British government think about labour restrictions in Peru? Most of them had wild gleams in their eyes, and having said their queer bit, shuffled away like disappointed saboteurs. Slow and old is the island city of Key West; also surreptitious, bland and turtle-like.
All in the family
At the railway station at Assiut an elderly Copt had come to meet me. We sat in the station cafe for a preliminary cup of coffee, and he undid the buttons of his tight linen jacket and wiped his head fastidiously with a silk handkerchief. âI come from a family of priests,â he said by way of introduction. âThere have been Christian priests in my family since AD 48, when St Mark paid his visit to Assiut; and before that my family, through unnumbered centuries, provided priestly acolytes for the local god of Assiut, Leci. Come, finish your coffee while I settle this infamous account.â
Marching with us!
One evening we were driving down a road on the outskirts of Chattanooga when we saw a dirty marquee. From it there came strains of music, with accompanying desultory snatches of womenâs voices, so we stopped at once and went inside. At the end of the tent a very fat woman was lying on the ground quivering and shaking, sometimes tremulously, like a jelly, sometimes with sharp stabs of impulsive movement. Two fierce women were supporting her head, and standing above them, waving his arms like a Paganini, prancing crazily here and there, a youth was strumming on a guitar. In the background a small girl was banging a hymn tune on an upright piano, and a group of black ladies, respectably dressed, looking a trifle bored, and sometimes pausing to exchange gossip or look out of the tent flap, was half-heartedly singing some sacred words: âIâll never go hungry or know poverty/ So long as the good Lord is marching with me./ Marching with me! Marching with thee!/ So long as the good Lord is marching with me.â
Presently the prostrate patient, with heavings and convulsions, tried to gasp a few words, and at this the attendant harpies were galvanized. Seizing the patient by the front of her dress, they yanked her into a sitting position and hissed urgent instructions into her ear. She was still jerking incessantly. âTake Him in, take Him in!â they hissed, and were soon screaming, âTake Him in! Roll it! O Jesus, the glory of it!â until the patient herself, jerking and jumping, managed to croak from her constricted throat a few unintelligible syllables.
When we left the marquee she was still unhealed. Theguitarist still whirled about her. The piano still tinnily clanged. The lady choristers whined their listless hymn. And the convulsed patient, all her draperies loose by now, was still being urged to âLet Him in, sister! Glory, glory, roll it, roll it!â by the demon women at her side.
Economic imperative
In the worst times of the Irish troubles, when Belfast was more or less in a state of war, I once saw a patrol of five or six British infantrymen moving cautiously and watchfully through the city centre in the prescribed modeâguns cocked, helmeted heads constantly turning right and left, lead man well in front, rearguard walking backwards with his finger on the trigger. As they passed an office of the National Westminster Bank one of them peeled away, while the others crouched there covering his back, ready for instant fire. He put his card in the bankâs cash dispenser, he tucked his money away in a pocket of his camouflage suit, and they proceeded grimly on their prowl.
Sporting pleasures!
My first floodlit cricket match, in Sydney, was a terrific affair. Australia were playing New Zealand, and passions ran high. If a wicket fell or a catch was missed the crowd burst into magnificent displays of emotion, throwing hats, paper, cups and balloons into the air, shouting, whistling, clapping, booing and cheering. I was exhilarated! In the course of thegame I happened to look over
All in the family
At the railway station at Assiut an elderly Copt had come to meet me. We sat in the station cafe for a preliminary cup of coffee, and he undid the buttons of his tight linen jacket and wiped his head fastidiously with a silk handkerchief. âI come from a family of priests,â he said by way of introduction. âThere have been Christian priests in my family since AD 48, when St Mark paid his visit to Assiut; and before that my family, through unnumbered centuries, provided priestly acolytes for the local god of Assiut, Leci. Come, finish your coffee while I settle this infamous account.â
Marching with us!
One evening we were driving down a road on the outskirts of Chattanooga when we saw a dirty marquee. From it there came strains of music, with accompanying desultory snatches of womenâs voices, so we stopped at once and went inside. At the end of the tent a very fat woman was lying on the ground quivering and shaking, sometimes tremulously, like a jelly, sometimes with sharp stabs of impulsive movement. Two fierce women were supporting her head, and standing above them, waving his arms like a Paganini, prancing crazily here and there, a youth was strumming on a guitar. In the background a small girl was banging a hymn tune on an upright piano, and a group of black ladies, respectably dressed, looking a trifle bored, and sometimes pausing to exchange gossip or look out of the tent flap, was half-heartedly singing some sacred words: âIâll never go hungry or know poverty/ So long as the good Lord is marching with me./ Marching with me! Marching with thee!/ So long as the good Lord is marching with me.â
Presently the prostrate patient, with heavings and convulsions, tried to gasp a few words, and at this the attendant harpies were galvanized. Seizing the patient by the front of her dress, they yanked her into a sitting position and hissed urgent instructions into her ear. She was still jerking incessantly. âTake Him in, take Him in!â they hissed, and were soon screaming, âTake Him in! Roll it! O Jesus, the glory of it!â until the patient herself, jerking and jumping, managed to croak from her constricted throat a few unintelligible syllables.
When we left the marquee she was still unhealed. Theguitarist still whirled about her. The piano still tinnily clanged. The lady choristers whined their listless hymn. And the convulsed patient, all her draperies loose by now, was still being urged to âLet Him in, sister! Glory, glory, roll it, roll it!â by the demon women at her side.
Economic imperative
In the worst times of the Irish troubles, when Belfast was more or less in a state of war, I once saw a patrol of five or six British infantrymen moving cautiously and watchfully through the city centre in the prescribed modeâguns cocked, helmeted heads constantly turning right and left, lead man well in front, rearguard walking backwards with his finger on the trigger. As they passed an office of the National Westminster Bank one of them peeled away, while the others crouched there covering his back, ready for instant fire. He put his card in the bankâs cash dispenser, he tucked his money away in a pocket of his camouflage suit, and they proceeded grimly on their prowl.
Sporting pleasures!
My first floodlit cricket match, in Sydney, was a terrific affair. Australia were playing New Zealand, and passions ran high. If a wicket fell or a catch was missed the crowd burst into magnificent displays of emotion, throwing hats, paper, cups and balloons into the air, shouting, whistling, clapping, booing and cheering. I was exhilarated! In the course of thegame I happened to look over
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