The saddest part of being in Aden was the knowledge the British were not wanted by part of the local population. How many felt that way I cannot say, but it was a fact of life. One almost daily reminder of how hated we were still sticks uncomfortably in my memory, spitting.
Walking from our apartment block to the bank was no great distance, my mother always held my hand and I was told never to stray. As we passed some Arabs they spat, not at us, but the gooey mess would always land close by. How can a child be expected to understand things as complicated as Empire? I was born into a service family. We went where my father went. It was his job. This is the one and only stain Aden has for me.
I cannot blame the locals, and spitting was by far and away the least unpleasant thing that was on some locals’ minds, and when I talk about school, I will go into that in a little more detail.
© 2012 Gwailo54