We had been advised by our excursion team on board that it was not a good idea for ladies to go ashore on their own in Haifa. I queried this as I could see no reason for such extreme precautions in what I considered would be a modern western city. As it turned out I DID go ashore alone and actually felt ten times safer than I do every day on the streets of Croydon !
I wanted to try to find the British cemetery which I understood was quite near the centre of town. A guy at the local tourist information desk could not find it marked on the map (can they ever !) but told me roughly where it was and what buses I could catch. From the looks of things it seemed to be just up the road so I said I would walk. I was advised in rather guarded terms that it was in the Arab quarter and that the bus would be better. I walked !!
As it happened it was just fifteen minutes walk away and none of the locals gave me a second glance. The cemetery seemed to consist of three sections – The Templar Cemetery which was that of the original German settlers dating back to 1869; the British Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery with graves from both the First and Second World Wars; and a final section which housed two large World War Monuments. All of these sections were immaculataly maintained. The Templar Cemetery with lush vegetation and the other two sections with carefully maintained lawn.
The caretaker of the Templar Cemetery was very helpful and friendly and insisted that I sign his Visitor’s Book. I then spent an enjoyable hour photographing the British war grave headstones. By this time it was getting rather hot and I knew that I should head back to the ship for a break. On the way out I noticed a rather battered looking metal gate at the rear of the cemetery. I ventured up, peered inside and saw what appeared to be a fourth section of the cemetery. This area had the appearance of not being cared for at all. Granite chips took the place of lawn and there was no lush vegetation to soften the harshness of the sun. Many of the crosses from the headstones were broken and lay on the ground. I started to look at the inscriptions and to my surprise found that this was actually the old British Cemetery proper. Here lay the civil servants, the railway engineers, the wives and children and – most impotantly of all – those members of the British Palestine Police who had given their lives during the 1930s. I forgot that the sun was beating down on me (and that I desperately needed the loo!) and set about photographing these headstones. The light was far too bright for the camera to be able to pick up some of the inscriptions but I did what I could.
On the way back to the ship I was overcome by sadness at the sight of this cemetery. These poor souls were hidden away at the back as if their presence was an embarrassment. I promised myself that after lunch and a short rest I would return in the afternoon.
At 2pm I returned and noticed that the sun was now casting shadows on many of the headstones and that the shadow made the inscriptions stand out from the bright stone. I photographed all the headstones again in the hope of getting some better pictures. Every five minutes or so I heard the monotonous clanging of a bell and realised that there must be a level crossing nearby and the bell was to warn of an approaching train. A passenger train would pass and silence would reign for 3-4 minutes until the bell clanged again. This time it would be a freight train and then silence for another few minutes. I ventured to the far side of the cemetery and noticed that the embankment was slowly crumbling away. In a few years the graves on this side of the cemetery could find themselves rolling down the embankment onto the track. This was definitely a folorn spot and I could find nothing good to say about it. I laid my hand on the headstones and told them they had not been forgotten but in my heart of hearts I knew this was not the case. When I get home I will research as many of them as possible and do what I can to keep their memories alive.
No comments:
Post a Comment