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The following are memories recalled by Sheila North, as recorded by Hanover Housing Association in their book 'Tale of the Century' published in 1999.
In the 1950's I took my two sons to live in the Desert of Qatar in the Persian Gulf.
We joined my husband, a civil engineer, to live a very different life from the orderly, habitual daily round of England. 102º in the shade and constant sunshine took some adjustment and one of the most noticeable absences was the English daily weather observation -- 'rain again', 'it's cold today', and so on.
Like Scheherazade there are many stories to tell, such as the swarm of locusts that turned day into night, getting into one's hair and eating all things green in the garden (a garden I had carefully cultivated by using hydroponics and soil from Bahrain). Then, after eating our barasti fence, they began to eat each other (I can still hear the crunch, crunch!).
It is hard to imagine that such an occasion could bring joy: but Ali, our houseboy, danced around in glee collecting many in a bag before joining other Arab boys to feast long into the night with this manna from heaven (heads off and dipped in boiling water).
We visited the Sheikhs which meant driving along salt flats and oiled tracks to Doha where we received superb Arab courtesy.
Reclining on large embroidered cushions, the host entertained a dozen or so with roasted lamb or gazelle, carving and accurately throwing succulent pieces on to each tin plate to be eaten with the varied spicy dishes and rice by the use of one hand. Fruits galore imported from Lebanon and Turkish coffee followed, with much belching and Arabic chatter.
 When the host asked my husband how much he had paid for me, he replied with a grin, 'Seven shillings and sixpence' (the price of a marriage licence in old money!).
The Sheikh clapped his hands and said I had done well to give him two sons, and I watched, smiling broadly, when my husband received one of the gazelle's eyes to eat. My younger son (aged 2½) and I visited the ladies of the harem, who were very hospitable with perfumed drinks and sweet-meats and lots of high-pitched chatter about our bright clothes and uncovered faces.
They wore black gowns to the floor and black leather yashmaks, revealing only lively brown eyes and beautifully painted hands.
In the deep silence of the desert, we discovered that sand dunes can 'sing' -- a most delicate creaking sound. The boys, however, found it much more exciting careering down the dunes on tin trays.
 Another special thrill was watching the coronation and Hillary and Tensing reaching the top of Mount Everest -- a double feature at the open-air cinema under a star-studded sky.
Returning to England was a strange experience too. The feast of colours (especially green trees) hurt the eyes, and every-day noises took some getting accustomed to.
Looking back it was a wonderful experience in another culture. Doha is still the capital of Qatar, with hotels such as the Hilton and a large splendid hospital with many 20th century amenities.
Now is the time for me to look forward to the 21st century in the comfort of my Hanover flat and enjoy England's weather variations.
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