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CHAPTER 7

It was different in Aleppo because for one thing, we were billeted in houses, commandeered by the Army. We had reasonably comfortable beds and once more mosquito nets, which we had not seen since we left India. Aleppo is reputed to date from before 2000 years BC and claims to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. It has a population now of nearly a million people, although I would guess that more than fifty years ago, it was considerably less. At the centre, close to where we were, there is a magnificent Citadel, ringed by ramparts. It also has a moat and a drawbridge and is in fact, a fairytale fortress, still in perfect condition. It is very large and one can visualize knights in shining armour and ladies in wimples. It is truly a wonderful sight and in a notice by the side of the portcullis, it tells the story of how this was one of the very few castles to resist repeated attacks by the Saracens. It says that in the whole of its history, it never capitulated and was never defeated by an enemy. From the day we had arrived in Basra we had been in Moslem or Arab countries and in each of them, alcohol was banned. Not for us soldiers of course, but as we could not buy it, we could only have what was shipped in, and that was bottled beer in limited supply, and of very low strength. Our rations amounted to about two bottles a day per man, until the supply ran out, which was very quickly, and then no more until the next shipment arrived. There was no such problem with the free issue of cigarettes. There were five packets of twenty for each man every week, and these never seemed to be in short supply. They were called Victory V cigarettes and were of disgustingly poor quality. Those issued to the British troops were in a pale red packet and even though they were so bad, they were infinitely better than the cigarettes issued to the Indian troops, which were in a green packet. The powers that be back in England must have made a deal with some quick witted character who in a short period of time became a multi multi millionaire or perhaps billionaire. That is the story of all wars: while some are risking their lives, others are becoming very, very rich. All the time I was in the Middle East, alcohol was very scarce and there was little chance of even the biggest drinker becoming an alcoholic.

We stayed in Aleppo for about two months and when we went out at night, there were a number of bars we could go to, but of course, they did not sell alcohol. As we could not speak the language, we just stepped up to the bar and immediately the Arab barman poured us out a drink. It was like the Wild West of America except that there it was whisky, and not a non-alcoholic red something. The drink was about the size of a treble, and really tasted quite nice, although a little bit like medicine. We paid in nice new Syrian notes received from the Army on pay day, and the barman gave us our change. This always consisted of very old and scruffy notes of various denominations plus an assortment of tickets to make the correct amount. These tickets, which had no value marked on them, just had the names of various shops and places on them. Presumably they were accepted as currency in most places in Aleppo, but they were virtually useless to us, and only of value to the local inhabitants. We could of course go back into the bars and buy more non-alcoholic drinks, or, we could go to a cinema, although we never found out what films were on or even, in what language.

I still had my Matchless motor cycle but had very little reason to use it. If I took it out, I could not leave it anywhere, because it would certainly have been stolen.

At this time, we were a very small unit - all sergeants, except for one sergeant major, plus a kitten who had adopted us. It used to sleep on my bed on top of the mosquito net, as it draped over my pillow. I often awoke in the middle of the night to find it fast asleep across the top of my head. On most days we had a visitor. This was a little Syrian girl named Jacqueline. She was aged about nine or ten and she was very beautiful. She captivated all of us, and because apart from Arabic, she also spoke French, we could understand some of the things she said. When we had a day off, we visited a nearby Turkish bath. This was built into the mountain, and had hot springs coming up through the rocks. It was a very interesting place, with a number of chambers, each with a different temperature, from very hot to very cold. We sat on seats carved out of the rocks and sweated with towels draped around us, just like Colonel Blimps as depicted in the cartoons.

One day we heard the sound of bagpipes and to our astonishment we saw a troop of about forty Scots Highlanders in kilts and full ceremonial dress, marching through. The sound of the bagpipes was quite awe inspiring and impressed us as much as it must have impressed the local inhabitants.

It was dark around five o'clock in the afternoon, and as there was very little street lighting, and what lamps there were gave out very little light, walking around could be rather hazardous. Many of the shops and houses had gratings outside them that were set into the pavement. Presumably there were cellars under these gratings, but unfortunately sometimes the gratings were not there, and one night my right leg went down one of these holes. It was a shock to the system, plus a very badly bruised shin. Another lesson learned and that was not to walk too closely to the shops or houses, especially at night. Once, also at night, I was a bit lost as regards direction and a woman approached with her face covered by a yashmak. On the spur of the moment and, without thinking, I said "excuse me, is this the right way for … ? ". As soon as I spoke, she made a whimpering noise and ran off as fast as she could. I guess the Army Authorities had not taught us very much about the Moslem religion. Yet one more lesson for me.

The time arrived for us to leave Aleppo, which we did with some regret, because we had enjoyed being there. I found that on this move I was to drive a Number Snipe van. I do not know why this was, but I suppose somebody had to do it. Anyway, it was very high powered with a super engine, but unfortunately, after two days the gearbox went and the only gear I could get into was top. From then on I had to start in top gear and stay there. I only had two choices, neutral or top! There was no problem in starting in top gear, except on steep hills, but on this journey I had a repair lorry following immediately behind me, and whenever I stopped, they gave me a gentle push from behind. Inevitably, after a while, they began to anticipate me stopping and gave me a push even before I had actually stopped. When we left Persia some months ago, we had been in a hurry and travelled straight across the desert, but this time on our return to Baghdad, we went by road all the way. Sometimes it was not much of a road, but nevertheless it was a road of sorts. The distance was about seven hundred miles and took us about four days. One of the days we stopped and set up camp early in the afternoon, and I witnessed for the first time, a whirlwind which collected dust and sand with it and moved around at great speed in a vertical column about a hundred feet high. After swirling around close to us, it then rapidly disappeared into the distance.

It was very cold at night and particularly so at first light in the morning. If we were standing around getting cold, we were in the habit of pouring a gallon or two of petrol on the sand in a strip and then setting light to it. It gave out a bit of warmth but did not last for very long, but we had plenty of petrol and we did not look upon it as being wasteful. It did at least teach me about the dangers of petrol. When we lit the petrol we had poured out, we had to be quick to move back, because not only the fuel on the ground, but the vapour from where it left the tin also caught fire in a split second. We continued on to Baghdad with me still being pushed by the following lorry each time I stopped or nearly stopped on an incline. As the confidence of the other driver grew, the pushes became less gentle, until eventually, by the time we reached Baghdad, the back of my lorry was pretty well stove in. What with this damage and also the broken gearbox, it was time to say farewell and I abandoned it in the camp in the middle of the city

For some reason and I cannot remember why, I left to return to our Brigade in Persia, in a small party of four, an officer. two other sergeants and myself. We had all our equipment plus a small tent, but no wireless set, so we could not contact anybody even if we had wished to. When we camped that night we lit a fire and again it was as if we were on holiday. By the late afternoon on the following day, we arrived back in Persia and quite close to our previous camp before we left for Egypt. We were still high up in the mountains and continued to operate a Signals Office. Apart from us few sergeants the rest of our unit were all Indians, as were of course, the cooks. They had a large frying pan at least three feet in diameter, in which they could fry dozens of eggs at the same time. They did this every morning, lighting a fire under the pan and, while squatting on their haunches, cracked egg after egg. This was especially the case when an itinerant seller of eggs arrived and arranged with a few of us to supply three eggs each a day at what was, even to us, a very cheap price. This verbal contract was fulfilled every day for weeks, and each morning he arrived with the eggs in a huge upside down type of beehive shaped basket on his back. This meant that we ate four fried eggs a day because there was already issue of one egg. After a few weeks I felt so egg-bound and sick of the taste and sight of eggs, that I stopped the arrangement and it took me at least six months before I could face another egg. I can still remember the Indian cooks sitting down with their legs crossed, rolling fish cakes and chapattis in their hands before putting them in the pan. It did not appear to be very hygienic, but on the assumption that heat kills everything, I expect the food was all right. Chapattis are made from unleavened bread and ghee and rolled out flat like a pancake. In any case we survived all this food and were probably as healthy as we had ever been in our lives. Occasionally the Havildar offered me a 'special' chapatti. I never knew exactly how they were special, but I guess I was never particularly partial to chapattis in any case.

One day, a detachment of the Persian Army appeared in nearby Kermanshah. They were smartly dressed in light blue uniforms certainly not for war - all dressed up for some ceremonial occasion. They looked ready to take part in a stage musical. Last night another fight broke out in our mess tent. Again it was the attached Scottish orderlies who had had too much to drink. Jock, the big Scot had knocked out one of his mates. He was brought round by the same Jock, by the simple procedure of pouring a bottle of beer over his head. This was not a very unusual occurrence, and in a short while, everything was back to normal again.

Life went on much the same day after day, with the post arriving occasionally. It took about six weeks for a letter to arrive from England and vice versa. We did not get free post and always had to put a stamp on each letter. News of the outside world filtered through, often from hand to mouth. Suddenly, one day, a large box arrived for me. It had, of course, been sent by Eileen, and came direct from Fortnum and Masons in London. It was marvellous and contained all sorts of goodies that I shared with my close friends. At the time it seemed incredible that a parcel from London could find me camped out half way up a mountain in Persia, but, providing the correct name and number of your unit was on it, the Army Postal Services could deliver however remote the place might be. The only thing we did not eat was a tin of anchovies.

One morning a message came through for myself and another sergeant from a nearby regiment to prepare to return to England. I had then been abroad for just about three years, but I was lucky, because most soldiers had to do at least four years before being repatriated. We were driven to Baghdad, complete with our kitbags and backpacks, and we then caught a train to Basra. We selected a small self-contained section at the end of a carriage, so that we would not be in a normal crowded carriage full of Indians. We had a large window in front of us, but, as the carriage itself was only about four foot wide and with one wooden bench seat, it was very uncomfortable, especially as the journey took twenty four hours. We were extremely stiff and hungry when we arrived at Basra, where we were to catch a ship back to Bombay. This time it was the Stratheden, another of the same group of ships to which we were becoming quite accustomed. There were hundreds of soldiers, sailors and airmen on board. Presumably most, if not all of them, were eventually bound for home.

Again we set off, followed as always by dolphins and flying fish. All this time, the weather was extremely good and my friend and I spent most of the time lounging around on the deck, occasionally running a few circuits of the ship for exercise.

This journey took about a week, and we then once more steamed into Bombay harbour. On this occasion we only had our own personal kit to worry about and we were quickly off the ship and on to our barracks in Bombay. We only stayed there for twenty-four hours, and were then taken by lorry to a camp in Poona, which was about one hundred miles inland. This camp was quite comfortable, sleeping in tents and the food not at all bad. The weather was hot and sunny and we really had nothing to do other than rest and exercise whenever we felt like it. The only problem was that they insisted that we were issued with toupees, which we wore as little as possible. These toupees were brand new and the fact that we would only be in the camp for a fortnight at the most, cut no ice with the powers that be. Rules were rules. Then came the day when we were due to depart from the camp, complete with all our kit, plus the toupees, back to Bombay to catch yet another ship - the Strathmore once again.

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