Recessional

Technically, Waziristan is a country. It is also the scene of one of Britain's most dogged (and futile) essays in civilization. A ragged parallelogram of 5,200 square miles of barren territory, it is tucked away at the southwest corner of the North West Frontier, at a point where the Punjab and Kashmir reach out toward Afghanistan and Baluchistan. It is inhabited by various tribes who, finding their land too poor for a decent standard of living, have for years supported themselves by raids on their less impoverished neighbors .

Z-Day. Said Sir Denys Bray, British Foreign Secretary, in 1923: "Come what may, civilization must be made to penetrate these inaccessible mountains or we must admit that there is no solution to the Waziristan problem."

So far, there has been none. The British built a fortress at Ramzak and managed to enforce a semblance of order by punitive expeditions and judicious bribery. But the Wazir chieftain, the Fakir of Ipi, also known as "the Firebrand,"kept a holy war going against the British. Every year, when the tribesmen drove their sheep into Kashmir to graze, the British actually induced them to check their weapons at collection centers. Theoretically, the new state of Pakistan was to take over Fort Ramzak and the Waziristan problem. Pakistan had neither the money nor the enlightened stubbornness to cope with them. Tribesmen had already passed armed into Kashmir, killed hundreds there (TIME, Nov. 10) .

Just before Christmas, an army of 5,000 Pakistanis, led by 13 British officers, withdrew from Ramzak. Correspondent Douglas Brown of London's Daily Telegraph was there and sent a remarkable report to his paper . Excerpts :

"Z-Day, the date of departure, had been kept a close secret. . . . Tanks, armoured cars, lorries, mule trains, mountain artillery . . . moved in good order [marking]thebeginningofaneleven-day march. . . . Almost every yard of the 70-mile road . . . will bring the hazard of ambush by tribesmen who are still under the influence of the Fakir of Ipi. . . .

"Ramzak . . . was intended ... to pacify the tribesmen once and for all. . . . All it has succeeded in doing . . . was to tie up between 5,000 and 9,000 Indian and British troops in a beleaguered fortress. ... All the same ... to have spent the last few days behind its doomed defenses was to fall inevitably into nostalgic and melancholy mood. Ramzak was a challenging flight of military fancy. ... It was called 'the largest monastery in the world.' . . . No [European] woman has ever been within 60 miles, except the six ENSA [British USO] girls, who arrived for one night in June 1944, and left their high-heeled footprints in the soft cement outside the Brigade Headquarters mess. This monument remains, to the puzzlement of the tribesmen. . . .

The Dead Remained. "Yet even yesterday, when the last troops had disappeared . . . the great camp . . . had still a lingering civilized appearance. The trees looked as beautiful as ever in the sparkling morning air and chrysanthemums were blooming in the gardens. The church . . . was still undesecrated. The British graveyard, where 120 British dead had been left behind, was neat and trim. The glass gleamed in the windows of the . . . barracks which are like rows of suburban villas. Some chimneys were smoking with their last fires. The cinema was there, with the announcement of In Which We Serve still flapping against its wall. . . ."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.