Sunday August 12th 1945

Yesterday, being Sunday, I rose early and went up to the early celebration at St. George’s. Then after a good breakfast Frank and I set out to walk round the walls of the Old City, outside, from the Jaffa Gate, three-quarters of the way round, to the Damascus Gate, as we had already walked the other quarter of the circle on our way to King Solomon’s quarries. Just beyond the Jaffa Gate lies the citadel, and we scrambled through the moat, which is now dry, surrounding the citadel and separating it from the city walls. In this way, after much twisting and turning, we found ourselves inside the city without passing through a gate, so we went back to the Jaffa Gate and came out again. The citadel, now semi-ruinous, houses the Palestine folk museum, but we did not stop, continuing through the crowds on to the road which skirts the rock at the foot of the walls. We soon left the crowds, and could see below us the Bethlehem road which I followed last night and the Birket es Sultan, with the YMCA tower, behind the King David hotel, opposite. On the slope there is a windmill. We turned the corner and passed between the Sion Gate on the left and Mount Sion on the right. As we passed over the shoulder of Mount Sion we had an extensive view of the village of Silwan (Siloam) on the far slope of the brook Kedron near where it is joined by the valley of Hinnom. Beyond, the hills, strewn with white limestone, gradually descend towards, in the distance, the Jordan Valley and the hills of Trans-Jordan which always form the eastern horizon. Mount Sion is no higher than the city and is in fact, really the spur bounded by the city walls and the valleys of Hinnom and Kedron.

Passing the small Dung Gate we came to the outside of the Temple Area and crossed the Kedron, as immediately outside the wall is an Arab Moslem cemetery. Across the Kedron is Olivet and at the foot Gethsemane, with its many churches a steep, wooded triangle on the slope of Olivet, facing the city. From there a climb, past St. Stephen’s Gate, brought us to the north-east corner of the city and past the big, modern, domed building of the Palestine Archaeological Museum to Herod’s Gate at the top of the hill and a short level stretch of the Jericho road, past, on the right, Gordon’s Calvary, the Grotto of Jeremiah and the “Garden Tomb” and on the left Solomon’s quarries (or should it be Solomon’s air raid shelter) to the Damascus Gate.

Frank wanted to visit the Church of the Redeemer, the German Lutheran Church, which is now used only by the Methodists. We entered the city at the Damascus Gate and intended to make straight for the church, in the centre of the city, which is a considerable landmark from a distance as it has a high spire. However, we plunged into the suqs, or Arab bazaars, which in Jerusalem consist of open shops on either side of a very narrow and very crowded passage way. It is partially roofed, sometimes with queer, ancient arches and parts of arches and in consequence it is very dark. People carry big trays of goods on their heads and others deep shopping baskets, some, even, led a sheep on a piece of string. So collisions followed by torrents of abuse in Arabic, a very expressive language for the purpose, were frequent. As it was so crowded, we found it impossible to discover where we should turn out of the suq area and so kept straight on, followed the wall round on the inside, through the Armenian quarter and employed a small boy to conduct us to the Church of the Redeemer from the Jaffa Gate. The service was much what I expected. The preacher was a Welshman. We left and threaded our way through the crowded streets back to lunch.

After lunch Frank stayed in, while I left for a walk. I threaded the suq area again, from the Jaffa Gate to the Damascus Gate. Then, trying to find the way up on to the top of the walls, I wandered up a flight of wide limestone steps into the Arab quarter of the town. I passed through a series of alleyways, some six or eight feet wide with high walls, so that no glimpse of the houses is seen. Through gates in the walls the people come and go and here too there seemed to be a great number of children playing. All races seemed to be represented – as well as the typical Arab type, fairer than the Egyptian, there were quite a few fair haired children and I saw one freckled, ginger haired lad. I kept on and made my way out by Herod’s Gate on to the Jericho road and down to Kedron and Gethsemane.

The modern Jericho road swings downhill with an ‘S’ bend over the Kedron. As it straightens out it passes the Church of All Nations with four Ionic (?) columns in front and above a vividly coloured Mosaic fresco. Behind in the trees of the Garden of Gethsemane, a small triangle running up the steep hillside are the Franciscan Grotto of Gethsemane and the Russian church of St. Mary Magdalene.

However, just before reaching the churches, I turned sharp left up the slope of the Mount of Olives.

Olivet is a steep, stony, limestone hill. Strata of bare rock run nearly horizontally, leaving terraces between and the stony soil is, at the bottom, still cultivated and olive trees still grow at regular but rather large intervals in these terraces. The “bridle-path” itself, running straight up the slope, is walled with rough dry stone walls. The path is exceedingly stony and, in places, runs on great slabs of virgin limestone. Towards the top, looking back, the whole of the city may be seen on the opposite slope running down to the valley of the brook Kedron. At the top I came into Et Tur, the Arab village, past the Mosque of the Ascension and climbed westward between the peasants’ houses and outside the wall of the grounds of the Russian Church, then downhill, over very stony soil, past a few olive trees to another small Arab village – just a handful of small, square houses. The Arabs out here are all very friendly and everyone I passed greeted me with a cheerful “Sayeida” (good afternoon). Those who could speak a little English said “Hullo, George” or “How are you?” which are apparently catch phrases they have picked up and one boy of ten or so, who seemed to have a fair knowledge of English, asked me if I were feeling hot and said it was warm weather, although I assured him that the Sudan was far hotter. A little farther on I came, on the right, to a high wall which surrounds a church. Over the gate I saw the Greek letters ΒΗΘΣΦΑΓΗ (BETHPHAGE). I did not stop to see the stone from which Christ is said to have mounted the ass but continued downhill across open country along a footpath. On the left a goatherd and his flock were under some small trees, all the ground is very stony and now, in the dry season, hardly anything at all grows. Ahead of me, as I converged with the road down to Jericho, lay the square, white stone houses of Bethany dotted here and there on the hillside. I reached the main road and turned back towards Jerusalem through the village. Here, for the first time since I left the city, I was asked for backsheesh and besieged with offers to guide me to the House of Martha and Mary and the Tomb of Lazarus. However I continued up the modern road and as it took a bend on the slope above the brook Kedron I left the road and followed a little, rocky path through the “fields” down to the valley. There are comparatively few dry stone walls, except just round the villages, but there are no hedges at all, in the Judean hills, here. Most of the cultivated land is divided into strips naturally by the terrace-like strata of the rock and sometimes the rock is built up to level out the terrace. As I passed down I was particularly struck by one little spot. The path took up nearly half the terrace for some way, the ground was exceedingly stony and a few stunted thorns were growing to a height of eighteen inches or so at one end. Yet a crop (of sorts) had obviously been grown on it. About all these stones – and I have never seen a terrain with even half as many stones – the Arabs say that when God was making the world He sent an angel out with two bags of stones to spread over all the countries of the earth. Unfortunately however, as the angel was passing over the Judean hills, one of the bags broke and all the stones in it fell just hereabouts.

Some three miles or so from Jerusalem I came into the Kedron valley again, much narrower here and bone dry. The steep limestone sides of the valley are riddled with caves. Higher up, within sight of the walls of Jerusalem, I came into the village of Silwen. The pool of Siloem and Well of the Virgin provide a supply of water for the houses on the hillsides where the Vale of Hinnom joins the Kedron. The women still come down to the well for water and out here in the villages they are less commonly dressed in black but in red or floral patterned fabric and never wear veils. Instead, however, of the traditional water pot the ubiquitous petrol tin is no doubt much lighter. From the Pool of Siloam I followed the valley between slopes of bare stone with the Moslem cemetery on the left and the Jewish cemetery and the tombs of Absalom, Jehoshaphat and St. James on the right. So to Gethsemane and through the Old City along the Via Dolorosa back to the Jaffa Gate.