nt of Olives, past the
British military grave-yard, to the place they call OETA.* The
Kaiser had it built to command every view of the countryside and
be seen from everywhere, as a monument to his own greatness--the
biggest, lordliest, most expensive hospice that his architects
could fashion, with pictures in mosaic on the walls and ceilings
of the Kaiser and his ancestors in league with the Almighty. But
the British had adopted it as Administration Headquarters.
[*Headquarters: Occupied Enemy Territory Administration.]

All the way up, behind and in front and on either hand, there
were views that millions* would give years of their lives to see;
and they would get good value for their bargain. Behind us, the
sky-line was a panorama of the Holy City, domes, minarets and
curved stone roofs rising irregularly above gray battlemented
walls. Down on the right was the ghastly valley of Jehoshaphat,
treeless, dry, and crowded with white tombs--"dry bones in the
valley of death." To the left were everlasting limestone hills,
one of them topped by the ruined reputed tomb of Samuel--all
trenched, cross-trenched and war-scarred, but covered now in a
Joseph's coat of flowers, blue, blood-red, yellow and white. [*
This is no exaggeration. There are actually millions, and on
more than one continent, whose dearest wish, could they have it,
would be to see Jerusalem before they die.]

There were lines of camels sauntering majestically along three
hill-tops, making time, and the speed of the car we rode in, seem
utterly unreal. And as we topped the hill the Dead Sea lay below
us, like a polished turquoise set in the yellow gold of the
barren Moab Mountains. That view made you gasp. Even Grim, who
was used to it, could not turn his eyes away.

We whirled past saluting Sikhs at the pompous Kaiserish entrance
gate, and got out on to front steps that brought to mind one of
those glittering hotels at German cure-resorts--bad art, bad
taste, bad amusements and a big bill.

But inside, in the echoing stone corridors that opened through
Gothic windows on a courtyard, in which statues of German super-
people stared with blind eyes, there was nothing now but bald
military neatness and economy. Hurrying up an uncarpeted stone
stairway (Grim seemed to be a speed-demon once his mind was set)
we followed a corridor around two sides of the square, past
dozens of closed doors bearing department names, to the
Administrator's quarters