1: RefugeesFinally the special flight took off for Tel Aviv, as the opening hours of the Six-Day War were drifting away. We passengers, by now fretful, were issued with a canvas-bound pocket book, Readings From Holy Scriptures, selected by the Chief Rabbi for the Jewish Members of HM Forces—remaindered, one might say, from a former crisis. On board, besides press correspondents, were panels of doctors from New York hospitals and a computer team from MIT. Also an Israeli star fresh from mastering Broadway, and he was kissed goodbye by an actress in a celebrity suit and sombrero. Their picture must have been in the papers. I sat next to a Canadian freelance demolition expert in some concocted uniform of his own on which were pinned the insignia of various arm—i Taenzasnia , the Congo, Rhodesia. He stood up to join in when the Broadway star and his friends had a little sing-song going. We had heard the latest television commentary in which the typecast know-all young man from the Institute of Strategic Studies and a specialist on Middle East weaponry had declared that nobody should believe either side’s statements about aeroplane losses. He had spoken of dog-fights to control the skies, and his menaces vaporized away only in the Mediterranean dawn, high and empty above a still shore. Landing alongside anti-aircraft guns by the runway, we clapped with relief, applauding ourselves perhaps.