PICNIC IN THE DESERT
One Friday we were invited to go out for a picnic in the desert with one of the sheikhs, and asked to bring one or two friends with us. The children were invited, and viewed the prospect of a hot day in the desert with a certain amount of horror. However, they were especially invited, so go they must.
A guide was sent to lead us, as we had no idea where to go. The drive out into the desert was very strange. We were directed to turn right or left for no apparent reason, though perhaps it was to avoid a patch of soft sand or a rocky outcrop. Our friends, the Livingstone family and Alan and France Jack, in the following car, did exactly as we did. Eventually we crested a dune and there was a camp of several tents and a herd of camels. I had not realised that one could drive a car on these dunes, but the sand on the windward side is not as soft as one would think.
The Sheikh came to greet us, riding on his favourite white camel, and we were taken into a tent spread with a large Persian carpet and cushions. We were all given a cup of cardamom coffee, dispensed from a large brass Arab coffeepot. The spout was filled with what appeared to be unravelled rope to filter out the grains. The coffee was poured into tiny thimble-like cups. The tradition is to swallow the “potion” and accept a second cup, then rock the cup from side to side to indicate that one does not require a third helping. Though I do not like the taste, I must admit that it is a good tummy settler if one has the slightest upset.
The Sheikh then had some of his camels brought over to us and we were each invited to ride. First the men were put aboard. John mounted the saddle while the animal was kneeling on the ground making very disagreeable noises. It rose up, back legs first, so that the rear pommel on the seat hit him smartly in the back. This caused him to lean forward in time to be punched smartly in the stomach by the front pommel as the forelegs straightened up. This threw him back to receive a further bump in the back as the back legs straightened. I imagine one would learn the proper timing to avoid the bruising.
He looked very high off the ground, as the saddle is balanced precariously on the top of the single hump, and there is nothing in front or behind. John crossed his legs in front and, (as I also did when my turn came,) held onto the pommel like grim death. The walk is rather jerky and the trot or run is undulating, and I felt very insecure. The dismount is just as devastating as the rise, as once again one is struck firmly back and front.
We all had a ride and then were taken to see the baby camels, which managed to look quite attractive, while their parents were anything but. We were amused to see that some of the mothers wore a sort of bra. We were told that this was to prevent the babies from drinking all the milk, as the humans liked to drink it too!
After our exertions we were taken into the tent, where we sat on a carpet round a huge tray of stuffed whole lamb and goat, on a bed of rice with hard-boiled eggs and roast chicken. First we were offered a drink of camel’s milk in a communal pint tankard. To me, it tasted like frothy sour cream and I thought it unkind to deprive the baby camel on my behalf. The way to tackle the food is to use the right hand only, make a ball of rice and flick it into the mouth with the thumb. Similarly, you have to tear a piece of meat off the carcass and hope that your teeth are strong and sharp enough to bite a piece off. Usually we found the meat to be quite tender and tasty. The meal was completed by a juicy orange, which we were supposed to peel with the right hand only. Our efforts caused much amusement and we were full of admiration for those who managed to do it.
When we had finished our meal the drivers and interpreters were invited to help themselves. I noted that our host, very democratically, sat down again with the second sitting. When they had finished, the servants had their chance. I thought that the food would be a bit congealed by then, but they seemed to tuck in quite happily. Finally when the servants were replete the tray was dragged outside and the three favourite camels were invited to clear up the remains, which they did with wonderful smiles on their silly faces.
Afterwards we watched the men try their hand at shooting targets and cigarettes pinned to a pole. Our hosts were excellent shots. The children played with our host’s son and his whipping boy. Apparently if the young sheikh misbehaves, punishment is meted out to his companion, who is supposed to see that he comes to no harm and is responsible for his behaviour. Some distance from the camp there was a large puddle created by the recent rainstorm. The boys had fashioned a sailing boat out of a petrol can and formed a sail from a handkerchief. The fact that the children could not converse was no deterrent to their game as they raced round the pond, each yelling in his own language. The young Arabs hitched up their long dish-dasher skirts, while our bare-legged ones ran through the water in their flip-flops.
Qataris, on the whole, are very proud of their falcons, and on this occasion the birds were brought out for us to see. We were given pads to protect our arms and each presented with a bird to hold. I was pleased that they wore jesses over their eyes, as I was wary of their hooked beaks. Later we watched them fly. It is a magnificent sight to see them soar and then seemingly plummet to earth, though I must admit I could not see their prey.
All too soon it was time for another dose of the “potion”. Then we climbed into our cars and set off home before the sun set. It would be quite difficult to find our way home after dark.
The next “mutton grab” we were invited to was out in a village called Um Salal. Again the children and I were invited to go along with John. Women were not usually included in these invitations, as the hosts’ wives did not appear. We sat in the majlis with the men and drank the “potion” while John made polite conversation in Arabic.
After a while we were all taken in to sit on the floor and eat our lunch. Patricia and Christopher enjoyed the novelty of actually being allowed to eat with their fingers and being forgiven for being in a mess. After the meal a servant brought round a bowl with soap and a rose water sprinkler, to enable us to get the worst of the mess off our hands and faces. Then the children and I were taken to meet the wives in the harem. At that time I had no idea what to say to these women when I met them, as my Arabic was not nearly good enough for uneducated people to even try to understand, as these ladies were at that time.
The harem was a large building much like a granary, with piles of sacks at one end and a carpet and some cushions at the other. The children and I were invited to sit down and then we were subjected to close scrutiny, our faces stroked and the children’s blonde hair fingered and discussed. Patricia’s blue eyes were noted. My skirt was lifted and before I could move, my underwear was inspected. I made mental note to ensure I was wearing my most glamorous next time! Their children appeared, all aged under four and somewhat immodestly wearing their pants round their ankles (if they wore any at all) and their upper garments pulled up round their necks. I couldn’t help feeling they were in for a shock when the girls grew up and were introduced to the petula mask and the long black jellabah.
Eventually the “potion” was brought and we were able to return to the male majlis and John, and then to go home. I decided that I must take some advice on how to cope in the harems in future.
I did ask some of my friends for some ideas. I found that most wives were not invited on these occasions, but one who had gone found that it was useful to take glossy magazines with lots of pictures. The next time I went I took a Harper’s Bazaar and spent a lot of time discussing the pictures with the wives. They were very happy when I let them keep the magazine.
At the Eids, the Muslim Festivals, it was usual to visit the Royal Sheikhs’ wives in the harems to wish them “Eid Mubarak”, similar to our Happy Christmas. On one occasion I went to visit the Ruler’s wife and found her painting her legs with henna, making them appear as if she was wearing stockings with a shaped heel, a welt at the top and a seam up the back. She wanted to paint my legs too, but I managed to dissuade her, as I thought I would look a little odd on the beach in my bathing costume.
On a visit to one of the Sheikhas (as the Sheikh’s wives were called,) it was decided that I should be taught how to belly dance. I was pulled up off my cushion and a scarf was tied around my hips. Then I was persuaded to wobble and sway and shake the tassels on the scarf to the best of my ability. I do not think my teachers were very proud of my prowess, judging by the hilarity my efforts caused. I think the Arab women must have been made differently from me, as I just could not bend and sway in the way they did. Anyway word spread round the harems that I was learning to dance and most places I went I was given another lesson. This was a good icebreaker and made my visits much easier. I did not mind making a fool of myself, all in a good cause.
While I was learning to be a banker’s wife in an Arab country, our house was being put to rights. The door was taken off the landing cupboard and made to open outwards and some sliding rails were fitted to our wardrobes so we could hang our clothes AND close the doors. John had removed the huge doors dividing the living room so we could now seat people at table. There was nothing to be done about the drains, but the stairs were still dangerous traitors’ steps and the clerk of works was being very slow in sorting the problem. After nearly six months, he had only got as far as removing the terrazzo treads and we were reduced to climbing the stairs on rough concrete. He was also building a tennis court between the houses. So far the base had been laid and strings stretched over the area to help make it level.
All this had been progressing between a series of people staying at the house when on business. John received cables from a salesman asking him to book them a room at the best hotel, as the travel agents could not do so. The reason was that there were no hotels in Doha at that time, except for the Darwish Emporium guesthouse, which was only available for Darwish customers. So I was often called upon to provide a bed.
Some men became regular visitors. On one occasion I was asked to accommodate an elderly Dutch Ghee salesman and his son. Apparently the old man wanted to visit his customers before he retired. This caused some embarrassment, as our house was a bit small to accommodate two total strangers for a whole week. Head Office had been quite clear that we should not make any charge for accommodating people and we were under no obligation to do so. That was all very well, but what were we to do when the Bank’s customers arrived at the airport on business with nowhere to stay?
The Dutch couple gave me a gold watch as a thank you present. Others gave me silk scarves and one a mohair cardigan. A large box of prunes heralded the arrival of an arms dealer we knew from our Beirut days. We were asked to help with BOAC crew accommodation when planes stayed overnight. Not long after this started, a hotel was built. Thank goodness.
Christmas came round and there was the usual panic to try to supply the requests to Father Christmas. The completion of the tennis court prompted us to find larger bicycles, as there was now somewhere for the children to ride.
Both children had parts in the school nativity play. Patricia was the Angel Gabriel dressed in a long white “sheet” with polystyrene wings. I had spent half the night before cutting out and sticking “feathers” cut from airmail newspaper on to a polystyrene shape cut from some machinery packaging. Her head was wrapped in angel hair from the Christmas tree. She really looked the part! She sang solo Who is He in yonder stall? and sounded very well.
Christopher was to be a king. He wore “kingly” robes and a crown made from the usual silver paper, but decorated with Rowntrees’ Fruit Gums stuck on to represent jewels. He remembered his lines but had to maintain his strength by surreptitiously picking off the wine gums from his crown and eating them!
After the play everybody congratulated everyone else, and proud parents smirked with pride at the prowess of their offspring in the approved manner. I was no exception.
We were warned that the sheikhs and merchants would come to call on us on Christmas morning, so we should be prepared. I had no idea what was required, but the servants said they knew how to cope. We should buy about 12 tins of assorted fruit juice and a box of biscuits and a few sticky cakes. The drinks would be served with straws, which I should order from Bahrain.
On Christmas morning the children awoke at about 5 am, so fortunately we were awake early too. At about 6.30 there was a beating on the front door. John went down to open it and found a real Christmas tree on the doorstep and a grinning merchant wishing him a Happy Christmas. Michael, our bearer, appeared with our morning tea, so John sat in his dressing gown with our guest and supped tea. I quickly got dressed, as I could not appear in my night attire.
After a brief stay our guest departed. John rushed upstairs and got dressed while I went to the kitchen to hurry the servants to prepare breakfast and our visitor’s drinks. John came down just in time as the next merchant arrived. Michael brought round a tray of tins of fruit juice and sticky cakes. More visitors arrived and soon our room was full. It seemed that when there were no more seats the first callers left, leaving space for the new arrivals.
As more and more visitors arrived I was panicking that our supplies would run out. The servants told me not to worry. Still the callers came and went. Still the drinks and eats kept coming. I made a mental note to thank the boys profusely when this was all over.
Eventually the 93rd visitor left and I went to the kitchen to praise the servants and to see how much I owed for all the extra tins. I was amazed and horrified to hear how the magic was worked. It seems that all they did was to pop a new straw into each tin when it was cleared away, cut any teeth marks from the slices of cake and served them again. It seems that the guests don’t drink the drinks, they just bend down the straw to indicate they have had enough, take a biscuit and leave it on the plate. So the original 12 tins, still mainly full, remained beside the nearly empty box of straws. I was speechless and hoped, most sincerely, that no one would ever know. However I discovered that most people coped with the callers in the same way. I remembered all the tins of juice I had drunk on my calls and wondered if the Qataris coped with our visits at their Eids in the same way!
Christmas lunch was a family affair when the accountants and their families joined us for the traditional feast. We ate a turkey which had been given to us some three weeks earlier by a customer. It had been gobbling in the back yard while, Peter, the cook, fattened it up. He came to me on Christmas Eve and asked for a glass of brandy because he was going to kill the turkey. I was very surprised - did he really need a glass of brandy to fortify him before he killed the bird?
“No no, not for me!” he exclaimed, laughing, “For the turkey, to relax the tendons and make the meat more tender.” I felt rather foolish, but thought this was an interesting idea.
When tea time came we had some more callers, so we gave them a cup of tea and the children were asked to pass round the sugar. I saw out of the corner of my eye Sheikh Nasser helping himself to spoonful after spoonful, and was very surprised. Then it was my turn and I discovered that the spoon in the sugar bowl was a joke one with a hole in the middle, sent by Gampy for Christopher’s stocking. I often wonder what the Sheikhs thought, but my Arabic was not up to explaining.
For our first Christmas, we decided to invite the whole of the British Community to Boxing Day drinks and a finger food buffet. I remember there were 83 men, women and children on the list. We organised a Coca Cola bar on the tennis court. Children were invited to bring their pedal cars and bikes, as it was a safe place to ride. We also had games like pin the tail on the donkey and throwing rings on to hooks. It was a fun party, as we all enjoyed getting together and meeting up with the men who worked in the desert, whom we did not see very often. I remember that a pyramid was built out of empty beer cans and there was a dire penalty for the person who caused it to collapse.
After eighteen months the time came to take Patricia back to the UK to start boarding school. We had been warned that when children turned eight they were expected to leave the Shell School. We had been dreading this time, but it had to be done as she was outgrowing the school. She was looking forward to going, which was a help.
We decided that I would take Christopher with me, though he was not due to go to boarding school for another year or so. John came over to Bahrain to see us off and we stayed at the Speedbird Hotel and walked round the town. John had been posted to Bahrain in 1948 before we were married. It appears that it had changed since he was there. He lived in a town flat over the Post Office. There was no air-conditioning in those days and he often slept on the roof of the flat under a mosquito net, which may have protected him from mosquitoes, but did not prevent the heavy dew from soaking him. New bungalows had been built for the staff since then, with pretty gardens full of flowers. I was quite envious.
I had arranged for Granny L. to meet me in London as I wanted to order nametapes and buy Patricia’s uniform at the school’s outfitter. Granjo and Gampy had offered to have Christopher to stay in Scotland while the shopping was being done. I had said I would leave the decision until we actually got to London, as Christopher was only six and had never been away from me before. I had to buy him some clothes as he required some warmer items than he had worn in Doha. However when the time came he was very enthusiastic. He remembered travelling in a sleeper with me the last time he went to Scotland, and had a plan all worked out. He would drink his tea when the guard came to wake him up, then he would get dressed and go out to meet Gampy, and if he was not there he would ring him up. He was amazingly confident. I telephoned Gampy and he spoke to Christopher and they discussed how they would recognise each other. I took him to the train and tucked him in. The train did not leave until 11 pm, so he was pretty tired. The guard was an amiable chap and agreed to see he got up in time.
We returned to Romsey to enable Mum to prepare for her holiday in the Holy Land. We were to stay at Abbotswood while she was away and we had secretly decided to decorate her kitchen for her. After a week Granjo, Gampy and Christopher came south and joined us at Abbotswood and Granjo helped with the last of the nametapes.
The day I was dreading arrived, and Granjo came with me to take Patricia to Ridgeway. We were taken into the headmistress’s room for a cup of tea and Patricia was sent off with a fellow pupil to explore. When the time came for me to leave she could not be found. Eventually she turned up and gave us a cheerful wave goodbye and was gone again. I was half relieved that she seemed quite happy and half miserable at leaving her. I remember I cried like a baby as soon as we had driven out of the school grounds, and Granjo made me stop at a pub to have a calming drink.
The next day we set about painting Mum’s kitchen. It had been painted a dark bottle green by the previous owners and we planned to lighten the room up a bit. It was quite difficult trying to cook for the family on the Aga while tripping over paint pots, not to mention finding utensils, china and cutlery. We washed and sandpapered the walls and woodwork after carefully copying the height records of all the grandchildren, which were marked on the architrave of the kitchen door, so we could transfer them all to the newly painted door frame. We invited Aunt Joy to come and help us and Christopher joined in.
By the time Mum returned the kitchen had been painted a pale green and all the cupboards had been cleaned out and freshly lined and everything washed and put away. The spots had been cleaned off the floor and windows and we were pleased with our efforts. I think Mum was pleasantly surprised, even if she did find it difficult to find things for a while.
Meanwhile trouble brewed between the Dutch and the Government in Indonesia, which caused the Dutch Shell Oil Company to leave the island. They were sent to Doha and the British Shell Oil Company personnel were sent to Indonesia in their place. This meant that the Shell School would become Dutch, so there was a problem for English-speaking children. What were we to do with Christopher? Should I join the PNEU (the Parents’ National Education Union,) and teach him myself with the aid of a correspondence course?
I decided to go to Walhampton School to ask their advice. Christopher was not due to go there for another 18 months or so, and I was worried that he might miss the company of other children if I taught him myself. Letters to and from John flew back and forth. In the end we decided to put him into his school even though he was only six and three quarters. They agreed to take him at half term provided I stayed in England for his first term to see how he settled down. More frantic uniform buying and sewing on name tapes and another heart- breaking parting, but I did see him each weekend.
However, both children settled down well at school. John and I decided that I should stay at home for the summer holidays, as it would be expensive to fly us all out to Doha. We felt that I should be there to see them in for their second term. I had been away from John for four months by then and he was missing us as much as we were missing him. We went to Scotland for some of the holiday and visited friends from time to time. Then the time came for the children to return to school. They were both quite happy to go, which made it easier for me to part with them, although I think I cried more than they did.
I felt very strange flying back to Doha on my own. It was the first time I had flown without the children for eight years, since they had been born in fact. The temperature was pleasant when I arrived.
The stairs had had half their treads replaced as, in the end, the concrete treads were replaced with wood. Not nice hardwood as I had hoped but deal, a softwood, which had to be painted and then carpeted. Shelves had been fitted into the store cupboards, and joy of joys, I now had a washing machine with an electric wringer. It was not a very efficient machine but our clothes were not really dirty, so it served its purpose.
John had organised a welcome-home party for me, so I was able to see who had returned from leave and meet a few newcomers.
The season was beginning to swing and the Doha Players were getting into production. I became “props” back stage and John was business manager for “Sailor Beware”. It was a happy cast for once with fewer tantrums than usual, and the prima donnas were less vociferous, which was pleasant. One of my duties was to provide six china ornaments to be thrown about each night. At least two should be breakable, for preference. I went round the souk trying to scrounge broken figurines and animals which I could repair ready to be broken again. I had great difficulty in making my requirements understood. I would rummage about in the shops’ storerooms and whoop with delight if I came upon broken items. I think the shopkeepers were convinced that I was quite mad. However they gave them to me with very peculiar looks on their faces. I think I got the reputation for being the meanest person in Doha, too mean to pay the price of unbroken goods.
After the play an invitation came from Cyprus Airways for a group of us to go on an inaugural flight to Cyprus. We left very early in the morning after the last night of the play and flew to Bahrain, where we picked up some Bahrainis. After a champagne breakfast on the plane, we landed at Nicosia Airport and were driven to the Ledra Palace Hotel. That afternoon a fleet of taxis took us up a very steep and winding road into the Trudos Mountains. We felt the drivers must develop magnificent biceps hauling their cars round the hairpin bends. This was before the days of power-assisted steering.
At the top we reached the snow line. It was great fun throwing snowballs at each other and watching the Bahrainis experiencing snow for the first time. Back to the hotel for dinner, and on to a very seedy nightclub. I sat next to a Bahraini gentleman who had never seen the like of these scantily clad girls and applauded their every high kick. I was in hysterics watching him cheer and clap. He really enjoyed it all.
The next day we got up early and set off on an exploratory trip, again in our fleet of taxis. We stopped at Bella Paix Abbey and enjoyed the walk round the ruins and looking at the view. There was a wonderful tree in the courtyard which produced oranges, lemons, bitter oranges and grapefruit all at the same time.
On we went, up into the hills to St Helarian Castle perched round a pinnacle of rock. It was quite a climb to the top and the views from the windows in all directions were magnificent. It is said that St Helarian was the inspiration for Walt Disney’s Castle in Snow White.
Back in Nicosia we were taken to hear President Makarios preach. The church was so full we had to stand right below his pulpit. It was an interesting service with many different actions that we did not understand. The floor was swept at regular intervals, and people seemed to burst into song for no apparent reason. Makarios changed clothes under a canopy and gave instructions by ringing handbells while the congregation ate sandwiches, chatted and even played cards. It seemed a very informal business.
The next morning we visited Salamis and watched some archaeologists digging up some little statuettes. It gave me a funny feeling to think that I was one of the first people to see those statuettes for hundreds of years. On the way back to Nicosia we passed through Kyrenia and had a cup of tea at the Dome Hotel and walked round the castle. We were invited to a Cypriot wedding in a village we passed through and joined in the celebrations for a while. How friendly the people of Cyprus were, they made us all so welcome. It was a lovely interlude and I was only sorry that John had not been able to come too. The notice of the trip was too short for him to ask permission to leave his post. He could have done with the trip, as he had spent only one night out of Doha in two years, and was getting somewhat tired. One more year to go.