CYPRUS INTERLUDE I79 



thoughtfully kept as a summertime task for the ship which was 

 toiling in the Gulf or the Red Sea. 



There are many who love the land of Cyprus with her wealth 

 of ancient buildings, her history, her rocky hillsides darkened by 

 the olive trees, her sparkling blue sea, her snug golden-ringed 

 harbours, her monasteries upon the pine-clad mountains and her 

 independent people ; but none could have watched the twin spires 

 of the old cathedral, now a mosque, in the ancient city of 

 Famagusta rising above the horizon with such joy as did the men 

 of Challenger as their ship drew nearer to this green oasis, which 

 meant refreshment to them after months spent in the sandy wastes 

 of Qatar. 



In spring of 1947 and again in 1948 Sam Southern took his ship 

 into Famagusta. She steamed in past the golden, sun-drenched 

 walls of Othello's Tower, turned to starboard and berthed along- 

 side the ancient, stone quay where lateen-rigged caiques lay with 

 their anchors down and their sterns to the wall as they had done 

 for a thousand years . 



To beer-starved sailors Famagusta is a paradise. Cyprus does 

 not appear to be trammelled with licensing laws and the numerous 

 bars and drinking gardens along the main street of Famagusta are 

 ready at any hour to serve cool, quenching brandy sours made 

 from the excellent Keo and Hadjipavolou brandies which are the 

 delight of the sailor. With each round of drinks, plates of 'mezzi' 

 are set before the drinker — tit-bits of goat's milk cheese, onions, 

 cucumber or octopus and a hundred other appetising and thirst- 

 provoking morsels. There the men sat as the warm evening closed 

 in and the kebab merchants set up their crude street stalls and 

 impregnated the night air with the exciting smell of their grilling 

 meat. At this hour the streets were full of people, stepping from 

 the pavements to avoid the family groups seated upon chairs about 

 their doorways, their backs to the street; or stepping back onto 

 the path to avoid the horse-dravsTi gharries which passed with a 

 gentle jingle of bells and a clap of hooves, or to make way for 

 the overloaded buses which are always on the move in Cyprus, 

 their passengers leaning from the windows and their drivers bent 

 over the wheel as if driving for their lives. 



Famagusta made all these months in the Gulf worth it, for the 

 men had saved money there and could now spend at will, and so 



