WHEN NIGHT FALLS

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 2, Issue 147, 15 April 1940, Page 7

WHEN NIGHT FALLS

WITH OUR TROOPS IN EGYPT (N.Z.E.F. Official Nows Service) . EGYPT, March 17. Night falls suddenly in Egypt. The sun loses its brilliance well before it drops out of sight, for the dusty air turns it into a ball of soft red, and after it has gone the silhouette of desert sand, pyramids «ind mosques on the western horizon is soon robbed of its sharpness ■of outline. When there is no moon in the sky, darkness closes swiftly ■over the land. And then it is lamp-lighting time in the Valley of the Nile, and in Ihe camp of the 2nd New Zealand Expeditionary Force. Kerosene lanterns throw their yellow light ■against the w 7 alls of our tents., and those of us who are off duty stretch ■out lazily on our beds with feeling- of relaxation that seems to make a strenuous day worth while. A cycle of conversation begins—reminiscences, rumours, the affairs of jokes, arguments. :! /x*A Sing-SjiJng Under Way. The tide of talk flows and ebbs -away. The moment has come to de-i •cide how the evening will be spent. Perhaps the night is uninviting, and "an evening at home" seems the most pleasant prospect. That may mean letter-writing, reading, a game of cards; maybe a button needs sewing on somewhere, or the light J if showing through the heels of a pair of socks. But we'll suppose the mood leans towards conviviality and cheerful noise. Then come with me to the 'canteen, where a hubbub of talk Tises through the smoky blue air. A mug of good Scotch beer in his "hand, someone walks to the piano and vamps the opening bars of "Tipperary." There is a drift towards him, a semi-circle forms about the piano, and a sing-song is under "\vay. In a quieter corner, one of the waiters becomes a willing teacher of elementary' Arabic and a testing ground for the catch--words we have already managed to pick up. The Bright Lights of Cairo. Or Ave might visit our own cinema, where over-sentimental scenes •sire heartily laughed at and Weaknesses in acting and plot noisily criticised in a way that would not be ventured in a public theatre. Instead of that, we could go to the Y.M.C.A. reading and writing tents, or mix with men from other Empire lands in the soldiers' tent outside the camp limits.

To-night, however, we might be under the bright lights of Cairo itself. Here, until we arc either disillusioned or confirmed in our views 'is our conception of the' night life of some gay Continental city—ParIs, perhaps, under an Egyptian sky. 'The main streets are crowded with rshiny, streamlined cars, and bright shop window display what we, with all the inexperience of our sex, con sider must be the most modern of fashions. Here is a low-price depart ment store, its counters crowded "with everything from toothpaste to garden seeds; that beautiful shop front across the way exhibits the best of Egypt's own products. While •we are in such surroundings as these, native vendors dangle trinkets before us as we stroll along the sidewalks. Speak to them, and they become all the more persistent. To Ignore them altogether is the best -\vay of declining. Old Habits Persist. Stepping from the kerb to cross the street, we look instinctively td the right for oncoming traffic — only to be. almost startled out of •our skins by a screech of tyres and frenzied motor horns on our left! It is so easy to forget that here the rule of the road is reversed. As the hour grows late, Cairo's night life re'ajly begins. Cabarets. Toars, music fteills and glittering movie palaces beckon us. Let's look for something different in this combined cabaret-dance hall. There is no charge to enter, for table service is the source of revenue. Now the floor show is on—ballet girls, -contortionists, a harmonica band— and after that the dancing will be;gin again. Homeward bound, we find time to drop in at the American Bar for a chicken roll and a frosted glass of ice-cold Lager beer. And then it is back to the camp and between the blankets . . . "Last man puts out the light!"' In half a dozen places bugles begin to sound "Last Post," and the medley of notes drifts up to us. One by one we drop out of the murmur of conversation, until the silence is absolute.