A glimpse of Kuwait in the early 60′s from the diaries of Margaret Luce
Margaret Luce was the wife of Sir William Luce, who was the English governor and political resident in the Gulf and Aden from 1956 to 1966. He filled both posts with great distinction, winning the trust and friendship of Arab leaders in the region. Mrs Margaret kept occasional personal diaries, mostly of trips made to outlying places in the region. In Jan 1962, she traveled to Kuwait.
An excerpt from her memoirs: Jan 26, 1962 Here, the oil transformation has been more rapid and on a larger scale than anywhere else. Oil was originally found before the war. Oil revenue is now about £3.5 million a week, and an average of 250 tanker-loads a month. Ten years ago, Kuwait was a small, desert pearl-trading country with no particular natural advantages. The Kuwaitis were seafaring or camel-owning bedouins. The pale yellow desert goes faintly green with soft grass after the rain and then looks a little like Salisbury plain. The real development has been in the last five years. Kuwait City is now about five miles across, apart from farther suburbs and outskirts with the largest traffic roundabout in the world. Old streets were swept away by bulldozers and new shops, hotels, cafés and private villas have sprung up wildly. Most of the architecture is Egyptian or Lebanese. Looking down on Kuwait from the air on the endless streams of two-tone cars – scarlet and cream and jade green and sky-blue, it looks like something a child has invented. I think that all those long years of living with sand and mud-colored houses have given Kuwaitis a riotous passion for colors.
At the museum In the afternoon, we walked over to see the museum, which has been enterprisingly started by a Kuwaiti. It has lovely models of all types of Arab dhows and rooms on pearl diving, undersea life, birds, excavations on an island which the Greeks once occupied, education, the old and new way of life in Kuwait, the old and new buildings in Kuwait and one or two old and beautifully illuminated Qurans. It was family day, and it suddenly occurred to me that there were a lot of young Arab women, completely casual and unveiled and couples walking about hand in hand. A good many of these were probably Jordanians, Palestinians and Egyptians, but my companion Diana Richmond says the effects of wealth has been to bring many of the women out of purdah in the last six months, and I think this cannot but spread, fairly quickly, to the rest of the Gulf. The next morning we went for a drive through Kuwait in the direction of the Iraqi border and back on another road. All these roads for a long way out of Kuwait are large dual carriageways. We passed a magnificent and beautifully laid-out school, which looks like a university and is in fact going to be a university when enough Kuwaitis of university standard have accumulated. The Kuwaitis with no natural advantages seem to be very keen gardeners. Now they have a good water supply, and are growing trees wherever they can along the roads.
Mrs Dickson and the Bedouin We came back to have elevens with Mrs (Violet) Dickson. Her husband was originally the political agent here, then stayed on, wrote a book on Kuwait and died two years ago. Mrs Dickson has taken a job with an oil company (looking after their guests and showing them round), and she has gone to live in their old Arab house on the edge of the sea. She is simply splendid in character – large, weather-beaten, slightly shy and probably knows more about Kuwait than almost anyone else. Very often she spends a weekend out in the desert by herself – she had just been down in the south of Kuwait with the bedouin for a few days and left her white tenant with them and told them that she would be coming back next week. As the bedouin are nomadic and always on the move, I asked how she ever found them again. She said she just drove her Land Rover round the area until she came across her friends with the white tent. She is not formidable, looks gentle and is a great personal friend of the ruler and all leading Arabs here. She has published a book on desert wildflowers. I loved her house with its verandah. In the back she has a garden including desert flowers and occupied by six cats. She also has a grey horse on which she still firmly rides round Kuwait in the morning regardless of the stream of up-to-date vehicles.
Dinner with the Amir The night we dined with the ruler, Amir Abdullah bin Salem. Everybody was in a good form, despite nothing to drink and no sleep. The palace of Amir is all on one floor. Rows of trees and lights all round the carriage sweep look like rows of garden cloches, but it’s very pretty and soft. Guards line the steps to the front door in scarlet jackets, and the Amir insists, in an old-fashioned hospitable bedouin way on coming out himself to the very edge of the top of the steps to meet everyone personally. Dressed in a plain cream gallabia, he really gives a great impression of aristocracy, a sort of casual simplicity in the middle of immense riches. Suddenly finding himself one of the richest men in the world, he has been absolutely firm about not squandering the new wealth. He dislikes extravagance and spends as much as possible on hospitals, schools, roads, airports, etc. The dinner party was beautifully organized on a system of the Amir’s own. Before dinner, he retires to a far corner of the room and collects all the ladies around him, has ladies’ conversation – house, family, travel, etc, with no mention of politics and gets it over quickly. The men stand about smoking and talking at the other end of the room. The dinner was again a very good compromise between Arabian and European. The table was European and elegant, and the food Arabian – unostentatious and very good, deliciously cooked bustard and chicken and small Indian chapattis. Violet Dickson was interpreting for us before dinner, and I did not attempt to speak Arabic with the Amir, as he is particularly difficult to understand. The only thing that was slightly embarrassing was that it resolved itself into a conversation entirely between the Amir and me, with a few helpful comments from Diana Richmond. When we got up to leave, the Amir straightened his face and with an easy dignity came out to the steps again and said goodbye. He held my hand for a long time and said that my first visit to Kuwait was a very happy occasion and hoped there would be many more, etc.
To Ahmadi The next day morning we drove out to Ahmadi, as the oil company was serving us lunch. They have lunch rather disconcertingly at 12 o’clock, or at least they gathered at noon. We were going to stay at the Ahmadi guest house. We each had a flat to ourselves with a large sitting room. There was a fridge and inside it every imaginable kind of suitable drinks as well as delicious snacks. The lunch party was next door. All those I met seemed not only very happy with the life of Ahmadi, but also had scope for varied talents – there was a musician, a painter, an actor, a writer and several athletes. None of them complained of a frustrated life. Ahmadi has trees and gardens and is not depressing. Everything is provided for. There is no need even to go to Kuwait for shopping. If you are not happy in Ahmadi, it’s clearly nobody’s fault but your own, as almost any interest can be and is pursued here. The only thing lacking is any interest among the wives in oil and the processes of extracting it. Many of them have lived there for years without ever visiting an oil well or gathering center.
By Mahmoud Zakaria Abdul-Raheem
An excerpt from her memoirs: Jan 26, 1962 Here, the oil transformation has been more rapid and on a larger scale than anywhere else. Oil was originally found before the war. Oil revenue is now about £3.5 million a week, and an average of 250 tanker-loads a month. Ten years ago, Kuwait was a small, desert pearl-trading country with no particular natural advantages. The Kuwaitis were seafaring or camel-owning bedouins. The pale yellow desert goes faintly green with soft grass after the rain and then looks a little like Salisbury plain. The real development has been in the last five years. Kuwait City is now about five miles across, apart from farther suburbs and outskirts with the largest traffic roundabout in the world. Old streets were swept away by bulldozers and new shops, hotels, cafés and private villas have sprung up wildly. Most of the architecture is Egyptian or Lebanese. Looking down on Kuwait from the air on the endless streams of two-tone cars – scarlet and cream and jade green and sky-blue, it looks like something a child has invented. I think that all those long years of living with sand and mud-colored houses have given Kuwaitis a riotous passion for colors.
At the museum In the afternoon, we walked over to see the museum, which has been enterprisingly started by a Kuwaiti. It has lovely models of all types of Arab dhows and rooms on pearl diving, undersea life, birds, excavations on an island which the Greeks once occupied, education, the old and new way of life in Kuwait, the old and new buildings in Kuwait and one or two old and beautifully illuminated Qurans. It was family day, and it suddenly occurred to me that there were a lot of young Arab women, completely casual and unveiled and couples walking about hand in hand. A good many of these were probably Jordanians, Palestinians and Egyptians, but my companion Diana Richmond says the effects of wealth has been to bring many of the women out of purdah in the last six months, and I think this cannot but spread, fairly quickly, to the rest of the Gulf. The next morning we went for a drive through Kuwait in the direction of the Iraqi border and back on another road. All these roads for a long way out of Kuwait are large dual carriageways. We passed a magnificent and beautifully laid-out school, which looks like a university and is in fact going to be a university when enough Kuwaitis of university standard have accumulated. The Kuwaitis with no natural advantages seem to be very keen gardeners. Now they have a good water supply, and are growing trees wherever they can along the roads.
Mrs Dickson and the Bedouin We came back to have elevens with Mrs (Violet) Dickson. Her husband was originally the political agent here, then stayed on, wrote a book on Kuwait and died two years ago. Mrs Dickson has taken a job with an oil company (looking after their guests and showing them round), and she has gone to live in their old Arab house on the edge of the sea. She is simply splendid in character – large, weather-beaten, slightly shy and probably knows more about Kuwait than almost anyone else. Very often she spends a weekend out in the desert by herself – she had just been down in the south of Kuwait with the bedouin for a few days and left her white tenant with them and told them that she would be coming back next week. As the bedouin are nomadic and always on the move, I asked how she ever found them again. She said she just drove her Land Rover round the area until she came across her friends with the white tent. She is not formidable, looks gentle and is a great personal friend of the ruler and all leading Arabs here. She has published a book on desert wildflowers. I loved her house with its verandah. In the back she has a garden including desert flowers and occupied by six cats. She also has a grey horse on which she still firmly rides round Kuwait in the morning regardless of the stream of up-to-date vehicles.
Dinner with the Amir The night we dined with the ruler, Amir Abdullah bin Salem. Everybody was in a good form, despite nothing to drink and no sleep. The palace of Amir is all on one floor. Rows of trees and lights all round the carriage sweep look like rows of garden cloches, but it’s very pretty and soft. Guards line the steps to the front door in scarlet jackets, and the Amir insists, in an old-fashioned hospitable bedouin way on coming out himself to the very edge of the top of the steps to meet everyone personally. Dressed in a plain cream gallabia, he really gives a great impression of aristocracy, a sort of casual simplicity in the middle of immense riches. Suddenly finding himself one of the richest men in the world, he has been absolutely firm about not squandering the new wealth. He dislikes extravagance and spends as much as possible on hospitals, schools, roads, airports, etc. The dinner party was beautifully organized on a system of the Amir’s own. Before dinner, he retires to a far corner of the room and collects all the ladies around him, has ladies’ conversation – house, family, travel, etc, with no mention of politics and gets it over quickly. The men stand about smoking and talking at the other end of the room. The dinner was again a very good compromise between Arabian and European. The table was European and elegant, and the food Arabian – unostentatious and very good, deliciously cooked bustard and chicken and small Indian chapattis. Violet Dickson was interpreting for us before dinner, and I did not attempt to speak Arabic with the Amir, as he is particularly difficult to understand. The only thing that was slightly embarrassing was that it resolved itself into a conversation entirely between the Amir and me, with a few helpful comments from Diana Richmond. When we got up to leave, the Amir straightened his face and with an easy dignity came out to the steps again and said goodbye. He held my hand for a long time and said that my first visit to Kuwait was a very happy occasion and hoped there would be many more, etc.
To Ahmadi The next day morning we drove out to Ahmadi, as the oil company was serving us lunch. They have lunch rather disconcertingly at 12 o’clock, or at least they gathered at noon. We were going to stay at the Ahmadi guest house. We each had a flat to ourselves with a large sitting room. There was a fridge and inside it every imaginable kind of suitable drinks as well as delicious snacks. The lunch party was next door. All those I met seemed not only very happy with the life of Ahmadi, but also had scope for varied talents – there was a musician, a painter, an actor, a writer and several athletes. None of them complained of a frustrated life. Ahmadi has trees and gardens and is not depressing. Everything is provided for. There is no need even to go to Kuwait for shopping. If you are not happy in Ahmadi, it’s clearly nobody’s fault but your own, as almost any interest can be and is pursued here. The only thing lacking is any interest among the wives in oil and the processes of extracting it. Many of them have lived there for years without ever visiting an oil well or gathering center.
By Mahmoud Zakaria Abdul-Raheem
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