Speech Royal College of Physicians
REVIEWS
When the Gospel writers described the life of Jesus, they added the time and place of almost every event. It’s as if they were alerted by the insistence of doubting Thomas to be given physical evidence of the Resurrection. The evangelists may not have thought that future generations would believe their accounts without including these details. Such caution may be understandable when narrating the events surrounding the Nativity, Crucifixion and Resurrection (all in Judea). But they also give the locations of most of His miracles and His teachings (many in Galilee). This has meant that future Christians had a topography of the events of Jesus’ life. This knowledge has drawn Christians to the sites from far and wide over the past 2000 years. However, as the author, John Walker-Smith, explains in his highly readable book, Christians have only administered the Holy Land in three periods in that long history: first, for around three centuries from the conversion of the Roman emperor, Constantine, in the early fourth century, to the Moslem capture of Jerusalem in the seventh; second, the Frankish kingdom from 1099 to 1187, with a shrunken coastal state until 1291; and third, from when the League of Nations mandated the British Government to administer Palestine after the fall of Ottoman rule in 1917 to their withdrawal and the creation of new states by the United Nations in 1948. It is this last period that the author focusses on. He points out what distinguishes this short administration from other regimes. At all other times the area has been fought over by Jews, Christians and Moslems, each of whom felt that they had a right to the whole territory. Each has had periods in history where they were the sole rulers. John Walker-Smith, with his careful attention to historical accuracy notes that the only other time when they Holy Land was shared, was in the reign of the Holy Roman Emperor, Frederich II (rr 1220-1250) when Christians and Moslems agreed to administer Jerusalem jointly, with having primacy over different sectors. John Walker-Smith describes how the administrators of the Mandate strived to endow the world with a Holy Land where Jews, Christians and Moslems could live in peace and harmony. He uses the travel writing of three Anglican Christians to illustrates the points he wishes to convey. They are the eminent Edwardian surgeon Frederick Treves (in the last years of the Ottoman empire in 1912); HV Morton, a traveller at the time of the Mandate; and his own observations after the Mandate had ended (1964, in the company of pilgrims from the diocese of Gloucester and again after the 1967 war, twice in his capacity as a clinical academic in 1987 and 1995). A great strength of the author is that he stimulates thought and allows the reader to reflect on the significance of the observations that he makes. His written text is supported in this by 95 superb figures, almost all in colour. The text is full of examples of thought-provoking text illustrated by a figure. There are too many to mention in a short review. One simple example is his description and photograph of a Palestinian stamp, issued during the mandate. This is in English, Arabic and Hebrew. He points out that no stamp (unlike other stamps in the British Empire) carried the head of the King (either George V or George VI). This allows the reader to understand why the three official languages still used (as for example on the tram in Jerusalem) are English, Arabic and Hebrew. More important, the lack of a King’s head demonstrates that the British did not regard Palestine as their land, but that they were protecting it for the world and for future generations. This brings us to the central theme of the book: that the British involvement in Palestine was altruistic. The author clearly points out they knew the dangers of administering the hotly contested country in the 1920s and 1930s, but that they had hoped to develop a state where different peoples could live together in peace. That this has not been realised is no fault of the British Administrators of the Mandate, who did everything in their power (which included the loss many British lives, including in the police, the armed forces and civilians) to make this happen. John Walker-Smith, with his instinctive understanding of the Church of England’s tolerance to other faiths (which is reflected in public policy) describes this thinking (so unlike our Medieval ancestors). He writes that the administrators emphasised areas of communality between the faiths, such as each being descended from Abraham. He points out that the rock on which Abraham came close to sacrificing Isaac was considered a physical embodiment of this idea. This again throws up questions as to what constitutes human greatness in members of a governing group. Are Frederick II and the administrators of the Mandate the only people to show greatness in the Holy Land since the life of Jesus Christ, in that they wished to see harmony and equality among peoples from different backgrounds? Was the Mandate, run by people influenced by the Enlightenment, a missed opportunity; or was it an experiment that was doomed from the start? Buying this book is the literary equivalent of purchasing a plant, which in the course of one’s reading grows into something much bigger because of the questions it raises in the reader’s mind. A great strength of the book is the that its information is always linked to the travel writings of one of the three writers. This makes for easy, but fruitful reading. Choosing travellers who span the momentous changes of the Holy Land over the 20th century from the Ottoman Empire, through the Mandate and into modern times, before and after the wars of 1967 and 1973, gives a time dimension to the places described. The book should be read by anyone interested in the Middle East. It is essential reading for anyone who has visited or intends to visit the Holy Land as a Christian. Professor Ian Sanderson John Walker-Smith, known and remembered as ‘Prof”
by generations of medical students and fellows around the world, once again
shares something deeply personal – this time not through poetry, but through
prose shaped by faith, memory, and reflection. In The Holy Land – with
Echoes of British Mandate, he guides us across Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and
the broader landscapes of Israel and Palestine – a journey both inward and
historical. The book spans three major phases: his first visit in 1964 as a
young Christian pilgrim; his professional returns in the 1980s and 1990s as a
visiting professor of medicine; and his encounters with earlier British travel
writings, particularly those of Frederick Treves (1912) and H V Morton (1934). What results is more than a travel memoir. It
is a sustained reflection on how sacred geography lives on in personal
experience and in the long shadows of history – viewed through the eyes of a
man whose Christian faith, especially as an Anglican, is never absent, and
whose memory of places visited decades earlier is nothing short of astonishing. Decades remembered – every
stone, every turn One of the most striking aspects of the book
is the precision with which Walker-Smith recalls places visited long ago – alleys,
courtyards, holy sites, borders and backstreets, described as if freshly seen.
His memory is remarkably intact, not only emotionally but topographically:
every stone and pillar, the view from each terrace, the echo of footsteps in
cloisters, recalled in astonishing detail. It becomes immediately clear that
this is not a generalist’s recollection, but a careful, deliberate
documentation – the product of a mind as devoted to observation in the world as
in the hospital ward. The geography of the land is memorised like a clinical
chart – not cold, but exact; not clinical, but loving. Adding to this vividness are the original
colour photographs taken by the author himself, e.g. during his first journey
in 1964. Among them is the image of a postcard he had sent to his sister – a
personal trace embedded in the record of the land. Other photographs show
street scenes, local children, or, indeed memorably, the striking contrast
between the brilliant colours of cloths from Bethlehem and the pale stone walls
on which they hang – a moment of such visual charm, one is almost inclined to
stand still and simply take it in. Another especially touching image shows
pressed flowers bought in Jerusalem in 1964 – still retaining their colours
after more than half a century. These visual documents lend the book a rare
sense of intimacy and authenticity – they are not illustrations, but extensions
of memory. History, archaeology, and
the record of time While the prose is quieter and more
restrained than the lyrical elegance of Walker-Smith’s poetry, the depth of
historical and archaeological research in this book is profound. He moves with
confidence between biblical reference, local tradition, and the findings of
modern archaeology – always precise, never speculative. Whether describing the
Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Dome of the Rock, or the ancient layout of
the Old City, he provides details rooted in extensive reading, attentive
walking, and decades of reflection. He does not romanticise: commercialization,
decay, and conflict are noted with concern, but not cynicism. What matters most is the continuity of place
and presence – the way faith, stone, and story endure across centuries. At one deeply personal moment, the author
recounts how, as a 28-year-old pilgrim in 1964, he collected water from the
River Jordan in a container he had brought specially for the occasion – water
that would, years later, be used for the baptism of his first child. It is a
gesture that embodies both faith and foresight, and it encapsulates the spirit
of the book: not only to witness the Holy Land, but to carry it forward – symbolically
and sacramentally – also into the life of the author’s own family. Three voices across three
eras: Treves, Morton and Walker-Smith The author’s structural choice to embed his
reflections within the writings of Treves and Morton adds historical depth.
Treves, writing under Ottoman rule, offers descriptions that are at times dry,
sometimes even cynical, but always grounded in the physical realities of early
20th-century Palestine. Morton, writing in 1934 during the British Mandate,
appears more impressed by the visible modernisation and archaeological
uncovering, yet his tone is cautious rather than celebratory – a recorder of
promise more than a prophet of peace. Walker-Smith uses their voices not to
contrast, but to layer time: to show how the same sites and streets can mean
different things across generations. His own perspective is rooted in
reverence, in careful judgment, and in a humanistic Christianity that seeks
understanding rather than dogma. The
British Mandate: romantic endeavour or failed ideal? One of the more compelling themes running
through the book is Walker-Smith’s nuanced view of the British Mandate. He does
not present it as an unqualified success, nor as a villainous colonial episode.
Rather, he reflects on it as a brave – perhaps romantic and ultimately naive – attempt
to unify the three great monotheistic religions under a shared administration.
The British, in his eyes, were often sincere in their efforts: civil servants,
soldiers, administrators who acted with courage and, in some cases, genuine
moral conviction. There is something of the ‘crusader spirit’ in how he
describes their role – not in a military sense, but in their vision of service
and stewardship. At the same time, he acknowledges how the Mandate ultimately
failed to establish lasting peace or shared governance. Its legacy, though
complex, is maybe not without merit – and in Walker-Smith’s reflections, one
senses both admiration and sorrow for what might have been. To me, this complexity is nowhere felt more
acutely than in the author’s descriptions of Jerusalem – a city he returns to
again and again. It is here that he quotes the Israeli writer Amos Elon, who
once called Jerusalem ‘the tiger city’: a place so fiercely contested and
bitterly embattled, yet simultaneously so inseparably bound to the concept of
peace. This contradiction lies at the heart of the book, and of Walker-Smith’s
entire reflection on the Holy Land – the coexistence of holiness and violence,
devotion and division, longing and despair. Faith as guide – Christian
and Anglican Underlying the entire narrative is
Walker-Smith’s deep commitment to Christianity. His Anglican faith is not
merely background; it shapes how he sees the land, the people, and the sacred.
Each church visited is not only a monument but a place of prayer. His readings
of biblical history are informed by both scholarship and devotion. Even the
discomfort he occasionally expresses – at over-tourism, or the commercialisation
of sacred sites – comes from a place of reverence. He does not preach, but he
walks as a pilgrim, and his eyes never lose sight of that first journey of
faith. A doctor’s eye, a pilgrim’s
soul While many will recall the poetic delicacy of
Walker-Smiths book Hope, Beauty and Friendship, this memoir offers
something just as valuable: constancy of perspective. We see here the same John
Walker-Smith known to so many medical students and colleagues – precise, observant, quietly moved. He writes not as
a tourist, but as a witness: to time, to the persistence of faith, to the moral
weight of history. His observations are restrained but deeply considered. His
chapters, though not elaborate, are honest and enduring. As one of his former pupils – an Austrian,
and so privileged to have had him as a particularly formative clinical teacher –
I can attest that the clarity and humanity evident in this book mirror exactly
what shaped his bedside manner and mentorship. It was through him that I was
introduced to the Anglo-American academic world of Paediatric Gastroenterology
and to ESPGHAN, the European Society for Paediatric Gastroenterology,
Hepatology and Nutrition. I vividly remember the Jerusalem ESPGHAN meeting of
1995 – my first – which Prof. Walker-Smith too attended. Reading this book, so
many memories came back to me, and I found myself reflecting on them with a
certain inner warmth, as we might say. I am once again walking those streets,
learning from his insight, and grateful for the quiet power of his example. In the end, The Holy Land – with Echoes of
British Mandate is not just about geography – it is about memory,
conscience, and belief. It is about how a life of clinical work and teaching
can also be a life of reflection, and how history lives on in each stone we
remember, in each prayer offered, and in each story we choose to carry forward.
Or, as we might say in my own language: Es bleibt etwas zurück. Almuthe Christina Hauer, MD PhD There is much to enjoy from this journal of three sojourns in the Holy Land, the Land of the Holy One, Palestine/Israel. John Walker-Smith refers to it as the Holy Land, which is how I have always referred to the land in which Our Lord Jesus Christ was born, but we owe it to the current situation, to acknowledge there is far more than one interpretation. The chapters that make up The Holy Land with Echoes of British Mandate are each one short, which means the reader is always on the move, as befits a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; whether you like it or not, you are always moving, and John makes this possible! There is no shying away in the book, from the disappointment of finding in Jerusalem an over-commercialised and dirty city, a place where peace and quietness are as rare in any other city on earth! But he reminds us, the reader, the fellow traveller, that these are to be found, as they can be found in our daily lives, they just need to be sought out. Sir Frederick Treves, with whom John travels in a literary sense through parts of the book, paints a rather unflattering portrait, but as John points out, beauty or lack of it is very much in the eye of the beholder. And so, it is! John Walker-Smith is a doctor and his book is laced through with medical observations as befits such a pilgrim. It is these observations that give this volume of memories, reminiscences, and reflections a quality, that spans the decades from his first visit with a group from the Diocese of Gloucester in the mid-1960s. There is a timeless quality, as timeless as the focus of the book – the Holy Land. The Revd Canon Thomas Woodhouse Chaplain, The King's Chapel of the Savoy
within the Duchy of Lancaster |
