THE SECRET GRIMOIRE
THE S.S. Umvoti, on which I was travelling from Beira, Portuguese East Africa, to London, reached Las Palmas in November, 1927, after a very stormy passage.
Like the rest of the passengers, I was thankful to get ashore.
The usual vendors, beggars, and guides were soon in evidence. One old man in the garb of a peasant offered me his services as a guide, which J gladly accepted.
The man was bearded, swarthy of complexion, and very thin. He spoke in broken English and suggested that we visit the Cathedral.
This we did, and as we walked the stranger informed me that the Cathedral was founded in the 16th century but only completed in the 19th, He conducted me to a lift inside the Cathedral, and smiled at two most corpulent priests who were seated at confessional boxes.
The priests turned their heads away from the guide, who entered the lift with me. Soon we were speeding upward to enjoy the most enchanting scene imaginable. In the sunlight, on each bank of the river, lay the houses of the capital Down below the people walked, Lilliputians in size.
We stood for a considerable time, and indeed I could have remained much longer drinking in the view, but the guide suggested that we leave.
We did so and visited the bazaars and other plates of interest including taverns where we enjoyed native cigars and wine.
