Seven Across the Sahara. By Harold Ingrams. (Murray. i ss.)
Mosr colonial servants, when posted from London to the Gold Coast, would think twice before deciding to drive themselves there. They would think a good deal oftener than twice if their family consisted of a seven-year-old daughter, a Hadhramaut-Arab adopted daughter a few years older, a young Scottish governess (subject, as it was to turn out, to homesickness, internal upsets and poetry- writing), an Aden lady of Persian descent who had emerged from strictest purdah some ten years before (but was to prove very handy at desert cookery), and an ex-A.T.S. secretary-chauffeuse. To the Ingramses, however, this seemed much the most sensible way to go. A 30 h.p. Ford V8 might be inferior to a camel, the African desert not up to the Hadhramaut, and the spoken Arabic odd ; but still any desert, any Arabic, was better than none. Their caravan caused some surprise, particularly among those determined to work out a convincing family relationship between its members, but reached the bat-infested bush-station in the Northern Territories intact. If there was discomfort on the way from sand, dust, heat, burst tyres, sore eyes, indigestion and shortened tempers, there were also high-lights: a mid-day rest by a well, a night under the stars on an inn roof, good talk with French officials who shared the travellers' knowledge and love of desert ways. Mr. Ingrams is not alarmed by great subjects, and plunges into the connection between religion and climate or the basic problems of African development with as much enthusiasm as he sets out to cross the Sahara. The result is a fresh, unprofessional, stimulating book.
Previous page
