Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

Writing to his sister, miss Ruby Harris, who is employed at messers Harry Davies and co, Pte Roy Harris, of the 3rd Light Horse brigade, says: the heat here is intense, but the Egyptians of class spend the days either in an up-to-date office with electric fans spinning, or at home sipping iced drinks, while an Arab servant fans them. In the evening a soft, balmy breeze gently blows across the desert, bringing with it the sound of tinkling bells, as some caravan plods its way across the waste. Nothing is more entrancing than a ride in the desert at night. It seems so mysterious, so grand and calm that one is charmed by it. Life here is a dream of Summer: the miseries of Winter vanish from the memory. The crowd that streams uneasily along the sunny highway is a pageant affording most alluring glimpses of ways of life that for centuries have hardly altered. Together with those that are changing day by day. The brimming of Tom Toms and shrill blasts on horns herald a procession of superb camels with gorgeous velvet trapping. There is a curious looking conveyance on the back of the leading camel. A bride is hidden in the ungainly structure, some Egyptian girl, breathless with excitement and glittering withornaments, is going to her future home. In a corner of the wide pavement a tall, swarthy “boab” (actually spelt ‘bawab’ meaning gatekeeper) in Eastern robe and shawls similar to those worn by his forefather, spreads a strip of carpet and prostrates himself in prayer, heedless of the gaze of passersby. Nearly all Egyptian males, even youngsters, wear the red “tarboosh” on the head. It is an outward sign of the male subject of the Sultan. Sheiks wear turbans. A typical Sheik looks exactly as he has stepped from the bible. The modern mosque of Mahomet Ali is most gorgeous. Its minarets are visible for miles around, as they shout heaven-ward into the blue sky. The mosque of Al Azhan dates from the 10th century, and has been for centuries on of the chief universities of Islam. In one corner of this mosque is a pillar by which cures are wrought. On the occasion of my visit a suffering native was brought in. A small portion of the pillar was rubbed with lemon juice, and the patient licked it fervently. Whether he was cured or not I could not say. I didn’t wait to see.