12
Palestine 1947
We rode throughout the day. My nag, whose moniker was Hamish, for some reason, seemed to get used to me on his back. He plodded along contentedly. Feeding him sugar cubes didn’t seem to hurt any. We stopped for a quick, cold lunch, similar to the breakfast we’d had washed down with canteens of cold water. Then, after twenty minutes, kept moving. If I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn I was in northern Ontario. The rock faces reminded me of the Canadian Shield with craggy granite peaks heavily treed with some variety of fir or other. Not what I expected. I expected flat lands and desert and plenty of heat. At elevation, the wind blew cold and cruel. I think I wore everything I brought with me in that meager rucksack. Fortunately, I’d brought some of my army gear
