreds of various manuscripts have been found in eleven of the Qumran caves, but at least sixty caves were found and searched.

The material, on which the Hebrew, or Aramaic text was written, was mainly leather, but sometimes copper was used, and occasionally papyrus. The copper scrolls presented a particular problem on discovery because they were so badly oxidised that it was impossible to unroll them. The only solution was to cut them into strips and this was carried out at the Manchester College of Technology.

The manuscript found in Cave One contains part of the book of Exodus, which dates from the third century BC, and there are many other fragmentary pieces that contain passages from all the books of the Old Testament, with the exception of Esther.

Apart from the excitement that such finds produce for their direct link with the times before Christ, there are inevitable questions, which arise. Why is it, for instance, that there is no mention of Qumran, or of the Essenes in the New Testament? It is inconceivable that Jesus did not know of the sect. They were closest of all to the birth of Christianity. The Gospels do not say that Jesus was a carpenter like his father so how did He pass His time until he began preaching at the age of thirty? Some believe that He actually studied at Qumran; perhaps He was even a member of the Essene sect. If this was so, it may explain why very little is known of His early life, for the Essences had little contact with the outside world. Following this line of thought further, it could be surmised that either some kind of split occurred between Jesus and the community, or that Christianity did develop from this religious sect on the shores of the Dead Sea, but the community wished to maintain anonymity in their writings.

Qumran had taken so much of our day that we felt we should postpone our visit to Jericho until we had more time. When we did go there, we arranged that Issa Mansour, the manager of the Cliff Hotel should come with us, as he had a day off.

From the approach road to Jericho, we were easily able to pick out the Mount of Temptation, which became evident by its flat top. When we were closer, we stood gazing at a point halfway up the mountain, where there were many caves, some mere ledges on the side, with brick frontages. In the fourth century, this honeycomb of caves was occupied by hermits, but now the inhabitants are Greek Orthodox monks. They are mainly self-supporting, living on goats’ milk and cheese, and growing their own crops in gardens at the foot of the mountain, which are watered by a spring. We were told that one monk had not been into Jericho for at least forty-five years.

Although it was a lazy-making day, we began to climb up the winding, stony track. It was not a difficult path, but we were hot by the time we arrived at the monastery gate. Here it was necessary to ask for a key, as the path to the summit led directly through the community, past the traditional grotto where Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights. Walking along a cool, quiet alley, we came to another gate. A priest turned the key, and after indicating that he would re-open it in an hour’s time, allowed us through, locking the gate behind us. We continued along the track until we came to a wall, which enclosed an ancient chapel. Here, at the top, was a flat platform from which it is possible to survey the land offered to Christ when He was tempted by the Devil.

One thousand feet below us, shimmering in the heat, was the partly excavated mound of ancient Jericho, the oldest, walled, inhabited city in the world. Modern Jericho, watered by the meandering River Jordan, lay in the luxurious plain, a patchwork of verdant vegetation. There, the white-painted summer villas are draped with red and purple bougainvillea. Palm trees grace the vivid blue sky, bananas and dates grow in profusion, and groves of citrus fruits give an air of paradise to travellers from more northerly latitudes. On the edge of this paradise, climbing the lower slopes of the desert hills and merging with their colour are the pitiful, one-roomed shacks of the huge Refugee Camp. As a backdrop to this vast scene, there is the Dead Sea, still and lifeless, and range upon range of folded mountains, the Mountains of Moab. For some time we sat gazing at this magnificent view, enjoying the cooling breeze.

Retracing our steps back down through the monastery, we were soon in the modern part of Jericho. There was a general air of stillness as it was mid-day, and shopkeepers sat quietly in the shade. We walked along a tree-lined road, until we came to an open-air restaurant, of which there are many in Jericho. Groups of tables and chairs were arranged around a small pool, in a garden of sweetly scented flowers and fruit trees. Issa was in good spirits and, like us, was thoroughly enjoying his day out. Generously he insisted on treating us to dinner. First of all he ordered arak. Whenever this drink appears, various small dishes are always placed on the table as appetisers. Each small oval plate contains a different vegetable, meat or cheese. Every conceivable variation that one can think of is included. We had so many; thirty-five dishes in all, that a second table had to be drawn up and then there was only just enough room for our three glasses. The main part of the meal was a whole chicken each, covered with onions, and a red, powdery herb known as sumac. The chicken was first fried in oil, then grilled and placed on a large flat circle of Jordanian bread. Issa told us that the meal was known as Mousakhan, and was a speciality of Ramallah. We ate it without knives and forks, using our fingers, which afterwards we dipped into small water bowls that were provided.

After such a meal, we needed to walk. Issa took us into some of the orange gardens nearby and told us that there are no less than four orange harvests a year in Jericho. The sweet scent of orange blossom, and the sight of so much fruit waiting to be picked, had an almost hypnotic effect upon us. Issa bought a box filled to the top for us. We have never tasted better from anywhere else and even the largest were the equivalent of only a penny each.

Further along the road, we saw a ragged old man selling small ‘lovebirds’ in simple wooden cages. They were really pretty little goldfinches, with red faces, and yellow and white plumage. Knowing that Issa kept pigeons, we guessed that he would be interested, but we did not expect him to buy two straightaway. Putting the cage and the oranges in the Land Rover, we decided to make our way to ancient Jericho.

The mound of the Old Testament Jericho, Tell es Sultan, is made up of the accumulated debris of earlier, successive occupations. Much credit for recent discoveries goes to the British School of Archaeology led by Dr. Kathleen Kenyon, who excavated it to reveal history dating back to before 8000 BC. Looking down into the darkness of the excavations, we could see a huge defence tower rising from the lowest level. The archaeologists had completely dug away the earth around the tower, to reveal the massive construction in its entirety. For a moment we pondered on its great age, then clambering down some roughly hewn steps, we were able to look inside. More steps led to the top. Nine thousand years ago, men would climb this watchtower; today we could only marvel that it still existed.

Many other important discoveries have been made at this site, including the finely-built houses from the Neolithic Period, perfectly modelled heads of plaster attached to human skulls, the earliest examples of portraiture known - dating from about 4500 BC, and the mud-brick walls from the Early Bronze Age.

Close by the ancient mound of Jericho is Elisha’s fountain. This unfailing source of pure water is traditionally where Elisha sweetened the water by throwing in salt. Several women had collected in a group, their earthenware pitchers, and (sadly modern) petrol cans balanced on their shoulders. One might be mistaken in thinking that these women had lived their whole life in Jericho but, in fact, they were from the Refugee Camp, and had come from Jaffa, Nazareth, Beersheba and many other places that are now all in the occupied territory of Israel. The native population is a race of Negroid Bedouins and our friend; Abu Hisham was of this stock.

A high wind blew up, which came upon us in gusts of such ferocity that because we were caught without shelter, became a most unpleasant experience. Sand was whipped up which really stung and Audrey felt particularly uncomfortable as she had bare legs. Unexpectedly, we met Abu Hisham, and he mentioned that horse and camel racing was taking place near the Dead Sea. Issa had never seen this spectacle, and neither had we. As we were all interested, we jumped into the Land Rover and drove to this, the most unlikely of racecourses.

Horses were already on the track, but the camel race was to be the highlight of the day, and about a dozen of them were being paraded around in an enclosure. There was quite a mixture of old, young, large, small and moth-eaten camels, each with a number to identify it. Several knowledgeable Jordanians were giving advice to the uninitiated as to the qualities of each of them. We were told that if there was a great deal of saliva coming from the mouth, the camel was either off colour or needed a mate and was unlikely to win. One man said that a camel with a small head was sure to be of good breeding, and would stand the best chance, while another said that number One would be the winner without question.

We looked again at the camels lolloping round. Number One looked as though it was the only camel healthy and strong enough to outstrip the others. Furthermore, it did have a smallish head, and there was no foaming at the mouth. As if to convince me, the jockey leading the camel around the ring was thumping himself on the chest, and appeared supremely confident. So we all decided to place our bets of two shillings on Number One then went and stood by the edge of the racecourse. Excited Arabs, with their long flowing kaffiyehs blowing in the wind, stood high on top of empty forty-gallon drums. We noticed that there were hardly any women present. The excitement rose as the jockeys had difficulty in lining their camels up at the starting line.

A pistol shot resounded in our ears.

“They’re off ”– we cried excitedly.

But what a surprise, they were not going very fast. Obviously camels are better suited to endurance than speed. Before they reached the first bend, a loud shouting rose. The favourite, Number One had left the course and was heading full tilt for the Dead Sea! The jockey was trying hard to restrain and turn him, but he disappeared into the distance. The race continued, but there were only a few cheers for the winner. It seemed that everyone had backed this idiot of a camel that could not even run in the direction it was supposed to go. All the other camels completed the course, passing the winning post with a loose-limbed, awkward gait. A few people collected their winnings, while the losers took everything in good part. Both Abu Hisham and Issa were highly amused, as we chided them for not being able to tell a good fast camel when they saw one.

By now, the wind was even stronger, and we were glad to gain the protection of the Land Rover as a sandstorm blew up, enveloping the whole area in a swirling dust bowl.

Not far from Jericho is the Omayyad Palace of the Caliph Hisham. Our friend, Abu Hisham, had been actively involved with restoration of the building. (Abu means ‘son of’, thus, Abu Hisham, Son of Hisham, a nick-name derived as a result of all his work there.)

The Omayyads were founded by Mu’awiyah, the first Arab governor of Syria, who had his capital at Damascus. These rich descendants of Meccan merchant princes were great builders. Like all princes, they wished to forget about affairs of their country at times, and during the winter months they moved to hunting lodges, or palaces, in the desert. We had already seen some of these, but of all the Omayyad palaces, that of Caliph Hisham, who ruled the Arab empire, which at that time stretched from India to Spain, must probably have been the most lavishly decorated. Fortunately, it is also well preserved, at least in terms of the mosaic tilework. It was erected in the eighth century, and contains a mosque, a colonnaded forecourt, a pool, and baths. Although the palace was occupied, the building was never completed, and in 747 AD, within a few years of commencement a severe earthquake destroyed the whole place.

In the baths, there is one of the largest areas of mosaic work ever discovered, which by all accounts is in near perfect condition. We could not see it, for it was completely covered with a layer of sand to protect it from the bleaching rays of the sun, but there are plans to construct a roof over this area, and then it will be possible to remove the protective covering. We passed through the hot, cool and steam rooms, noticing as we did so, some of the original conduits used for the water and heating system beneath the floor. So much for modern under-floor heating, we thought.

One mosaic we were able to see, an absolutely perfect representation of a tree with orange fruit, its foliage in varying shades of green and blue. Below it on one side two gazelles appear to be plucking leaves, whilst on the other side a gazelle is being attacked by a fierce looking lion. The ‘tree of life’, as it is known, is evidently copied from a tapestry, because small tassels are shown around the outer edge. The decorations are particularly interesting, for the reason that in the later Islamic times, there was great objection to the portrayal of animal and human figures.

Most visitors to the Holy Land make their way to the River Jordan, to see the supposed place where Jesus was baptised by John. When we reached it, we were a little disappointed to see a shop selling ‘genuine Holy water of the Jordan River’, and two camels were available should any tourist wish to have a ride. Having seen the splendid camels of the Desert Police, we felt that these mangy beasts were not really worthy of our attention. Assuming disdainful expressions similar to that of the animals, we passed them by.

At the water’s edge there was a flat-bottomed boat moored beside a concreted platform. This allowed easy access to the river at a relatively shallow bend, known as Makhadet al Hajla, or Ford of the Partridge. Walking farther along the bank, beneath the graceful tamarisk trees, we stood gazing down at the muddy, swirling water, as it made its way towards the Dead Sea. It was not a wide river, but in a distance of sixty-five miles, it meanders through the rift valley to such an extent that its actual length is nearly two hundred miles.

We returned by way of Ein es Sultan, the refugee village in Jericho. It was a dismal sight. Many children were playing around mud houses, which looked flimsy and cramped. By far the worst problem must have been the lack of sanitation, particularly during the hot summer months. We were told that in Jericho in the summer even the flies die with the intense heat. Over seventy thousand refugees exist there, because their homes are in occupied territory, as a result of the Partition of Palestine in 1948.

Why is it that they cannot be absorbed into the country where they live, in new homes? There are two answers. Firstly they are extremely independent people, who want only their own homes, which are now in Israel. Secondly, Jordan is a poor country, without sufficient capital to house this number of people. It is a fact that nearly half of Jordan’s population are refugees.

Let us briefly review the events in the Middle East, which together have brought about the now seemingly unsolvable problem of Palestine. In no uncertain way, it was the Balfour Declaration of 1917 that opened the ‘Palestine problem’, as it has come to be known, for in its promise of a national home for Jews in Palestine, it created a fundamental objection in the hearts of Arabs, who cannot regard this home (Israel) as a separate state.

At the end of the First World War, Syria, which at that time included Lebanon and Palestine, was administered as Occupied Territory. The French had the westward region and Lebanon, the British occupied Palestine, and Emir Feisal controlled the east, which included Trans-Jordan. Feisal had led the Arab Revolt in 1916, in which Lawrence was active, and in 1919, the Syrian Congress of Arab delegates proclaimed him king of an independent Syria. In the same year, at the Peace Conference at Versailles, despite promises and hopes for Arab independence, mandates were proposed by the League of Nations. In 1920, the French, who marched into Damascus and took over the Syrian government, expelled Feisal. The British authorities in Palestine now administered the control of Trans-Jordan. Feisal's brother, Abdullah came into the picture, to attack the French, whereupon the British stepped in, and to placate him offered him the rulership of Trans-Jordan under their mandate. It was not until 1946, that Britain recognised the independence of Trans-Jordan, and Abdullah became King.

The State of Israel was created by the partitioning of Palestine in 1948. Later, in 1950, East Jordan, (Trans-Jordan) was united with West Jordan, (Arab Palestine) to form the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. The area of Jordan to the east of the river, included, at the time of our visit, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Hebron, Ramallah, Jericho and Nablus, some of the most historically interesting places in the world which pilgrims and tourists would wish to visit. These are the places that have been occupied by Israel in the recent six-day war, and they are now contained in the Eastern zone of this country. Jordan had relied almost completely upon the income from tourists for its meagre existence, now it has only the desert.

As we did not visit Israel, I make no apology for presenting only the Arab view in respect of the ‘Palestine problem’. Until recently it has been seldom evident from Western press reports, and general opinion is sometimes coloured by the plight of, and the persecution suffered by the Jews from time immemorial. Of course, a ‘national home’ for the Jews was created in good faith, but consider, for instance, some facts published in 1965 by the Palestine Liberation Organisation.

In 1917, the Palestinian population consisted of 90% Arabs, whereas less than 5% were native Palestinian Jews, half of whom were recent immigrants, who had come to escape persecution in Europe. At this time the Arabs owned 97.5% of the land, while the Jews owned only 2.5%.

During thirty years of British occupation and rule, Zionists purchased only 3.5% of Palestinian land, and when Britain passed the ‘problem’ to the United Nations in 1947, the Zionists owned no more than 6% of the total land area of Palestine.

When the United Nations recommended that the ‘Jewish State’ be established in Palestine, it granted 54% of the total land area to that country. Israel immediately occupied over 80% of the total land area. It is further stated that the actual creation of this ‘Jewish State’, on the recommendation of the General Assembly in 1947, was not only outside the competence of the Assembly under the Charter of the United Nations, but that all attempts to submit the question of ‘constitutionality’ of its recommendation to the International Court of Justice for an advisory opinion by the Court, was rejected, or ignored by the Assembly.

The recommendation to create a‘Jewish State’ in Palestine was approved by European, American, and Australasian States, but every Asian State and every African State, with the exception of the Union of South Africa, itself ruled by an alien minority, voted against it. Nevertheless, the ‘Jewish State’ was positioned at the intersection between Asia and Africa.

Consider, also, the influx of Palestinian refugees to Jordan from Israeli territory, over half a million in 1958, nearly half the total population at that time.

It is from the shanty town hovels of refugee camps where the overspill of displaced Palestinians from Israel exist in sub-human conditions that one must judge the validity of this ‘national home’ for the Jews.

Our next visit to Jericho was but a quick one, in order to meet Abu Hisham, who had offered to accompany us to Petra. We found him sitting in the Department of Antiquities’ wooden hut, on the site of the ancient city. On a table in front of him was a huge pile of rice and a chicken kebab. He was just about to start eating, but paused for a while, wondering what we were grinning at. He was wisely consuming as much as possible, in case there was not going to be very much food during our three-day journey. We asked him if he could store the food as a camel does. He laughed and offered us some, but we declined as we had already eaten.

We made good time, driving on the Desert Highway, which was well surfaced all the way. On the later stretches, we met mist patches swirling across our path as we approached the great Wadi Musa, which means Valley of Moses. This is traditionally where Moses struck the rock and water gushed forth.

Parking the Land Rover at the Rest House, which offers the nearest accommodation outside Petra, we gathered together our sleeping bags, blankets, and some food, slung them over our backs, and set off on foot into the darkness.

What is Petra?

Romantically it is called ‘the Rose Red City, half as old as time.’[14] Factually, it was a Nabataean settlement, in which the buildings were hewn from the living rock. Petra, meaning ‘rock’, is aptly named, yet it does not convey any idea of the unique qualities of the rocks which vary in colour from red ochre, through all shades of pink, to yellow and even white. Sometimes the colours alternate in their strata to give the most amazing and pleasing combination of natural patterns.

The Nabataeans were originally a nomadic Arab tribe who occupied the northwestern area of Arabia. Through this area came the spice and incense caravans. The Nabataeans robbed them of their treasures and grew rich, and in the fourth century BC, having driven the Edomites from Petra, they hit upon the idea of providing a guarantee of safe passage through their land. All the caravans that passed through Petra had a tax levied on them, a much more lucrative business.

Petra became the Nabataeans’ stronghold from which, at the height of their power, they ruled a kingdom that extended northward as far as Damascus. A fantastic array of wealth must have passed through Petra, and no less a personage than the Queen of Sheba. Mark Antony, who owned much land, gave Petra and part of Arabia as a gift to Cleopatra. Only the changing trade routes, and the new, over-riding importance of the city of Palmyra in the north, brought about its decline.

Apart from the building of a castle by the Crusaders in the twelfth century, Petra becomes all but lost into obscurity for about six hundred years. It was not until 1812, that Burckhardt, an Anglo-Swiss explorer, re-discovered it. His was a precarious journey between Damascus and Cairo, at a time when an explorer’s life would be in constant danger. Disguised as a Moslem, he pretended that he had made a vow to slaughter a goat in honour of Aaron, whose tomb was situated at the far end of the valley. On this pretext, he was able to see the beauties of Petra, and report to the Western world.

Abu Hisham led the way, and in single file we entered the incredibly narrow gorge known as the Siq. Huge walls of black rock towered above us on either side. In spite of the darkness, our senses were alert, and we were sure that few people would have had the experience of walking through the Siq at this hour. It was a perfect night. Although we could not see it, a full moon illuminated the sky, so that when we looked above us to the narrow opening of the cleft in the rock, we were able to gain an impression of the great height. We trudged along over the riverbed, each footstep disturbing loose stones and making a clattering sound, which reverberated against the walls and echoed through the gorge.

I suppose we must have walked about a mile before we emerged to a clearing. Before us, mysterious in the moonlight, was the facade of El Khazneh, the Treasury. We stood quite still for a while, gazing upon it. As we did so, we could hear strange sounds like the eerie crying and calling of animals in the night. Abu Hisham reassured us, it was only the Bedouin who lived in the caves and tombs about us. The full moon was high in the sky and, with the voices of the Bedouin resounding amongst the rocks like singing in the breeze; we walked on towards Nazzall’s Camp. Beyond this were some stone steps which led to a door in the wall of the rock, and through a small window came the flickering glow of an oil lamp. Abu Hisham knocked on the door and, after a short delay; it swung open, creaking on its hinges. A young man, wearing striped pyjamas, stood blinking at us. When he realised it was Abu Hisham, an old friend of his, he welcomed us all inside. The fact that he had got out of bed for us in no way marred his pleasure. He and Abu Hisham had worked together for the Antiquities Department, but had not seen each other for a long time, so that there was plenty of news to be imparted.

The Antiquities Department own two caves at Petra, and one was to be our home for the night. The furnishings were primitive. There was an iron bed, a hard mattress, and a door. With the comforting knowledge that we were sleeping in what, at one time had been a tomb, we prepared for a restful night.

At about half past six we arose and, after a drink and something to eat, we went out into the sunlight. Our walk of the previous evening now seemed somewhat unreal, as if we had ventured into another world. It was almost a dream. At night all had been black, grey and white, now the sandstone cliffs honeycombed with tombs, and caves cut from the rock face, stood out in the full glory of colour. We walked along part of a Roman road, the now uneven slabs shining white in the haze of the early morning light. Several original pillars bore marks of Arabic writing.Did they really read ‘so-and-so was here on a certain date’? We passed the theatre cut to hold some three thousand spectators, and then on to El Khazneh, which was much more impressive and artistic than we had realised the previous evening. The rock face was quite sheer and dark in colour, but where it had been cut away to create the design of the facade, some eighty to ninety feet high, it was a delicate pink. Six columns support a decorated pediment, above which was a circular kiosk, surmounted by an urn. It is this urn, which traditionally is supposed to contain a treasure of gold, which has given the name of ‘treasury’ to the monument. Although this is the common name, there is, in fact, some evidence to suggest that El Khazneh was carved in the second century AD, and was used as a temple. The urn has been scored by countless bullets fired by the Bedouin hoping to enrich themselves. Although one of the columns has been rebuilt, the weathering of the comparatively soft sandstone is minimal, due to its position, sheltered from the wind and rain.

Abu Hisham asked if we were ready to climb to one of the ‘high places’. We began to scramble up uneven, worn steps cut into the rock, stopping from time to time to admire the amazing array of colours through the complete spectral range. Reaching the top, we found that it had been levelled, and there was a stone altar with channels cut to drain the blood away from the sacrificial offerings. The view around us was most impressive. To the southwest, Abu Hisham pointed out Jebel Harun, or Aaron’s mountain, where, as legend tells, Aaron’s tomb is sited. Making their way through one of the valleys below were some heavily laden donkeys and a group of Bedouin. We could hear their laughter and, the clattering of their pots and pans.

When we had climbed down to Wadi Musa again, we met some more Bedouin standing at the entrance to a cave. They showed us some of the fine pottery, for which the Nabataeans were noted. We would dearly have loved to buy one of the bowls; they were as delicate as porcelain. A short discussion followed, which we did not understand, then we were led to the cave entrance, and one of the men drew from his pocket a small, stone figurine in the form of a Greek god. Abu Hisham looked at it carefully, and then asked the price. The bargaining did not take long and for two dinars (£2), the purchase was made. Later, he told us that the Department of Antiquities in Amman would be interested and may pay him up to fifty pounds for it. He knew it was genuine, but one would imagine that there were plenty of fakes for the unsuspecting tourists.

The Urn Tomb with its open courtyard shows very well the original cuts made by the Nabataeans when forming the interior chamber. All strokes of the pick were made at 45° and the clean line of the finish gives clearly defined patterns from the rock strata, described by Guy Mountfort as being ‘like watered silk’ in his book ‘Portrait of a Desert’. One of the most imposing of Petra’s rock cut temples is Ed Deir, the Monastery. From Nazzal’s Camp it is a longish walk, but the reward is well worth the effort. Again, the view is magnificent. The great Wadi Araba, some four thousand feet below, cuts its way between the wild crags, from the Dead Sea to the Gulf of Aqaba. Beyond is the Negev and Sinai. Around us, rock grotesquely shaped by the wind and the rain, sometimes looked as though it had been poured over the surrounding tombs.

Ed Deir, carved in about the third century AD, is one of the largest Nabataean monuments, about hundred and fifty feet across its width. Its colour is a soft yellow, and the facade is very similar in design to that of the Treasury, though it projects further from the rock. This was the culmination of our visit to Petra. Now we had to return back along the same downward track, past the awe-inspiring chasms and rocks with figuring not unlike polished wood in which the graining is enhanced.

A dark-skinned Bedouin woman emerged from her cave home. Chickens were scrabbling amongst the stones, and a few goats wandered about. Squatting on the ground in front of us, she undid a ragged bundle and produced some old coins and trinkets. Perhaps the word had been spread that tourists were about, Abu Hisham looked carefully at all the bits and pieces but did not buy anything.

It was well past midday, and very hot, as we retraced our steps, past the caves where we had slept, round to the theatre and then back to the Treasury. It was a relief to enter the coolness of the Siq, but we could not avoid lingering for a last look behind us. In some places the way through the Siq is only a few feet wide, and the massive, dark stonewalls almost touch two hundred feet above one’s head. Now we could understand how Petra was impenetrable, indeed, a few men could have defended the city against an army.

One can also imagine the terrible and tragic plight of a group of French women accompanied by the Priest of Notre Dame. They entered the Siq, even though they had been warned about the dangers of an impending storm. Following a cloudburst and torrential rain, water cascaded from the surrounding hills and swept through the Siq as a twelve foot tidal wave, carrying masses of debris with it. Only two out of twenty-three managed to find sufficient foothold, to climb some way up the vertical walls and survive.

Curiously enough, one of the problems of the early inhabitants of Petra was the water supply. Two natural springs within the city were insufficient for the needs of the increasing population. A continuous supply was brought from the springs at Wadi Musa, and the water channel can still be seen, in part, cut along one side of the Siq. In the event of a siege, however, the water would be vulnerable, so vast cisterns were cut in the rock, and channels were cut in the hillsides, which collected rainwater, and diverted it to where it was needed within the city.

Nearing the Rest House, some Bedouin with horses suggested that we should ride, but it was a forlorn hope – we only had another few yards to walk. Some other men surreptitiously brought out two small figurines. After much thought, Abu Hisham and I bought one each, at a price of ten shillings apiece.When we reached our parked Land Rover, Audrey and I looked at our purchase again. It was an ugly little black effigy, with a cross carved about its neck, and it seemed as though it had been burnt at some time. Was it genuine? We wondered what the British Museum would have to say about it.

Leaving Petra and driving southwards, we came to Aqaba, which is Jordan’s only port and outlet to the Red Sea. The southern extremities of both Jordan and Israel meet at this point, the Israeli port of Eliat being only a stone’s throw away round the gulf. We stopped by a small jetty, and from here, in the twilight; we could see the entire curve of the bay, fringed by palm trees. With Abu Hisham, we strolled along the stony beach, stooping to collect pieces of white coral and various shells. At a roughly made shack, a couple of Jordanians were whiling away the time playing cards. There was quite a collection of exotic shells, and large pieces of coral for sale, which would have claimed our interest for longer, but the sun was sinking lower in the sky, and we yet had to make the journey back to Quweira.

Just up the hill, behind the waterfront, was a fourteenth century Arab fort. Above the main entrance was the coat of arms of the Hashemite family. We looked back at the sleepy port, and at its inhabitants, who did not outwardly show any uneasiness, despite the fact that Israeli territory was so close.

Quweira is a small settlement of flat-roofed, rather dilapidated houses, with high walls surrounding each of them. In some of the courtyards, we noticed that black, goat-hair tents were erected. Abu Hisham obviously knew someone in this village, for he went up to one of the houses and spoke with a man at a doorway. Soon, we were beckoned forward and introduced. Making our way into the courtyard and across to the house we entered, remembering to leave our shoes by the door. Two women whisked past us, out of sight, into their quarters. We did not come in contact with them again. Several men greeted us. We had by now gathered that one of them, our host, was the Sheikh, or headman of the village. Long, colourful mattresses were laid upon the floor and, in true Arab manner; we were shown to the place of honour at the Sheikh’s left hand. We tried to sit as comfortably as possible, supporting ourselves in an unaccustomed position, resting one elbow on a pile of hard cushions. Perhaps it was just as well that only later did we discover that it was an insult to show the soles of one’s feet to the host. Almost as soon as we were settled, a man came in carrying a long-spouted, brass coffee pot and poured into a cup a minute amount of unsweetened coffee.

Fortunately, we knew the finer points of this ritual, to receive the cup with the right hand, twist it slowly to allow the coffee to run round the rim, then toss the liquid back into the throat.

We sat talking and learned something about Wadi Rum, which we were to visit the following day. Some of the people in the village had been directly involved with the exploits of Lawrence, and many had taken part in the film ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, which was shot in Wadi Rum. At intervals during the evening, the light from a single paraffin lamp would fade, until someone rose to give it a vigorous pumping, whereupon, the whole room would be once again bathed in light, and that person would follow his own long shadow back to his position.

We stayed at Quweira for the night, sleeping on mattresses on the floor. The following morning, we washed using an earthenware pitcher out in the yard, and before the sun had warmed the ground we left for Wadi Rum.

Our first view of the mountainous landscape in this region had been breathtaking. We had stopped at the top of the Rasn Nagh Pass, and seen a panorama of towering, conical jebels, and smaller, sandstone hills rising from a mysterious plain, which extended far into the distance to merge with the sky.

It was both a captivating, and strangely beautiful moonscape in all its reality. I feel that only Lawrence, in his book ‘Seven Pillars of ‘Wisdom’ is able to give a true, descriptive picture.

‘It was tamarisk-covered: the beginning of the Valley of Rum, they said. We looked up on the left to a long wall of rock, sheering in like a thousand-foot wave towards the middle of the valley; whose other arc, to the right, was an opposing line of steep, red broken hills. We rode up the slope, crashing our way through the brittle undergrowth.

As we went, the brushwood grouped itself into thickets whose massed leaves took on a stronger tint of green the purer for their contrasted setting in plots of open sand of a cheerful delicate pink. The ascent became gentle, till the valley was a confined tilted plain. The hills on the right grew taller and sharper, a fair counterpart of the other side which straightened itself to one massive rampart of redness. They drew together until only two miles divided them: and then, towering gradually till their parallel parapets must have been a thousand feet above us, ran forward in an avenue for miles.

They were not unbroken walls of rock, but were carved in the rock face like gigantic buildings, along the two sides of their street. Deep alleys, fifty feet across, divided the crags, whose plans were smoothed by the weather into huge apses and bays, and enriched with surface fretting and fracture, like design. Caverns high up on the precipice were round like windows: others near the foot gaped like doors. Dark stains ran down the shadowed front for hundreds of feet, like accidents of use. The cliffs were striated vertically, in their granular rock; whose main order stood on two hundred feet of broken stone deeper in colour and harder in texture. This plinth did not, like the sandstone, hang in folds like cloth; but chipped itself into loose courses of scree, horizontal as the footings of a wall.

The crags were capped in nests of domes, less hotly red than the body of the hill rather grey and shallow. They gave the finishing semblance of Byzantine architecture to this irresistible place: this processional way greater than imagination. The Arab armies would have been lost in the length and breadth of it, and within the walls a squadron of aeroplanes could have wheeled in formation. Our little caravan grew self-conscious, and fell dead quiet, afraid and ashamed to flaunt its smallness in the presence of the stupendous hills.’[15]

There were two tracks to Rum from the Quweira/Aqaba road. We took the most northerly one nearest to Quweira. A new road was being constructed over the first few kilometres, but it was not very far advanced, and we soon ran into soft sand and thick mud, where work was still being carried out. The four-wheel drive was used to great advantage, the only difficulty being that the road workers did not move very quickly out of the way. To slow down, or to stop could have aggravated an already slippery situation, but these conditions did not last for long, and after a while we began travelling over harder sun-baked mud flat, known as the ghor. This was a treat. There was no defined track, one could set one’s own course, and admire the scenery. The irregular mountains rising about us defined the Wadi, which is about twelve miles long, and some two miles wide. A small, twin-towered fort came into view, looking like some child’s toy amongst the vast landscape. It was the desert patrol post, and our destination. When we arrived, we were introduced to the chief of the patrol, and chairs were brought out for us.

Scattered around the fort were several black tents belonging to the Bedouin. One man came out, as we later walked past, and invited us to stop for tea. We always greatly admired the hospitality that was extended to us by these strangers, and wished that we could have spent longer with them.

On the lower slopes of a nearby hill were some ruins, and while we were wandering about them, Abu Hisham spotted a snake. It was yellow and black, and about two feet in length. Whether it was poisonous or not we did know, but Abu Hisham was not taking any chances. Within a few minutes he had thrown enough rocks at it to kill it. Beyond the ruins was a spring, and a few women were gathering water from it, using heavy, black goatskin bags, which dripped and glistened with moisture. In a relaxed and apparently effortless manner, they hoisted these bags from the ground and began the downward trek to their tents exposed on the plain beneath the blazing sun.

The only other building, besides the fort was a school run by the desert police. Altogether there were four classrooms, and as far as we could tell, only boys attended. Reluctantly we left, driving back past the fantastic scenery, which was impressed, on our minds forever.

During the twelfth century, Crusaders set up huge castles from Constantinople to Jerusalem. Kerak, which is three thousand, four hundred feet above sea level, and on the ‘Kings Highway’, which stretches from Amman to Aqaba, was an obvious site. The castle was the most imposing that we had yet seen. Its impregnable position, on the very edge of a precipitous drop, was unparalleled. The fortifications appeared to embrace most of the town, and we just had time to trudge round the battlements before the evening light faded. To the west lay the Dead Sea, below an awe-inspiring chasm. We wondered how many doomed prisoners were brought to have this as their last view, before being hurled over the edge.

From Kerak, we made our way to Madaba where Abu Hisham had yet another friend. The difficulty was that he did not know exactly where he lived. He only knew that when we found the house, we would be able to sleep the night there.

“A traveller needs a home in every town”– said Abu Hisham, smiling at us, sensing our surprise that we should once again have a roof over our heads.

After taking one false direction, it was decided to engage the services of a policeman. When asked the way, he did not seem to know definitely, but was aware of the general direction. Climbing into the front of the Land Rover, he sat, with his rifle unintentionally pointing at my ear, and proceeded to tell us the way as we drove through the dimly lit streets. Suddenly, he made signs for us to stop. Jumping out, he explained that he would find someone else who might be able to help, then scurried off into the darkness. While we sat there waiting for him to return, another man came past, and Abu Hisham popped his head out of the window to enquire again. Strangely enough, this man knew his friend, so he jumped in, and we set off once more. At last we arrived. As we all got out of the Land Rover, I suddenly remembered the policeman. We had forgotten him completely! We imagined the poor fellow returning, with the correct directions, only to find the street deserted. Ah, well...

We were ushered into the house, and shown into the guest room. It was clean and furnished with a settee and several armchairs. After we had sat down, the host asked Audrey if she was cold. Unaware that there was any implication behind these words, she said: “No, thank you” The host looked a little concerned. Finally Abu Hisham turned to her and pointed out that his friend’s wife was in the other room where there was a fire. It would be better if Audrey joined her. The penny dropped – this was a man’s domain. Audrey hurriedly left the room and immediately the men noticeably relaxed. I saw no more of her until it was time for bed, but spent the evening with Abu Hisham, his friend and an older man, who was possibly his father. The older man was undoubtedly of Bedouin stock, for he had a very dark skin, fine features and alert, piercing eyes, which were effectively emphasised by a thin black line of kohl, a black powder used as eye make-up in Eastern countries. In spite of his eighty years, his mind was active, and he quickly made himself understood to me, even though we had no words in common. His gun was his prized possession and we spent some time admiring its fine condition. Abu Hisham was eager to show his recently purchased figurine to his friend, who, being concerned also with the Antiquities department, wad able to pronounce his opinion on it.

Meanwhile, Audrey sat with our host’s wife, who laughed and chattered away to her, completely unaware that she did not understand. The wife then prepared a bowl of fruit and made herb tea. When it was ready, she knocked on the wall, and her husband came to fetch it in. Later, Audrey watched her as she sat on the floor and mixed up a large quantity of dough to be baked the following morning. All the while, two children lay sleeping on a large bed in the same room, not at all disturbed by the noise.

Our breakfast consisted of various dishes, fish, fried meat, fried eggs, olive oil, and apricot jam, all of which were presented in dishes on a large circular brass tray. The flat, round loaves had just been taken from the oven. No knives, forks, or spoons were used, one had to break off a piece of bread and use it to scoop up whatever tit-bit one desired, using only the right hand. Trying to get slippery fried eggs in this manner was an almost impossible task. The older man, who sat with us, was very concerned that we should have a good share and kept urging us to eat more, but, try as hard as we could, by the end of the meal, we felt that we had only managed to consume bread, which, following everyone’s example, we had dipped periodically into the bowl of olive oil.

Madaba is a little town built on a mound, or tell, formed by the rubble of earlier towns. It is well known for its fine mosaics, and we were fortunate to have the opportunity of visiting some of the best-preserved examples. We also saw some old mosaics being reconstructed by members of the Antiquities Department. We were surprised to see that rather than fitting the mosaics into cement with the glazed side up, the small cubes were laid face down upon a drawing on paper and then cemented from the back.

In the Greek Orthodox Church of St. George, part of the floor reveals a delightful picture mosaic map of Palestine. Although many parts are missing, Jerusalem was intact, and shown as it was in the Byzantine times. We w