suggested something of the splendour of Baghdad's old glory:--

"By garden porches on the brim,
The costly doors flung open wide,
Gold glittering through lamplight dim."

We landed by the Maude bridge and explored further afield, finding
"high-walled gardens" where we beheld

"All round about the fragrant marge,
From fluted vase and brazen urn,
In order, Eastern flowers large."

By day, Baghdad is not so impressive. Too much squalor is apparent. Yet
there are quaint street scenes.

Ancient windows, overhanging the street in one quarter, reminded me
strongly of pictures of old London. The feature that I could not help
noticing, not only in Baghdad but in all Mesopotamia, was the absence of
local colour. It is true that the sun gives a blazing and confused
suggestion of colour to objects by contrast with bluish shadows,
especially in the evening, but there is often very little colour in
things themselves. The East is supposed to be full of blazing colour and
the North gray and drab. Yet compare a barge in Rotterdam or Rochester
with one in Baghdad. The former is picked out in green and gold and
glows with rich, red sails, while the latter, for all its sunshine, is
the colour of ashes--not a vestige often of paint or gilding. Some
mahailas I found with traces of rich colouring, blue and yellow (see
sketch facing page 34), but this was exceptional. Perhaps the scarcity
of paint during years of war may have had something to do with this