These were my fellows. I was a political officer too. We had left our own army units behind, soared above them, so to speak, in order to become a species of civil servant. But whilst our political, and supposedly peaceable purposes were indicated by the white tabs on our uniforms (I’d sewn mine on while sailing up on the Mantis), we still wore our badges of rank and most of us – including all the men at the desks – wore our guns.
White cloths were draped over the front of their desks, and Arabic and English words had been crudely painted on to these, so as to signify the business of the fellow at the desk. I read ‘Police’, ‘Transport’, ‘Agricultural’, ‘Commercial Department’, ‘Taxes’, ‘Trade (Import–Export)’, and there were queues of Arabs at the last three named, some sitting, some standing. They wore beautiful robes, and a couple held gnarled sticks. It was horribly hot in the lobby. I looked up: no ceiling fans, but at either end of the rows of desks, banks of free-standing electrical fans whirred and swayed.
Jarvis was saying, ‘Second floor, sir. The billets are all on the second floor, with the hotel rooms kept just as they were. All the other rooms are offices.’
An Arab was now carrying my bag, and so the three of us climbed the wide staircase. On every step, a strip of rubber had been placed so as to save the carpet from the dusty boots of the British Indian Army.
‘I think you’ll find your quarters to be quite cushy, sir,’ said Jarvis.
‘But it’s only for one night, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘That’s right, sir. Your place is off Park Street.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Over by the park, sir,’ he said, and we might have been talking about the streets of York. ‘I’m off there first thing in the morning with an orderly, and we’ll set it all up for you.’
On the first landing, he pointed to double doors, saying, ‘Officers’ mess, sir, for your glass of something cool in a little while. They’ve got the local chaps taking ice up there on the hour every hour.’
We pressed on up to the second floor, and Jarvis threw open a door . . . A smell of dusty carpet, a wide, low bed; wooden sun shutters, closed, with mosque-like shapes cut into them, through which the green evening light oozed.
‘It’s a bit better than the Western Front,’ I said.
‘To say the least, sir,’ said Jarvis. ‘To say the least.’
At a nod from Jarvis, the porter departed; Jarvis now began unpacking my pack, and laying the things out on my bed. He held my second tunic and trousers: ‘Take these away for pressing,’ he said, which meant he was going to go. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ he said. ‘You’ll find me two doors along if you need me in the night. I’ll be here in the morning with coffee at eight o’clock, sir.’
I looked at my watch. It had stopped.
‘What’s the time?’ I said.
‘Nearly nine, sir.’
‘Will it start to get cool soon?’
‘About October sort of time. Even the Indian lads find it a bit . . . I don’t mind telling you, I thought I was going off me dot at first. Thing is, sir, you must wear clothes to keep it off. I’ll fix you up with a keffiyah – that’s a sort of headscarf.’
‘I’m going out tonight,’ I said.
‘You crossing the river‚ sir?’
I eyed him.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s not patrolled‚ sir, or not so much as over here. Patrols are to be stepped up over the next few days. But you’ll be carrying your piece, I take it, sir?’ He nodded towards the holster of my Sam Browne belt, together with the Webley .455 that it held. I nodded back; I would be carrying the Webley.
‘What’s over there?’ I said.
‘You’ve got the ranges – the artillery spend a good deal of time over there in the daylight hours.’
‘Machine-gun ranges?’
‘Some, I think. And you’ve got the railway station – and the south gate of the wall.’
‘How’s the feeling in the town – towards the British, I mean?’
‘They prefer us to the Germans and the Turks, sir.’
‘Good.’
‘But that’s not saying much. See, they’re trying to figure us out. It’s all in the balance between us and them. That’s why I’ve taken a bit of trouble to learn a few words of the language, sir. That’s why I go in the water place – hoping to build a few bridges, so to speak.’
I noticed that he’d stopped calling it fresh water. How did I feel? All right, considering, but when Jarvis offered to fetch me a glass of cold beer before departing, I turned him down. I couldn’t face beer.