Due to the very hot sandy dusty conditions in the country we were not supposed to spend more than two summers in Iraq and to ease things for us the army arranged that everyone would, at some time during that period, be sent on a two week compulsory leave to Beirut. Imagine, compulsory leave! The journey was taken in four stages and the transport was a small convoy of army lorries with Indian drivers and co-drivers. We drove only on metalled roads and our first overnight stop was at a place called Wadi Mahomadi where the only signs of habitation were our huts. After a good night’s sleep we set off the next morning for Rutbah which lay on an oil pipe line guarded by Military Police but which seemed just as deserted. We stayed there for the night. Our lorries held about eight of us and we lolled around in the back; for comfort it was agreed that our army boots should be removed. Lafferty declined. Ingram, a member of our boxing team insisted. Lafferty’s boots came off. At this point as our lorry started weaving we discovered that our co-driver was missing, there was only one man in the cab, the driver, and he was dozing off. Perhaps it had been this way ever since the start of the journey but we weren’t very happy about the situation so we made the driver keep whistling; whenever the whistling stopped someone would lean out and reach round into the cab window and poke the driver to bring him round.
We passed through Dar’a in what was then called Trans-Jordan and our third night’s stop was at Damascus, one of the oldest continuously occupied cities in the world and here things were much more civilised. On the forth leg we crossed over the mountain range into Beirut. The road was serpentine; when we started out it was quite a hot day and we were in tropical kit, we were told that at the crest, some nine thousand feet up, we would feel the cold; I was a little doubtful about this but at the higher points snow lay on the roadsides and I certainly did. Mount Hermon was pointed out to us in the distance as we drove. Descending from the crest Beirut and the curve of the Mediterranean spread out before us, it was a wonderful sight, the beautiful blue sweep of the sea contrasting with the brilliant white of the houses set in the green of the trees. However our attention was soon drawn away from this scene as we realised that instead of changing down to negotiate the winding road our driver either from ignorance or inability stayed in top gear and drove on his brakes, and no amount of shouting or banging on his cab persuaded him to pay any attention to us. We got in to Beirut without any further incident but I guess his drums and linings were in a bit of a state.
Until this time right from the beginning of the war we had never been allowed to wear civilian clothes or go about untidily dressed, there had never been any respite from the feeling of being controlled, but now within the camp we were allowed to spend the day in swimming trunks even when going into the mess tent for meals though of course we dressed to go into the city. What a feeling of relief, we were human again.
It was a wonderful two weeks, thoroughly refreshing; most of the days were spent on the beach swimming and breasting the breakers but we went into the city as well. It is sad to compare the beautiful Beirut of those days, a most civilised place, with the devastated Beirut of the 1980’s. Civilised it was but they were also prepared for the influx of rowdy soldiery; in one bar a wide shelf about seven feet off the floor was fronted with chicken wire and on this shelf behind the chicken wire a three piece band played away, protected from missiles hurled by inebriated pongos.
This was the life; we could have got used to it but the day came when we had to board the lorries again and head back to the desert. The trip, otherwise uneventful, was marred by an accident; one of the lorries in the convoy carrying the cooks and their utensils took a corner too fast and overturned. Two Indian cooks were killed.
During the next two years I was twice detached from Shaiba for short periods. First of all I was posted to Baghdad where I was billeted in a camp but by day I was employed in a large private house in Mansoor Street. Military and local civilian staff worked there. It was interesting to see the Arab girls arrive daily in western dress and watch as they left for home in the evening to not very attractive accommodations where they changed into non-western dress. My original task was not very important but as they now had a tame draughtsman on hand other work was found for me and one whole day was taken up with making small prints of some publication or other. This involved taking a print frame out in the sun for very short periods and because I would only be exposed to the sun for seconds at a time I didn’t wear my pith helmet. However during the course of the day the time spent in the sun was cumulative and later I had to report sick. Obviously I didn’t disclose my foolishness to the MO and so I was diagnosed as having sand-fly fever, that good old stand-by when they didn’t know what was really wrong with you and I was sent to hospital. I remember having a temperature of 104°F and I vaguely remember going into and coming out of delirium. A few days later I started to improve but then contracted dysentery and so spent another while in hospital. After discharge it was decided to send me away for a couple of weeks convalescence; I hoped it would be to the RAF at Habbaniyah where they had air conditioning but no, I was sent to the YMCA in Baghdad and eventually returned to Shaiba.
The train trip back was interesting. Theoretically I was on my own but there were many other soldiers on that train and in order to keep ourselves supplied with cool drinking water we all had our filled charguls hanging outside the carriage windows using the train’s movement for quicker evaporation. After many miles we came across an unusual sight; there had been a derailment and rolling stock was strewed everywhere, blocking the line. A new track had been laid by-passing the obstruction; as we slowly made our way along this loop most of the passengers moved to the right side of the train to get a good look at the damage. When things returned to normal it was discovered that all the charguls had been removed from the left hand side of the carriages, railside Arabs knew that we would be occupied gawking and took advantage of our distraction; they found charguls useful too.
My second posting was to an army assembly plant at An Nasiriyah where the main job was the uncrating and assembly of those vehicles from the USA that were to be forwarded to the fighting areas My task there was insignificant and lasted only about three days. The boss man was a Colonel D’Albuquerque and he had arranged something that I thought novel for the army; he set a daily quota for the output of vehicles and when that target was reached then work finished for the day. A window in his office was fitted with a cuscus tatty, a poor man’s air conditioner similar to the units fitted to the ambulances; water had to be sprayed over the unit and whenever his office became a little too warm he would summon an Indian soldier and using the universal mixed language would shout, “Pani, Pani, Pumpee, Pumpee,” whereupon the Indian would grin and start pumping.
While I was there a shortage of small springs became apparent and some assemblies were held up; now the crates invariably held every last item required to build the vehicles so a kit inspection was ordered; nothing was found. On further investigation an unusual bed was discovered; the owner had decided to improve his creature comforts and had diverted the springs and linked them together to provide a more luxurious charpoy for himself; his pleasure didn’t last very long however, the colonel saw to that. I left before I could find out what punishment he got.