Flora's War

by Pamela Rushby

  We didn’t, but we wouldn’t have admitted it for the world. We were, after all, modern girls.

  Lydia sighed. ‘The men will go to the Wozzer; they don’t listen to their medical officers. The word is that there’ve been more than two thousand cases of venereal disease treated at the Abbassia hospital. The boys are young and they’re a long way from home. This is all a huge adventure to them … so far.’

  ‘So some have got sick?’ I said. ‘And they’re taking it out on the people who’ve done these things to them?’

  ‘That seems to be it,’ said Lydia. ‘I suppose, seeing they know they’ll be leaving soon, that they’ve decided now’s the time to get square.’

  We were silent, staring out at the red glow in the sky over the town.

  When Fa arrived home from the excavation, he joined us on the roof and exclaimed over Mr Hussein and his bandage. I made light of the incident to him. I knew, now, we hadn’t been in danger once the soldiers had seen who we were, and I didn’t want Fa getting concerned and stopping me driving.

  It worked. ‘I’m sure the whole business is a storm in a teacup,’ Fa commented. ‘Thank you for looking after the girls,’ he said to Mr Hussein and shook his hand heartily.

  ‘I think it was more a case of the young ladies looking after me,’ Mr Hussein responded weakly.

  Fa went down to his study. I knew he’d have forgotten all about it in minutes.

  Lydia began to look anxious again. Gwen and I were feeling anxious as well. We already knew that some of our friends were there in the Wozzer and many more might be there too.

  The glow in the sky began to fade. ‘The fire engines have come,’ said Mr Bilal.

  ‘I wonder if I can get back to the hospital safely,’ Lydia said.

  ‘When it’s safe, my father will let us know,’ Mr Hussein said. ‘He will send someone.’

  ‘And this is where Matthew will come, when he can,’ I said.

  …

  It was after ten o’clock by the time Matthew limped in. He’d lost his cap. He was tired and sweaty, even though the night air was chill.

  ‘What happened?’ We surrounded Matthew.

  Matthew looked at Mr Hussein. ‘What happened to you?’

  We told him.

  ‘Lydia, you were in danger?’ Matthew looked as if that was worse than anything else he’d had to deal with that night.

  Well, don’t you concern yourself Gwen, Mr Hussein and me! I thought. But about then I thought, wistfully, that it would be rather nice to have someone feel so anxious about me.

  ‘We’re all right, Matthew. Don’t worry!’ Lydia said impatiently.

  Mr Bilal came in with a decanter of brandy and a glass. Matthew looked at him gratefully and drank a glass straight. He sank into a chair and Mr Bilal refilled his glass and left.

  Matthew closed his eyes for a second. ‘When I got to the Wozzer some fellows had been chasing the – um – ladies from their houses into the street. They were throwing everything out of the houses into the street after them: furniture, mattresses. I even saw a piano pushed out of a second-storey window. They were tossing chamber pots – and their contents – out the windows too. Then they started setting fire to the piles of stuff in the streets.’ He stopped, reaching for his glass and taking a gulp. ‘Some Australians, Ninth Light Horse I think, were trying to stop it all and they arrested a few fellows. But the crowd watching wasn’t having that. They took rifles off some of the Light Horse and threw them into the fires too, and most of the arrested fellows got away.’

  ‘Then what?’ I asked.

  ‘The British military police arrived. Most of the crowd were Australians and New Zealanders and you know what they think of the MPs – they got a right round of abuse. Then the MPs decided to fire their pistols – another big mistake. I suppose they meant to fire over the heads of the crowd, but a few fellows were wounded. It started getting really nasty then, and the MPs disappeared.’

  ‘How many soldiers were there?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘Two, three thousand? Anyway, the Egyptian fire brigade turned up and tried to put the fires out. Our fellows tried to cut their fire hoses, and the Egyptians tried to turn the hoses on the crowd, and then our fellows actually pushed the fire engine into the flames.’

  There was going to be really big trouble over this. It was one thing trying to get even with thieves and cheats, but quite another to attack the fire brigade.

  ‘Some of the men began looting shops, and they tried to set them on fire too,’ Matthew went on. ‘In the end, another fire engine came – under escort this time – and they started putting the fires out. Armed troops arrived to cordon off the area, and the fellows decided it’d probably be best to just, well, disappear.’

  ‘What were you doing?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘I was trying to locate my men. I told them to imshi, get back to camp,’ said Matthew. ‘I told them I hadn’t seen them, I didn’t know their names, and if they were smart they’d keep it that way.’

  ‘What will happen?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, there’ll be an inquiry, of course,’ said Matthew wearily. ‘If they can identify any of the ringleaders, they’ll be punished. There’ll be apologies to the Egyptian fire service – as there should be – and probably the damage will be paid for. Those thieves and scoundrels in the Wozzer deserve not to be recompensed. But, well, you can’t have men taking the law into their own hands.’

  I hoped Alex, Ted and Stan had had the good sense to keep out of it.

  ‘Is it safe to leave now?’ asked Lydia. ‘I’ll be late on duty, but I could get there.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Gwen. ‘My parents will be concerned.’

  ‘It seemed quiet when I came here,’ Matthew answered. ‘I don’t quite know how to get you there, though. I doubt there will be a carriage for hire on the streets.’

  ‘Perhaps I could drive you?’ I suggested. ‘And Gwen too.’

  Both Matthew and Lydia looked shocked. ‘Certainly not!’ Matthew said. ‘We don’t know if it’s safe. You can’t be driving around alone.’ Gwen shrugged.

  ‘Miss Flora will have no need.’ Mr Khalid had quietly appeared on the terrace and was giving me a very stern look. He went immediately to Mr Hussein and looked him over carefully. ‘I am sorry I was delayed,’ he said. ‘The streets are … volatile. As you have seen, an Egyptian in a motorcar is a target.’

  After exchanging a few quiet words with his son, and satisfying himself that he was not badly hurt, he turned to me. ‘With your permission, Miss Flora, I will have Miss Gwen driven to Shepheard’s and Miss Lydia and Lieutenant Grier to the hospital and camp. Messages have already been sent saying they are safe.’

  ‘You’re a wonder, Khalid,’ said Matthew.

  Mr Khalid inclined his head graciously.

  ‘I’m so sorry Mr Hussein was hurt,’ I said to Mr Khalid as we all walked down to the courtyard. The door was open and a driver had a motorcar waiting nearby.

  ‘I am very appreciative of the great care you took of my son,’ Mr Khalid replied. ‘If you had not been there, and defended him so fiercely, it might have been much, much worse for him.’ We stood together, watching the driver assist Mr Hussein into the motorcar as Matthew, Lydia and Gwen waited to get in.

  I couldn’t help my eyes falling on the mysterious little door in the wall directly opposite us. I looked up after a moment and saw Mr Khalid watching me. He slowly put his index finger to the side of his nose. Did he know something about the door and what went on behind it? He could just have been rubbing his nose. Did he know who the owner of the house was, and what he stored in there, and moved in and out? Did he know I knew something about it?

  Mr Khalid moved to the door. ‘Thank you again, Miss Flora,’ he said. ‘I am in your debt. Many, many times over.’ He took his place in the packed motorcar.

  He meant it, I knew. Egyptians took their debts very seriously indeed. I stepped back into the courtyard and Mr Bilal shut and barred the door.

  I went back up
to the terrace. I didn’t know what to think about Mr Khalid and the mysterious door. But I would keep quiet about what I knew. For now.

  I sat on a cushioned divan, watching the last of the red glow of the fire over the Wozzer and hoping that all my friends were safe.

  Chapter 10

  Early the next morning, Easter Saturday, a message came from Lady Bellamy saying that she had been advised against opening the rest and recreation centre until things in the city had settled. I could read her impatience in every line. ‘But we shall certainly open on Easter Sunday,’ the note ended. ‘I trust I shall see all my volunteers there.’

  Gwen and I both arrived early on Easter Sunday, eager to hear all about the goings-on in the Wozzer. But we were disappointed, the soldiers weren’t talking about it – not to us, anyway.

  ‘They probably think we don’t know what the Wozzer is,’ I said to Gwen.

  ‘It’s probably best we don’t embarrass them by telling them we do know,’ Gwen replied.

  Late in the afternoon, Matthew Grier called in. ‘As I predicted there’s been a formal inquiry,’ he told us. ‘They lined up about fifty witnesses, but wouldn’t you know, no one really saw anything. The New Zealand army officers claimed their men weren’t there,’ Matthew said. ‘They were, I saw them. The Australian officers claimed that there’d been more New Zealanders than anyone else. That wasn’t true either, not from what I saw.’

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked.

  ‘There could have been some very unpleasant consequences, but in the end it was glossed over,’ said Matthew. ‘The officers decided to split the bill for the damages, and left it at that. It seemed fair.’

  ‘And were any of your men in trouble?’ Gwen asked.

  ‘None of my men were involved. I didn’t see a one of them there.’ He winked at us.

  I thought about that. If it was only people in the Wozzer who’d lost goods and possessions, and they’d been cheating our boys, I thought it served them right. They were going to be recompensed, after all. I knew enough not to get cheated in the bazaar, myself, but lots of our boys didn’t.

  ‘Were other shops looted?’ I asked Matthew. ‘Anyone hurt?’ I knew at least one innocent person had been – Mr Hussein.

  ‘That’s being investigated,’ Matthew said. ‘If so, they’ll be looked after.’ I had to be satisfied with that.

  There was a queer, unsettled atmosphere in the centre that day. The men seemed on edge. More of them approached Gwen and me, asking if we’d write to them when they moved out. Again, our overall pockets bulged with slips of paper of names and addresses.

  ‘They know they’re going into action soon,’ I said.

  Gwen nodded. ‘I keep telling them to take care, to stay safe,’ she said. ‘And they just look at me. I could just – I don’t know – hug every one of them.’

  ‘Better not,’ I said. ‘That’d get you a reputation with Lady Bellamy in no time.’ But I knew how she felt.

  …

  A few days later as I drove Fa to the excavation, we saw the large Australian camp by the pyramids packing up.

  ‘They’re moving out,’ I said. ‘It’s happening.’ More than half the tents were down. Men were stacking equipment, rolling up canvas, burning rubbish in large bonfires.

  Fa blinked and looked at the dismantled camp. ‘So they are,’ he said. ‘Where are they going, do you know?’

  I shook my head. If the men knew, they weren’t telling. Lydia’s Matthew would probably know, but he was tight-lipped. Even Lydia was keeping something to herself. She’d invited Gwen and me to a moonlight picnic at the Sphinx. ‘Rather a special one,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll be going away for a while, so it’s a sort of farewell.’

  ‘Going away?’ I’d said. ‘Not to France?’

  Lydia had just shaken her head.

  It was a very big day at the excavation. The workmen cleared the last of the rubble from the shaft and passage. Fa came to the tent where I was sketching an almost intact pottery jar.

  ‘Come on! You’ve got to be there,’ he said, as excited as I’d ever seen him. ‘The men will be breaking into the burial chamber any moment.’

  I dropped my pencils and followed him into the tomb. We climbed down the vertical shaft by rope ladder and entered the passage. Workmen were clustered along the walls, all waiting eagerly to see what was inside. The air was vibrating with excitement. Mr Khalid, despite his bulk, had managed to make his way along the passage and was waiting beside the blocked entrance to the burial chamber.

  ‘Right. Now.’ Fa signalled a workman to attack the sealed entrance.

  In minutes there was a sizeable hole. I didn’t think Fa was even breathing. In another few minutes there was room to step inside. Mr Khalid gestured for Fa to move forward.

  The workman who had broken into the entrance had a huge smile on his face. I knew it had to be good news.

  Fa bent his head, stepped through the hole, and disappeared. Mr Khalid waited for me to follow. I stepped through – and stared. There he was. Khnumhotep. I gazed, mesmerised, at the painted face of Khnumhotep on his elaborately decorated sarcophagus, inscribed all over with the spells and instructions of the Book of the Dead.

  Fa walked around the room, taking a visual inventory of the pieces of furniture, weapons, jars of food and mummified haunches of meat – all that Khnumhotep would need to sustain him in his new life. To me, most touching items of all were the wreaths of flowers; dried and brown and shrivelled, all falling into dust, but still flowers. Who had lovingly placed flowers on Khnumhotep’s sarcophagus so long ago, then turned and walked away and left him forever? I would never know, but I was pleased for Khnumhotep that someone had loved him.

  Fa and Mr Khalid were jubilant. This was a great discovery, and a valuable one. They shook hands heartily. The workmen were delighted too. This would mean a bonus for them. When we climbed up the rope ladder and came out of the tomb, we all felt sky high.

  Fa spoke to Mr Khalid, arranging an immediate payment for the workmen, so that they could celebrate that night. He also arranged for extra guards to be on site.

  ‘It will be done,’ Mr Khalid promised. No one, I knew, would dare to rob any tomb that Mr Khalid was involved with.

  In the tent, Fa and I sat down and looked at each other.

  ‘I’m amazed! Just amazed!’ Fa breathed.

  There was something I had to ask. ‘It’s so near the end of the season,’ I said. ‘Will you seal the tomb up and work in the burial chamber next season? Or …’ I held my breath. The excavation season always ended in March or April. After April it was considered too hot to work in Egypt. It was well into April and in other years we’d have been on our way home by now.

  Fa looked at me, almost tentatively. ‘What would you think,’ he said, ‘if we stayed on? I don’t want to leave the work unfinished. Yes, I know,’ he went on quickly, as if I’d raised an objection, ‘I know it’ll be hot, but I’m sure we can cope. And we’re so settled, so comfortable, in the House of the Butcher and Blacksmith. Perhaps a little later, when it’s really hot, we might think of a trip to England. There is some research I’d like to do at the British Museum. But do you want to go home, Flora? What do you think?’

  ‘Go home?’ I said. I was nearly crying I was so relieved and happy. ‘I think I am home!’

  And we smiled broadly at each other and, most unusually for us, hugged.

  …

  There was even less of the Australian camp by the pyramids when we drove back into town through the late afternoon. I wondered what the hospital at the Nile Palace would be used for, now that the men were going. Lydia had said the nurses hadn’t been busy. They’d be even less busy now, I thought. That was probably why Lydia was being sent away.

  When we got home I snuck into the storeroom and checked every one of the bundles on the shelves for anything from Fa’s excavation. There was nothing from our finds, only small, valuable items I didn’t recognise. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  We had
dinner at Shepheard’s that night, so that Fa could tell his archaeologist friends, and especially Professor Travers, about Khnumhotep’s burial chamber. He was toasted again and again with Shepheard’s best champagne. I had a glass or two myself. I danced with Frank once or twice, but he seemed more occupied with other girls that evening. So I had another glass of champagne. Towards the end of the evening, Fa and a young officer came up to me on the terrace where I was dancing with Matthew.

  ‘Flora, this is James Hunter,’ Fa said as I whirled past. ‘The young man who’s been so helpful with the excavation. He’s coming to see the burial chamber tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh yes, James Hunter, of course.’ Matthew and I stopped for a moment, but the terrace was dimly lit and my head, to tell the truth, was spinning. I had a vague impression of brown hair, probably brown eyes, a shy smile. ‘How do you do? Fa has been so pleased with your help.’

  ‘Will you be at the excavation tomorrow, Miss Wentworth?’

  Would I? What day was tomorrow? What day, actually, was today?

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps.’ I gave him what I hoped was a friendly smile and Matthew spun me away.

  The next day I discovered that several glasses of champagne – even the very best champagne – could have an unfortunate effect. I told Fa that I’d promised to go to the rest and recreation centre, but I spent the morning in bed, vowing to never touch champagne in quantity again. In the afternoon, when I felt rather better, I went to the centre to keep my conscience clear.

  The pavilion was not busy. Many of the soldiers must have been moved out already, I thought. Where to? I served tea and lemonade to the few who were there, and hoped all those that had left would be safe.

  …

  A few days later I attended Lydia’s farewell night picnic at the Sphinx.

  ‘Matthew and I met here,’ Lydia said. The Sphinx was a very popular spot for officers and nurses to take walks in the moonlight. She smiled softly to herself as we set up the picnic.