r methods of travelling are precisely
as they were two thousand years ago. The husbandman still uses the
cumbersome wooden plough of the Old Testament, the women still go with
their "chatties" down to the well at sunset, to draw water and gossip with
their neighbours, as did Rachel before them, and any day can be seen,
tending their flocks, shepherds the exact prototype of those who followed
the Wise Men of the East to the cradle of the world.

I am not going to suggest that this incident of the fugitive sheikh was
instantly linked up with the sacred picture, the process was gradual.
There was first a sense of being on familiar ground, of having witnessed
the whole scene before somewhere, which was followed by the transition to
the Bible stories of childhood's days. Then came the inevitable denouement,
and the picture was complete. Similar scenes constantly recurred the
farther we advanced into Palestine, and it was impossible that they should
leave no impression.

We found our orders waiting for us when we arrived back at our halting
place and at once hooked in and started again, only to be held up a little
way out by the congestion of troops who had marched into the village during
the morning. The cactus-hedges bordering the lanes afforded admirable
protection from observation by enemy aircraft, some of which were hovering
in the neighbourhood.

Dispatch-riders on motor-cycles threaded their way to the front in and out
amongst the horses with amazing skill, the cavalry swung forward _en route_
for the open country, staff officers galloped along the lanes, and in a few
short moments the whole atmosphere had changed from pastoral peace to the
tense excitement of military activity. Every few moments an enemy plane
came over to have a look at Khan Yunus, though it is doubtful whether they
saw very much, for an army could easily have hidden itself between the
hedgerows of the village.

So great was the bustle that most of us fully expected that the first
battle in the Holy Land was about to begin. It was by now high noon and
insufferably hot, and the soft alluvial dust churned up by motor bicycles
and galloping hoofs rose in suffocating clouds. We were penned in by the
high cactus-hedges and not a breath of air could reach us to dissipate the
choking dust. We had, it would appear, escaped the sand only to encounter a
worse enemy, and to add to our discomfort, we were still wearing the serge
tunics of the winter months.