´óÏó´«Ã½

THE SIEGE OF HABBANIYAH.

During the course of my brief service with the R.A.F., I had, in 1947, the good fortune to be posted to R.A.F. Habbaniyah in Iraq, some fifty miles from Baghdad. Situated in the middle of desert land, it was a quite magnificent Station, and the pride of Middle East Command. It was handed over to the Iraqi Air Force after I left, but I was not to blame for that. It was also, incidentally, a staging post for the pre-war Imperial Airways flying boats, en route to Singapore, etc.
While I was there, I had occasion to visit Station H.Q., In the middle of the camp, and observed two ancient field-pieces standing proudly outside. I asked questions, and was referred to the Station Library, where I discovered this remarkable story. I have no doubt that it has been recounted in some other place, but I have been unable to unearth it. I therefore propose to tell it now, for it is a singular tale from the heart of the war. Please forgive me if some details have escaped me after some 58 years.
I will guess at 1942, at which time the U.S. of A. had just been dragged reluctantly into the conflict thanks to Pearl Harbour, but this effect was negligible at the time. We, the British, were in some difficulty. The North African campaign was again not going well, and Malta seemed likely to be sunk without trace.
The Germans would have wished to extend their forces through Turkey to the Levant, but Turkey, this time around, was neutral, and Adolf had overextended his strength, so they had to revert to other means. No doubt through German funding, their agents discovered one Rashid Ali, a notorious dissident and evil troublemaker — Iraq still has such. Suitably encouraged, he gathered about him a raggle-taggle army and proceeded towards Habbaniyah, which was virtually undefended.
This considerable armed mob halted on the escarpment overlooking the Station, and planned their assault upon a few service technicians, their wives and children. There were some aircraft there, but only a few Tiger Moths and similar light craft. Not brave enough immediately to attack, they contented themselves with bombarding the Station with what armament they possessed. I witnessed the preserved shell and bullet holes in certain billet areas. It must have been most frightening for the women and kids therein.
But British pride prevailed, and they would not admit defeat. They really didn’t stand a chance, but they would take them on. And so they did, hauling out the aforementioned antiquated guns, priming and discharging them repeatedly, causing havoc up on the ridge. And then the fliers, few in number, played their vital role. They took off, armed with hand-grenades, and flew low over the mob to discompose them. Then to return, arm up again, repeating this all day. It proved to be sufficient to dismay the insurgents.
Remarkable, as all they had to do, unknown to them, was to gallop down the slope and take possession. At dawn the next day, it appeared, with relief, that all that great horde had taken themselves off , too scared to take us on.
Perhaps a little incident, in quite a massive war, but I think it shows qualities that we may lack today. And thereby speaks a true cynic, who wasn’t even there at the time!

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.