Letters From Baghdad

by Bell, Gertrude

  To F.B.

  PARIS, Sunday, March 16th, 1919.

  It will be quicker to send a letter by Father than to post it. I can't tell you what it has been like to have him for these two days. He has been more wonderfully dear than words can say, and in such good spirits looking so well. I can scarcely believe that three years of war have passed over his head since I saw him...I'm deep in propaganda though I don't know that it does much good, I don't feel is if I can neglect the chance of doing something. Except for the interest of the things which lie in the melting pot I'm not really liking it much and I should be very glad to get away. But one has got to such a state of tension that I don't believe I could at this moment come quietly home and rest.

  We had a very delightful lunch to-day with Lord Robert and T. E. Lawrence — just we four. Lord Robert is I think the salient figure of the Conference and T. E. Lawrence the most picturesque. I spend most of my time with the latter and the former is unfailingly helpful.

  I think that after A. T. Wilson has arrived and I've put him into touch with my friends, that I can leave matters in his hands. He comes next week, I hope. General Allenby arrives on Tuesday and Mr. Hogarth with him, so that we shall be in force. I can't write or think of anything else but what we are doing with the East — -afterwards I wonder what I shall think about.

  [On April 13th Gertrude starts for a motor tour with her father through Belgium and the north of France, Paris, then to Marseilles and so by sea for Algiers. Back via Paris in May.

  Gertrude is in England for the rest of the summer and leaves again for the East in July.]

  To H.B.

  26th September, 1919.

  ...We reach Port Said on the 28th so I'll begin to write to you. The weather beautiful, the ship excellent. And Marie [Delaere, her devoted maid] is proving an admirable traveller, and wonders why everyone who can doesn't do this all the time. For my part I've never been so well dressed on a ship for she digs into the boxes and produces a fresh costume daily.

  [Gertrude writes from Damascus the account of her journey from Cairo, — of her halt in Jerusalem, where she stays with Lady Watson wife of the chief Administrator General Sir Harry Watson, and sees a good deal of Sir Ronald Storrs.

  "There is practically no question but Zionism in Jerusalem."

  From Jerusalem via Beyrout to Aleppo.]

  To her family.

  ALEPPO, October 17th, 1919.

  I've been doing the usual thing here, seeing people, but the chief person I've seen is Fattuh. He looks older and as if he had been through an awful time as indeed he has. He has lost everything he had — he was beginning to be quite a well-to-do man and now he has only a horse and a small cart with which he brings in wood to sell in Aleppo. He was chiefly suspect because he was known to have been my servant. I went to see his wife — they live now in a tiny house which they have hired. He used to have two big houses of his own, Poor Fattuh. I was very very glad to see him. He is preparing food for me to take on my Motor journey and he still has some of my camp kit, cups and plates and things, so that I need not buy anything. We have had such happy times together — I called to mind joyous departures from Aleppo, and looking at his haggard face I said, "Oh Fattuh before the war our hearts were so light when we travelled, now they are so heavy that a camel could not carry us." He smiled and said, "Big lady, no, a camel couldn't carry you." My poor Fattuh.

  To F.B.

  BAGDAD, November 2, 1919.

  I have been to pay a visit of condolence on one of the big families, the head of which, an old friend of mine has died. I'm very sorry he's dead but I'm glad he won't have the opportunity of dying again so that I shall not have to pay another visit of condolence... All the women of the family met me on the threshold of the harem, dressed in the blackest black, their hair cut short and tears streaming down their cheeks. N.B. He has been dead a month. They cried uninterruptedly for ten minutes and again at intervals whenever they remembered to do so...I have also attended a meeting for the promotion of a Public Library for the native population. The scheme was started by the wife of one of the judicial Officers, Mrs. Forbes. She seems a nice woman. The proceedings were in Arabic and I made a speech. It was not extempore, I had been asked to do it the day before and had carefully prepared it with the aid of a native, for one has to make speeches in high falutin literary Arabic. Everyone else was much more high falutin. The chief man of letters recited an ode specially written for the occasion. It had an immense success. After any specially eloquent couplet the audience cried out "True, true," and sometimes "Repeat."...The enthusiasm lasted to the end and I made some valuable mental notes as to the right way of making further meetings agreeable to Bagdad audiences. The rules are quite different from ours...

  To F.B.

  BAGDAD, November 9th, 1919.

  I've done very little this week except sit in the Office. I went to tea with the wife of Mustafa Pasha — she is the nicest of women. Also I went to tea with the Pachahji ladies whom I'm very fond of — he's the owner of my garden and lets me live in it. And I've been to a Jew tea party — you see I'm visiting all my acquaintances — and to a tea party of the wives of some of my colleagues, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Waller and Mrs. Bill, I liked them all. Brides come out in swarms to be married here. We've had two weddings in my service since I came. Mr. Bonham Carter dines with me to-night. He had a big function, to which I went as a P.O., for the opening of the new School of Law. Practically all the big people of Bagdad were present. Our greatest man of letters made a speech which it was a privilege to hear. He is a born orator and the rolling Arab periods are magnificent when he declaims them...If only my furniture and crockery would come from Maples I could widen the circle of my dinner parties. I've telegraphed to Maples to ask when they were sent off. And when Marie is here she can look after the arrangements of my household and make it tidier and nicer, a thing I can't do when I'm at the office all day.

  To F.B.

  Monday, November 30th, 1919.

  Another thing came in to-day, quite as important as the post — two most beautiful Arab greyhounds sent to me by my old friend the paramount chief of the Anazeh, Fahad Beg. They had walked ten days down the Euphrates with two tribesmen to conduct them, and came in half starved. They are sitting beside me on my sofa as I write, after wandering about the room for half an hour whining. They are very gentle and friendly and I hope they will soon get accustomed to living in a garden instead of a tent. They are perfectly lovely and of course of the finest Arab breed. We have named them Rishan and Najmah — the feathered (that's because of his feathered tail) and the star ...

  I lead the life of a hermit, if a hermit could spend all his days in an office. Sir George has provided me with a pony On which I've been riding for three quarters of an hour after 4. I then come back to my house and work at my big Mesopotamian Report till dinner and after dinner until I go to bed. I can rarely get at it in the office because of constant interrupters. One day this week I went to a tea party in the house of a notable who is very far from being pro-British. His wife is a friend of mine and I think it's as well to conduct one's personal relations without regard to politics.

  To-day I motored out with Sir George to pay a visit on my dear friend Haji Naji the owner of the best fruit gardens near Bagdad. He gave us coffee and delicious preserved nectarines and offered some very feasible suggestions as to the management of the police force, which here as everywhere is one of the most thorny questions. His gardens were looking lovely, the fruit trees just beginning to turn yellow in our late autumn.

  I am sending you a copy of my Syrian Report. It is of course confidential but I have permission to let you have it, and I wish you would tell me what you think of it, I can't judge and nobody offers any criticisms except that on the whole they don't agree with my conclusions. Nevertheless I think I'm right.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, December 7th, 1919.

  ...If you leave in the middle of February you should be here towards the end of March. But don't b
e later because by the end of April it may be quite hot. I must break to you that I shan't come back with you. I really can't go away from this country, with which I'm so closely identified, while it's going through such a crisis in its fortunes as all next year it is sure to do. When you see the relations I'm on with the people you'll understand I feel sure. My idea is to go to George and Blanche [Lloyd] for a month or so in the middle of the summer, but we'll see about that later...

  I'm gradually getting my house furnished and its going to be very nice. Maple writes that my things were sent off in October. I ordered them in July! In the mean time I've bought a charming black cupboard and chest in the bazaar, very cheap too. Marie has been invaluable in making curtains and generally seeing to things. She is the greatest comfort! don't know how I did without her. Also my new cook — Oh father you'll F love to see him. When he trails about in an abba he gives 'cachet' to my garden, I can tell you! Only, though he can cook a good deal and makes excellent cakes, he can't read or write and as his memory is deficient the morning accounts are a trial. They run as follows:

  G.B. Fallah! Mahdi! the accounts. I must go to the office.

  M. Oh your servant, Khatun. I bought what's its name.

  G.B. Well, what is its name.

  M. Rice. Two krans.

  G.B. Eight annas. What next?

  M. Then I bought what's its name.

  G.B. What? Fallah!

  M. Bread, 6 annas.

  G.B. Go on.

  M. And then I bought what's its name.

  G.B. Merciful God! What?

  M. Sugar, two rupees.

  G.B. Two rupees. Fallah!

  M. And then — Khatun, I forgot the eggs yesterday, one rupee.

  G.B. All right. Go on.

  M. And then I gought meat, one rupee.

  G.B. What next?

  M. Wallah, I bought — Khatun shall I prepare for your Excellency this evening after? (stew).

  G.B. What you like. Finish the accounts.

  M. On my head. And then what's its name.

  and so on, and so on till I'm hysterical between impatience and laughter...

  By the way, will you please send my Syrian Report to George Trevelyan, confidentially. I think it would interest him after a talk he and I had in the Summer...

  Do You know what they call me here? Umm al Muminin, the Mother of the Faithful, and the last person who bore that name was Ayishah the wife of the prophet. But you see why I can't leave.

  Would you let Milly see this letter?

  I wholly forgot to tell you the main feature of the week which was the Prophet's birthday, Sunni style, make no mistake, the Shiahs celebrate it a week later ... The Pious Bequests Dept. gives an official celebration at Muadhdham, a much frequented Sunni shrine 3 miles above Bagdad. It consists of a square meal and prayers, and for the first time we were invited to the meal. I went and so did Frank Balfour with all his staff. It had rained heavily the night before — our long expected first rain which has come at last — and to motor out to Muadhdham was a ticklish business. The party began at 9 a.m. However we all arrived safely and found a gathering of all the men of religion sitting in the house of the Curator of the Mosque. We sat round and chatted for an hour or so, very pleasantly, and then we had a lunch of excellent Arab food, provided in incredible quantities. Some thought the hour 10:20 a.m., untoward, but I never mind how early I lunch. Then we all went back to our offices. I can't tell you how friendly and nice it all was; I loved it.

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, December 16th, 1919.

  Don't be later here than the middle of March — I don't think I would be able to meet you further away then Bastah. You must bring a camp bed with bedding which all does up in a Wolsey Valise. As for clothes, it is usually delicious here at that time, temp. rising towards 70 at midday, but we sometimes have rain which means that it would be colder. In mid April you must expect 80 or upwards. You are most likely to want here lightish woollen clothes or flannel, but a silk suit or two would not be amiss. A topee you must have — I advise a sun umbrella...

  I have had somehow rather a difficult week. First of all Allah afflicted me with a pain in my inside, but he has now taken it away. Next the Powers that be (on earth) got across the Sunni Vatican and they all tumbled in on me. It was very embarrassing because of course it is not my business and I'm always so dreadfully afraid of (a) misleading my visitors and (b) of annoying my colleagues whose job it is. If the latter weren't such angels (b) would be inevitable. It wouldn't have happened I think if Mr. Bonham Carter hadn't been away for a fortnight. First the Naqib sent round his son with a very special warning. Then next morning the door of my office opened and the room was filled with white turbaned Sunni Divines. I listened and begged them to betake themselves to Capt. Cooke, the Director of Pious Bequests, but no, they wouldn't go. If I hadn't been so bothered I could have laughed to find myself set up as an arbitrator of religious administration. However, all has turned out well. I sent for dear Cooke and after begging him to box my ears expounded the matter and he went straight to the Naqib to put things right. Meantime Mr. Bonham Carter, wisest of men has returned, thank heaven and I've got full absolution from him. What they (i.e. he) was doing was, I am convinced perfectly right, but by a series of accidents it hadn't been properly explained. And when that kind of thing happens they the Bagdadis always let off steam by coming to me.

  ...We are in the middle of a very difficult situation which you will see in the papers — the seizing of Deir al Zor on the Euphrates by an Arab force. We don't yet know the rights of it.

  To H.B.

  Sunday, December 20th, 1919.

  Mr. Bonham Carter dined with me one night and we had a delightful long croak about Arab things and politics. To-day we been riding with Major Bullard through Haji Naji's gardens. I delight in our strange winter landscape. The apricots and mulberries dropping golden leaves into the green carpet of the springing barley...

  Who so angelic as my two dogs who are curled up beside me on the carpets as I write. I'm beginning to persuade them that sofas and chairs are not meant for greyhounds...

  CHAPTER XVIII

  1920 - BAGDAD

  To H.B.

  BAGDAD, January 4th, 1920.

  I'll tell you my life and times. On Xmas day I went to an enormous dinner party given by A.T. to all the Political Service and their wives. I came home early, when they began to dance. I dance no longer.

  Next morning before eight I caught a special train for Babylon and went there with the Lubbocks and General Hambro and some others, I acting as guide. We had a delicious two hours there after which General H. and Captain Bacon, and his A.D.C. and I went on to Hillah. There we lunched with my dear Major Tyler, the P.O. The lunch was gorgeous because Major Tyler had told the leading citizen that I was coming and he had insisted on sending in the whole meal. The table groaned with delicious Arab foods, the chief dish being a stuffed lamb roasted whole with its tail in its mouth like a whiting...

  Here I parted with General Hambro and went on by motor to the other branch of the Euphrates where I found two young men, Captain Mann and Captain Wigan waiting with a launch to take me to the Camp of my host, Major Norbury, P.O. of Shamiyeh...Next morning when I woke and stepped out of my tent into the bright sun and saw all the trees and things I wondered how anyone could live in Bagdad.

  The camp was pitched quite near the little village which is the headquarters of the principal Sheikh of the district, Tbadi al Husain. So after dinner he invited us to his Mudhif, his guest house. Now a Mudhif you can't picture till you've seen it. It's made of reeds, reed mats spread over reed bundles arching over and meeting at the top, so that the whole is a huge, perfectly regular and exquisitely constructed yellow tunnel 50 yards long. In the middle is the coffee hearth, with great logs of willow burning. On either side of the hearth, against the reed walls of the Mudhif, a row of brocade covered cushions for us to sit on, the Arabs flanking us and the coffee maker crouched over his pots. The whole lighted by th
e fire and a couple of small lamps, and the end of the Mudhif fading away into a golden gloom.

  We spent next day in camp...It's a rice country and they have had this year a bumper crop. The yellow reed villages lay fat and comfortable in the winter sun, banked up with rice straw. The great golden heaps of rice were not all housed or shipped away but lay on the harvest floors. When we reached the Hor we got into tiny sajahs, the canoe-like boat, and rowed out by passageways through the reeds to the open water. There were thousands of duck, teal and other water birds. The osprey breeds here. The water was covered with the dying leaves of a small water lily on which buffaloes were peacefully browsing, standing belly-deep in the Hor. of all incongruous diets for a buffalo water lilies are certainly the most preposterous...

  Next day we all went to Najaf ...I am amused to find that my status in Najaf is rising. As a rule the great religious leaders, the Mujtahids, don't see me — I don't propose it. because they never look on an unveiled woman — but this time one of them, a first class Mujtahid, but an Arab, not a Persian, sent to ask me to come. He is an imposing figure... Najaf, mysterious, malign, fanatical, but drawing you with wonder and reluctance, by its beauty and unfathmableness.

  The last time I had been there I was lunching with Captain Marshall who was murdered 8 days later. And we walked the same path round the town and said just these things about Najaf — alas, too truly...

  To F.B.

  BAGDAD, January 12th, 1920.

  First — and it clouds all other things — Reuter brings the news of Uncle Frank's death. I do grieve so much — there is a figure gone from our landscape, full of dignity and kindliness, which can never be replaced. When I remember how much I owed him, how many delightful experiences and how much sympathy, my heart aches with the thought that I didn't give him enough in return [this was Sir Frank Lascelles]... And this country, which way will it go with all these agents of unrest to tempt it? I pray that the people at home may be rightly guided and realize that the only chance here is to recognize political ambitions from the first, not to try to squeeze the Arabs into our mould and have our hands forced in a year — who knows? perhaps less, the world is moving so fast — with the result that the chaos to north and east overwhelms Mesopotamia also. I wish I carried more weight. I've written to Edwin and this week I'm writing to Sir A. Hirtzel. I'm so sure I'm right that I would go to the stake for it — or perhaps just a little less painful form of testimony if they wish for it!