大象传媒

It starts,really,when fellow-photogtapher,Bob Pitcairn and I awaiting,at Kasfereet ,
for our draft to be shipped to Kenya,decided to spend an evening in Ismailia.All went well until,somehow, a German plane managed to penetrate the defenses and drop a couple of bombs.Pandemonium ensued and the never -reliable bus service stopped altogether.We hitch-hiked and walked,arriving at our two-man tent at first light.
Exhausted,we overslept and awoke to find ourselves alone,but for the small permanent staff,in a vast,empty camp.The draft had paraded,embussed,and driven off to their ship.
We were clearly in trouble but decided to bluff it out as long as possible.Somehow,by means I cannot remember,we got ourselves on to the aforementioned permanent staff,from which we were posted to a barely-heard-of country called Iraq.The journey there included a pleasant week in Haifa ,an overnight desert-bus trip to Habbaniya and finally a train-ride to Shaibah arriving just after daybreak.
Reporting to the station orderly room caused amazement, for our arrival was completely unexpected-evidently such shambolic communications are what saved us from repercussions resulting from the Kasfereet incident.Ginger,the ordery-room clerk reacted by phoning all sections to announce a booze-up that evening in honour of the new arrivals,apparently the normal ptocedure,as was any other excuse.
So the entire ration- strength of about 125 duly assembled in the open-air cinema.Much Solan's ghastly but potent beer was consumed and the company settled into a relaxed mood.As the evening wore on, various personages were ivited to sing a song or ,alternatively,"moon"the assembly.Eventually it became the C.O.'s turn.His response was to say that everybody knew he could't sing,so we were duly presented with the required other choice.This was a different RAF.
It was pretty clear that the top brass understood that Shaibah was a pretty desolate place, which could be tolerable only if the usual degrees of discpline were relaxed somewhat.
The comradeship in the camp extended to all ranks and was very strong.We filled our spare time inventively with all sorts of wheezes such as "horse-races"with cut-outs and dice.And we sang"Hurrah for Dapper Dan"(t he camp sanitary-wallah),and,of course,"Shaibah Blues",a song nearly every airman had heard of,if only vaguely.
After a year I was posted to the then re-forming 52 squadrom in Mosul,bidding farewell forever to Bob,who had been my companion through too many experiences to describe here.
But,after travels from Egypt to Tunisia,on day walking along the main street of Palermo,Sicily,I bumped into Bob.We had a great afternoon and evening then said what we felt would this time be the last goodbye. Not so.Coincidence again united us,this time with wives and families. We now kept in close contact intil he died in a road accidentI still talk to him but the blighter doesn't answer.I must have offended him.
When I dream about Shaibah,as I still sometimes do,Bob's there,like all the other great guys.

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