大象传媒

This story describes a series of events in Algiers, which took place during my service there and led to a strange coincidence that only my father could explain.

The 117 Light Ack Ack (anti-aircraft) Regiment, Royal Artillery - or 117 LAA RA - arrived at last in Algiers. I was sergeant in command of a gun and tractor, with a crew of ten men. Johnny Needham was a bombardier and second in command, and Reg Jessup was a lance bombardier and third in command. Others I can remember were 'Pinchers' King, in charge of ammunition, Dickie Bell, Bob Smart, our driver and mechanic, and Leschinsky, another Jewish boy. The other names I have forgotten. Anyway, it was a very good team, and we got on extremely well together.

The transit camp was a huge sprawling canvas monstrosity on the beach and, after unpacking and settling into our tents, CSM Harry Osborne called all the sergeants together to give us this information.

'We may be here for just a day or two, and we may be here for weeks, so I'll try to get a Sergeants' Mess going, which won鈥檛 be easy, because we had to leave all our Mess equipment behind.

'There will be passes issued to anyone wishing to go into Algiers and transport will be arranged, but be sure that you catch the return transport at 21.45 hrs. because there鈥檚 a curfew at 22.00 hrs. Whatever you do, don't wander into the Casbah. It鈥檚 very dangerous, and it鈥檚 also out of bounds.'

The Casbah

'Fancy coming into town?' I asked my friend Sgt Bill French. 'I want to find somewhere to repair my watch.'

'OK,' said Bill. 'The local muscatel is supposed to be very good. I wouldn鈥檛 mind trying some.'

We obtained our passes, and went back to get spruced up. Harry Osborne walked over to us. 'Look fellers, if you鈥檙e going into town, see if you can get hold a a few wine glasses to get the Mess going.'

'OK Harry, we鈥檒l see what we can do.'

Harry was a nice guy and we could see nothing wrong in nicking a few wine glasses from people who probably hated our guts.

At about five o鈥檆lock, we took transport into Algiers and walked along a main thoroughfare, window-gazing. Low and behold, we came across a small watch repairers. What鈥檚 more, the name above the shop sounded Jewish. We went in, and I showed my watch to the proprietor who examined it most carefully. Fortunately, he spoke English and when I asked him if he was Jewish he nodded but looked at me suspiciously. I then said 'I鈥檓 Jewish too,' and he seemed amazed. When he convinced himself that I was telling the truth, he came around the counter to shake me warmly by the hand, using both his hands to express his pleasure.

He asked me to accompany him to the home of his fiancee, who lived with her mother within just a few minutes' walk. He was prepared to close his shop straight away, and would repair my watch first thing in the morning. I was quite happy to go with him, but as Bill wasn鈥檛 too interested, I suggested that he go into a bar directly opposite, and I鈥檇 see him within twenty minutes. My new friend took me through some back streets which seemed to get narrower and narrower, until I felt that I could touch the walls of either side at the same time.

The blessing

One whitewashed stone house looked very much like the other and finally we entered a house via some steep whitewashed steps. We were greeted by two women in Arab dress, one of whom looked very old and wizened, the other much younger. My friend spoke to the old lady in Arabic, and the doubtful looks that she gave me made me wish that I hadn鈥檛 agreed to the meeting.I looked around at the sparsely furnished room, whitewashed walls and stone floor, and could hardly reconcile this primitive abode, and apparently primitive inhabitants, with the English-speaking, well-dressed watch repairer. The old lady suddenly came to a decision - she hobbled over to a small bookshelf nailed to the wall, selected what was obviously a Hebrew prayer book, flipped open the cover, and by pointing to a particular paragraph, suggested that I should read.

As soon as I started to read, her entire demeanour changed. A smile appeared on her face, and tears welled in her eyes. She sat me down on a wooden chair, poured me a glass of wine and asked me to drink. She then placed both her hands upon my head and recited the prayer in Ivrit (Hebrew), which starts 'May the Lord bless you and keep you.' She then kissed me tenderly on my left temple. Language being a problem as I explained to my friend that I had to go, because Bill was waiting for me but I鈥檇 see him again tomorrow when I came to collect my watch.

I took my leave of the two ladies (the younger one never spoke a word the entire time) and made my way back to the main street and the bar where Bill was waiting. He had already drunk a glass of muscatel and told me how good it tasted. He indicated that he had put the empty glass inside his battle-dress blouse. I bought two more and told him of my visit while we drank. When we finished, we popped the empty glasses inside our battle-dress blouses and decided to move on to the next bar.

The bump

We had a couple of drinks of the same wine, which was absolutely delicious, and popped the empty glasses into our blouses and moved off once again. I can鈥檛 recall the next bar - as a matter of fact, the next thing I can recall is waking up in unfamiliar surroundings with a splitting headache . As my perception improved and I was able to look around, in very poor light, I realised that I was lying on hard concrete. Bill was sound asleep next to me. I was fully clothed, and there were several Arabs lying around either asleep or unconscious. I was obviously in a cell or dungeon, because on one side were the bars of a prison door, and on the other, high up, close to the ceiling, were the bars of an extremely narrow grill, which allowed little light to penetrate the darkness.

The grill must have been at pavement level, because I caught a glimpse of feet passing by. The stench of urine was almost unbearable, and my bead was throbbing. I put my hand up to my bead, and felt a bump on my left temple the size of an egg. I shook Bill awake, and after giving him time to get his bearings, asked him If he could remember how we got into this situation - but he couldn鈥檛 remember a thing beyond the first three or four drinks! We went to the door and shouted through the bars, which woke up some of the Arab inmates but also brought a gendarme, who explained to us that we would be released within ten minutes. He came back, opened the door and escorted us up the narrow staircase and into the street-side office, where two Military Police sergeants were awaiting us. After signing bits of paper, and accepting a large bag from the gendarmerie, two sergeants escorted us outside to a waiting Jeep.

The charges

We were under close arrest.

'You guys are in big trouble,' said one of the sergeants.

'Do you know what happened?' I asked, 'Because we can鈥檛 remember a thing.'

'Well,' he replied, 'This is the Casbah, which, as you know, is out of bounds and last night, when two gendarmes tried to arrest you, you put up a fight and they had to knock you out with their truncheons. They also found a load of wine glasses on you. They contacted us last night, but our officer decided not to collect you then, but to let you sleep it off in their nick and collect you when you had sobered up. You鈥檙e on five charges, by the way. I鈥檒l read them out to you.' He produced a sheet of paper, and read thus:

'(1) Being drunk and disorderly. (2) Being in town after curfew (3) Being in an out-of-bounds area, the Casbah. (4) Resisting arrest and; (5) being in the unlawful possession of fourteen wine glasses, of the type used in the local cafes.'

We looked at each other without comprehension and sat glumly in our seats until reaching the camp, where we were put in a tent under close arrest to await CO鈥檚 office later that morning. In spite of my aching head, I had to try to think clearly in order to produce some kind of defence for a charge that could reduce us both to the ranks. Of the five charges, that of stealing wine glasses was obviously the most serious, so I thought of a defence that might help us and Bill agreed to let me do the talking for both of us. I suggested that, not realising the potency of muscatel wine, and being misled by its pleasant sweetness, we bad obviously drunk more than was good for us, and all the other events happened because we were completely stoned. We didn't deny being in possession of the wine glasses, but we must have collected them without realizing it.

Well, that was our story, and at CO's office it worked. Our Commanding Officer was Lt Col Dougie Swinburne, an excellent officer of the old school, and brother of a famous actress, Nora Swinburne. He loved boxing and he particularly enjoyed watching me fight. (He once told me so.) He had a high opinion of me as a senior NCO and was obviously devastated by the charges brought against me. He seemed relieved to hear my defence and was glad to accept it, acknowledging the power of muscatel, and our inability to recognise it. We were both severely reprimanded, which meant an entry into our military behaviour records, but we remained as sergeants. I鈥檒l tell you about my boxing activities and why I got started in it later on.

Bill and I returned to our Company where we were congratulated by Sgt Major Harry Osborne and informed that we would be moving out the same day, to head for Tunisia and the fighting zone. Leave, of course, was cancelled, so there was no way that I could collect my watch, or say goodbye to my new-found friend. I started to think back on the events of the previous day, and the strange meeting with the old lady dressed in Arab clothes. I thought of the tears in her eyes when she blessed me and the tender kiss on my temple. Then it suddenly occurred to me. I lifted my fingers to the exact spot that she had kissed and there was that egg-shaped lump from the baton of the French gendarme. The same spot, exactly!

The answer

Now this surely had some significance. Why should a tender kiss to seal a blessing by an old lady be exemplified by a huge bump administered with the baton of an unfriendly gendarme? I pondered this for quite a while, but could find no solution. Anyway, there was a lot of work to do in preparation for our move and a few hours later we were on our way to battle areas.

This story has a sequel. There were years of fighting ahead for me, full of excitement, drama and even lots of fun, believe it or not. More of that later. Eventually the war ended. I served many months in Egypt until my group (28) was demobilised, and I went home June 1946. My mother, father and sister greeted me with 'Welcome Home' signs, lots of bunting, hugs and kisses. My home seemed remarkably tiny, but it was home. I sat down to a wonderful meal that ended with rice pudding, made with rice that my mother had saved from her meagre rations because of my fondness for rice puddings. I didn鈥檛 have the heart to tell her that rice had always been plentiful in Egypt and I could hardly stand the stuff any more!

After dinner, my Dad mentioned the importance of prayer, and said that both he and Mum prayed every day for my safe home-coming. My mother even admitting that she'd prayed I would lose a leg, so that I could come home! Dear Mum! She meant well, but I'm glad her prayer was rejected. I suddenly remembered the old lady鈥檚 blessing in Algiers, and after telling my parents the whole story, I asked Dad if he could explain the conundrum of the bump transplanting the kiss. He had an answer: 'God accepted the old lady鈥檚 blessing and decided that you would survive the war, but the bump on the head was to warn you to behave yourself. Nice Yiddishe boys don鈥檛 go around stealing wine glasses!'

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