So we apologetically put the gallant
greys in again, poor beasties, and they took us up well.
From the cemetery the road runs fairly level to where, upon rounding a
sharp corner, the hill station of Murree comes into sight, clinging to its
hill-tops and overlooking the far flat plains beyond Pindi.
I cannot imagine how anybody would willingly abide in Murree who could go
anywhere else for the hot weather. There being no level ground, there is
no polo, no cricket, and no golf. There is no river to fish in, and I do
not think that there is anything at all to shoot. Doubtless, however, it
has its compensations. Probably it abounds in pretty mem-sahibs, who with
bridge and Badminton combine to oil the wheels of life, and make it merry
on the Murree hills.
Leaving the station high on the left, we dipped in a most puzzling manner
down a slope through a fine wood giving magnificent views towards the
hills of our beloved Kashmir, and presently came to "Sunny Bank," whence a
steep road seemed to run sharply hack and up to Murree itself. It was late,
and both we and our unfortunate horses were tired, but a hasty peep into
the little inn showed it to be quite impossible as a lodging, and a biting
wind sent us shivering down the hill as fast as might be to seek rest and
warmth at Tret.
The good greys took us down the eleven miles in a very short time, and we
pulled up at the dak bungalow at 7.30, having been just twelve hours doing
the forty miles from Kohala.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253