Little Caroline has grown out of the stage where she is just an adorable bunch of sweetness and has become an individual in her own right.

Past two now, she is at that distracting, exasperating, ludicrous, amazing and precious interval when youngsters try everything once and most things twice or more. Here is an extract from Ruth's latest letter:

"Had quite some excitement one day while Phil was in Detroit when I went out to the garbage pail and CL quietly turned the night-latch and locked me out of the house. Front door also was still locked because I hadn't been out there yet that morning. Garage and car also locked, all storm windows carefully hooked from inside and windows locked, and the neighbors away for the week-end! And me, on a nice cold day, with only a light jacket for wraps, no gloves, et cetera.

"Tried for some half hour to get CL to turn one of the night latches enough to open it and she did fiddle around but didn't get either of them completely turned. I finally remembered one kitchen window was unlatched, because we have a thermometer business that keeps that storm window from quite closing. It was one of the little high ones over the sink, and I had nothing to climb on but a couple of garbage pails piled on each other. Finally managed to get up where I could see in, but not enough to climb in.

"With another 15 minutes or so of painstaking instructions on my part and painfully slow compliance on Caroline's, I managed to induce her to get a chair, climb up on a kitchen counter, open a cupboard door, get my household key ring from the hook and hand it to me through the window!

"She took a sudden and unusual notion to be extremely obedient--to earlier instructions--and kept rebelling, informing me virtuously that she wasn't supposed to climb on the kitchen table, that it would be a bad girl to get into the cupboard and take the keys down, and it was quite a task to convince her that this was an emergency and it would be quite all right, for once! If only her conscience would pick more appropriate times to bother her!

"I must stop now and give her a little lift with the housework. She is dusting industriously and trying to set things to rights. She loves the new vacuum which she calls the 'bapoon cleaner,' so much that I hardly can get my hands on it." --Hope

Here is the story of a rural community club which has weather two world wars and has cleared itself of debt for the second time in 30 years (the first property having burned to the ground during the depths of the depression).

The club has 19 stars on its first service flag, 46 on its present one, and in some cases father and son appear on the respective flags.

We wonder if any other rural clubs of the middle west have a longer continuous history. We imagine that many a community has a similar club, with shining memories of happy gatherings--plays and concerts, minstrel shows and masquerades, showers for brides and charivaris for newlyweds, farewells for soldiers and for departing families.

We would be interested in hearing of any such organizations, and their stories may inspire other communities to see their own opportunities for friendship and unity.

As one woman said of the club of which the history is given today, "You don't appreciate what an organization like this means until you have to live a while in a community that hasn't one." -- Hope

Story of the Community Boosters

In December, 1913, a few of the people of the community around Kernan, Ill., met and organized a community club, known as the "Community Boosters." The purpose of the organization as set forth in the constitution, was to "to work for the betterment of the community." No territorial lines were drawn; men, women and children could join, and the membership fee was placed at 10 cents per year, an amount considered sufficient to provide for the actual running expenses.

During the first winter about the only activities of the club consisted of the regular monthly meetings with programs of a literary nature. The local people contributed most of the numbers, such as papers, readings, music, debates, etc., while occasionally a speaker was secured from outside the community to help out. The attendance at these monthly meetings grew steadily during the winter, and the membership increased also as the people became interested in the club.

The meeting place of the new organization was the town hall, situated in the little village of Kernan -- at that time a disreputable building with a low ceiling, poor light and ventilation and straight-backed benches for seats. It was not an inviting place for such activities. The regular meeting in April came on the night of election, and as the election officials were busy counting ballots all evening in the hall, the Boosters obtained permission to hold their meeting in an old abandoned church across the street. It was somewhat better than the hall, but the roof resembled a sieve, and as a result much of the plaster had fallen from the walls. It was roomier than the town hall and more comfortable.

An Annual Picnic

The old church was used by the Boosters for about a year, during which time a lot of things were accomplished, trivial in themselves apart, but altogether of much importance to the community. First, a custom was started of having a community celebration on the Fourth of July. A big picnic out in the woods, with ball game and other sports, program of music and speaking, and a big dinner at noon, became an annual affair. Practically everybody in the community went to the picnic and many visitors came from surrounding towns. People said they had a lot more real pleasure out there than at the noisy celebrations in town, with none of the evil after-effects.

There was no musical instrument at the church, except an old wheezy organ that had long outlived its usefulness. So in the fall, after the first Fourth of July picnic, the Boosters gave a chicken supper and applied the proceeds toward the purchase of a second-hand piano. This was their first acquisition of property, and they began to have more faith in themselves and more pride in their work.

In the winter the young people worked up a play. It was a three-act farce, a college play, with 22 characters. Most of the young people taking part in the play were complete amateurs, never having done anything of the kind before. It was almost impossible to persuade some of them to take part on account of their natural timidity. For nearly three months they practiced, meeting two or three times a week at the old church. They had to build their own stage, manufacture the scenery, rig up curtain, footlights and all, from the ground up. The play was given two successive nights, and the old church was packed to the doors both times. A week later they went up the road to Ransom and repeated the performance. When the theatrical season closed, the Boosters found themselves with over $100 in the treasury.

This was not, however, the greatest thing that the play accomplished. It was not started as a money-making proposition. Its real benefit to the community came first from the fact that it furnished something clean and wholesome to interest and hold the attention of the young people during the winter, and, second, from the fact that it showed the people that they had in their own community all the elements of amusement and entertainment that they needed or wanted. For these young people who had taken part in the play, who had been so timid and reluctant, surprised their friends and even themselves by the excellence of their performance.

Helped on Oats

Early the next spring the club found a way to be of financial benefit to the community. The county agricultural adviser, I. S. Brooks, came to one of the meetings and talked on the treatment of seed oats with formaldehyde for the prevention of smut in the crop. Very few of the farmers in the neighborhood had ever done anything in this line. At the close of Mr. Brooks' talk a committee was appointed by the president of the Boosters to canvass the community and find out how much formaldehyde could be disposed of, in the hope of ordering together and getting wholesale rates. The committee would have been pleased to be assured of an order of 10 gallons, but they disposed of 50 gallons, a whole barrel. The treatment cost the farmers about 1 cent per bushel for their seed, and in the fall over 75 farms in the township, where more than 5,400 acres of oats were grown, showed an increased yield of nine bushels per acre where the seed had been treated. The next spring two barrels of formaldehyde were ordered, and our community used more than any other township in the county.

The club had now been using the old church for just about a year, with no mention having been made of rent. The Boosters felt that if they continued to use the building some formal arrangement should be made for paying for its use. So they suggested their willingness to the trustees of the church and both parties agreed that a rental of $25 a year would be fair. The building needed a new roof very badly and it was figured that the material would cost about $100. The Boosters agreed to furnish half of this money, and this was to cover the rental for the year that they had already used the church and also a year in advance. The church authorities were to furnish the other $50 and everybody would help in putting the roof on.

Then it was thought best to have a written lease so that everything would be on a business basis. And this is where the rub came. The church trustees stipulated that the building was not to be used for plays, suppers, auction sales or "anything that would desecrate a church property." The club could not agree to this. Its members felt that they had lived in the community long enough that they need not be bound by such restrictions and they failed to see how any of the forbidden activities could "desecrate" a church that had not been used for purposes of worship for several years. So temporarily the Booster returned to the town hall.

The membership had grown by leaps and bounds and the hall was no longer big enough for the meetings, to say nothing of its inconvenience and lack of furnishings. The Boosters recognized that something must be done to secure a bigger and better meeting place. Failing in the effort to interest the township officials in fixing up the town hall, they began to plan on a building of their own. The church trustees offered to sell the church and, after preliminary dickering, the building and grounds were purchased for $400.

Incorporation

The foregoing happenings had been spread over a period of about two years. Now that the club had acquired some real property, a more business-like organization was thought necessary. So after much discussion and consultation it was decided to incorporate. And now one of the corporations regularly listed with the secretary of state of Illinois is "Community Boosters of Kernan, Ill., organized to work for the betterment of the community." Stock was issued in the corporation, valued at $1 per share, so that every person who contributed a dollar received a stock certificate and actually owned a part of the Booster property. The purchase of a share of stock took the place of membership for a year, and after that the annual dues were 50 cents. The business is handled by nine directors, three elected each year. These directors organize, and their officers are the officers of the club.

As soon as the transfer of property had been made the work of repairing and remodeling began. The farmers of the community did what part of the work they could, such as shingling, excavating, hauling, etc. As many as 30 men were working there some days, the women serving dinner in the town hall. The old church and its site cost $400; the repairs and alterations and equipment cost about $4,000. A new roof was put on the church, which was a building about 32 by 44.

Two additions were built, one on the rear, the full width of the building and 12 feet deep, to be used for a stage and dressing rooms; one of the same size in front for vestibule, basement stairway and committee room. A basement was dug under the main building and the stage addition, and this was divided into a comfortable kitchen and a spacious dining room. A sloping floor was put in the auditorium, second-hand opera chairs from a "movie" house were installed, and a regular drop curtain was bought for the stage. The building was furnace-heated and acetylene-lighted, attractive in appearance, the exterior being painted white.

On Dec. 7, 1916, three years after the club was organized, the building was dedicated. From then on that winter there was scarcely a week when the hall was not used two or three evenings a week. Parties, suppers, stereopticon lectures, socials, school programs, plays, minstrels -- all served to keep the community and the building busy. All organizations and enterprises that used the building were required to pay a fee sufficient to heat it, light it, pay the janitor's bill and provide for the estimated wear and tear on the building for the occasion. In this way the building became practically self-supporting.

In February the young people of the Boosters gave another play. Twenty-two characters were required and many of the people taking part had been in the former play. It was noticeable that they had learned a great deal in the matter of self-pos-

(article continued on page 6 of the Journal, but not included in manuscript)

Household readers will be interested to learn of the honors won by Hope's sons. Ernest, the second son, this year duplicated the record of his brother, Wilbert, by being chosen the winner of the bronze plaque of Gamma Sigma Delta, honor society in agriculture at the University of Illinois.

Wilbert is at present in the army. Ernest is enlisting in the navy V-5 program and will be a member of the newly formed third wing of the Flying Illini, which reports for duty in June.

The third son, Joey, is busy setting new records in high school, while the daughter, Ruth, mother of Caroline Lucile, well, Grandma Hope might have a further report to make some of these days!

So, there, Householders, and a fig for Hope's modesty. -- The Editors.

At Thanksgiving we had the customary dinner, with home-grown fowl and vegetables, pumpkin and mince pie, cranberry sauce and so on -- but at the table were only Daddy and Joe, the neighbor-boy helper, and I.

The day was spent by the men in the fields finishing the husking. It seemed easier to fill the day that way and we were glad we had plenty of work to do. When we heard from our service boys, we felt that we had all spent a similar wartime holiday and would make up for it at war's end.

Our Navy boy, in pre-flight school, wrote that their celebration consisted of 35 minutes for dinner instead of the usual 15. Our Army Signal Corps lieutenant wrote that "they had quite a turkey dinner all over camp, but it happened I had a special class during the noon hour, so I had a couple of hot dogs and a cup of coffee."

Our nephew in the Armored Forces spent Thanksgiving day en route from maneuvers at one field to a new location in Texas, and the other nephew, studying meteorology in the Army Air Corps in Rhode Island, had a typical Thanksgiving dinner, but strictly with soldiers -- and so far from home.

Not even Ruth and her family could be with us, as her husband is in such urgent war work that he can scarcely have any time away. A year ago, Wilbert was the only one who was absent. He spent his first Thanksgiving away from home at Camp Crowder, Mo., and then when Christmas came it was rather touching to have him write that his duty on Christmas day, along with others, was to keep the new arrivals getting homesick -- keep them at games or something so they wouldn't brood. The single men had let the married men take their share of this duty the day before Christmas so they could spend the actual holiday with their families. So our boy -- and I dare say the others were in exactly the situation -- just 21 and away from home on Christmas for the first time in his life, devoted himself to keeping others from getting homesick. Well, that's one way of keeping your mind off your own troubles.

Just before Wilbert left for the service a year ago the 14th of November, the two college boys managed to get home for a week-end to tell him goodbye, and we took some pictures. It so happened that one group we got of the boys was in their grandfather's yard beside the flagpole and the flag was flying in the autumn wind. Now, a year later, they are all in uniform, serving under that flag in New Jersey, Georgia and Texas, with two of them likely to ship out overseas by the first of the year. Growing up, as children are bound to do, they would have scattered any way within a year or so, but he war seems to point up the separation so. -- Hope.

Memory Gem

The sun shines after every storm; there is a solution for every problem; and the soul's highest duty is to be of good cheer. -- Emerson.

Since it came on Sunday, she had a chance to have a real celebration with her daddy home all day. She had had her usual quota of sleep, so her birthday started out bright and early, when she popped in to ask, "Now is it my birthday?" We put her presents on the breakfast table so she could have them the first thing and enjoy them all day. It turned out she knew a good deal more about such an occasion than we realized. We didn't know that she knew much what to expect, but as soon as she saw the packages, she asked, "Is the cake in one of those?" She also knew she was supposed to get to blow out the candles on the cake.

We had fixed the breakfast table in festive style and had the packages on it to be viewed and speculated upon during the meal. As soon as all three of us had eaten, she lit in on them and had a great time opening them all by herself. Then she and her daddy enjoyed the morning playing, while I took care of bottles, formula, bath and so on for Richard.

We had dinner at noon, including the guest of honor's preferred foods, such as chicken and frozen peas and of course, a birthday cake. The latter was a white angel food with pale pink frosting and it had three big pink candles in the middle and 36 tiny blue ones, one for each month, around the edge. No special reason for them except that the only big candles I could get were pink and we thought it would be nice to have some color contrast and I happened to see these delectable little blue ones, so figured out a way to include them. We fixed the table with a white cloth, pink lace-paper doilies under the plates, pink candles in crystal holders, and pale blue napkins, so it all matched the cake.

After her nap, the afternoon was Caroline's to plan. She was to get to choose what we should do. She decided she'd like to go "out to the country" and enjoy the "swings and sings." The "sings" consist of various other pieces of playground apparatus. There is a lovely playground there, all fenced in, with lots of trees, where the youngsters can play. She quite wore us out teeter-tottering and swinging, and we took a roll of pictures. Then we went home and to bed, after a pretty full day. "This was my happy birthday," she murmured sleepily at bedtime. -- Reported by her mother.

Memory Gem

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you are trudging seems all uphill,
When funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When the care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit! -- Selected.

Caroline is busy with a set of anagrams. She is quite fascinated now with learning to identify letters. She recognizes R, Q, O, I and L whenever she sees them (capitals only) and she plays half a day at a time matching anagram cards with letters in her ABC books. With some of them she runs descriptive phrases right along with the name of the letter, as "This is Q -- has a little tail on it."

Ruth: R-U-T-H (yes, I am).

She has learned three words in lower-case letters: Baby, boy and mother. She wants me to spend quite a bit of time teaching her to read. That pastime is at least less bothersome than one she experimented with yesterday: I discovered she had poured Rickie's $2.50 bottle of codliver oil concentrate out into a custard cup (spilling it liberally on her overalls, her little chair, the table, floor and whatnot in the process) and was giving her doll an oil-bath in it! The loss of the oil seems insignificant in comparison with the problem of getting the smell out of the house....Also yesterday I overheard a conversation on her toy telephone. Apparently she's getting tired of always being the one left home with someone to take care of her. At any rate she was saying in businesslike tones, "I wonder if I could get a girl to stay with my mommy?"

She has an imaginary play-mate now, "Bob." She and he are now inseparable. I haven't figured out much about "Bob's" exact shape, size and appearance. But he is ever-present and she holds the door open for him, offers him bites of her apple, carries any new discovery for him to see and now and then tells me with horror that I am stepping on him! Or else that I'm stepping in the river -- we have an imaginary river winding through the house, not to be stepped in under any circumstances.

Rickie is beside me in his basket, squealing and laughing like everything. He gets so tickled sometimes that he laughs loud enough to be heard all over the house. He is such a happy little boy, laughs so much and watches us a lot and takes an interest in the world around him. Sleeps most of the time, of course, but begins to stay awake more and playing during the day. He's growing so fast! His eyes are still dark gray-blue and he's getting more hair of a reddish-brown tint. -- Reported by their mother, Ruth.

Memory Gem

I wish that there were some wonderful place
Called the Land of Beginning Again,
Where all our mistakes and our heartaches
And all of our poor, selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door
And never put on again. -- Selected.

Dear Folks: Well, here I am settled in my new surroundings somewhere in Egypt and about ready to go to work. Got in yesterday noon with a couple of overnight lay-overs on the way. How's that for traveling?

It was really a swell trip -- an experience worth an awful lot. And after riding that far in a plane I can see why some people go for flying in a big way. It's surely a nice way to travel ... We stayed at Casablanca overnight. It was our first glimpse of a city that was really foreign. We got in after dark and were back at the airport the next AM before it was very light, so we really didn't get a good look at the city -- but we did get our first glimpse of the lower class African natives -- going along the road in their little two-wheeled carts hitched to a donkey and wearing ankle length dresses (men, women and children all the same), and turbans around their heads -- no shoes on their feet. A few of them had camels -- and for the first time we saw camels outside of a zoo.

Just before we hit the coast of Africa, an hour or so out, we had a heavy cloud bank between us and the ocean. It was perfectly clear above but we couldn't see a thing below except once in a while in a break in the clouds we saw the blue of the ocean. Finally as we neared the African coast, the pilot began taking the plane down through the clouds and for several minutes we couldn't see a thing either way, up or down. Then all of a sudden we burst out of the clouds (below) and saw Africa below us. It was quite a sight, especially since we hadn't been able to see it as we approached. There, near Casablanca, the ground was quite flat and desert-looking from the air, and every now and then we'd see a little habitation of some kind, a couple of stone shelters, some kind of animals and a small area fenced off with stone. Probably some native's pride and joy. ... From the air Casablanca looked like quite a city -- several large buildings, any as big as our own small skyscrapers, but on the ground it seemed to be much more backwards, quite dirty and quite smelly, as all these North African cities are.

Bengasi was our other overnight stop. Due to a little radio trouble the pilot didn't want to tackle the next leg of the journey at night without it. We didn't get to see the city but did get a good night's sleep and saw one of these beautiful African moonlit nights. It was even nicer than the one we saw at Bermuda.

After we left Casablanca, the terrain became very rough and mountainous and was that way all the way to Tunis. Practically all waste land, and we could readily understand when we saw it how tough it must have been a little over a year ago for the allies to push out the Germans. After Bengasi about all we saw was the desert -- and I mean desert. It was a clear day most of the way and as far in any direction as one could see was desert, flat and sandy, with no vegetation, no roads and no sign of habitation except for a native dwelling of some sort once in a great while. ... And then, all of a sudden we saw a very distinct line ahead which looked almost like the shore of a large body of water but which turned out to be the Nile delta. It was surprising how the desert waste could turn so suddenly and completely into a very green, well planted, thickly populated area.

Ahead we could see Cairo and between us and the city the Pyramids. The pilot was very cooperative and circled around the Pyramids completely, giving us an excellent birds-eye view of the whole scene. It was really quite a thrilling sight and surely brought out very well the great size of the Pyramids. we were several thousand feet up and everything else looked very small, but the Pyramids actually seemed to come up to meet us! Very large. The Sphinx, on the other hand, looked very small in comparison, smaller than I had expected. In fact, we had a hard time finding it from the plane.

While in Cairo, we toured what is known as "Old Cairo" and I can't begin to explain or describe it. It's really old and is filled with the dark-skinned Arab type of native. There are buildings there built before Christ -- in fact we went in a church, called the St. Sarguis church and supposedly the oldest church in Egypt. In the cellar of it they claim the Holy Family lived during the Flight to Egypt. It's supposed to be in the same form as it was then -- and looks it. None of these old buildings are kept up like museums but are merely standing there, still used by the natives and quite dirty and worse for wear ... But the way these Arabs live is the sight! They sit around in the streets in the old, dirty, torn dresses and turbans, usually not clean shaven, and very dirty. They don't wear shoes (that is, most of them don't ) -- and what a smell! The whole town has a distinct smell -- but Old Cairo is much worse. They stick their food in piles on tables right in the dust and dirt of the street -- some kind of pastry stuff and some spoiled looking meat -- and sit around on their haunches and eat it. Some of the women are veiled and some not, but all of them wear heavy black clothes when on the street where people can see them. Their diet must be deficient in some way (which I can readily understand!) because practically all of them have very poor eyesight. Lots of them have one eye shriveled up and almost out of sight -- and several of the children I saw had one eye all white in the middle. Lots of them, especially the old people, are missing teeth and they surely aren't what you'd call a handsome bunch of human critters.

In the newer part of Cairo one finds the rich Egyptians. In Egypt the people are either very rich or very poor. The rich ones are quite well educated and live in nice looking places, although inside I imagine we would still consider them a little backward.

Saw a caravan of four camels today, and one constantly sees Arabs with a donkey pulling a very ancient looking and quite small two-wheeled cart loaded with rock, or fruit, or baskets of stuff, or maybe his family, walking slowly along the road. I'll bet they could step on glass and not feel it -- their feet look that tough.

As far as beauty is concerned, probably the nicest part of the trip was the takeoff and seeing Miami and Miami Beach from the air. And the ocean -- I always thought it would be a grayish green. At least it always looks that way along the shore. But from the sky, it's perfectly blue! And I really mean blue. Sometimes light and sometimes very dark, but always blue except where it is very shallow and then it becomes very green. The clouds are very beautiful from the air also. A person could write a book on them alone. We saw so many different kinds from the thin, very light ones to the big fluffy white thunderheads, with the thick dark rain clouds in between.

We went through rain and sleet part of the trip, and at other times there was hardly a cloud in the sky as we could see.

We spent one night on the plane in the air before we got to the Azores. Just stretched out on the floor or on the seats along the sides wherever we could find room. The seats were the "bucket" type of seats -- you sit along the sides facing in -- the kind the paratroops use.

I have all my money in Egyptian money now, piastres and pounds. When at Casablanca we used francs. A piastre is four cents, a franc two.

So far the whole trip has been very enjoyable and I think I'll like my stay here quite well. --Love, Wilbert.

Advice to a Bride

(Especially to Hope's Ruth)
A brand-new husband is like a shoe --
He must be well "broke in,"
And your future wedded life will be
Just as you begin.
You must be firm from the very first,
Though smiles will help along.
But see that he hangs his coat and pants
On hooks where they belong.

Put onions in his soup, my dear,
And pepper, too, a lot.
A man's heart is in his stomach,
So keep it plenty hot.
Make him wipe his shoes off good
Before you let him in.
These things may not seem important,
But is just as you begin.

Make him get the breakfast,
And let you "beauty nap."
And soothe his injured feelings
With a tender little slap.
Mend his socks with binder twine,
Patch overalls with tin,
For as I've said before, my dear,
It's just as you begin.

--Blossom, South Dakota.

Memory Verse

Though troubles help to make us strong
Every time they come,
I find it hard to think of this
When I am having some.

(From Cheerful Cherubs by Rebecca McCann.)

Dear Folks: Family to the rescue! With flu in Ruth's family, grandma (that's me!) has to go there to care for the three little ones, and son Wilbert comes to my rescue with what to us, are interesting travel letters. So maybe others will find things of interest in them, too. There are four installments, of which this is the first. -- Hope.

The plane was supposed to take off around noon, but due to a very unusual and quite violent wind and rainstorm, which wrecked a dozen planes on the field and grounded all flights, we didn't leave till the next day.

And so, 6:00 o'clock Wednesday morning found my Val-o-Pac and I on our way to Payne field with a seven-day leave in my pocket. We were supposed to weigh in for the Palestine flight at 7:00 a. m. (which we did), but then, as usual, began a long period of waiting which lasted until 11:00 o'clock when finally we were told to load up. The plane was a C-46, a two-motored army transport. We got into our bucket seats, fastened our safety belts, and were in the air by 11:15.

During the first part of the flight all to be seen from the plane was sand -- no vegetation, no civilization . . . real desert, typically Egyptian. Before long we crossed the thin, blue, almost straight line of the Suez canal. This was my first view of it, and it was a very pretty one. We crossed at a point just north of where the canal widened into Bitter lake, the site of President Roosevelt's middle east conference, and as we passed over we saw several surface vessels and one submarine cutting their way smoothly through the water. . . . Then more sand and more of the same nothingness that is so prevalent for miles on either side of the Nile valley.

As we continued on our northeasterly course we came to the eastern shore of the Mediterranean sea and followed it the rest of the way. The Mediterranean has the same very beautiful deep blue that all large bodies of water have as seen from the air, and has the same mysterious way of blending into the blue of the sky, making the horizon indistinguishable.

Finally we began to notice a change, gradual at first though increasing in abruptness every minute. At first the change appeared to be only desert that was being irrigated to some extent, just enough to maintain a small amount of vegetation, but there were no trees, and the color from the air was a sort of greyish one instead of the deep green we saw a little later. Seemingly all of a sudden, as we approached the area of Lydda where we were to land, the landscape changed -- and definitely for the better. Below us we saw a very pretty and colorful picture of lush farming country, an even pattern of fields, straight roads lined with trees, the dark clustered green of orchards and groves, the same dark green of grass, and the yellowish green of the ripening wheat and barley fields. We were absorbed in the changing scene below us when the order came to fasten our safety belts for the landing, and a few minutes later, at about 12:45, we were taxiing down the runway of the Lydda allied airport.

G.I. trucks took us and our baggage from the field to the Leave center at Camp Tel Litwinsky, where the enlisted men and women were to stay. While there we exchanged our Egyptian pounds and piastres for Palestinian pounds and mills. (The Egyptian pound is worth $4.13 -- the Palestinian pound $4.09.) And then a G.I. bus to the city of Tel Aviv and the Yarden hotel.

Tel Aviv is an all-Jewish town of about 200,000, the first such to be developed since the downfall of the Jewish state, and now the largest town in Palestine. It was founded in 1909 when a few Jews decided to build a garden suburb outside the northern boundary of the ancient town of Jaffa. The name Tel Aviv means "The Hill of Spring" and it is rightly named -- especially after nine months in Cairo. It was really a pleasant relief with its modern buildings and its clean, broad, uncrowded streets lined with trees of various kinds. Then, too, it is located right on the Mediterranean and has a nice sandy beach for bathing. The Yarden hotel is probably the nicest hotel in town and was taken over some time ago by the United States army for officers on leave in the Holy Land. It is run in a very hospitable manner by Jewish civilians, and the accommodations are very good.

I arrived at the Yarden about 3:00 in the afternoon. The rooms are furnished for two officers, and as yet I had no room-mate. But not for long. I had just gone upstairs and started to clean up and unpack when in walked Lt. Wily H. Shira of New Castle, Pa., an ATC pilot stationed at Payne field near Cairo. We discovered our leaves covered the same period of time, and that we were both interested in seeing the same things, so we proceeded to plan our week. While down in the lobby checking on the various tours available, who should walk in but Major "Sandy" Sundstrom, Lt. Riiso Owre, and Captain "Willy" Wilensky, all three from the Pension Elite, 39 Kasr El Nil, Cairo (my own happy home in Egypt). They were all on leave, and had been up north to Haifa and Beirut, and were now on their way back, planning to spend their last two days in Tel Aviv.

After introductions and we had taken a 30-minute swim in the Mediterranean, we diced we'd like to try the Jewish kosher dinner that Willy so nobly suggested, and try it we did. First we had chopped herring salad, then "fruit soup," then Hungarian goulash (actually stew) and lastly fruit for dessert. It was all very tasty and we were favorably impressed, though due to being strictly a kosher menu, we had no milk or cream, since we had butter and weren't allowed both.

On Thursday we got up at 6:00 and after a very nice breakfast of bacon and eggs, we found we had been mis-informed on the Thursday tour, and instead of going to the Sea of Galilee would have to go to Jerusalem. Since Sundstrom, Owre, and Wilensky had already been there, they decided to spend the day in Tel Aviv, but Wily and I caught the 7:30 bus, went out to Camp Tel Litwinsky to pick up the enlisted men, and then went to Jerusalem in a convoy of about half a dozen G.I. trucks. The trip was an interesting and scenic one. For the first time we got a close look at the Palestinian countryside and it was certainly a sight for sore eyes after the sand and dirt of Egypt and the little garden-plot farms of the Nile valley.

As we left Tel Aviv we first passed through a quite level area, most of which was covered with orchards and groves of lemon, orange, and nut trees, many of which were enclosed by fences of either cactus (of the prickly pear variety) or evergreens of some kind. The smell of the orange blossoms was "something to write home about," and the fruit hanging on the trees looked very tempting. Gradually we moved from the orchards and tomato plots and vineyards to an area of more open and slightly rolling plains, the real agricultural district. Here we saw broad fields of ripening wheat and barley, a few patches of corn and oats, some large bare plowed fields, and no fences. It reminded me some of the wheat plains of South Dakota, though on a smaller scale, of course. It was certainly nice to be able to look off into the distance at fields of good looking grain crops for as far as one could see. We also saw herds of dairy cattle grazing here and there, in this section. From this fertile and slightly rolling agricultural area we proceeded into a much more hilly, almost mountainous, terrain that was quite similar in topography to the hill country of some of our eastern states, except that the hills were not as well covered with trees. There were some trees growing on the hillsides and along the road when we first entered this area. In fact, we saw some beautiful conifers that were straight and slender and green. But soon this "tree" country gave way to hills almost completely bare. The soil here was stony and rocky and all fences and buildings (where there were such things) were made of stone. The native hillside villages were built on the same style as the mud villages of the Nile valley, one-story, flat-topped, little huts, all fastened together, with sheep, goats, and children all running around together in and out of the small doorways, but we noticed right away how much cleaner they must actually have been, as a result of their being built of rock instead of mud.

One interesting thing about these rocky hills that we passed through before reaching Jerusalem was the fact that the rock on the hillsides out-cropped in such a way as to form almost perfect natural terraces from the bottom to the top, a regular stair-step appearance when viewed from a distance. In places we could see where the natural terraces had been improved and built-up by neatly stacked small rocks and stone, but mostly the "steps" were natural. Most of the flat surfaces of these terraces were bare except for weeds or a little scrub growth of some kind, but some of them supported small, irregular patches of wheat and barley. We saw lots of flocks of sheep and goats, mostly goats, and a few dairy cattle, grazing on the hillsides of this rough, rocky country. most of the goats were solid black, with long hair under their bellies, which gave them a very square bodied appearance. From a distance they looked much like a herd of Angus cattle. In fact, I was fooled more than once in this very way.

I noticed when I first arrived in Palestine, on the trip from the airport to Tel Aviv, and I continued to notice on all of these trips through the countryside, how many of the same weeds that we have at home grow in the Holy Land -- wild lettuce, wild mustard, dog fennel (plenty of it), bull thistles, and wild carrots, among others. In fact, we saw many spots that could have been put in Illinois or Indiana -- weeds, crops, soil, and all -- and would never have been noticed. What a difference from Egypt!

And then into Jerusalem. (To be continued.) -- Wilbert.

Jerusalem is divided into two parts, the Old City and the New City, with a total population of around 147,000. The new part is surprisingly modern, in fact as much so as Tel Aviv. It is very clean, the buildings are new-looking and the streets and sidewalks broad. Old Jerusalem is the part of the city within the old Turkish wall that was built in 1541.

As we entered Jerusalem we drove through the new portion of the city to the fine new YMCA building and there met the Red Cross girls who were to arrange our tours. Lt. Shira and myself had heard that the best way to get around and see everything in the shortest time was to get together a small group of three or four and hire a private guide. So we began looking for a third person, and our victim was an army chaplain whose home is in Poughkeepsie, N. Y., but who was then stationed in Florence, Italy. His name was Major W. R. Phinney. He was a very nice fellow to go around with and didn't mind my stopping now and then to take pictures, since he was a camera fiend himself. In fact he carried two cameras with him at all times, one for black and white and one for color... So about 10:30 a.m., Wily, Chaplin Phinney and myself started out with a private guide to see the town.

We naturally headed for the Old City, and we entered the wall through the Jaffa Gate. This gate is one of the famous eight in the wall, the others being the New, the Damascus, the Herod, the St. Stephens, the Golden (walled), the Dung, and the Zion.

Practically all of the historic area of the Holy City of Jerusalem is located in the Old City, and though one might be surprised at the "modernness" of the New City, the old portion is all one would expect, and looks just like its pictures. It is a maze of narrow, high-walled, cobbled streets (or alleys) with worn steps every now and then ascending or descending to different levels, and many arches overhead. All except the very main streets are too narrow for any mode of transportation other than donkeys, but of donkeys there are plenty, and also goats and sheep. The sides of many of these narrow passage ways are lined with little native shops or bazaars selling everything from food to bright colored textiles. We saw one section that appeared to be a native slaughter house, because they were cutting up freshly killed goat meat and had piles of fresh entrails and goat heads lying around. In another spot we saw goat skins being scraped, softened and cured, all by hand of course, and in a very primitive way. Practically all of these little shops in Old Jerusalem are run by the Moslems (the Arabs), and I noticed as soon as I saw them how much more colorful and even somewhat cleaner they were than the Arabs in the native section of Cairo. In Cairo practically all of the women wear solid black dresses, hoods and veils, but in the Holy Land, and especially in Jerusalem, the women were brightly dressed in whites, red, blues and even those in black usually had some red embroidery in their shawls. They word the same style of dress of course -- ankle length with a shawl over their heads and around their shoulders -- but they were more picturesque. We saw very few of the half-face veils so typical of Egypt, and many more of the type that completely covered the face.

The first thing of historic interest that we visited in Old Jerusalem was the "Wailing Wall." It is a portion of an old wall that once surrounded Solomon's temple, and for hundreds of years Jews have been making pilgrimages there in memory of the destruction of the temple, and the downfall of the Jewish nation. There were several Jewish people "wailing" while we were there. Some young women, some old, several men with beards and wearing long ragged black coats and Mormon style black hats. And they were all leaning up against the wall and chanting or "wailing" as they read from old books written in Hebrew. They surely sounded like they'd lost their last friend. Very interesting.

We then visited what is know as the temple area. It is supposedly the place where Abraham offered his son in sacrifice 2,000 years B. C., and the site of Solomon's temple, built a thousand years later. Then in 590 B. C. Nebuchadnezzar destroyed Solomon's temple and soon after, Zerubbabel's temple was erected. About 20 B. C., the third, or Herod's temple, was begun, and this was the famous one known to Christ, the one from which He chased the money chanters. At present the Mosque of Omar, built in 700 A. D., occupies the area, and the dome of this mosque is sometimes called the "dome of the rock" because under it is a large, natural stone that Mohammedan legend claims marks the center of the world and rests on the topmost branches of a palm tree from whose roots flow all the rivers of the world. It is also claimed to be the exact spot upon which Abraham offered his son.

After a look at the temple area, our guide took us along the "Way of the Cross," or the "Via Dolorosa," which is the route that Christ followed as He carried His cross from Pontius Pilate's pretorium to the hill on which He was crucified. The "fourteen stations" were marked along the route, and as we came to each one, the guide pointed it out, and gave us a brief story about it.

As we followed the Via Dolorosa and finally entered the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which now covers the spot of the crucifixion of Christ and the tomb in which His body laid, I saw what so many people have criticized about Jerusalem. It has been commercialized so much that it is hard for people to actually be moved very much by it. When I say commercialized, I don't mean in the way of advertisements and admissions, etc., but instead I mean that it seems to me they have tried too hard to make it attractive to tourists by building altars and shrines over every little individual spot that is considered important. Everything is built up very beautifully, with many lights, paintings, marble floors, colored glass windows, statues, jeweled crosses, etc. and then in the middle of it all will be a little round piece of glass fastened in the floor about six inches in diameter, through which can be seen a rough portion of the rock under the church, which the guide proceeds to tell us is the spot on which Christ was crucified; and a short distance away, still within the big church, we enter a small shiny marble room along one side of which a very smooth and perfectly turned stone sepulcher. Above it are 13 oil lamps hung by chains, and on the walls around it are colored tapestries. The guide then tells us that Christ's body was removed from the cross and placed in a sepulcher in a nearby garden, and this is the sepulcher ... Speaking for myself, I would have been more moved had I been able to see the garden.

And yet to some people these individual spots are considered very holy. But to me a certain specific spot is not important, because no one knows for sure the specific spot anyway; instead, the general location of Christ's various activities is all that's important and interesting to me, and instead of worshiping a particular spot because that is where He stood at a particular time, I would rather worship Him and what He stood for -- and just use the historic locations to refresh in my memory some of the things He did, and approximately where and under what circumstances He did them ... At any rate, it was very interesting to see it all, because I got an idea of the general layout of the area.

We ate lunch at the YMCA at 12:30, and then had planned to hire a cab for the three of us and our guide for the afternoon tour. Instead the Red Cross girls informed us they had an empty G.I. truck not in use, so we accepted their invitation to use it and started out for the Mount of Olives. ... This to me was more impressive than the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. It lies east of the city, overlooking the old part of Jerusalem to the west, and by looking east from the top of it, one can see the Dead sea. It yields a wonderful view, and the sides of it are dotted with olive trees that actually look old enough to date back to Christ's time. When you get on top you actually can visualize Christ coming up there to pray. It too is covered with small churches and shrines of various faiths, but still, as long as one stays out of them and on the open mountain top itself, he finds it quite impressive. On the highest point (I believe it is the highest), we saw a little Moslem mosque, not fancy, not decorated up at all, and no door, inside of which is the rock from which it is claimed Christ ascended into heaven. And in the middle of the rock is a small depression which some consider to be Christ's footprint; and this particular spot, although covered by a rough little Mohammedan mosque, also seemed more realistic and impressive to me than if it had been covered by a large church and fixed up with heavy large doors and lights and marble and richly decorated altars.

From the Mount of Olives we descended again to the Garden of Gethsemane which is located at the foot of the mount and faces the Golden Gate in the old wall of Jerusalem. As you recall, it was here that Jesus did so much of His praying, and here also He was betrayed and alter captured by the Roman soldiers to be taken and tried before Herod and Pilate. They say He was taken by the Romans from the garden through the Golden Gate to Pilate, and after that the gate was sealed and has remained so to this day. I believe the Jewish religion claims that their Messiah will some day come through that gate. The Garden of Gethsemane was also beautiful and impressive to me, although the actual garden area has been cut down to a small plot about 30 yards square, and the rest of the area has been covered by the large Church of Agony. In the garden we saw the old gnarled and twisted olive trees which are supposed to be 2,000 years old, and I believe it. They certainly look it. I took some colored shots of the garden with these old olive trees surrounded by flowers, and if I gave the right exposure, the slides should be very pretty. Inside the church we saw again the fancy paintings, the multi-colored ceiling, the stained windows, the marble floors and the very rich altars. In front of the main altar and surrounded by a railing was a rock about four or five feet square on which they claim Christ was kneeling to pray when He was captured. -- Wilbert.

(To be continued.)

Our last event of the afternoon was a trip to Bethlehem, a town of about 7,000, located about six or eight miles south of Jerusalem. Bethlehem is a hillside town and all around it are high but smoothly rolling hills, quite stony and rocky but dotted with olive, citrus fruit, and nut groves. Just north of the town we saw the broad deep valley in which the shepherds were herding their flocks when they noticed the Star shining over the inn where Christ was born. And looking at this again was much more impressive to me than the large "Chruch of Nativity" which now covered the spot where Christ was born. This church has the same characteristics of the other churches I've described, and in the middle of it is a beautiful lighted altar below which is a 10-inch silver star encircled with the words "Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary." A few feet away is a small room in one corner of which is a stone "manger," now all lined with marble and looking more like a fireplace, with oil lamps hanging down in it and a little railing in front of it. Certainly diffferent from what one might expect.

We spent a few minutes in a couple of souvenir shops outside the Church of Nativity, and then climbed in our truck and drove back to the YMCA in Jerusalem. After fighting off the souvenir salesmen until the rest of the gang arrived, we headed our convoy back toward Camp Tel Litwinsky and the Yarden hotel in Tel Aviv--tired but very glad the opportunity to see it all, even though I didn't quite agree with the way some of the spots are being "preserved for posterity."

This was Thursday evening, and we arrived at the Yarden around 6:30 p.m. Wily and I cleaned up, located the others, and made plans for the evening. It was suggested that we first go down along the beach and watch one of those beautiful Mediterranean sunsets, so I grabbed my color camera with high hopes of a classic sunset slide--but even though we started out while the sun still appeared high enough, it dropped so rapidly that by the time we reached a vantage point it was "down under," so after watching the breakers and listening to the surf for a while, we proceeded to Pills' terrace overlooking the sea, a combination restaurant and night club. We had a tasty fish dinner and listened to the music--and then home and to bed by 11:30.

Friday Wily and I were up again at 6:00 in order to eat breakfast and be ready to leave for the Sea of Galilee by 7:00. the truck took us again to Camp Tel Litwinsky for the enlisted men and enlisted women, and then we headed north. The trip to Galilee was even more scenic from an agricultural point of view than the trip to Jerusalem. Of course it was longer, being approximately 100 miles each way. We saw the same changes of terrain that we saw before but on a more extensive scale. In the level farming country, the fields of wheat and barley were larger; in the rolling country the hills were higher, and the valleys broader; in the rocky country the ground was more barren. First came the orchard district, and most of it could have been placed in Southern Illinois. Some orchards were enclosed with barbed wire fence (the first I've seen since leaving the states) and others with beautiful rows of tall slender evergreens.

And then, as we passed down our macadamized road (which is the prevalent type all over the Holy Land and is quite good) the orchards were replaced by the large relatively flat wheat and barley fields with now and then a piece of corn or a plowed area mixed in. I noticed as we went along here a very modern looking high-tension line built on towers almost as large as those around home. The interesting thing to note was the fact that in some of the fields we saw the people (mostly women) harvesting with hand sickles and piling it up in little bundles, while in another field we saw a man just finishing up with a combine and tractor; then, too, we saw several smaller fields being plowed with the old-fashioned wooden plow, drawn by oxen, while in another place we saw a John Deere tractor and two-bottom plow standing in the field.

To back-track a bit while on the subject of harvesting, between Camp Tel Litwinsky and the Lydda airport, we saw a large yard in which grain was being threshed in the way you read about in history books. Scattered around the yard were piles of the cut grain in different stages of being threshed. In one spot was a stack of loosely piled grain which as yet hadn't been touched. Next to it another pile had been leveled out into a smooth even layer of about two feet in depth ready to be worked on. And a few feet farther was a third pile, resembling the second, that was actually being threshed by having a sled holding a boy pulled over it by a horse. And there were other places in the yard where the process was completed, and the natives were sifting the grain out of the straw and chaff with pitchforks. It was all very colorful and would have made some interesting pictures but the truck was always full of people in a hurry to get some place else when we passed the yard, so I didn't ask to stop.

Back on the road to Galilee, as we passed by the broad, almost level farming country, we entered more of the very hilly land with the stony, rocky soil similar to what we saw outside Jerusalem. There were very few trees in this part of the country and the hillsides contained very little vegetation except on the flat surfaces of the natural terraces where grass and weeds and an occasional patch of ripening wheat grew. This was more of a grazing district, and we saw many large flocks of sheep and the black, long-eared goats that looked from a distance like Angus cattle. They were usually tended by wandering Arabs, probably Bedouins, who lived in long, very low, black tents that appeared to be made out of gunny sack material. Most of the tents didn't appear to be more than three feet off the ground but they were quite long and quite broad.

All of a sudden we went through a sort of pass in the hills and entered a long, broad level valley called the "Plains of Esdraelon." These plains are quite historic and are the site of so many famous battles dating back to may years before Christ that they are called the greatest battlefield in the world. Ahead of us we saw Mount Tabor, Mount Carmel, and Mount Moriah. And far off to the left, on a hillside and just barely to be seen, our guide pointed out the town of Nazareth. Soon after entering this area we stopped at the small town of Afula for a 15-minute break and a morning snack of hamburgers and orange juice. I also tried some ice cream, but it had more water than cream in it, so I wasn't too favorably impressed.

We passed through the Plains of Esdraelon and went into rolling hilly country again, but this time the hills although higher were more gently sloping and the valleys much deeper and broader. It was here we found some of the most beautiful long distant views. The valleys were all farmed, and when the road wound up over the top of a hill, we could see the checkerboard layout of the fields below and all of the various colors from dark green orchards to ripening grain. We found this kind of terrain all the rest of the way to the Sea of Galilee which we saw at last as we passed over the top of a hill. The sea was very pretty, a deep blue, and in the distance about 35 miles to the north, we saw the snow-capped peak of Mt. Hermon.

The Sea of Galilee is actually not a sea but a fresh water lake formed by a widening of the River Jordan as it flows south toward the Dead sea.

We immediately drove down to the home of the retired 80-year-old former Methodist missionary and YMCA worker, Dr. Harte, who acts as a host to all of the Red Cross "tourists" making the trip to the Sea of Galilee (about three groups per week). He gave us a little introductory talk, showed us around his little museum, and then suggested we take a swim in the lake. We had been forewarned and so came prepared with suits. And what a swim it was. We all hated to leave the water, it was so warm and perfectly clear. A warm spring bubbled up right in the center of the area in which we swam, and it kept the temperature of the water just right for swimming.

After the swim we went back to Dr. Harte's terrace overlooking the lake and had a lunch of sandwiches and chocolate milk while Dr. Harte took us on an "eye" tour of the important spots around the lake.

Dr. Harte's home is on the western shore, about one-third of the way from the north end. He pointed out that if we were to run a line from his house almost directly east to the other side, we would have to the left the northern one-third of the lake, and around it practically all of the places made famous by Christ. In other words, the northern shore was the only area around the lake (Sea of Galilee) with which Christ was closely associated.

Looking east directly across the lake from Dr. Harte's home we saw the slopes where authorities believe the multitudes were fed. And to the north, near where the River Jordan flows into the lake, we saw the various spots where the ancient city of Capernaum (the town where Christ did most of his preaching) may have been located, and just behind this area, the slopes where Christ spoke the Beatitudes to his disciples. To our right, also on the western shore of the lake was the city of Tiberius, which seemed to be a thriving city and more modern than some of the others in this vicinity.

As we left Galilee I saw the "best yet" as far as Palestinian agriculture was concerned: A hay baler actually at work in a field along the road.

On the way back to Tel Aviv we traveled a slightly different route, which took us farther west, through Nazareth, Christ's home town. It is a small town and very old looking, built on the side of a hill. The houses are for the most part the single story, flat-topped kind, made of stone. We saw many sheep and goats wandering through the narrow streets, and many native women balancing large water jugs on their heads. Again, the historic site pertaining to Christ and his family was covered with a church. Underneath the church, however, the cave and the connecting tunnels were left almost intact, and we went through these, seeing the big underground water reservoir that had been cut out of rock, and the cave in which Joseph and Mary and Jesus lived after their return from Egypt. Above the cave, in the area where the church now stands, Joseph had his carpenter shop, the one in which Christ worked as a boy. --Wilbert.

(To be concluded)

After Nazareth our next stop was our half-way point of Afula where we took another 15-minute break. While here a rather interesting thing happened. I walked across the railroad track to get a picture of Mt. Moriah which was off in the distance, and as I went by the station, a Palestinian military policeman with a big black triangular shaped hat and carrying a rifle yelled out, "What part of the States are you from, Buddy?" I told him, and he answered in perfect English, "Im from Chester, Pa. Just came over here about six years ago. I still have a sister and some other relatives living in Philadelphia." So I stopped and talked with him awhile.

Saturday was a quiet day. We decided not to take any tours, instead to spend the day in Tel Aviv and on the beach. We walked around the town in the morning, but since Saturday is the Jewish "Sunday," we found no stores open. We did find one place open called the American Milk Bar, and there we indulged in a peach sundae and a banana split. The ice cream didn't measure up to the good old American stuff, but it was the nearest to it that we'd had in a long time, so we really enjoyed it.

Saturday night we ate in the hotel--Wiley, Mrs. Chas. G. Walker (American Red Cross) from Texas, and myself. We had met Mr. Walker a day or two before, and enjoyed his company a lot. He was a very friendly easy going man, with lots of vitality, and he talked like a Texan. After dinner, we listened to some after-dinner music at the hotel for a while, and then made our way to the American Milk Bar again for some ice cream before going to bed.

Sunday morning we spent around town again, buying a few souvenirs, and looking without success for a place to buy film. Then in the afternoon we took a tour to the Jewish Communal Farm (near Tel Aviv), called "Givath Brenner." It was founded in 1928 on the area of land which was actually desert that had on it not even a blade of grass, so they claim. All the water had to be hauled in on donkeys. Finally the soil responded, and by 1933 the Settlement was ready to receive refugees from Nazi-persecuted territory. Today the people (numbering 1400) living on the farm come from all European countries. The land is owned by the Jewish national Fund, which buys land with funds provided by Jews all over the world, and thus the land becomes the property of the Jewish people. The Jewish National Fund leases the land to settlers--in this case, to the settlement as a whole. The land, buildings, machinery, livestock, in fact all the property is owned by the settlement. No individual owns anything. It is governed by general meetings of all members, during which committees are appointed to organize every branch of the life of the community. All clothing, housing, food, medical care, schooling, entertainment, etc., is provided at communal expense, and each person is given 20 pounds (approximately $80) spending money each year. There are now 100 of these collective settlements in Palestine, with a total population of 28,000. Membership is voluntary, and also a person may leave when he chooses.

On this particular farm the main crops are citrus fruits, tomatoes, dairy products, and marmalade made in the settlement factory from oranges and lemons. All in all they've done a good job and have come a long way toward changing the land from desert to land that will produce something. And the people seem to thrive on it, especially the children, who are raised by the settlement sort of in the same way that children in the States are sometimes raised "scientifically." The ones we saw on this farm were all very healthy, lively, and well-fed. However, I wouldn't like living that way myself, and I think the rest of the gang on the tour felt the same way. There seemed to be a lack of individual initiative for one thing. There was really no reason for anyone to take any pride in his work, and we noticed around the farm that, although they seemed to be producing quite well, they didn't care much about how the place looked. The buildings looked run down and there were piles of trash lying around here and there, and the roads through the settlement hadn't been improved very much. Their children seemed to be their biggest pride and they really did seem to be doing a fine job in that respect--though again I wouldn't care to be brought up that way myself.

I met an interesting fellow on the way to the farm that day. He was an enlisted man sitting next to me in the truck, and I had noticed that he knew something about the farm. So I struck up an acquaintance with him. when I asked him where he lived, he replied that he had no home in the States, but that his folks were running a dairy farm outside of Fairbanks, Alaska. From then on we had quite a field day discussing the relative merits and demerits of Alaska.

Sunday night a 22-piece army band from Casablanca played at the Garden, and the Red Cross furnished dinner and dancing partners for those who wanted to go. Wily and I accepted and escorted two of the local belles to the affair. We had an enjoyable evening, and were in bed by midnight. Chaplain Phinney, who was a great lover of classical music but couldn't stand this "modern noise" had rather a hard time of it trying to sleep in his third floor room. The band was outside on the terrace, and "that noise" carried perfectly to the third floor.

Monday morning we were up again bright and early for our second trip to the Holy City, Jerusalem. Again Chaplain Phinney, Wily and I stuck together. When we arrived in Jerusalem, Phinney, Wily and I took off by ourselves to see the native sections of the old city, and a very interesting time we had browsing through the narrow streets and looking in the bazaars and shops. In one particular shop we saw a curious thing. Right in the middle of a showcase, among some Oriental bracelets and rings, was one bar of American Lux soap. We took several pictures, bought a few souvenirs, and then went back to the YMCA for lunch.

After lunch Wily and I took a cab to Bethlehem. I wanted to get a color shot of the valley of Bethlehem and also one of Rachel's tomb. We drove into the town first and bought some Crusaders' crosses and some miniature Psalm books, and then went back out for the pictures. Rachel's tomb is (I believe) around 3,000 years old. It stands alongside the road running from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, and looks just like it's  pictures. Inside I bought a Jewish prayer book and a Jewish "Mazuzza" for souvenirs. The Jewish man in charge (may have been a rabbi) autographed the book in Hebrew...Then back to the "Y" to sit around until time for the trucks to go back to Tel Aviv.

Monday night we spent at the Yarden. The next day we packed, paid our bill, caught the bus to camp Tel Litwinsky, and then to the Lydda airport. Again we had that well-known wait, but finally we got off the ground. Wily was riding back as an extra crew member so was sitting with me, and during the trip gave me several interesting pointers about airplanes.

We landed in Cairo about 12:45, and then after checking in at the terminal, another interesting coincidence took place. I went over to the finance building to exchange my Palestinian money for Egyptian money, and was just leaving when a sargeant walked up and asked where he'd seen me before. It was none other than Sgt. Rutledge who used to be with me in Company B of the 30th Battalion at Crowder. I hadn't seen him since early March, '43 when I left Company B for the prep school area in Crowder. He looked just the same.

As far as the leave was concerned, it was about over. Wily happened to be coming into town so we caught a ride with a laundry truck and about 30 minutes later I was again at the Elite Pension, in Cairo. At 4:00 p.m. I went to work.

We both agreed the trip was well worth while, that we felt better on returning than we did when we left, that we had met a lot of swell people, and that we had learned a lot. We also agreed that for the first time we had an idea of relative distances in regard to the Holy Land. We realized for the first time in just how small an area all the stories of the Bible took place.

But to both of us the most impressive thing about Palestine, other than its religious interests, was its cleanliness, its invigorating climate, its fresh air, its cleaner and more colorful natives, and its rich farming country...After Egypt, it was almost like a trip back to the States.

(The end.)

Dear Hope and Household: It has been quite some time since I've written to you, but I'm telling you that at times a self-condemnation of mind and spirit has come over me, as the Household has been of keen interest. I'm happy to tell you that through it good friends and most interesting pen pals have come to me. Those were most thrilling and interesting travel letters which were written by your son Wilbert. How very, very much we've appreciated and enjoyed them! When Wilbert's letter, written when he flew from Florida to northern Africa, was printed, we considered it very choice. His descriptions were so vivid, in fact, I seemed to be going along with him.

I could hardly wait till the fourth and final letter about the Holy Land was printed, so I could send them all to a dear old lady in our little town of Claypool, Ind., who did visit the Holy Land 15 or 20 years ago. She had for years been a teacher in our town school and also the wife of our town's beloved doctor. She will return the clippings and they will then find a prominent place on the pages of my travel scrap book. I wish I had a copy of the letter describing Wilbert's trip from Florida to Egypt, but I clipped my copy and sent it to my brother and family, who had a son who was a pilot doing duty overseas. On V-E day, May 8, his 21st birthday, a plane crash meant death for him and the entire crew. As yet none of us know any of the details, only they were buried in Holland and the chaplain will tell us more as opportunity allows.

How we thank you, Hope, for your interest and concern for so many of us who are handicapped physically and shut in so much of the time. If your column meant nothing to others, it would be very valuable for us alone. I'd like to tell you by name all those who have been kind and thoughful of me through the months and years since I've been one of the Household's number. How I'd like to greet personally many of the friends of our group. I hope that you and each of your dear ones may be in health and that your sons may soon be at home, ready to throw their energies with might and main into reconstructing this war-torn world. May God bless and keep us all! -- Mrs. Arthur Reece, Claypool, Ind.

Dear Hope: The summer is past and autumn far spent and yet not a word of that promised write-up of Hope and her family. We have lost track of her baby boy. Hope, your daughter must now be the same age you were when you started out on this long adventure of keeping peace and happiness among the Household writers. If I'm not mistaken, the new poultry editor must be a neighbor to you. Do all the good people live in one spot? The pictures make me think you are sisters or at least the same age. Thanks for all your untiring efforts and as a reward may have peace of mind and soul happiness. -- Claddy, of Illinois.

There just hasn't been room for that write-up! We have even held back some excellent travel stories for a slack time that has never materialized, and you may have noticed that it takes some weeks to get a letter into print, but -- After all, it's Christmas! and whose column is this?

One of your sentences startled me. It hadn't occurred to me before that Ruth is, as you say, almost exactly at the age and stage of life that Hope was when she took the helm of the Household. And she has three children, just the age ours were then: a girl of 7, a boy of 4 and a boy of 3. I wonder, among the several readers whose families corresponded with ours then, how many happened to have grandchildren grouped the same? There were several--one was even another "Jim's Wife" -- and in spite of myself, I think of them still with a lapful of babies, even though mine are all grown up. But Ruth's life is considerably different than ours was then, for she lives in town instead of on the farm and she had baby sitters and diaper services and other modern innovations that we never dreamed of. And so far she has never met up with those "seven lean years" that we all faced back there in the early thirties. Remember? We even made "depression flowers" of cinders and iodine.

The two older boys are on their own, having finished college and done their stint in the war; neither one married and neither one farming, though they are both in jobs related to agriculture, one in farm management and one in educational work for a big co-operative. The postscript son, Joe, is off to college for his freshman year, and his course is not even related to farming, in spite of all his 4-H and FFA enthusiasms. He is enamored with chemical engineering.

So our family has waxed and waned, and we are alone again as we were in the fall of 1916, but considerably richer in worldly goods, experience, memories and blessings. The crops this year are with us as with many of you -- yields are down but price and quality are up. Farming, as one of you once so wisely stated, is a hard but happy life. Our greatest wish right now is that, somehow, everything could be distributed so that everyone, everywhere, could be as comfortable and contented as we are on this American midwest farm. -- Hope.

Christmas!

It's Christmastide. Let's clean the slate
Of every year-old grudge or hate.
Let's pin a sprightly sprig of holly
Upon dull care and melancholy.
Let's reach out friendly bands and grip
Each other's in warm comradeship.

This world's a pleasant place. Let's smile
In mellow retrospect awhile.
Let's feign we're young again, elate,
With hearts attuned for any fate.
Let's sing the old songs, ever new,
When we were heroes on review,
Before the fairies yet had brought
The stars and garters that we sought.

Ah, me, some gentles are not here
Who glorified the yesteryear;
Whose jocund jests and merry quips
Were ever ready on their lips.
Let's sing the old songs, ever new,
Then here's remembrance, hale and true,
To those forever passed from view.
Lay wreaths of holly where they sat.
And tender tears, remembering that
It's Christmas time.

-- (Author unkknown.)

Memory Gem

What e'er the hidden future brings
Is helped by hands divine.
Through all the tangled web of things;
There runs a clear design.
What, though the skies are dark today,
Tomorrow's may be blue,
when every cloud has rolled away,
God's providence shines through.

--Selected.

Dear Hope: Every time some one in the Household comments on how good the column is I wonder what they would say if they knew what it was like back in the days when you not only edited, but wrote for the rest of us. Maybe I enjoyed it so much because our children were small when yours were little, too--and your comments and suggestions fitted in with my problems and meant a lot.

Once you said you tried to do "one permanent thing each day," if it was only to drive a nail, low down, where the children could reach and hang up their coats. I've thought of that so many times, and have taken time to do some small constructive thing.

Another time you spoke of how hard it was to do the regular weekend work when the children came home from school in town on Friday night -- and had all their various interests to see to. And how it might pay just to rearrange the week's work so when they were home their needs came first.

It does work better, and I've thought of you often as I dusted and put the house in order and did some special baking before I went to town for the girls.

Do you still have fresh apple sauce for threshers? -- though I suppose nowadays it's only a combine -- and the excitement of the harvest has dimmed for you as for us -- though I honestly like this way best.

Well, anyway, I'm glad I was young when you were. It was a pleasant, helpful association. Good as the Household is now, it's different -- or I am.

I've always wondered - did your family make you stop writing about them? I can see how they could object to living in a gold fish bowl, but I'm glad I had a peek before you drew the curtain.

Do you know anyone now who makes blankets, using old wool scraps and wool clothes that have passed the make over stage? If so, could I have the address? -- Esther Kay, Nebraska.

Hope's Comment

Your letter was really a masterpiece of friendship. It brought tears to my eyes to remember those "dear dead days beyond recall". Those were sweet hours! We really wouldn't have time stand still, or go backward, but a letter like yours brings back for a little while the poignant preciousness of them.

I fill up the time nowadays, as no doubt you do, and all the other mothers who were young along with us, with one thing and another, but oh, how brimming over with busyness we used to be when the children were small! I get a taste of it occasionally now (do you?) when the grandchildren are left in my care, but it isn't the same. Now, we always know the exertion is just temporary--in a few hours, or at most a few days, we know the responsibility will be off of us and back on the mother. But then we were the all-in-all of our little flocks. We knew there was no relief, no second and third shift of workers to take over. The babies were our job 24 hours a day.

Do you remember how desperate we used to feel sometimes, wondering if life would race entirely past us before they grew up? How lucky we were to have such full lives. Even through all the depression and everything, those were happy years, and what tension there was was real and natural and normal. I wouldn't have missed it for worlds.

Thanks for bringing it all back. Today I'm alone in the house and you have given me a tender hour of retrospect that might have been missed if your letter hadn't touched it off.

And now for your question. Under separate cover a list of wool firms is being mailed you -- but whether they are all still in business since the war hasn't been checked. Perhaps the readers will have some newer information to share. -- Hope.

Dear Hope: My first baby, a boy, came a few months before your Joey arrived. I had so much trouble getting our baby started. When you wrote about yours, it helped me and I looked forward to that as I would have to my mother's suggestions if she could have offered them daily. And so many things about teaching Ruth to cook -- I have the clipping about baking pies and many others.

When mother suggested the boys wear their mittens to 4-H club meeting (but they did not need them), daddy didn't suggest, "You go back to the house and get your mittens!" Ruth's eighth grade graduation and the drive through the wooded road. Oh! you had a clever way of telling us things that we wanted to know. You have a sense of humor that added just the amount of spice to make me happy.

I shall add this comment of Hope's to my list and the greeting card and group pictures of long ago. I know you briefly commented on the members of your family about holidays, but I want you to write like you used to write.

Frankly, I felt sorry when Ruth married so young and babies kept her from accompanying her husband when he went traveling. How many children have they? I'm sure it is well that way. She will still be young when her children are grown. Do write comments more often. --Missourian.

Hope's Comment

Ruth has three children now, a girl and two boys, spaced almost exactly as our first three were, and just about the age now that ours were when you Householders and I first became acquainted. Like you, I feel that young marriages are perhaps best. Of course, Ruth was not overly young as brides go around here -- she was 22 and had been through college a year and a half. But since the war disrupted so many lives, my feeling has grown that it is probably better to marry young, even if you have to be separated by war or have to stay home with the babies, than to wait and see opportunities for meeting prospective partners diminish.

College years are best for meeting interesting young people of the opposite sex and choosing a mate. After that -- well, a woman teacher, for example, has few chances to meet men socially, and many jobs throw men almost exclusively among men during work hours. Maybe busy, burdensome, strenuous and complicated years are preferable to loneliness later.

As for the traveling, Ruth couldn't have gone with her husband, babies or no babies, for he traveled by air on high war priorities. Maybe it was lucky she had the chilren to keep her occupied. We seem to hear a lot about war marriages broken either by death or maladjustment, but the bulk of them are going on to success, on a pattern that seems strange and new to us older ones, with the youngsters facing up cheerfully to whatever situations this old world presents to them; just as couples in pioneer days met the particular hardships of their time, or those of the middle ages theirs, or, for that matter, the cave men and women theirs. Youth always seems to have the audacity and resiliency to meet whatever there is, and do what has to be done. -- Hope.

Memory Gem

The seed burs all with laughter crack,
On deatherweed and jimson.
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.

Don't talk to me of solemn days
In autumn's time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays
And these grow slant and slender.

Why, it's the climax of the year,
The highest tide of living.
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into Thanksgiving!

Paul Laurence Dunbar.