MEDITERRANEAN-MERRY-GO-ROUND

I arrived in Liverpool on a bright sunny day in August 1948 to begin my journey to Cyprus. Although I had been commissioned for two years, this was to be my first experience of travelling aboard a troopship.
"That'll be two and sixpence, guv," said the taxi driver as he drew up alongside the gangway of Canadian Pacific's liner 'EMPRESS OF AUSTRALIA' moored at Prince's Quay. As he unloaded my kit, I looked up at the ship which was to be my home for the next two weeks. Troopships in those days were painted white with a blue line just above the anchor all way round. This one, which displaced 21,830 tons, had three funnels and two masts from which were draped signal flags of many colours.
The taxi driver handed me over to a porter who told me he would attend to my baggage. "I see you've got it well labelled, sir," he said. "Don't worry, leave everything to me. Your 'cabin baggage' will be delivered to the purser's square, 'wanted on voyage' will go to the baggage room and the rest will go down to the hold." He seemed to know what he was doing so I picked up a Gladstone bag which contained my travel documents and a few other odds and ends and went aboard.
I shared a cabin with another officer who soon had all his cabin baggage stowed beneath his bunk, but despite a number of trips to the purser's square, there was no sign of mine. I looked over the ship's side to the place where I had last seen it, but there was nothing there. The baggage room and the hold were out of bounds and no one was able to help me find my kit. At 6pm the restraining hawsers of the ship splashed into the sea and we moved out into the River Mersey. Tugs fussed about us like terriers, nosing here and pulling there until we were in midstream and able to look after ourselves. Soon, we left Liverpool behind and headed down-river to the open sea.

The loss of my kit did not worry me for the first few days, but when we reached Gibraltar, everyone else was able to change into lightweight clothes. I was the exception and had to put up with my heavy winter uniform for the rest of the voyage. It was not too bad during the day, but I missed the white 'drill' mess jackets and navy-blue trousers which I had had made specially for Mediterranean wear.
Our arrival in Malta was an unforgettable experience. I awoke to hear the sound of church bells and when I looked out of the porthole, I saw tiers of brilliant white buildings, all jammed together, rising from the green sea; we were entering Grand Harbour, Valetta. My cabin companion and I got dressed and were up on deck to see more of the island which only six years before had been battered by the German and Italian air forces; there was still plenty of evidence of the damage they caused.
Our next landfall was Haifa in what was then called Palestine, soon to be re-named Israel when the avalanche of Jewish emigrants from Europe forced the hands of the United Nations. Many soldiers disembarked at this point and then, in the late afternoon, we drew anchor and sailed for Port Said in Egypt, only twelve hours away.
Up to this time I was a free-agent, but as we left Haifa I was called to the adjutant's office and told I would be responsible for exchanging English money for Egyptian piastres for about fifty soldiers who would be disembarking at Port Said. The process started that evening when I assembled the soldiers and relieved them of their spare cash, which I handed to the adjutant for safe keeping. As I was leaving his office, one of the clerks put a list of names on the notice board. This gave details of those who would be disembarking the following day and I was surprised to find my name was entered. This was obviously a mistake as the next port of call after Port Said was Limassol in Cyprus, the island where the South Wales Borderers were stationed. I told the adjutant about the error, but all I got was a rude reply.
We arrived in Port Said early the next morning and most people were up on deck to see the waterway that joined the Red Sea with the Mediterranean. History came to life when I saw the huge statue of the French engineer who masterminded the project - Ferdinand de Lessops, at the entrance to the canal. The 'EMPRESS OF AUSTRALIA' moved majestically down the canal parallel to the waterfront where shops were already open for business. I saw the well-known store of SIMON ARTZ which claimed to stock everything required by the discerning traveller whether going east or west or deep into central Africa; we tied up close to the Canal Building.
'Bum-boats' were the first to make contact and it was not long before rope lines were thrown aboard and trading commenced. Baskets containing merchandise ranging from rugs to sculpted wooden figures passed up and down until a price was agreed. Soon to follow were the 'gilli-gilli' men who squatted on the deck and drew a crowd of soldiers by shouting their 'trade-sound': "Gilli-gilli-gilli-gilli." At the same time, they juggled with their props which consisted of chickens' eggs, dice, and small brass pots. They had a quick-fire routine which started with the apparent disappearance of an egg which had been placed beneath one of the pots, only to reappear in a soldier's pocket six feet away. The ship's regimental sergeant major was heard to say: "Take care lads, if that chap there can make those eggs disappear, what chance have you got keeping your wallet safe in this thieving town?"
As soon as I had finished my breakfast, I went to the adjutant's office to get the bag of money and collect a form which I had to complete and present to a field cashier of the Royal Army Pay Corps when he came aboard. I was not the only one who had to change English money into Egyptian piastres. There must have been half a dozen of us who had been detailed to look after various groups of soldiers, and there were officers, warrant officers and families who were being dealt with individually. The cashiers, about five or six of them, sat in a row behind tables on the purser's square and we formed queues in front of them. Eventually, my turn came to be served but when the cashier took my bag of money he said: "You haven't completed this bit." Cursing under my breath, I took the form to a spare table and spent a few minutes completing the extra detail. The queue filled up again and when my turn came, for the second time, I looked into the face of an officer I had not seen before.. I glanced right and left at the other cashiers but none looked like the one to whom I had given my bag of cash. The chap in front of me held out his hand but all I could say was that I had given my money to someone in that exact spot a few minutes ago, and now he seemed to have gone. "What was his name and what did he look like?" asked the cashier. I told him I wasn't on personal terms and, as for a description, he looked remarkably like the 'gilli-gilli' man on the promenade deck. The present incumbent of the chair was getting impatient. "You had better go along to the pay office in Port Said," he said. "Someone might have taken it there."
For the second time on the voyage I was the unwitting victim of the loss of chattels. The first, as yet, unresolved disappearance of my kit was, at least, a personal problem. But the loss of soldiers' money was a different sort of thing altogether. I went along to see the adjutant to get a pass to go ashore. "Do you make a habit of this sort of thing?" he said icily.
I had only a sketchy idea of the location of the Army pay office . On my way there I was accosted by a number of small boys who showed me photographs of their sisters, all of whom were available that morning. Thanking them for their offers, and nearly falling over three other children who were trying to clean my shoes, I followed the directions I had been given. More by luck than judgement I found the building, identifiable by a Union Jack flying from a pole on the roof. I explained my presence and once again sensed a lack of sympathy for my misfortune. The Royal Army Pay Corps require signatures and, as I did not have one, they were not interested. Just as I was about to give up, return to the ship and surrender myself to the soldiers whose money I had lost, I saw the fellow I was looking for walk from one room to another. I grabbed him and demanded he return my money. He looked at me for a second or two and responded with an appropriate analogy: "Now the penny's dropped. I wondered why I was £500 up."
Within a few minutes he had given me the equivalent amount in grubby piastre notes. Never having seen Egyptian money before, I spent a considerable amount of time sorting them out. When I had finished, the cashier arranged for me to return to the ship in a staff car. "You wouldn't last more than five minutes in this area with that bag of cash," he said. I have never experienced such a feeling of relief as I felt that day when I was driven back to the waterfront. As soon as I got aboard the ship, I called my soldiers together and paid them out to the last piastre.
Not all the soldiers on the ship had changed their money because many of them were going to join units in Cyprus including the South Wales Borderers. I went to the adjutant's office again and remonstrated with him, but it was no use. "I don't give a damn about where you say you are going. I have orders to put you off here and that's what I'm going to do." he said. "What about my kit which I haven't seen since I left Liverpool?" I asked. "It will catch up with you sooner or later," he said dismissively.
When the time came to disembark, we descended into lighters which took us across to the east side of the canal. From there we marched to Port Fouad transit camp, which was only a few hundred yards away. We passed through pleasant tree-lined avenues where opulent houses were set back from the road in well tended gardens. This was obviously the wealthy residential district of the metropolis of Port Said which, at that time, was one of the great ports of the world. I began to buck up at the prospect of spending some time in this cheerful place, but the 'cheer' faded when I entered the transit camp and saw rows of khaki '160 pounder' tents.
I had never experienced the heat of a Mediterranean summer before and I found that a small tent on a dusty camp-site was not the best place to start. Even with both ends open and lying on my bed in a state of near nudity, the stifling heat numbed my senses. It was not until about 5pm, when a slight breeze brought some relief, that I started to take an interest in things again. I placed my canvas-backed camp chair at the entrance to the tent and picked up one of the novels I had brought. Before I had read one page, I heard the sound of squeaky wheels. Looking up, I saw an Arab coming towards me pulling a barrow. When he stopped alongside my tent, he took out a small book from within his long white nightshirt, checked the number on my tent-pole and off-loaded two suitcases which I recognised as mine. He made a few more trips between the tent and his barrow and eventually I was reunited with all my kit which I had not seen for two weeks. I felt like kissing him, but on second thoughts I emptied my pockets and gave him all my loose change. I knew exactly where to find a pair of white shorts and a shirt and I could hardly wait to get them on.
No sooner had I got dressed than an announcement was made over the PA system: 'Anyone wanting an advance of pay should report to the camp office'. My pay was then about £25 a month so, as I was about £20 in credit in my bank at home, I cashed a cheque for the lot. That was a considerable amount of money in those days and, as life was sweet and the morrow could take care of itself, I and a few other friends went out for a night on the town.
I must have been in the transit camp for three or four days thoroughly enjoying the routine of swimming at the French Club and spending the evenings in Port Said. Cyprus seemed a long way away and, if the British Army couldn't make up its mind what to do with me, I was prepared to soak up the good life, providing the field cashier continued to sustain me.
The Army had not lost contact with me though and one morning I was told I was being transferred to Base Transit Depot (Suez) the following day. Additionally, I would be responsible for conducting a draft of forty men. At this point, I began to wonder if these people had any idea of sending me to join my regiment at all. Perhaps it was East Africa or India they had in mind!
After an early breakfast, I reported to camp office, collected the documents and met the draft that was formed up ready to move. Our kit was put aboard a truck and we marched to the canal, which we crossed by ferry - then another short march to the railway station.
Before we boarded the train, I told the men not to stick their heads out of the windows when the train was moving. It was a common occurrence for thieves to relieve passengers of their watches and rings as the train moved along the platform. I had heard one nasty story about a soldier nearly having his wrist severed by a cut-throat razor when a 'clefty-wallah' tried to cut his leather watch strap.
As we moved out of Port Said and into the delta area of Egypt, we saw the moving pattern of life in this fertile region irrigated by the mighty River Nile. On one side was a pastoral scene, biblical in its simplicity, while on the other side huge ships seemed to be floating through the desert but were, in fact, on passage through the Suez Canal.
The journey from one end of the canal to the other is about one hundred and ten miles, with a stop at Ismailiya - the half way stage, where we changed trains. I had to attend to the documentation of the draft so I told the senior rank - a sergeant, to look after the men and get them to the right platform. I became immediately involved with the station master who objected to the amount of kit I wanted to take aboard the train. There was no way I was going to let it out of my sight in the guard's van, so I had to reach an understanding with him. When he was satisfied with the crumpled pile of piastre notes I put in his hand, I was allowed to proceed. The station master himself summoned a porter and led the way to the platform for Suez. There was nobody there when I arrived, but eventually the sergeant and a corporal turned up. They looked mystified when I asked them what had happened to the draft. We eventually came to the conclusion they had boarded the train to Cairo which had recently departed from the other side of the platform. Half an hour later, the train for Suez was shunted in and we, the remaining three of the draft, climbed aboard and set off on the second part of the journey. This latest loss of mine had the potential for being the biggest so far and I saw very little of the Bitter Lakes - a natural deep water section of the canal; I was too busy working out what I would say when I arrived, draftless, at the other end.
I had always imagined Suez to be a romantic outpost of the Middle East, but the reality of the place dispelled my illusion. The town itself was set in a stretch of flat desert upon which were built some hideous blocks of flats. The rest of the sprawling township consisted of mud huts with corrugated iron roofs. We went on for a few more miles to a place called Port Tewfik, where the southern part of the canal flows into the Red Sea - or vice versa.
I stuck my head out of the window and saw some soldiers wearing red arm bands on their khaki shirts. I recognised them as Army Movements staff and realised that the time had come for me to report the loss of the draft. "I'm sorry to tell you that I've only got two left. I think the others have gone to Cairo." The senior officer took the documents which I offered him and scanned the contents as if it was an unwelcome bill. "We weren't expecting a draft today," he said. "Where did you say they'd gone?" I told him I could not be sure they had gone to Cairo as I was not conversant with the Egyptian railway system. "It could have been Alexandria," I suggested, as this was the only other place I could think of. The movements officer put the documents in his brief case and went off to attend to some soldiers who were going to Port Said. I found it difficult to understand why no one seemed the slightest bit interested in thirty eight men going adrift, but I had done everything I could think of, so the sergeant, the corporal and I climbed into a truck which took us to the transit camp.
Base Transit Depot (Suez), at Port Tewfik, was much the same as the one at the north end of the canal while the inside of a '160 pounder' tent looks the same anywhere in the world. The down-town area was in walking distance and had the same sort of spacious houses and wide boulevards as in Port Fouad. The Europeans who lived there were mainly French and the club was spectacular.
For the next six days or so, I reported to the camp office each morning to see if there was any news of the missing draft, but the answer was always the same. I would then wander down to the French Club and spend the day by the pool. During the evening, there was usually a film show and I became more proficient in the French language during that week in Port Tewfik than I ever did at school. On my seventh day in the transit camp, I was told I would be going back to Port Said the following day and that I should make myself ready to board the train at 8am.
Even though there were a number of British soldiers travelling on the same train, I was not responsible for them. I do not think they believed in drafts in Port Tewfik and even if they did, I was surely the last person in the world they would have chosen to be the officer in charge.
When I boarded the train, I noticed that some of the soldiers were looking out of the windows, so I told what I had heard about 'cut-throat' razor thieves. Most of them took my advice, but when we arrived at Suez railway station, one soldier continued to lean out of the window. As the train stopped, a native spat in his face. The soldier immediately retaliated by punching the fellow on his nose. That was the signal for all hell to be let loose. I could see that the natives were eager to get to grips with the unarmed soldiers, so I ordered the windows to be closed. This made the Egyptians try another line of attack and I watched as they went further up the train to make their entry.
Before I left home in Wales, a friend of my father gave me a Colt .45 revolver which he had carried during the second world war. I thought it was a kind gesture at the time, but realised later I might have been a convenient depository for a weapon and ammunition that had become an embarrassment. The Egyptians were now racing down the train towards me so, with their leader only about ten yards away, I pulled my enormous revolver out of its leather holster and stuck the muzzle into the fellow's stomach. This had the desired effect and I herded the Egyptians, with their hands in the air, to the nearest door where they fell out onto the platform. The guard realised that something was wrong and he acted promptly when I told him to get his train moving. The enraged natives ran alongside the carriage for the whole length of the platform letting us know what they would do if we ever came to Suez again.
When we arrived at Port Said, we had the problem of getting ourselves and our kit to the waterfront. A sergeant mustered the soldiers into three ranks and then contracted a porter with a large barrow to carry the kit. When all was ready, we moved off with the soldiers up front followed by the porter and finally me, bringing up the rear, keeping an eye on my kit.
When we were half way to the waterfront, the porter stopped and put the shafts of the barrow on the ground. I shouted to the sergeant to halt the men while I dealt with the porter who had gone on strike. The sergeant, who wore a kilt and was made of stern Highland stuff, was not prepared to renogotiate the contract and gave orders to three of the soldiers to take over the barrow and proceed. The porter was outraged and shouted so loud that a hostile crowd collected around us. Our little force closed ranks and, like a Roman phalanx - with the barrow in the middle, we progressed slowly to the canal. Reinforcements in the shape of half a dozen military policemen eventually came to our assistance when we emerged from the native quarter. The sergeant, with magnanimity typical of his race, handed the purple-faced porter a handful of piastres and advised him in a broad Highland dialect: "Dinnae try yurr tricks wi' me agin laddie."
When I reported to the adjutant in the transit camp at Port Fouad, I asked him if there were any other interesting places I could visit. A trip along the north African coast as far as Tobruk would, I suggested, be most acceptable. He looked sourly at me and told me I would be sailing for Cyprus in three days time on the 'EMPIRE COMFORT'.
The 'EMPIRE COMFORT' turned out to be an ex Royal Navy corvette which carried about fifty soldiers in extreme discomfort and a dozen or so officers in medium discomfort. She had a sister ship called 'EMPIRE PEACE MAKER', aptly re-named 'EMPIRE SICK MAKER' by all who voyaged in her. We sailed out of Port Said harbour into a rough sea and I found that my sea-legs were inadequate for this vessel that bobbed round like a cork. I consoled myself with the thought that I would have to spend one night only on board.
Famagusta came into view the next morning and we were soon alongside the jetty. Familiar Welsh voices greeted me as I stepped ashore and one of my friends from Brecon days whisked me away in a jeep to Karaolos Camp, the home of the 1st Battalion South Wales Borderers, a few miles out of town. I was allocated half a Nissan hut in the officers' compound and given the rest of the day to get settled. The adjutant told me the commanding officer would like to see me first thing the following day.
At the appointed hour I appeared before the CO. He was interested to hear what I had done since I was commissioned and he explained the role of the battalion which was guarding twenty thousand illegal Jewish immigrants. Then he dropped the bombshell: "How would you like to be my signals officer?" Anyone less knowledgeable about wireless sets than me would have been difficult to find, and I told him so. "We'll soon fix that," he said. "If you think you can do the job, I propose to send you home to do a signals course in Yorkshire in six weeks time." Naturally, I accepted the offer but I was beginning to wonder if I was destined to be a human albatross, forever travelling over the oceans of the world with only temporary visits to dry land. When I had time to reflect upon the offer, I realised how lucky I was to be given, what many people believed, the best job for a young officer in an infantry battalion.
I travelled home from Port Said on the 'ASTURIAS', a large and luxurious ship returning to Southampton after carrying British emigrants to Australia at £10 a head. I successfully completed an eleven week signals course in Richmond, Yorkshire, spent Christmas 1948 with my parents and returned to Cyprus in the good old 'EMPRESS OF AUSTRALIA'. This time I had no trouble with my kit - after all, I was by this time a seasoned traveller.