The Visit of the Duke of Cornwall and York in 1901

In March 1901 the Duke of Cornwall and York, the future King George V, left Portsmouth on a journey that was to last nearly eight months, cover almost 47,000 miles whilst visiting 17 possessions in the Empire. Only once did he set foot on foreign soil, and that was at Port Said. The royal party travelled in the liner Ophir which was escorted by warships of the Royal Navy, on the outward leg by the cruisers Juno and St George. Travelling on the latter was William Maxwell, special correspondent of The Standard. Within three months of his return to England his book “With the Ophir Round the Empire” was published. This is some of what Maxwell wrote about Aden and the Royal Visit.

We start with Maxwell waiting for the arrival of the Ophir; his description of what he saw conjures up a particularly colourful period in Aden’s history:

“In a narrow lane, between white-washed houses at the foot of a mountain of brown lava, you came upon a microcosm of Arabia. Here was a group of Arab merchants and shopkeepers with silk or cotton turbans rolled jauntily round the head, loose jackets of dyed cotton reaching to the hips, white kilts wound about the loins and held by parti-coloured waistbands, and scarves of Surat silk thrown artistically over the left shoulder. They were sipping coffee flavoured with ginger, and playing ‘tab’, a game resembling backgammon. In the shadow of the door, through which floated the scent of frankincense, squatted three or four women in shirts or robes of silk girdled with green leather belts, their bright red shawls half drawn over their tattooed faces. A few yards beyond several sturdy Somalis in white robes, with shaven heads, looked on smiling at a game of Sari, or prisoners’ base, played by boys whose heads were plastered thickly with white earth to make the hair crisp and frizzy. Four Hindus in bright attire bent over an Indian draught-board.

Jews, drinking a vile spirit distilled from dates, Dankalis in sheepskin wigs dyed crimson, Persians, Abyssinians, Seedees, and all those Asiatic and African races that make the population of the settlement, were crowded in this picturesque lane. Even these have their ‘dudes’ or ‘mashers’ - gay young ‘bucks’ tricked out in as many colours as a pantaloon, swaggering up and down the street and displaying their necklaces of double rows of speckled beads clasped with great lumps of beautifully polished amber.

The town of Aden cannot be seen from the shore. It lies at the back of the lava hills in an arid sun-burnt crater, swept by a hot, sandy wind known as the Shamal, or the north wind. Through this town the Prince and Princess passed to inspect the famous cisterns or tanks, those marvels of antiquity and of engineering skill. My driver was a belated hadji, whose green turban proclaimed his pilgrimage to Mecca, and we were quickly beyond the noisy supplications of the crowds of beggar children who make a visit to Aden one long and sore trial to the patience. For some distance the road runs almost parallel with the bay until you come to village of Maalla, whose white-washed houses and mat huts are occupied chiefly by Somalis.

A winding road leads up to the main pass, a deep cutting through red lava, which in the sunlight looked like a wall of fire. We halted for a caravan toiling slowly and silently out of the crater - camels bringing coffeeberries, pulse, fruit, vegetables, and Kat from the districts of Mokha and Hajariya; camels and oxen laden with wax and ghee, and grain, and saffron, from the interior of Yemen, whose armed guardians have braved the dangers of a journey through land of the predatory Subaihi tribes. Once through the defile a rapid descent carries us past the barracks of the native Indian regiment, a company of which, in shirts and turbans, are exercising on the brown plain.

Caravan having passed through the Main Gate heading down Queen Arwa Road into Crater.