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Each day, without fail, Amen-Ra emerges from behind the mountain of sunrise and begins his journey across the sky in his Manjet boat, or ‘barque of millions of years’. He wears the double crown of Egypt, which combines the red crown of Lower Egypt, and the white crown of Upper Egypt. His journey is not without danger, for Apep, a huge serpent living in the waters of the Nile, consistently tries to obstruct him on his way. At night his journey is to the underworld. Then he uses the ‘night-barque’ with stars for his crew.
Amen-Ra was the creator of gods and the creator of men. He was born enclosed within the bud of a lotus flower from the primeval waste of waters, or chaos, known as Nun, and appeared to the world as the glowing orb of the sun. He, alone, gave birth to the twin gods of the atmosphere, Shu and Tefnut, who married each other, and gave birth to the earth god, Geb, and the sky goddess, Nut. Again, brother and sister married, and from this union five offspring resulted: Osiris, Haroeris, Set, Isis and Nephthys.
Osiris ruled wisely when he came to the throne, and was a true benefactor of mankind. He married his sister, Isis, who ruled over a peaceful country, while he travelled the world beyond Egypt, winning more and more land without ever resorting to force.
Set became increasingly jealous for power and eventually thought of a plan to do away with his brother. By devious means he obtained the measurements of Osiris’s body, and from these details fashioned a cedar wood chest inlaid with gold and silver. He then held a banquet, to which he invited Osiris, together with seventy-two of his own accomplices. This valuable chest was then offered to any person who could fit exactly into it. One after the other they tried until it was Osiris’s turn. He gently lowered himself in and found that it fitted exactly, but before he had time to withdraw, Set and his men nailed the chest tightly, dragged it to the river and threw it in.
Isis was stricken with grief and wandered about the world looking for her beloved Osiris. Meanwhile, the cedar wood coffer had been carried down the Nile and across the Mediterranean Sea to the Phoenician coast. It came to rest near Byblos, at the base of a tamarisk tree, which grew at such a rate that it soon completely enclosed the coffin. Eventually, the King of that area gave orders that it should be cut down. When this was done, the tamarisk gave such an exquisite scent, that its fame reached far and wide. At last Isis heard about it and immediately set off for Byblos. She was overjoyed to find her husband’s body and had it carried back to Egypt.
By pure chance, Set happened to find the body while he was out hunting, and in his rage, cut it into fourteen pieces which he scattered all over the land of Egypt. Isis faithfully began searching for them and continued until she had recovered all the parts with the exception of the phallus, which had been thrown into the river and devoured by a crab. With the help of the god, Anubis, she joined all these pieces together, and performed the first rites of embalming and mummifying. When this was completed, Osiris went to dwell in the land of the Dead on the West Bank of the Nile. Here, all people were brought before him at their judgement, for he had become the god of the Underworld.
His devoted son, Horus, who was so lovingly cared for by Isis, was soon old enough to avenge his father’s death. He killed Set, and then he acceded to the throne. The conflict between Horus and Set had been long and lasting, and had involved all the gods. With Horus’s victory, he became the ruler of life, strength and health – lord of the earth.
The sons of Horus ruled Egypt until the beginning of the First Dynasty, 3200 BC when Narmer, or Menes, swept northwards with his armies. He subdued and unified the countries of Upper and Lower Egypt, so that they were under one rule and he became the first Pharaoh of these united kingdoms.
We were about to see this ancient land of the Pharaohs.
The aeroplane banked over and we were circling Cairo, the setting sun gave a peach coloured glow to the tall, modern apartment buildings situated on the outskirts of the city.
Everyday we would see the great fiery disc on its journey across the sky. Each day we would look into the swirling waters of the Nile. It flowed to the Delta region and out to sea. From the windows we had already picked out the great river, a life’s blood, which rises and falls with the seasons to give a narrow strip of fertility in an otherwise arid land.
The river Nile is the second longest river in the world. In its upper reaches it consists of both the White and the Blue Nile, which meet at Khartoum in the Sudan, and flow on through the Nubian Desert to Egypt. That Egypt is the ‘gift of the Nile’ is surely true, for it can be regarded as a country a thousand miles long and little more than a dozen miles wide. The banks of the river have given rise to one of the world’s cradles of civilisation. Like most of the Egyptian people throughout history, we never strayed far from this lifeline of a river, for there is nothing beyond – nothing, save the desolate expanse of the Sahara.
The waters of the Nile are directly affected by the monsoons from the Ethiopian tableland, which swell the tributaries during the months from June to September. With each flood, vast quantities of mud and silt are brought down, providing rich, cultivable soil in swampy pools on either side of the main riverbed. Thus, the Egyptian year is divided naturally into three seasons, corresponding with the rise and fall of the Nile water. They are inundation, cultivation and harvest. But the people remember the gods, and say that the tears of Isis give rise to this seasonal flooding – such was her grief over the fate of her beloved Osiris.
Several taxis stood outside the airport. We went up to a group of men by them and enquired the fare to Cairo. After some bartering, we found ourselves travelling through Heliopolis towards the capital. Darkness had come quickly, for there is hardly any twilight at this latitude. The road was wide and tree-lined, with large residential houses standing in their own ground on either side.
We had packed minimal requirements for this trip and had paid the princely price of £12 each for the flight between Jerusalem and Cairo. It was unfortunate to some extent, that we were now without our Land Rover, which we had left at the Cliff Hotel in Jerusalem, but we looked forward to the alternative means of travel whilst we spent the next two weeks in Egypt. As we approached the centre of the city, more and more neon lights became visible and noise and general activity more apparent.
We asked the driver about a suitable hotel and he recommended ‘The Grand’, naturally, he had a brother there. It seemed to be very central, and fortunately not too high in price, so we booked in.
On trying to cash one of our traveller’s cheques, we were delayed for some time, as it was very difficult for me to convince the man at the reception desk that I should sign with my own signature, not as he wanted, with the name of the Chief Cashier of the Westminster Bank in England.
Eventually we were given a key to a room on the seventh floor. Two dark-skinned waiters, dressed in flowing white gallabiyehs almost cracked their skulls in a united attempt to reach for the two small holdalls by our feet. We entered the lift and waited, while the attendant pressed a button. Nothing happened, we remained on the ground floor. This caused some consternation. The waiters put our bags down, we got out of the lift and an apologetic receptionist came rushing over. She tried again without success.With a resigned expression, the waiters picked up our bags and set off up the stairs. We, too, began the interminable climb. At the fourth floor, the lift passed us on its way upward. All of us stood staring at it angrily. It seemed as though it had a mind of its own and was deliberately moving to frustrate us. Thinking back, there wasn’t an hour that passed while we were at this hotel that the mechanism of this lift did not fail.
Our room was large, with two single beds, a dressing table, an enormous wardrobe and plenty of chests of drawers. Somehow our ‘luggage’ looked quite inadequate. We also had a private bathroom and toilet. Large windows opened on to a balcony, and from here we had a bird’s eye view of one of the narrow streets below. Running its entire length were numerous fruit and vegetable stalls, illuminated by large paraffin lamps. No one appeared to be buying or selling, for the sunset gun had fired, marking the end of the day’s fasting, and stallholders and their families were sitting in groups eating hungrily. From here, and from the main street, 26 July Street there issued forth a cacophony of sound that was obviously not going to be conducive to sleep. Closing all the doors and widows, and pulling the shutters together, in an attempt to exclude the noise, we discovered that we had also cut off the ventilation. It became progressively more and more stifling and high-pitched whine of a mosquito ensured that our sleep would be disturbed.
This capital, like most other cities, shows two faces to her visitors. One the modern and wealthy, championed by the palatial Nile Hilton, Shepheard’s and the Semiramis Hotels. The other is found as one wanders in the streets and bazaars, or travels on buses and trams. Then one can see for oneself the unmistakable signs of a people who are not within easy reach of the wealth next door to them. Although it will not do Cairo justice in terms of its most recent achievements, it is on the second aspect that I wish to write, for to me, the cosmopolitan wealth of one city often tells much the same story as that of any other.
Earlier we had been gazing up at the fine mosaic work on the Hilton Hotel, but when this modern building had disappeared from view, we raised our eyes to tall, crude blocks of flats. Dirty washing drooped from most windows and the colourless, plastered walls, cracked without sympathy for the occupants. The roadside was thick with dirt and, as people went about their daily tasks, children played in the refuse around the communal water pump. Bare feet and tattered rags had replaced fashionable shoes and elegant dress. The wooden barrow had replaced the car. We walked on, passing beggars who cried for baksheesh. A dozen or more children took up the chant and began to follow us.
It was not late in the day, but a great number of people were sitting, or lying motionless in odd corners and doorways. It was nearing the end of Ramadan, when Moslems were weary as a result of their month of fasting. With the prospect of no more food until after sunset, and the tiring heat of midday, it was small wonder that so many people looked lifeless. To the fellahin who may be required to work long hours in the fields, Ramadan can be a great hardship, particularly if it occurs during the mid-summer months. It is not uncommon for people to die during this period, due to the lack of essential nourishment. Any Moslem who dies during this time is granted direct passage to heaven. Only the animals were unaffected by Mohammed’s teachings. Donkeys were eating green vegetables from their own carts, and animals without owners scratched around the heaps of garbage.
The heat became intense, and we could even smell the dust. The cries of street vendors suggested that we must have been nearing the Khan el Khalily bazaar. Soon we were among the souks, and walking past shops selling all manner of wares. We allowed ourselves to be enticed into one of them, where there were tempting souvenirs of silver filigree, leather, wood and gold. One can be sure that there will be no lack of effort to get the tourist to buy. Having made a small purchase, we strolled towards a mosque and entered by a side door.
Many Moslems were crowding into a room containing the huge, silver shrine of Hussein. There was a general movement about the tomb, as each person pressed close to the protecting balustrade, and murmured their prayers. It seemed an intensely religious occasion, and, although nobody spoke to us, we felt that our visit was regarded as an intrusion, which, of course, it was.
Nearby is the famous mosque Al Azhar. It is considered to be the oldest University in the world, and was built by the Fatimid Caliphs in the tenth century. Around the large courtyards, which are open to the sky, are pillared halls. Here, young students were sitting on beautiful hand-woven carpets, reciting and committing to memory the words of the Koran, while, above their heads, birds flew freely about, chirruping from the nooks and crannies in the ceiling. Most of the domes and minarets were devoid of colour. All had a uniform sandstone effect integral with the walls about. But, whatever was lacking, from a colour point of view, was offset by the craftsmanship of delicate lacework in stone. This was particularly so with the minarets, where the balconies rise one above the other, like the tiers of decorated wedding cake, culminating in small, onion-shaped domes surmounted by the crescent of Islam.
By now we felt ready for a ride, so we took a taxi to the foot of the Citadel, where stands the Sultan Hassan Mosque. From here we walked up steep, narrow streets to the Citadel itself, built in 1176 by Saladin, some claim, with smaller blocks from the pyramids at Giza.
One of the three mosques within its fortified precincts is the Mohammed Ali Mosque, sometimes referred to as the Alabaster Mosque. After donning soft over-slippers, we walked into the spacious central area, which, apart from colouring, is not unlike the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. Huge, square pillars and a series of tall arches supported the gold patterned domes above. Innumerable glass lamps and chandeliers gave a subdued light to this mosque, with its windows of orange-yellow alabaster.
From the Citadel, one can look out across the rooftops of Cairo to the Nile, and beyond to the pyramids on the West Bank. They looked almost unreal, and it was quite a surprise for us to see them so close to the city. We had imagined them to be remote, in the desert region.
Trams clanged and rattled past us as we made our way towards Ramesses Square the following day. It is unbelievable how so many people, dressed in trailing, striped night-shirts, can cling by their fingertips to the outside of these mechanical monstrosities. It is even more surprising how few fatalities occur, for trams and buses alike pass each other without any reduction in speed.
We joined in the pushing and shoving in an attempt to board a bus for Giza. All the seats were occupied, so we stood with about twenty other passengers at the front end of the single-decker vehicle. It was impossible to move along the central gangway to the back, for it was filled with all manner of noisy characters, besides being stacked with baskets of fruit, vegetables, and even chickens, which seemed to be getting a little out of control. Everyone was sent floundering over to one side as the bus swung out of the square. Not far along the road we passed a nasty accident. Rather than subdue our driver, it seemed to encourage him to drive even faster. When we finally tumbled out, we felt quite battered, and were relieved to have arrived safely.
We were now at the extreme edge of the city of Cairo. The footpath was paved, and the road lined with trees, but between the green we could see what we had come for – the Great Pyramid itself.
Great, massive, immense, huge, colossal, enormous, gigantic; these were merely words to describe the size of this, the largest pyramid created by man. In no way do these words give any real feeling as to the composition, or the environs of this structure. Nor indeed do they give any clue regarding questions that hover about the mind as one looks upwards at them. What are they? Why are they there?What purpose did they serve?
In order to answer these questions, it will be necessary to digress for a while, to think about the Ancient Egyptians, their religion and their attitude to death. Not only did the Ancient Egyptians believe in life after death, they made ample preparation to ensure that the dead would have all their worldly goods with them. Our hackneyed phrase ‘you can’t take it with you’ was certainly not an Egyptian maxim. Although the poor were buried with only a few cooking facilities and tools, the rich were given food, drink, clothing, dishes, pots, weapons, gems and any valuables that they had collected during their lifetime.
It was believed that each person had two souls, the Ba and the Ka. Of these, the Ka was possibly the most important, partaking of the food and drink and remaining in the tomb, even though it had left the corpse. The survival of the soul, however, was dependent upon the preservation of the body after death.
At first the Egyptians buried their dead in simple, shallow graves, but these could easily be robbed. So a system was developed whereby a shaft was dug leading to each tomb. When the body had been interred, the shaft opening was covered by a low, stone building known as a mastaba. Although this new method was far more secure, it had one particular disadvantage, in that the body, unprotected from the dry sand, decomposed much more rapidly. No man could enjoy life after death if his earthly body was allowed to decay, and his Ka could not be left to live alone. In the case of the Pharaohs, it was even more essential that they should live into eternity. Therefore a process of embalming, or wrapping of the body was carried out which preserved the body for a very long time.
We are told that there were three methods corresponding to the prices paid to the skilled embalmers. The most expensive, certainly used in the case of royalty, took about seventy days to complete. The body, having first been washed with water from the Nile, was then cut open on the left side to enable the liver, lungs, stomach and intestines to be removed. These were placed individually into four Canopic jars, designed in the forms of the four offspring of Horus. The liver was placed in the jar topped by the human head of Imset, the lungs in the dog-headed jar of Hapy, the stomach in the jackal-headed jar of Duamutef, and the intestines were placed in a jar with a hawk’s head, representing Qebehsenuf. The cavities in the bodies were then stuffed with linen, leaving the heart and kidneys in place. The brain was drawn out through the nostrils with an iron hook, and the remaining cavity filled with linen or mud. The body was then cleaned and soaked in natron for the period of seventy days, after which it was washed, and treated with oils and various ointments. The skilled embalmers would recreate the original shape of the body by placing linen pads under the skin, and even modelling parts in plaster, then the body was ready to be wrapped. For this process fine linen was used, smeared with resin[17]. Each limb was separately bound; sometimes even fingers and toes were individually wrapped before the final covering of finest cloth was applied. The mummified body was then placed in a coffin. The legend of Isis, who embalmed her husband, Osiris, is thus partly re-enacted. There remained the last journey in the sacred boat – across the river to the Land of the Dead in the west. Here, in the Hall of Judgement, the dead man’s heart would be weighed against a feather, the symbol of truth.
In spite of the ingenuity of the Egyptians to seal their tombs, robbers were equally adroit at breaking in. The mastaba was increased in dimensions, resulting, in one case, in the Step Pyramid of Zoser at Saqqara, where, in about 2700 BC the first great architect, Imhotep, erected a six-stepped superstructure above the original mastaba. From this idea resulted the smooth-faced pyramid of the type in front of which we stood: the Great Pyramid of Cheops.
In the building of this pyramid, it has been calculated that 2,300,000 blocks of stone were used, quarried from the Mokkatum Hills on the opposite bank of the Nile. After the blocks had been carefully cut to size, they were transported across the river on barges, and then dragged, possibly using rollers, to the building site. In all probability, ramps of sand and brick were used to get the blocks up to the subsequent levels after the first. The angle of the ramps would have remained constant, so they must have extended far from the pyramid, before eventually being removed. Alternatively, it has been suggested that a simple, levered, lifting machine and counterweight, could have raised the stone blocks step by step to the required height. Whatever method was used, Herodotus, reporting on information received from ancient dragomen, says that it took a hundred thousand men, twenty years to build. He was of the opinion that it was built by slave labour, although this idea is not now generally accepted.
The pyramid was laid out with a remarkable accuracy. It was orientated to the cardinal points of the compass, and the average error of all the four sides, was only three minutes of an arc. The limestone facing stones have long since disappeared, so that the huge, square-cut blocks, each weighing some two and a half tons, can be seen placed one upon one another, like some giants causeway to the sky. Originally, it rose to a height of over four hundred and eighty feet, but now the top thirty-one feet are missing.
As we stood looking up at this, one of the seven ancient wonders of the world, we became aware of someone standing by our side. It was a guide.
“I take you to top”– he asked.
“No, thank you”– we countered. The thought of climbing those immense blocks did not appeal much, especially on such a hot day.
“I climb to top in eight minutes”– he asserted.
At this statement we must have shown some surprise.
“Me champion. Eight minutes”– we could hear him calling to us, as we moved on.
It is possible to climb to the King’s Chamber in the centre of the pyramid and this we decided to do. We entered at about the sixth course of masonry from the base, through ‘Mamum’s hole’, which was forced by Caliph Mamum in the ninth century. This led us into a descending passage, the original entrance of which is now inaccessible. After a while we came to the junction of the ascending and descending passages, the latter continuing downward at 28 degrees, to an unfinished chamber; the original burial chamber.
At this point, Audrey decided that she could go no further. The foul air and claustrophobic effect of so many tons of stonework were too much for her. So she quickly retraced her steps. I decided that I would continue, and started to climb the ascending passage, which led to the Queen’s Chamber, and the Grand Gallery. Although the first passage was quite small, about five feet high, the Grand Gallery was nearly thirty feet high, with walls of stone, for about another hundred and fifty feet, until, stooping low, I entered the ante-chamber, and then the King’s Chamber. I stood still for a while to regain my breath. During the rather strenuous climb, I had felt that I wanted to breathe deeply, but the air was so stale that this was impossible. Walking quickly round the room, I noticed the finely dressed, polished granite of the ceiling, walls and floor. There was no decoration or chiselling to be seen. At the far end of the room was the empty, lidless sarcophagus of red granite. I was completely alone for a while in the semi-darkness and silence, then, feeling a desperate need to be in the open air, I began the downward return.
Thinking about the three chambers, which were incorporated in the Pyramid of Cheops, I wondered if it would be reasonable to suppose that they were alternative burial chambers for the King, should he have died at any stage in the building process, rather than accept that the builders changed their plans at various stages in construction. The burial chamber below ground level could have been used if the King had died earlier than anticipated. His body could then still have been interred and protected, following the original idea of a mastaba, even though the pyramid had not been completed.
Cheop’s son, Chephren, had his pyramid built close by, and this, the second largest in the group, still retains some of the original limestone casing at the top. Bones found in the third pyramid are possibly those of the Pharaoh Mycerinus and are now in the British Museum.
The Sphinx was sculpted four thousand, seven hundred years ago in the form of a lion, some hundred and fifty feet long, with the head of Pharaoh Chephren. The great, staring eyes gaze into the distance. The nose has been obliterated it is said, by one of Napoleon’s cannon balls. The lips form a line of almost indeterminate expression, like the Mona Lisa’s – one cannot tell if Chephren smiles, is cynical, or shows compassion. It is as if he scrutinises with the ageless experience that time has bestowed upon him. Only he can dare to compete with the bulk and uniformity of the pyramids, all else is as the dust about. Despite its height of over sixty feet, it was not spared by the desert sands, which, at one time, almost covered it completely. It was excavated in 1905, and between the paws was found a stele, or inscribed slab of stone, used by the Egyptians to record events of great importance. A similar type of stone was found by one of Napoleon’s soldiers, when at Rosetta in 1739. Although the men were hard pressed at the time, they dug out the slab and sent it to Alexandria. Scholars were eventually told of its existence, and when it came to be investigated, it was realised that the stone had engraved upon it one proclamation in three different languages. At the top there were fourteen lines of hieroglyphs[18], hitherto an unresolved picture writing as used by the Ancient Egyptians. Below this were thirty-two lines of a later form of hieroglyphic writing, called Demotic, and underneath this were fifty-four lines of Greek. Although the Greek was quickly translated, it was not until 1822 that the pioneering French Egyptologist Champollion was able to decipher the hieroglyphs. The biggest clue came when it was noticed that there were five identical sets of signs contained within an oval line and that in the Greek section, Pharaoh Ptolemy’s name also occurred five times. These signs within the oval shape are now known as cartouches, and they always give the name of a King or Queen of Ancient Egypt.
When the world had become aware of Champollion’s work, adventurers and archaeologists made their way to Egypt, for the history of the land of the Pharaohs was available for all to read. The slab of basalt, or Rosetta Stone, as it is now known, fell into the hands of the English, and is now proudly displayed in the British Museum in London.
The sun beat down upon us, but we managed to find a little shade where we sat and watched as hordes of tourists began to arrive in coaches. They would be guided around and enjoy their camel rides. The dark-skinned Arabs had flashing smiles for all. It was a busy day, and money was good.
Arriving back in the centre of the city, a veritable confusion of adulterated noise greeted us. In Cairo there is everything except peace and quiet. A man sidled up as we were standing looking at a map on an island in the middle of a road, and asked if he could show us the way. We gave him the name of the street that we were making for, and he offered to accompany us. Having made his introduction, he then invited us to go to his brother’s shop. By now, we were not easily led, but as we were not in a hurry we decided to go with him. His brother sold perfumes! We were offered chairs next to an American, who had also been cajoled inside, and were immediately asked what we would like to drink. As we were feeling hot, we asked for Cola, and hastened to assure the tubby little man about to display the goods that we could not afford any perfume and had no intention of buying.
“No, no, of course – he replied, quite undeterred – there is no obligation.”
He then explained what the various perfumes were: Attar of Roses, Jasmine, Lotus Flower, and his piece de resistance, Secret of the Desert. From the other side of a curtain, which divided the room into two, we could hear another man giving exactly the same sales talk to some more customers. All these perfumes were dabbed on our wrists until, for my part at least; they all seemed to mingle together such that I could not tell them apart. Then out came the pretty boxes containing the small bottles. Prices started at six pounds, but with no response to this, smaller boxes were produced, until we were shown a single bottle for one pound. I’m sure that, like us, the American did not want to buy, but the little salesman was very persistent.
“Your wife will probably never, ever again have the opportunity of owning anything as exotic as Secret of the Desert”– he said.
The American succumbed. He was quickly offered two bottles for two pounds, but was not about to fall for that. We came away highly scented, but duly refreshed, thinking that we had learnt a lot during the last few months.
Returning to the hotel, we went to the dining room for our evening meal. Looking down into the main street we could see throngs of people negotiating their way along the pavements, and between speeding cars and buses while, beside us, six or more waiters stood silently contemplating as only Egyptian waiters can. They were alert only for the clink of our cutlery, indicating that we had finished the course. Dressed in white gallabiyehs each one had a wide red or gold sash about his waist and on his head a red fez. Our waiter on this particular evening, seemed fairly new to the work, and our meal was, perhaps, the first he had served using the accepted method of fork and spoon in one hand. He managed to gather a semblance of a meal together for Audrey, but when he came to my side, after getting one potato on to my plate, he went completely to pieces, scattering peas left right and centre including many over the table and floor. Then he desperately tried to hold some meat between the two implements, but each time his hand came across from the serving plate, it left a trail of gravy across the tablecloth. It was a pitiful sight, but we could do nothing to relieve his embarrassment. Before long, the table was in such a mess that his nerves could stand it no longer. He rapidly disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, leaving me with not enough to feed a sparrow. We called another waiter and after a short delay some more food was served. Mainly because the hotel food was not sufficient to satisfy our ample appetites, we went to Groppi’s twice for lunch. This is a very well known restaurant, which has a particularly good name for its delicious cakes and rose-petal jam.
Next morning we crossed the Al Tahrir Bridge to the island of Gazira and the riverside parks, where small sculptures are set between seats and flower gardens. Tall, bristly palm trees try, unsuccessfully, to compete with the ever increasing heights of new buildings, and the lofty Cairo tower, which rises to six hundred feet and culminates in a revolving restaurant.
Whilst sitting on the embankment wall, we had the unpleasant experience of seeing two young boys firing at small birds with catapults. One of them came over and sat in front of us. From a crumpled paper bag he produced a fluttering bird, and put in on the step. A stone had hit it. The boy stroked the ruffled feathers for a while, then picked the bird up, set it on a parapet, and proceeded to take further catapult shots at it. Seeing our disapproval, he came back and withdrew several other birds from the bag. He seemed to have some morbid preoccupation with this half death. Our unconcealed disgust may even have satisfied him further.
Bab al-Hadid is Cairo’s main railway terminus. It lays just beyond the towering fountain statue of Ramesses II, which dominates the central garden area and pools in Ramesses Square. It was our intention to book seats for a return journey to Luxor and Aswan. Do not imagine that this meant just going to a kiosk and paying for tickets. In Egypt everything takes time – a long time. There are three classes of rail travel: First Class Air Conditioned, First Class and Second Class. We opted for Second Class, being the cheapest, but it wasn’t long before we had changed our minds. In the station we met a Canadian who had just returned from Luxor, travelling First Class. He was busy writing a letter of complaint, and had already filled one sheet of foolscap paper. A few words with him was enough to persuade us to book for First Class Air-Conditioned.[19]
Asking a guard where we could book our tickets, we were shown to a large, cool room, this being the Station Master’s Office. After we had all shaken hands, the Station Master indicated that we should sit down. He really seemed quite pleased to have some company, and kept a porter busy fetching fresh coffee for us all, while we sat discussing many points of common interest – nothing at all to do with railway journeys. After a short walk about the station, more coffee was sent for and, at long last, we came to the business of the day. By the time we had acquired our tickets the morning had passed!
Next morning, at about six-thirty a.m., we left the hotel and made our way through the almost deserted streets back to the station. Having found the right train and settled in our seats, we looked out of the windows as milling crowds of people sorted themselves and their baggage, in the confusion of last minute preparations, common to all main railway terminal stations. Then, amidst the clamour of banging doors, the carriage lurched and the train pulled slowly out of the station, a few latecomers frantically running alongside to find a suitable place to jump and gain a foothold.
In the soft light of early morning, the outskirts of Cairo sailed past the window. The large, concrete, multi-storied blocks of flats and offices gave way to mud-brick houses, with flat straw roofs, sometimes piled high with sugar-cane and clay pots. Pure white egrets graced a canal edged by tall palm trees. River, road and rail were side by side for long distances, and we saw donkeys and horses trotting beside the track pulling cartloads of cauliflowers.
Whenever the train stopped, the conglomeration of men, women and children who piled into the Second Class carriages, with their ducks, chickens, fascinated us. And baskets filled to the brim with the family possessions. There were always numerous people at each station who seemed to gather just for the excitement of seeing the train. Each time it set off again, we found children in their striped, flowing ‘night-shirts’, and ‘pyjamas’, clinging to the outside of the carriages. Looking at the shadow of the train cast by the sun, we realised that some people were even sitting on the roof.
Passing Beni Hassan, we could see that the extent of the hillside appeared to be pitted with tombs. There are, in fact, over a thousand, some with wall paintings dated back to 2,000 BC
In some villages, the mud-plastered walls of certain houses were painted white, and decorated with various child-like drawings in clear colours. Invariably shown in these pictures were boats and trains, and in one case an aeroplane. We learnt that the occupant of such a house, known as a Haj house, had been on a pilgrimage to Mecca. Whatever mode of travel he had used on his journey was depicted on the walls.
A waiter had walked through the compartment many times, letting everyone know that lunch was being served. We had brought a few sandwiches with us, but decided that we would benefit from eating a more sustaining meal. We would be travelling for at least eleven hours.
During the hottest part of the day, we saw that the fellahin who had been busily working in the fields, had retired to sleep against walls, or were sitting in groups beneath trees. As we moved further south, so the skins of the people were noticeably darker. Always the endless strip of green baize backed by the dry sandy hills, unwound past the window like a never-ending motion picture. The majority of the green was sugar cane, which is one of Egypt’s most important agricultural commodities. Occasionally, when the train slowed down, boys jumped in and offered us sticks of it to chew. They seemed to enjoy it, but we found it very stringy.
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The sun went down and palm trees were silhouetted against a fiery red sky, but it was impossible to see much more of the splendid scenery after the light in the compartment was switched on – even though we sat with our noses almost pressed to the windows. The passengers in the Second Class compartments had no lights, or even windows.
When we finally arrived at Luxor, we were feeling rather sleepy, but our eyes opened wide when we saw the horse-drawn carriages lined up outside the station. Through the warm night air, we travelled in style to our hotel on the riverbank. All was silent in the narrow back streets of the town, silent that is, apart from the rhythmical clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, the jingling bells on his harness, the rolling of the wheels on the hard surfaced road, and the occasional swish, as the boy cracked his whip. The latter was an involuntary action, by force of habit more than a need to urge the horse to greater effort, for our speed remained unaltered. The horse knew his task and his direction. His pace was exactly suited for us to sit back and relish the air on our faces. Apart from a few shadowy figures closing the wooden shutters of their shops, the streets were deserted. All too soon, the carriage pulled up outside the brilliantly lit Savoy Hotel. It looked extremely pleasant, bur rather more grandiose than we had been used to. However, we booked in, enjoyed a good meal, and then retired for the night.
Several horse-drawn cabs were waiting outside the hotel in the morning. They were not expensive to hire, so we took a leisurely ride along the tree-lined riverside road to Karnak, then wandered down by the bank of the Nile, where some feluccas were being unloaded. These are the most graceful of all sailing boats, each with a large, single sail to catch the slightest breath of wind, which will carry them silently and lazily over the blue water.
Close by was a shaduf, a primitive machine that laboriously raises the Nile water to irrigate the fields. It consists simply of a long wooden arm, pivoted close to one end, where a heavy mud counterweight is fixed. On the other end was a container that was swung out into the river, filled with water, then brought back to the bank. The field maybe some distance away, so a succession of three or four shaduf’s are often worked to transfer the water from one level to the next. This method has been used in Egypt for well over five thousand years.
By way of an introduction to the Great Temple at Karnak, an avenue of ram-headed sphinxes confronts one. Below the chin, and between the paws of each of them, is positioned a diminutive figure of the Pharaoh Amenophis III. This avenue originally joined the temples of Karnak and Luxor, and would have been about a mile and a half long.
It would be futile to try to describe all the temples of Karnak. There are some twenty of them, many of which have been successively altered and re-built by different Pharaohs, but now in varying states of ruin. For a general impression it will suffice if one gains an idea of the vast proportions of the Great Temple of Amen-Ra, the God to whom most of the temples are dedicated.
We entered into an extensive courtyard bordered by ruined columns. To one side were some more ram-headed sphinxes placed in a line as if in store from recent recovery, while directly in front of us stood an enormous gateway, decorated with figures of a Pharaoh. Beyond the gateway is the Great Hypostyle hall, which contains some of the most massive and over-powering pillars that one, is ever likely to see. Of the total of one hundred and thirty-four columns, the twelve that form the central aisle are the largest. They are over seventy feet high, more than ten feet in diameter and culminate in a lotus flower design. The smaller columns have capitals in the form of a papyrus flower. All the columns were covered with various hieroglyphics of bold design, cut into the surface of the stone, and vestiges of the original vivid colouring can still be seen. One feels completely dwarfed by this mass of stonework, due to the fact that the columns are positioned very close together.
Passing on, we came to the two obelisks of Queen Hatshepsut and her father, Tuthmosis I, which are similar to the incorrectly named Cleopatra’s Needle in London. The Queen’s Obelisk is nearly a hundred feet high, and is made from polished, pink Aswan granite. The following is a translation of an inscription upon it:
‘I was seated in my palace, and I was thinking of the God who made me. My heart conceived the desire to erect in his honour two golden obelisks whose points would pierce the sky . . .
I caused the obelisks to be erected between the two great pylons of my father Tuthmosis. You, who see these monuments after the passage of many long years, you will speak of what I have done. And you will say: ‘We do not know why these needles of gold were erected.’ Hearken! I lavished on them bushels of gold as though I had been pouring out sacks of grain. And when you learn these things, do not say that my work was dedicated to vanity. Say rather: ‘She did these things because she loved to do so.[20]
We wondered why these numerous hieroglyphics had not been ravaged by time, for Hatshepsut had the roof of the hall, which had been built by her father, partly removed so that the obelisks could project to the sky. The answer lay in the fact that Tuthmosis III so disliked Hatshepsut, that when he became King, he covered the obelisks wishing to hide the inscriptions thereon. What a good thing he did, for this helped to preserve the writings.
Everywhere about the extensive ruins were scenes cut into the stone; a procession of priests carrying models of the Sacred Barque, Pharaohs presenting their offerings to the gods, and a garden filled with birds, animals, fruit and flowers. Tall lotus and papyrus flowers sprang life-like in stone from the rubble below. The air was filled with the sounds of nature that one associates with a hot, summer day and, as we sat on some tumbled blocks of stone, we saw the unmistakable, crested hoopoe, lazily flying from bush to bush.
Outside the walls of the Temple of Amen Ra, was the sacred lake upon which the barques of the gods were floated, in connection with the religious rites of the temple. Nearby, surmounting a short, red granite pillar was a huge, stone scarab beetle. This variety of beetle attained great importance in ancient Egyptian mythology, because it was seen to follow a ball of dung, which it rolled over the sand and into its burrow to be consumed later. The Egyptians believed that the beetle laid its egg in this pellet and they saw in its life cycle, a self-creative process that they linked with the daily rebirth of their own sun god Ra, who likewise kept the sun in constant motion across the sky. Consequently the scarab has been carved on stone, used as a symbol on cylinder seals, and worn as an amulet, a talisman against evil. It was also placed over the heart during the procedure of embalming as a symbol of eternal life.
Before we left the Temple of Karnak, we climbed to the top of one of the great gateways, or pylons, gaining a marvellous view of the many temples below and also of the far bank of the Nile. Later, walking beside the river, we realised how pleasantly relaxing it was compared with our last few days in Cairo.
“Come for a ride, mister” – a quiet voice beseeched us.
A horse and carriage, driven by a young lad of about twelve, pulled up beside the stone bench on which we were sitting.
“Please, come for a ride” – the boy murmured softly, his pleading, dark brown eyes willing us to join him.
“I can take you to Luxor Temple and back, very cheap.”
He sat waiting, leaning against a straw-filled bolster, smiling down at us. He had plenty of time.
We spent several minutes idly chatting with him, asking the price, saying he was too expensive, that we had no money left, that there was no lamp on his carriage, and how long would the journey take?
The horse began to chew at the grass, obviously enjoying a rest.
The boy smiled quite unconscious of the wonderful picture that he made, his serene, brown face, bemused eyes, the loosely draped folds of his striped robe, the carefully twisted material of his tarboosh, all framed in the sweeping curve of his whip, and the overhanging branches of a sycamore tree. Of course we took the ride.
That night the sunset was unbelievable. The entire western sky was alight with shades of deep red and orange. The river was as red as molten lava, yet it was smooth, calm and gently lapping at the bows of a tall-masted felucca which stood in stark silhouette. A few wisps of cloud were caught in the inferno beyond.
At seven a.m. we walked across the road to where Mohammed Hassan was sleeping in his felucca. We had arranged for him to sail us across the river. He awoke as we arrived, yawned, stretched and began preparing for the journey to Thebes on the West Bank. As we sailed across, he showed us postcards, which had been sent to him by people who had been pleased with his services as a guide, in the hope that we would also engage him. Before we reached the other side, we had agreed that he should accompany us to the various places of interest and that we would travel by donkey.
So often had we seen people using this mode of transport that we felt it was about time we, ourselves, had this experience.
Leaving a boy to take the boat back, Mohammed Hassan collected three donkeys, a white, a black and a grey. Clumsily we mounted, and then set off at a pace in keeping with the quietness of the surroundings. Once we were used to their rhythm of movement, we felt quite comfortable, and Mohammed told us exactly what to do if we wanted to move faster, or stop. They were willing little beasts, and seemed as if they knew the way without any direction from us.
We passed swaying palm trees and fields of green sugar cane, ready for harvesting, then turned alongside the El Fadlya canal. Several young boys, mounted high on large camels, came charging along shouting excitedly. They were returning to collect more bales of heavy cane, which would be strapped, on either side of the camel’s backs.
With the river behind us, we moved away from the strip of cultivated land into the dry, stony hills. The overhead sun was beating relentlessly down on the rocks, making them shimmer, white and dazzling to the eyes. The road that led to the Valley of Kings looked as though it had been newly constructed over the ancient path to the tombs. Two taxis careered past and although we knew that they would be there before us, we decided that we had by far the most agreeable means of travelling.
The Theban necropolis differs widely in its fundamental function as a home for the dead, as opposed to the Old Kingdom’s mastaba tombs and pyramids. After successive robberies, it was realised that even the colossal proportions and immensity of such edifices were not enough to safeguard the Kings. The honeycomb of hidden passages, shafts, and false openings of the Theban complex, represents the subtle change from the all too obvious edifice above ground, to a reliance on secrecy. Most of the tombs that have been discovered are open to view, and we went into four, those of Ramesses X, Tutankhamen, Amenhotep II and Seti I.
The finding of the tomb of Tutankhamen must represent the most exciting and successful treasure hunt of all time. For six years, between 1916 and 1922, Howard Carter, a British archaeologist, sponsored by Lord Carnarvon, had systematically scoured the valley. It was not until he had almost given up hope of finding anything that his luck changed.
A cable reached Lord Carnarvon in London. It read:
‘At last have made a wonderful discovery in the Valley; a magnificent tomb with seals intact.’
Lord Carnarvon immediately left for Egypt. The words ‘seals intact’ suggested that the tomb, unlike many others, would not have been robbed. Imagine Carter and his sponsor, accompanied by several other very excited people, walking down a flight of steps leading into the rock and along a passageway, which terminated with the sealed doorway.
‘The decisive moment had arrived. With trembling hands I made a tiny breach in the upper left-hand corner. Darkness and blank space, as far as an iron testing-rod could reach, showed that whatever lay beyond was empty, and not filled like the passage we had just cleared. Candle tests were applied as a precaution against possible foul gases, and then, widening the hole a little, I inserted the candle and peered in, Lord Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn and Callender standing anxiously beside me to hear the verdict. At first I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle flame to flicker, but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold – everywhere the glint of gold. For a moment - an eternity it must have seemed to the others standing by – I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnarvon, unable to stand the suspense any longer, inquired anxiously,
“Can you see anything?”– It was all I could do to get out the words.
“Yes, wonderful things.”
Then widening the hole a little further so that we could both see, we inserted an electric torch.
Gradually the scene grew clearer and we could pick out individual objects. First, right opposite to us – we had been conscious of them all the while, but we refused to believe in them – were three great gilt couches, their sides carved in the form of monstrous animals, curiously attenuated in body, as they had to be to serve their purpose, but with heads of startling realism. Uncanny beasts enough to look upon at any time: seen as we saw them, their brilliant gilded surfaces picked out of the darkness by our electric torch, as though by limelight, their heads throwing grotesque distorted shadows on the wall behind them, they were almost terrifying. Next, on the right, two statues caught and held our attention; two life-sized figures of a king in black, facing each other like sentinels, gold kilt, gold sandals, armed with mace and staff, the protective sacred cobra upon their foreheads.
These were the dominant objects that caught our eyes at first. Between them, around them, piled on top of them, there were countless others – exquisitely painted and inlaid caskets; alabaster vases, some beautifully carved in openwork design; strange black shrines, from the open door of one a great gilt snake peeping out; bouquets of flowers or leaves; beds, chairs beautifully carved; a golden inlaid throne; a heap of curious white boxes; staves of all shapes and designs; beneath our eyes, on the very threshold of the chamber, a beautiful cup in lotus form of translucent alabaster; on the left a confused pile of overturned chariots, glistening with gold and inlay; and peeping from behind them another portrait of a king.
Such were some of the objects that lay before us. Whether we noted them all at the time I cannot say for certain, as our minds were in much too excited and confused a state to register accurately. Presently it dawned upon our bewildered brains that in all this medley of objects before us there was no coffin or trace of mummy, and the much-debated question of tomb or cache began to intrigue us afresh. With this question in view we re-examined the scene before us, and noticed for the first time that between the two black sentinel statues on the right there was another sealed doorway. The explanation gradually dawned upon us. We were but on the threshold of our discovery, what we saw was merely an antechamber. Behind the guarded door there were to be other chambers, possibly a, succession of them, and in one of them, beyond a shadow of doubt, in all his magnificent panoply of death, we should find the Pharaoh lying.[21]
This ‘magnificent panoply of death,’ spoken of by Carter, represented a fabulous treasure of unparalleled splendour, untouched since the Pharaoh was put to rest some three thousand years before. It was almost unbelievably crowded into quite a small space. Yet, in spite of the abundance of historical wealth, Tutankhamen was but a relatively unimportant king, ruling only for a few years. Who knows what vast treasures the robbers of the tombs of Cheops or Tuthmosis III plundered.
Almost the entire contents of Tutankhamen’s tomb are displayed in the Cairo museum. Seeing them spread out, we could not think how it all fitted into the tomb. The answer lays in the fact that the large, gold-covered, wooden shrines, of which there were four, fitted one inside the other, like Chinese boxes. Within these was a carved quartzite sarcophagus containing three coffins; again, one inside the other. Each one was moulded to the shape of the mummy and covered with gold. The innermost coffin was of solid gold, and weighed over two hundredweight. It was this coffin, which contained the mummified body of Tutankhamen, his face, covered with a royal mask, a faithful portrait of the young King, made of lapis lazuli set in gold. Semi-precious stones were used in abundance, wound in with the linen about the body; carnelian, lapis lazuli, turquoise, amethyst, onyx and jasper, the most valuable being placed closest to the body.
Howard Carter goes on to tell us that:
‘Amongst all that regal splendour, that royal magnificence – everywhere the glint of gold – there was nothing so beautiful as . . . the tiny wreath of flowers (which Carter likes to think was laid in place by the widowed girl queen) ... still retaining their tinge of colour. They told us what a short period three thousand three hundred years, really was but Yesterday and the Morrow. In fact that little touch of nature made that ancient and our modern civilisation akin.[22]
After visiting Tutankhamen’s tomb, we then investigated that of Seti I (1313-1292 BC) the most extensive in the Valley. Its stairways lead down through passageways that extend to some seven hundred feet into the mountainside. Today, it is devoid of its royal treasures, but still rich in designs, paintings and hieroglyphics on the walls and ceilings, which enabled us to gain a clearer picture of the efforts extended to ensure that the Pharaoh’ s journey to the Underworld would be completed safely.
On the sides of the passage the Pharaoh was painted in the presence of the god, Hamarchis. Further along are shown the figures of the gods in the sun’s disc, and then the various forms in which the sun god is recognised, with extracts from ‘The Book of the Dead’. Passing kneeling figures of the gods Isis and Nepthys, which represented: Right and Truth. We observed scenes showing the night-barque, gliding through the Underworld during the hours of darkness.
In this vicinity there is a deep shaft, spanned by a small footbridge, over which one passes easily. Originally, the shaft was designed to mislead robbers into thinking that it led to the tomb, the way ahead having been blocked off. Possibly, it also served in the practical task of drawing away any floodwater that entered the passages.
We then came to a room in which four pillars seem to have been integrally cut out of the rock. Here again, the King is shown in the presence of the various gods. Beyond this, another room, where the scenes are sketched only in outline in some places, the work not completed. This room also served to mislead tomb robbers, for the actual entrance is by way of a previously hidden opening in the floor of the four-pillared hall, through which we had just passed. Descending more flights of steps, and walking along corridors, decorated with paintings, we came to a chamber containing six pillars known as the burial hall. A sunken recess, at the far end, would have contained the sarcophagus and the dead Pharaoh. Here the ceiling is painted dark blue, and is lavishly decorated with stars. The rooms leading from this chamber would have been used for storing the many belongings and furniture, concerned with the final ceremonial burial. On all these rooms are various writings from ‘The Book of the Dead’, a collection of prayers and spells, set out to assist the Ka of a dead person to prepare for the life eternal. Originally, these quotations and pictures would all have been painted on the walls, but later, there being insufficient space, they were written on to rolls of papyrus and left within the tomb. ‘The Book of the Dead’ indicates quite clearly the various stages through which the dead person passed on his journey to the West, where judgment was carried out in the Great Hall of Judgement, or ‘Hall of Two Truths’.
Osiris, the god of the Underworld, presided seated on a throne and dressed in a robe of white feathers. Behind him stood Isis and Nepthys, in front of him, the four sons of Horus, and the guardians of the Canopic jars. The jackal-headed Anubis was in attendance as ‘conductor of souls.’ He led the deceased into the Hall. Altogether, there were forty-two judges, each representing one of the forty-two provinces of Egypt, and each having a chance to enquire into a particular aspect of the dead man’s conscience, or life on earth. The dead man could call to each judge in turn, saying that he had not committed the particular sin with which he had been charged.
In the middle of the large hall was a balance. As the heart was considered to be the centre of man’s intelligence and actions, it was placed on the scale by Horus, and weighed against the symbol of truth, an ostrich feather. If the scales balanced, Horus led the dead person triumphantly to Osiris, who, observing that he had told no lies, and that he was sinless, would tell him that he was welcome to join the gods and the spirits of the dead, and live in eternal happiness. Thoth, the god of wisdom and reason, the record keeper of the gods, wrote everything down. The alternative, for anyone who was found wanting, waited in the form of Amemait, a hybrid monster; part lion, part hippopotamus, and part crocodile, who crouched nearby, ready to devour the heart and body.
When we had seen all that we could in the tombs, we rejoined Mohammed Hassan, who was waiting a little way up the slope. Leading our donkeys for part of the way, the track being steep and stony, we at last reached a high ridge. Looking down, we saw the ruins of a fantastic temple, with great colonnades and ramps, nestling into the great, yellow limestone backdrop of the Theban hills. Known as Deir el Bahri to the Arabs, this was the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut. From our vantage point, however, it was ‘the mountain of the West’ which dominated the scene. Shaped not unlike a pyramid, it falls in huge crevices and folds, almost vertically at its lowest levels, to the white, sun-scorched plain.
Now we were able to mount our donkeys, and we jerked them into action. Slowly, but surefooted they picked their way among the loose rocks of the narrowing track that descended to the plain. In places they were walking within a few inches from a precipitous drop. With stones clattering beneath us, and feeling as though at any moment we might go sailing over the donkeys’ heads, so steep was the incline, we wondered if it would not be safer on our own two feet, but to dismount at this time could be disastrous. Mohammed assured us that the donkeys were “as safe as houses”, (an expression obviously learnt from a previous tourist), and that they had trodden the path many times. We wondered what sort of house he had in mind; the mud-built ones that we had seen did not look at all solid!
Hatshepsut, who became the first woman to rule the Nile valley, was against foreign conquests preferring to maintain peace by friendly trading expeditions. From the time of Cheops, Egypt had obtained incense for the temples from the Land of Punt, present day Somaliland. Although trade had ceased with this country, the great god Amen-Ra commanded Hatshepsut to undertake a journey there. As she was anxious to re-establish friendly relations with Punt, she ordered five sea-going barges to be prepared for the long voyage. They were loaded with linen, jewellery and pottery. When they returned, Hatshepsut was delighted with the cargo of ivory, ebony, incense, apes, dogs, myrrh trees and slaves. The myrrh trees were immediately planted on the terraces of Deir el Bahari, and a great feast was held in honour of the successful expedition.
Deir e1 Bahari was erected as a mortuary temple, and designed by Queen Hatshepsut’s architect, Senmut, who lived with her in the Royal Palace, and with whom she was in love. Cut into the stone, and painted on the walls is the entire story of the voyage to Punt, so one can see exactly what the ships looked like and how loaded they were on their return. It is not possible, however, to see the name, or any image of Hatshepsut. These were erased by Tuthmosis III, after many bitter years under her rule.
Mohammed Hassan must have realised that we were feeling hungry and thirsty, for he told us that soon we would be stopping for refreshment. He seemed anxious that we should not buy food at the Rest House, saying that it was too expensive.So, riding on towards a group of mud plastered houses, we came to an area where the ‘tombs’ of the Nobles are situated. These so-called tombs are, in reality, mortuary chapels. The dead were not always buried in them, but in smaller graves nearer to the tombs of their masters, or kings. Mohammed left us with the donkeys, while he went to collect a key that would give us access to the tombs. We were able to visit two; that of Nakht, who was a scribe of the granaries, an astronomer in the eighteenth dynasty, and that of Menna, scribe of the fields for Tuthmosis IV.
The colourful paintings that cover the white-plastered walls of the tombs are wonderfully preserved. Human figures are scaled according to importance; the head, arms and legs drawn in profile; the body generally facing the onlooker. There is no perspective, the nearest objects being placed at the bottom, the furthest at the top. Strange as this art is to a western eye, we found it completely fascinating, and, in addition, gained a very good idea of the everyday life of the Ancient Egyptians. The agricultural scenes showed that very little had changed since these times. Menna, seated in the shade, watched his corn being harvested. Groups of women winnow with wooden shovels, and we could see the chaff blowing away while the grain fell to the ground. Kneeling scribes record the quantity that has been gathered in.
One of the favourite sports seems to have been that of hunting wild duck. This was done from a low boat, which could be paddled close to the reed beds. Menna, holding a boomerang in his hand, is preparing to throw, while his wife, standing behind him, appears to be about to tap him on the shoulder. (One wonders what she was going to say). A servant kneels in the boat, and is either cooling his hands in the water, or trying to catch fish.
Nor is the social side of life forgotten. In the tomb of Nakht girls with long black hair, sit playing the lute, the harp and the flute, and a blind harpist plucks the strings of his instrument whilst singing a sad refrain. Slender dancing girls clap their hands in time with the music, and twirl and sway in rhythmic dance movements. The seated guests are being offered wine and food, and one of the group of elegantly dressed and a naked slave girl is waiting upon bejewelled ladies, holding lotus buds. It is obvious that the women of the time paid great attention, not only to their dress, but also to their make-up, reddening their lips, painting their nails and using black eyeliner.
The artist, who painted these everyday scenes, did not fail to omit even the most ordinary of events, such as two women quarrelling and pulling each other’s hair, and a cat under a chair eating some meat that it had stolen from the table. Amongst the paintings are hieroglyphic inscriptions, which not only describe the scene, but also what is being said by the various characters.
The man in charge of the tombs, set up a mirror, made of silver paper, near the entrance. This reflected the rays of the sun down into the dark chamber, allowing us not only to see, but also to take photographs.
Outside, a girl and a boy, with the happiest faces we had ever seen, came towards us, the girl holding a, newly born goat. She offered it to us, and made signs to show that they would sell it. The young boy stood by, his face lit up in expectation. A dozen women came by, each holding a great earthenware pitcher on their heads and gracefully walked on towards their village.
Just as we were mounting our donkeys we were approached by a couple of men, one selling necklaces, which he said were “genuine antiques”, and the other with a basket of oranges. The latter was quite insistent, and we would have bought some, but Mohammed urged us to wait. “Soon we will eat”, he assured us. At long last we came to a building, and Mohammed got down from his donkey. We did likewise and followed him inside. The room was full of tables and chairs, but we were the only customers. Ordering a bottle of beer each and one for Mohammed, we drank thirstily whilst waiting for omelettes to be cooked.
Audrey enquired where the toilet was and returned a short while later looking somewhat perplexed and rather pink in the face.
“Everything all right”– I asked.
“Well, the waiter has just washed my feet”– she replied getting red in the face.
“What on earth for?”
“I don’t really know. Perhaps it’s an ancient custom for weary travellers.”
When she explained what had happened, I realised that it was, indeed, a very ancient custom!
“Didn’t you guess what he was up to?’’
Audrey admitted that she had not realised until it was almost too late. The hot sun had lulled her into such a hypnotic state, that she had not the slightest awareness that there had been any ulterior motive for the man to produce a bowl of clear water after a dusty three-hour donkey ride, other than for a refreshing wash.
Out in the green fields, we could see and hear some of primitive saqqiyehs or water-raising machines. As we approached one of them we became aware of the continuous singsong chant of a grinning boy, who was sitting on a wooden capstan, which was slowly turned by a plodding ox. Geared to the capstan was another wooden wheel, which had large pots, tied to it. The movement of the capstan causes the pots to continuously dip into the water and then send their contents splashing into a trough and thence to the fields. One such saqqiyeh can water about three acres a day. The movement was endless, and the boy’s penetrating voice sang on, rising above the creaking wheel. An older man, seeing how interested we were, shuffled over to us, expecting baksheesh.
Beside some more mud houses we noticed two or three, deep, cot-like containers, fashioned from mud. One of them had a latticework design. Mohammed told us that they were beds. As they were full of grass, they may well have been a type of manger for storing food for the animals.
From the rest house, it was only a short walk to the Temple of Ramesses II, now commonly known as the Ramesseum – although in a bad state of ruin, it was still of stupendous proportions. At one time a colossal, granite figure, weighing over a thousand tons, stood here. Quarried at Aswan, it was manhandled over the distance of some hundred miles or so to its final location. Shelley was inspired to write a sonnet about it, in which this great statue of Ramesses II is identified as Ozymandias.
‘I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunk less legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lays, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’
Almost as great in size are the two solitary and gigantic figures of the Pharaoh Amenophis III, or the Colossi of Memnon. At one time there used to be a mortuary temple for the Pharaoh behind them, but of this there is little trace. Seated on thrones, with their hands on their knees, they gaze impassively across the plain towards the Nile, strangely forbidding, in armour-like attire, dwarfing any human figures at their feet. One of the statues was said to have made a weird singing sound each morning at daybreak, and this phenomena was recorded by several of the early travellers, including Hadrian. Since the Roman Emperor, Septimus Severus, repaired the damaged statue it has been silent. We climbed on to our donkeys, and slowly trotted away from these mammoth figures, down to the boat that would take us back across the river to Luxor, where we would again stay overnight.
The train journey between Luxor and Aswan took us about four hours, and we passed through the towns of Edfu and Kom Ombo. At Aswan we tumbled out and commenced a longish walk to find a hotel. The midday sun was burning from a position almost overhead, and most people were lying about in shaded places taking a siesta. Within minutes we were bathed in sweat, and seeking some refreshment. At a nearby restaurant eight oranges were each cut into halves and squeezed on a levered machine to produce two glasses of cool, pure, orange juice.
As soon as we arrived at a hotel we booked a room, pushed our bags into a corner, had a wash, then flopped on to a bed. We soon jumped up again! Never before had we come across anything quite so uncomfortable. Turning back the sheets, we found that the thin mattress was placed on wooden boards – there were no springs at all. After I had made a complaint, we were shown another room, which provided us with an even bigger surprise. Two four-poster beds, in the tradition of the true Victorian era, confronted us with shining, brass knobs, and fine, lace curtains draped from a rail around the top. The manager waited to see that we were satisfied, then left us. We collapsed with laughter, for to complete the decor of the room, were two oil paintings of the Scottish Highlands, with mournful long-horned cattle looming through the mist.
Aswan is situated in Upper Egypt, near the Tropic of Cancer, and was a starting place for the great caravan routes to Nubia, so named for the great quantity of gold[23], which came from the area. Today, it is known for one of the greatest engineering achievements of a lifetime – the new Aswan High Dam. The project, which was started in 1960, is now complete. The million acres of desert will eventually become a reservoir some three hundred miles long. As many important temples would be below the future water level, extensive plans have been put into operation to save these ancient buildings. The famous temple of Abu Simbel is a good example of how huge statues can be cut into sections, raised several feet to a new position above the water level, and re-assembled for future generations to see.
Enquiring from a group of people where we should wait for a bus that would take us to the High Dam, we experienced a certain degree of non-cooperation. This surprised us for surely we thought, everyone must know about the Dam. We asked again, but still there was no response. It was not just a question of language difficulty; the people appeared almost unfriendly. Only once or twice during our encounter with ‘Intourist’ in Russia had we met this sort of reaction. Then we realised that these people actually were Russians engaged on the High Dam project. For a few minutes we were back behind the ‘Iron Curtain’, but shortly an Egyptian eagerly came to our aid, telling us, with beaming smiles, that we could make use of the corporation bus for which there would be no charge. He accompanied us to the bus stop, waited with us for the right bus to arrive, and then waved goodbye.
The area at the dam was a hive of activity and at first; it was quite difficult to make out the great extent of the works. At our level, the enormous lorries that were transporting rocks and ballast dwarfed us. The noise of drilling into stone and hammering on iron girders was deafening. We walked to the top of the main part of the dam with a group of Egyptian students and from this viewpoint we were able to look down to the vast well of the turbine house, still under construction. Now, we were the giants, and the working cranes, lorries, bulldozers, and mechanics were Lilliputian in size, burrowing deep down into the rock and earth below us.
Beyond the dam is Nubia, which extends far into what is now the Sudan. The Nubians, whose homes were flooded when the waters rose have been re-housed in a new town at Kom Ombo. Apparently they are a very hard-working race, and many of them are employed as servants, or in the hotels in Lower Egypt. In fact, it was most likely that the tall, solemn waiters at our hotel in Cairo were all Nubians. We were amused to read that when they retire, they return to their villages, and decorate the whitewashed walls of their homes with dinner-plates, a reminder of their years of service.
We returned by way of large, new housing area, with blocks of flats and shops, all built for the use of the thirty thousand and more people working on the Dam.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent lazily sitting in the shaded gardens of a restaurant overlooking the Nile. We had to share a five-shilling glass of Coca-Cola, in order to have this much-needed pleasure. Everything seemed quite expensive in Aswan; no doubt a direct result of the influx of wealthy tourists, who would think nothing of paying twenty pounds or so for a hydrofoil trip to Abu Simbel. Given the chance, we would have done the same, but we contented ourselves by watching the tall, graceful feluccas, gently swaying in the slight breeze, as they sailed across the blue water to Elephantine Island.
The huge, rounded, grey boulders about this island certainly look like elephants wallowing in the river, and the ancient Egyptians called the area around Aswan Yebu, which means Elephant Land. Whatever the reason for the name, Elephantine Island has always been held in high esteem, for the Egyptians used to believe that the source of the Nile was nearby.
Beyond it, and on a high point on the western bank, stands a square building with a dome. This is the tomb of the Aga Khan. It is the exact replica of the El Giyushi Mosque on the Mokkatum Hills of Cairo.
A large paddle steamer came chugging along, which reminded us of our original travel plans, when we had contemplated a journey into Africa as far as Lake Victoria. We thought of the cliché, ‘He who drinks the waters of the Nile once, will drink it again.’ Although we would not fancy taking even a sip of the water, we did wonder if we would ever return to follow the Nile further south.
From our hotel balcony that evening, we noticed a certain degree of festive spirit. After the sunset gun had fired, the streets had emptied of people, but later, everyone seemed to turn out, dressed in their best clothes, to walk along by the river. It was the end of Ramadan, the fasting time, and a three-day feast would now begin.
We decided that we would return to Luxor the following morning, stay overnight at the Savoy Hotel and return to Cairo the day after. We hadn’t reckoned with the somewhat confusing ticket regulations which did not allow a stop at Luxor on the return journey. After three-quarters of an hour discussing the problem with the stationmaster at Aswan, he finally gave us special permission to break the journey as we wished – although we almost missed the train on account of the unexpected delay.
Sighing with relief, we sat down in a first-class compartment. Our companions were a Czech couple and their pretty four-year old daughter. The husband, we learnt, was a viola player in the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, and he was staying in Cairo for four months. Very soon we all realised that the next four hours were not going to be very comfortable; the windows were broken on both sides, and dust lay thickly on the table and seats. As the train gathered speed, so the dust blew about, and if we lowered the wooden shutters to alleviate this, we had to sit in almost complete darkness. Now we fully understood the difference between First-class-Air-Conditioned, and plain First-class. The journey passed reasonably quickly, our time being spent alternately raising and lowering the shutters, talking with the Czech couple, and walking up and down the corridor.
A shower and a night’s sleep later, we were on Luxor Station boarding the train for Cairo. This time we made sure that we found seats in an air-conditioned compartment. However, when the inspector came through, he informed us that our tickets were not valid, and that we must pay another pound for the privilege of air-conditioning, or move along to a first-class carriage. After the previous day’s experience, we decided to pay the extra.
We reached Cairo that evening, and found the streets even more riotous than before. Everyone was obviously making the most of the end of Ramadan.
There was just one day left for us in Egypt. We made good use of the hot water at the Grand Hotel, glad to get rid of so much accumulated dust. Never before had our clothes become so filthy in so short a time. In the four-hour train trip from Aswan to Luxor, everything had changed from white to brown. A washing session became quite hilarious because, in order to dry everything off quickly, we hung all that we could on an enormous Victorian coat-stand, and placed it out on the balcony. Being on the seventh floor, there was a good, fresh breeze, stronger than we knew! Suddenly there was a crash. We rushed out on to the balcony and found that the coat-stand had fallen and was leaning precariously over the edge of the wall. Various articles of underwear were gently floating down to 26th July Street, one of the busiest of thoroughfares. It was fortunate that on this day the lift was working. We tore out into the street, and retrieved our belongings, much to the amusement of the people passing by.
At Cairo Airport we joined the crowds waiting for their flight to be announced, and recognised a few who had come to Cairo the same day as ourselves a fortnight before. They were laden with parcels, cases, and wooden cages of singing birds. When the plane arrived, there was a frantic rush. It seemed as though the bustle of city life had been transferred to these travellers who were returning to the comparative calm of Jordan.
The propellers turned, faster and faster, the engines roared to life; the quietened passengers sat waiting.Then, the plane slowly moved forward along the runway and, with a gentle lift, nosed its way upward. The airport diminished in size, until we could no longer distinguish it from the general pattern of the city. Through the windows we had a view of what is, perhaps, the most strategically positioned waterway in the world. We looked down to the clear green-blue water of the Gulf of Suez. Several ships could be seen waiting their turn to enter this narrow canal, one hundred miles long, which would save them some four thousand miles on a journey from India to Europe. Soon we were passing over the barren, desert wastes of Sinai. From the air, this peninsula looks like some giant-sized piece of crumpled brown paper all ridges and furrows, almost as one would imagine another planet. Then at the head of the Gulf of Aqaba we turned northbound, thereby skirting hostile Israeli territory. Tenuous white clouds floated past, melting as if by magic into the distance.
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