around the hems. It made me sad.
August 2nd
We have come out into fields of sunflowers. They are so bright and cheerful. On the other hand, they afford no cover if anyone comes along the road. I started out liking them, but now I find them worrying. There is nowhere to hide in these sun-bright fields. Also, we are approaching a big house where the local bey lives. He owns all these fields. We are sleeping tonight in his cowshed. Isaiah says the cowherd is a friend of his.
LATER It was nice to spend a night under a roof. We had quite a jolly dinner with the cowherd, who welcomed Isaiah like a brother. Perhaps he is his brother; they looked similar, both old men with long white hair and beards. Abdul said he wouldnât sleep with us and went away. I wish he wouldnât do that. Is it because he wonât sleep under the same roof as a Jew? Heâll be sorry because it is raining quite hard and he is going to get wet. And it serves him right. Here it is dry and snug and smells of cattle dung. We had a lot of preserved food which Isaiah had bought and we shared it with the cowherd. He talked a lot about his landlord. He is mean and cruel to his tenants but luckily he isnât there a lot. And the sunflower harvest looks likely to be good so that will please him. Not if it keeps raining, however. I was homesick when I heard him say that. Farmers sound just like that where I come from. It seems to be so far away. I almost think that I dreamt it. The sun and the sea and the peace. And here I am, sitting in a Turkish cowshed, writing by the light of an oil lamp. Still, a barn was good enough for the baby Jesus, so itâs good enough for Father and me.
August 3rd
Abdul caught up with us on the path in the mid-morning. He did not say where he had been but he had got wet, I was meanly pleased to see, God forgive me. We rested under a hedge and went on until dark to this place, in a grove of lemon trees. We must be going inland because I canât hear the sea any more. I miss it. My father says I was born within sound of the sea. Isaiah is telling a story and Abdul is listening despite himself. I realise that I have read this story before. It is the tale of Sinbad the sailor. He has just got to the bit where Sinbad fastens himself to a cow carcass so that the Rocs will carry him to their nest. Itâs very exciting. Iâm going to stop writing to listen properly.
LATER More soldiers passed us. Going the other way, this time, away from the front. A terrible sight. They were all wounded and some were in carts which creaked and bounced over the ruts so that they groaned and cried. Poor boys! And my friends Bluey and Curly had probably shot one or two of themâjust for being in the other uniform. This is a mad world. I said so to Abdul and he told me that we had invaded his country and the soldiers were patriots and heroes. I did not want to start a fight so I sort of agreed. Then I caught the old man Isaiah looking at me with such a smiling twinkle in his eye that I was sure he had heard what was said. But Abdul and I were speaking English. Does Isaiah speak English? I asked him. He just shrugged and smiled at me again. His eyes are startling, very brown, so you cannot see what he is thinking. He must have had dark hair before he went grey. There are streaks of black in his hair and beard. I do not know how old he is. He walks like an old man, but then so does Father. Adbul says Jews are puzzling. He is right.
August 4th
More soldiers in carts. They came up quickly and we had nowhere to hide so we stood and watched them. Father bowed his head and began praying but not too loud. Another officer on a fine horse flung a paper-wrapped coin to Isaiah. He caught it. He is very fast when it comes to coins, which Abdul says is a Jewish trait. Then he told me that only Jews are allowed to lend money on interest so how can he be so rude about them being good at money? Sometimes I really do not like Abdul.
August
August 2nd
We have come out into fields of sunflowers. They are so bright and cheerful. On the other hand, they afford no cover if anyone comes along the road. I started out liking them, but now I find them worrying. There is nowhere to hide in these sun-bright fields. Also, we are approaching a big house where the local bey lives. He owns all these fields. We are sleeping tonight in his cowshed. Isaiah says the cowherd is a friend of his.
LATER It was nice to spend a night under a roof. We had quite a jolly dinner with the cowherd, who welcomed Isaiah like a brother. Perhaps he is his brother; they looked similar, both old men with long white hair and beards. Abdul said he wouldnât sleep with us and went away. I wish he wouldnât do that. Is it because he wonât sleep under the same roof as a Jew? Heâll be sorry because it is raining quite hard and he is going to get wet. And it serves him right. Here it is dry and snug and smells of cattle dung. We had a lot of preserved food which Isaiah had bought and we shared it with the cowherd. He talked a lot about his landlord. He is mean and cruel to his tenants but luckily he isnât there a lot. And the sunflower harvest looks likely to be good so that will please him. Not if it keeps raining, however. I was homesick when I heard him say that. Farmers sound just like that where I come from. It seems to be so far away. I almost think that I dreamt it. The sun and the sea and the peace. And here I am, sitting in a Turkish cowshed, writing by the light of an oil lamp. Still, a barn was good enough for the baby Jesus, so itâs good enough for Father and me.
August 3rd
Abdul caught up with us on the path in the mid-morning. He did not say where he had been but he had got wet, I was meanly pleased to see, God forgive me. We rested under a hedge and went on until dark to this place, in a grove of lemon trees. We must be going inland because I canât hear the sea any more. I miss it. My father says I was born within sound of the sea. Isaiah is telling a story and Abdul is listening despite himself. I realise that I have read this story before. It is the tale of Sinbad the sailor. He has just got to the bit where Sinbad fastens himself to a cow carcass so that the Rocs will carry him to their nest. Itâs very exciting. Iâm going to stop writing to listen properly.
LATER More soldiers passed us. Going the other way, this time, away from the front. A terrible sight. They were all wounded and some were in carts which creaked and bounced over the ruts so that they groaned and cried. Poor boys! And my friends Bluey and Curly had probably shot one or two of themâjust for being in the other uniform. This is a mad world. I said so to Abdul and he told me that we had invaded his country and the soldiers were patriots and heroes. I did not want to start a fight so I sort of agreed. Then I caught the old man Isaiah looking at me with such a smiling twinkle in his eye that I was sure he had heard what was said. But Abdul and I were speaking English. Does Isaiah speak English? I asked him. He just shrugged and smiled at me again. His eyes are startling, very brown, so you cannot see what he is thinking. He must have had dark hair before he went grey. There are streaks of black in his hair and beard. I do not know how old he is. He walks like an old man, but then so does Father. Adbul says Jews are puzzling. He is right.
August 4th
More soldiers in carts. They came up quickly and we had nowhere to hide so we stood and watched them. Father bowed his head and began praying but not too loud. Another officer on a fine horse flung a paper-wrapped coin to Isaiah. He caught it. He is very fast when it comes to coins, which Abdul says is a Jewish trait. Then he told me that only Jews are allowed to lend money on interest so how can he be so rude about them being good at money? Sometimes I really do not like Abdul.
August
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