Britain and The Rock.

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20278, 21 August 1937, Page 15 (Supplement)

Britain and The Rock.

Dignity and Authority:: Legend of the Apes

(Claussa Lorenz in American Journal)

WHENEVER THE NEWSPAPERS report fighting in the vicinity of Gibraltar, we think sadly of the guidebook phrase, which we read on our first visit there—“ It can hardly be missed.” That was certainly true. The very sheerness of that great rocky wall made our ship seem, by comparison, like a piece of driftwood. And yet I felt disappointed that this limestone rock, two and a-half miles in length, was not somehow as large as it seemed on picture postcards. First of all, I had intended to see the famous Barbary Apes, which play about the galleries of the Rock; for I had been told that Gibraltar is the only place in Europe where wild apes are to be found. Some say that these crossed over from North Africa (the Straits are only eighteen miles wide) when the two continents were still connected. The superstition that English Authority Will Cease, when the last monkey has become extinct in Gib, is borne out among the natives by the fact that the Government employs two officers to look after these inhabitants. We had landed at 7 a.m. As the sun rose, clearing away the mists, the African coast, although a mere thimble in the distance, seemed far more a piece of magic than Gib. The thought of the dark, dangerous, and ageless continent made us feel something like arrivistes. The tender arrived, together with a fleet of rowboats filled with swarthy faces among bright merchandise. Oranges, Canary bananas, glistening silks, and Moorish baskets were held up before our eyes; vendors screamed strange things at us, while holding up various articles for our appraisal, When we stepped off the tender, an army of jabbering hotel porters catapulted into us. All of them proclaimed in broken English that their hotel was the best and the cheapest in all Gib. We finally chose a porter, only because he looked like that veteran screen comic, Ben Turpin. His large brown eyes were like luminous marbles. Immediately he had “sold” us his hotel, he exchanged his official porter’s cap for a civilian’s (the former was lovingly slipped into a paper bag!) “Ben Turpin” turned out to be an enterprising fellow. In a heart-breaking voice, and with many flourishes, he explained that our rooms would not be ready until after lunch, when two gentlemen were departing for Tangiers. Panting in the heat, we followed him up Main Street, past rows of hacks, or galleys, as they are called, drawn by frail-looking horses which were day-dreaming. Everybody ogled us. Eyes Hunted Us Down Like Bloodhounds. Above our heads we caught sight of rows of dimpled elbows resting on cushions fitted to window sills—elbows belonging to the idle curious, who surveyed all incoming cargoes like watchful monkeys in coconut trees. Only the pack-donkeys and mules minded their own business. They stood out among this mixed, urban spectacle—the most dignified of all citizens. 1 now pressed my point. Let’s go and have a look at the wild apes. But the reply was a pair of outflung arms and a voice, saying: “Isn’t this enough?” And so it proved, long before we had finished exploring the lower part of Gib. Wild apes, of whatever peculiarities, would have been simply an anticlimax after that. The barbarous colours, the noise, and 'lie over ripeness of this little cosmopolis. where East clashed with West, bore down upon mo with full force, as I walked up Main

Street. Indian and Moorish shops had turned this street into a glorified Monday, or wash-day. Shopkeepers lounged in doorways, surrounded by Spanish shawls, Moorish Douffes, and Egyptian runners. “ Won’t you buy something at my shop, ladies?” they chanted, with oily smiles. Weazened little dark-skinned hawkers were selling beads, newspapers, lace, vegetables, and postcards. Arabs were shuffling by in fez, burnous and slipper*. Indian ayahs, Greek merchants, and Moors Joggled Elbows with European Tourists. The sclssors-grinder’s special little tootle on his fife was but a thin, feeble squeak !n the din of the various jazz bands, which screeched away in cafes. The street-organ, playing a rumba, had a better chance of being heard occasionally. Anyhow, we preferred to patronise the little ragged boy who pulled the donkey, who pulled the sfeet organ. Re got several of our pennies, which he begged from us, “for the donkey, plis." To pass the time until our rooms were ready, we hailed one of the rickety old galleys, and ricocheted along the motley street, towards Europa Point. It was like being, jerked about in a derrick. The horse’s hooves clopped hollowly on the hard asphalt, and the impatient driver sent the citizens scattering for their lives, while he told us how there were one hundred and sixty galleys in Gib. and a driver’s license cost £2 10s. We skirted the fragrant Alameda Gardens, with their colourful rare plants and their colourful common children, we passed the dry docks, with their scrapped schooners, and then we “did” the native quarters, with their tall, narrow, colour-washed houses, yellow pantiled roofs, and profuse gardens of potted blooms on grilled window* and balconies. When we got back into the thick of things again in Main Street, we found a grubby little cafe, where we watched an overdressed Spanish danseuse singing and dancing to the rhythm of her castanets. And while we watened. entranced, we ate delicious crayfish and prawns, bought from hawkers, who came round with large baskets. Suddenly, the street discords and the monotonous blare of jazz orchestras were drowned out by the deafening and triumphant blast of trumpets. We would have said that the atmosphere could not possibly have contained any more sound. But we were wrong. The English soldiers were marching down the street to the gates of the town, where the changing of the guard took place every day. All other activity froze. Great Britain Had Superimposed Itself for a brief moment on this scene of disorder. lending dignity and authority. And. although we were Americans, we felt a thrill of pride. At gunfire, after the work-ing-people had left Gib. to re-enter La Linea, Algeoiras, and other Spanish territory. where they would he searched for contraband, as usual, the great gates were closed. English trumpets, blowing reveille, woke us the next morning at five o’clock, and there followed a pot-pourri of coughing, sneezing, canary singing, and rooster crowing. which left us with that anticipatory feeling prior to a concert, when the orchestra is tuning up. When we said good-bye to Gib. it was with little real sat ion how soon “English authority" would be asserting itself, with refugee tents erected on the racecourse, and “barbed wne forming additional security to the British boundary.”