Open Writing

Approaching Shepheards Hotel (later to be destroyed senselessly by rioting), I walked up the stairs to the entrance, paused for a moment to look at the wide terraces on either side, with their tables and customers relaxing with drinks, then I entered.

Inside, the hotel walls were of a light grey stone, decorated here and there with pharonic designs. Entering the large circular lounge with its high ceiling, I stood with mouth open, for all round the walls were arabesque designs, so artistic, so symmetrical, so pleasing to the eye that I could only continue to gaze in wonder and astonishment. Who designed it? Who built it?

I went in to the Long Bar, a 'Watering Hole’ over many decades for the famous and the infamous who had refreshed themselves there: from Lawrence of Arabia to Generals Kitchener, Allenby, Alexander, Montgomery, Eisenhower and also Winston Churchill and Anthony Eden. Add to that countless servicemen and women in two world wars, diplomats, spies, crooks, princes, explorers and les femmes fatales. Little wonder that, for me, the Shepheards Hotel had an aura about it, an atmosphere, as though, for a moment, time stood still to allow history to catch up.

In the bar I was talking to two officers and showed them my ring. One of them asked to look at it then, opening his penknife, he prodded the diamond.

"Hey!" I protested. "What do you think you're doing?"

He laughed and with a flick the diamond detached itself and fell on the bar. He tapped it with the knife and the 'diamond' shattered into pieces. It was glass. A few scratches with the blade revealed the worst; the gold flaked off to show brass underneath. They both burst out laughing.

I had to join in, then said, "Well, I'll be damned; but he was so genuine, the tears were streaming down his face, they had to be real."

The officer laughed again and queried, "Did he hold a handkerchief to his nose and face?

"Yes, why?"

"One of the oldest tricks. Folded inside the handkerchief they have a little bundle of onion, which they sniff to bring tears to their eyes. One sniff of that and it would even make a mother-in-law cry."

"Not my old bitch," said the other officer and took up the conversation. "Couldn't you smell onion when he took out his handkerchief?"

"Yes," I replied, "but I thought nothing of it; all Egyptians seem to smell of onion or garlic."

They both laughed. One said, "Well, you've been had. Lucky it was only two quid. You learn the hard way. We had a far worse lesson."

"What was that?" I asked.

They remained silent, regarding their empty glasses with studious concentration.

I took the hint and the barman refilled their glasses pushing two small plates of salted peanuts towards them — an excellent practice, except that I was buying the drinks to slake their salt-induced thirst. After they had benevolently toasted my good health, I waited.

"Well," one of them continued, "four of us wanted to see a good strip show and a local said that he could give us the contact for a pound each. (Total expenditure, so far, four pounds.)

“We were all for it, so we took the jeep and parked it down a dark alley.
We then went into a named cafe to see the manager, named Ali, who would fix us up. He immediately arranged for somebody to watch the jeep for us, for four pounds. We told him that we'd give him two pounds and the other two pounds afterwards. He took two pounds in agreement. (Total now six pounds.)

“Ali took us to the back of the cafe and opened the back door into an alley. Then he said, 'Give me two pounds each for the show to arrange it.' We weren't dumb; smart lads we were. We compromised for one pound each. (Total now ten pounds.)

“Ali left, then returned soon afterwards. He half opened the back door and warned us that we were out of bounds and the MPs were in the area. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘Do you see that door opposite, wide open? Well, dash across the street and into that door. Ready?' We nodded our agreement. Ali waited, watching out of the half open door. 'It's all OK. Run for it.'

“We dashed out across the alley and, as we did so, the door opposite slammed shut. We turned round to see that Ali had shut his door too.
“Now, I said how we were smart lads, and it dawned on us fairly quickly that we'd been done like a Christmas dinner. We dashed up the alley, then round into the street and entered the cafe again.

“A large Greek greeted us. His apron was so filled out by his fat belly that it looked like a spinnaker on a racing yacht. 'Can I help you, gentlemen?' he gushed. We of course asked to see Ali, the Manager.

“The Greek looked puzzled. 'Ali? Ali?' he queried (as though hearing such a name for the first time). Yes, Ali, the Manager, we told him. He raised his arms expressively, 'There is no Manager called Ali here. I, Stephanos, am the Manager. I don't know of any Ali. What can I do for you?'

“We were beaten fair and square, so we went back down the dark alley to the jeep. We got in, started the engine, put it in gear, let out the clutch. Nothing happened. The engine was revving and we hadn't budged an inch. Not surprising! The bastards had put the jeep on wooden blocks and pinched the wheels, and the bloody spare too.

“We rushed back to the blasted cafe and accosted Stephanos with our problem. He wasn't sure that he could help but went off to see. Soon he returned and told us, 'You are lucky. I've found a garage that has five jeep wheels available, but he doesn't want to sell them unless he can get ten pounds for each one. Will that help?'

“What could we do? We were over a barrel. Between us we scraped up fifty pounds and the wheels were obtained. (Total now sixty pounds.)

“A large crowd gathered, as we put on the wheels we had bought, and which we knew darned well, and they knew we knew, were ours in the first place. There was a final sequel."

He paused and, once again, the two of them regarded their empty glasses. I obliged with the refill.

"You mean, there was more yet?" I asked.

Again, they generously drank to my good health. "Yes," said the narrator, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “Yes, indeed. We got the wheels on and the crowd, oh so obligingly, helped remove the wooden blocks. And with their loud cheers ringing in our ears we drove back to camp. Then the four of us discovered that when the buggers had helped us, they had picked our pockets and our bloody wallets had gone. The only consolation was that there wasn't much left in the wallets by that time. Sixty quid had gone and we hadn't even seen a tit for our trouble."

I bade them farewell and, with my gold ring, of doubtful parentage and minus its diamond, in my pocket, I left them. As I departed I turned round to look at them. They were roaring with laughter and clinking their glasses.

I had a feeling that, perhaps, I had been conned for the second time that day.