Len A. Hynds

THE EGYPTIAN SOLDIER TRILOGY

This trilogy is about the first Israeli War in 1948, when that country formed just a matter of weeks before, was attacked by all surrounding Arab nations, excluding Lebanon.

Not only did this civilian Israeli army hold them, these overwhelming numbers, but actually began to push them back. The Egyptian Army was in full retreat across the wilderness of the Sinai Desert, and the Israelis were fast approaching the Suez Canal, which the British Army protected. We managed to get between the opposing armies and stopped the fighting in our part of the Middle East. After a few weeks we had the whole of the Sinai to ourselves.

As the majority of the Arab Armies had been supplied with armour by Russia, and we were at the height of the cold war, we maintained radio silence. This incident came about when, as an 18 year old Military Policeman, I was alone driving a jeep south, to deliver a message to an infantry unit. On my return North, I came across the dead body of a young Arab soldier, who after his battle had fled into the wilderness and died of thirst.

Part 1: PRIVATE ABDUL LATIF – EGYPTIAN SOLDIER

He was just a black dot in the desert.
It was the buzzards that caught my eye.
They were circling above, but always alert,
just waiting to see me drive by.

It was a soldier, laying there dead.
A young Egyptian, who’d died of thirst.
Those large birds, had half eaten his head.
I fired in anger and cursed.

They settled down, some distance away,
as I looked at that young man so still,
From his neck I took his disc so grey,
slowly reading his name with a chill.

Abdul Latif, that plastic it read;
a soldier for the young King Farouk.
Now in Sinai, he lay here dead.
Did he know, when that shilling he took

In his battle, the Israelis had won.
Most Egyptians had fled to the rear.
Their officers had already run,
and poor Abdul had wandered in fear.

To the South, lost he had gone,
to the silent wilderness there
Where the merciless sun always shone,
bringing blindness and death in its glare.

I took a picture from his hand,
and a letter from his mum.
I buried him in that deep sand,
the buzzards watched me dumb.

I stood in silent homage still,
his god I didn’t know.
A soldier’s silent farewell drill,
before I had to go.

His burial spot well never be found,
beside that tall shifting dune,
even though I marked his mound,
it would be covered so soon.

I only hope his mother was told,
that I had buried her son with respect,
by an English Christian, in that land so old,
and not left, to a timeless neglect.

©Copyright circa 1950 by Len A. Hynds

Part 2: ALONE IN THE DESERT

The sky was of velvet darkness, studded with diamond light:
The moon a silver lantern, bathing everything in sight.
The desert sands were drifting, as they always did by day,
and the arab he came riding,
riding, riding.
The Arab, he came riding, up to where I lay.

He was dressed in black completely, with a veil from nose to chin,
robes flowing all discreetly, and boots of fine goat-skin.
The desert sands were drifting, as they always did by day,
and the arab, he came riding,
riding, riding.
The Arab, he came riding, up to where I lay.

He stopped and raised his rifle, pointing it at me.
In fear I lay, as in a dream, but this surely cannot be.
The desert sands were drifting, as they always did by day.
and the arab, he came riding,
riding, riding.
The Arab, he came riding, up to where I lay.

He then looked just beyond me, at something out of sight.
His rifle dropped, his veil fell down, his teeth showed in the night.
The desert sands were drifting, as they always did by day,
and the Arab, he’d come riding,
riding, riding.
The Arab he’d come riding, up to where I lay.

He then salaamed and bowed his head, this spectre of the night,
then rode away, this thing of dread, that had given such a fright.
The desert sands were drifting, as they always did by day,
and the Arab, he’d gone riding,/
riding, riding.
The Arab, he’d gone riding, oh so far away.

Part 3: A SOLDIER’S LAST REQUEST

Please don’t leave me, with this darkness of death:
please not here, when I draw my last breath.
Take me away, from this desert without water,
from this land of endless slaughter,

I see giant birds in silence descend;
my poor wounded body to not attend,
strutting around in their awful haste,
waiting, waiting, my flesh to taste.

I see no pity in their cruel eyes,
as they ignore the swarming flies,
on my bleeding face, set stark with fear
no human face, can I see here.

Alas, at last, my body dies;
my last sight is that buzzard’s eyes.
Now my spirit, sits quite alone,
watching the birds peck to the bone.

Then an Englishman appears.
He drives them off, I see his tears.