Aden: Thanks to my unknown readers

At the moment I have no more Aden material, and I would like to thank those of you who have followed me for all or part of the journey. Now I have finished everything and had time to reflect, here a re she musings arising from my Aden blogging.

Blogging on this website provides me as the blogger with statistics. Some are useful. Some are interesting, such as the ability to know where visitors to the blog have come from. This includes some ghastly search engines in Russia which are not really that. I wish I could eradicate these from my figures. 

Nevertheless, on the plus side I am flattered by the large number of visits from the UK, which is really my target audience as I imagine most people interested in my life in Aden would be there.

However, I am very curious about the handful of visits from the Yemen. Here's hoping the interest is from ordinary individuals like myself and not any state or commercial organisation. If it is anther "man in the street", whoever you are (singular or plural) thank you for being intrigued enough to visit my blog. I wish you and your country peace and stability, especially given the recent turmoil. If you are from Aden, then my wishes are more heartfelt still.

My nomadic childhood has left me with more than one place that I think of as "home". In the 50s I grew up in Singapore and Hong Kong, where being surrounded by ethnic Chinese and Malay was a normal everyday experience. On my first return visit to both places after 30 years absence I felt strangely at home. Its not easy to explain to somebody who grew up in the same place how normal it feels to go back somewhere and feel more comfortable as part of a minority of the population. Home is many places to me. Singapore, Hong Kong, Aden, Gloucester, Cottesmore are all my very early homes in my time of childhood and innocence. I have a bond with them all. 

I fear I have lost my opportunity to visit Aden, given the current political and religious turmoil in the world. I cannot adequately express how much I would love to see Ma'alla, Steamer Point, Elephant Bay, Crater and Khormaksar again and see how much has changed or stayed the same. Youtube has been useful, but not all the videos posted are very good. Too many of modern Aden are more about the persons in the video than the place, but such is the vanity of humans! 

I regret very much not returning to Aden before the recent religious divisions between Islam and the rest of the world surfaced. I feel my presence would not be welcome in certain parts of the world, but I do not mean that all Islamic countries are forbidding to me. For instance, when I was in Penang I felt most welcome by the locals I came in contact with. One abiding memory is of school children saying "Welcome to Malaysia" to us. I understand they would have been encouraged to do this, but a child's generosity of spirit is a precious gift, which more adults could do worse than try to rediscover within themselves. Given a less than happy previous experience in Kuala Lumpur, the people of Penang more than adequately made up for that experience.

However, after that digression I shall return to the topic of religious division. To me it feels as negative and pointless as the Protestant and Catholic divisions in European history, or the Christian behaviour of the Middle Ages which effected a superiority it did not deserve. Then the Arab or Moorish culture was far more advanced than the so-called Western civilisation. One only needs to visit Granada and see the palace of the Alhambra and the gardens of the Generalife to realise how more advanced that society was compared with the regressiveness of the regime of "los reyes catolicos". In my blog about Crater I commented on the Cisterns of Tawila. To this day I still think they are a marvel. I can still remember how awesome (I use that word not in its modern guise) it was as I walked around. You really need to be ignorant or blind to reason not to acknowledge the cleverness of mind and sophistication of a society that brought them into being.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and in my case, my absence from Aden has made me realise how lucky I have been to revisit Hong Kong and Singapore more than once. The memories I have of Aden are mainly positive, but the negative memories were due to the British presence outstaying its welcome. I am sure had I been a native of an occupied country my feelings would not have been too dissimilar. Whether I would express my displeasure I don't know. I thank my lucky stars I can express my opinions, which was not always an option open to the Adeni.

Aden: Random Memories 18: Envoi

Childhood is a special part of one’s life. For so many lucky people, it consists of growing up with the same people in the same area.

For a tiny number of us, it meant uprooting ourselves on a regular basis, friendships were never made to last in perpetuity, and possibly most of our friends of that time are forgotten.

Were we unlucky? We saw the true technicolour world that was nothing more than fuzzy black and white images on tiny television screens watched behind drawn curtains. We smelt the stench and perfumes. We lived, not necessarily comfortably nor in near proximity, with the local population. We saw another world, and yet remained in an antiseptic bubble that made us little more than an outpost of the Home Counties.

And yet, and yet, and yet, we lived a life that nobody else could live. We could climb extinct volcanoes and swim with the angel fish in the ocean. Would I change my life for that of somebody who hardly ever had the opportunity to travel anywhere when it was expensive and reserved mainly for the rich?

You know the answer.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 16: Pot Pourri

Now for Aden small bits and pieces which don’t come under a bigger heading.

VC10

My father got to know a lot of people. Unlike me he did pretty well at social gatherings. Consequently, somebody he knew got me onto the flight deck of a BOAC VC10, while it was parked at Khormaksar airport. I thought the plane so vast and so modern and so swish in comparison to Aden Airways and their grotty old propeller things like their Dakotas. Now I love many old planes as much as the new.

Making my own airplanes

Talking of aircraft, my mother used to buy bottles of drink, orange squash I think it was, which were contained in a grey cardboard sleeve. One of my many childhood games was to reshape the sleeve, add wings and a tail and fly them. Naturally this consisted of me making engine noises and zooming the planes around. I wouldn’t be surprised if that included running around the room. I pity our neighbours underneath. To them, I offer a belated and heartfelt apology.

Food and drink

Although our diet was not much short of standard British fare, we did have some exotic foods bought at local markets. One day at such a market (I have no idea exactly where) my mother bought water melon. I think it was only a wedge, but it could have been whole. The red of the flesh and green of the skin made a strong contrast, and the jet black seeds made the flesh look like an oversized ladybird. The taste was delicious.

My mother always boiled the water. She let it cool and chilled it in the fridge for us to drink. Imagine, her life was based around looking after my father and I (and later my brother too), washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning, mending clothes. So many women of her generation sacrificed their lives to the family. We were spoiled rotten and never knew at the time how lucky we were.

Food mixer

My mother loved to bake. Fresh Victoria sponges for tea are a childhood memory. My mother discovered there were modern gadgets called food mixers and she bought a Braun which lasted a very long time. It was used a lot both in Aden and after we came back to Britain. Things were built to last in those days! 

It was used not only for those Victoria sponges, but also for stodgier fare like Yorkshire puddings, but above all else, pancakes on Shrove Tuesday (a tradition I still observe even now, the only day of the year I knock back nothing but buttery fried batter sprinkled with sugar and lemon juice before rolling them up). 

With a Song in my Heart

Sunday lunchtime in those days was a ritual. One day the ritual changed slightly. The BBC had developed technology well enough to attempt live broadcasts with far flung posts of the Empire beyond Germany. So it was one hot sunny Sunday lunchtime, as the strains of With a Song in my heart played by André Kostalanetz and his Orchestra Family Favourites became Three Way Family Favourites with Aden as the extra hub. If I remember correctly the technology didn’t stand up to the full onslaught of the Aden sun, so we had to be content with recorded bits from London for a while. Nobody asked for a record for me or anybody I knew, and despite this major let down, it was good to know people back home were wanting to say something special to some of us over there. And all of us were there, pleased we weren’t forgotten or ignored. By remembering a handful of us in Aden, it felt like we were all remembered.

The harbour

Aden’s harbour was an exciting place, the tourists came and went, famous ships like the Canberra and Oriana anchored there, as well as the inevitable warships. We had a submarine arrive once and that was a highlight. At night the harbour was a beautiful sight with the ships lit up. 

There were also tragical events, a ship caught fire and burned and burned. We watched it from the shore. It was a desperate sight. What finally happened I can’t recall, I simply remember the blaze seemingly unquenchable. 

Flamingos

Although burning ships were not an everyday sight, flamingos were. On the causeway from Aden to Sheikh Othman the flamingos generally stood in the shallows on one leg. If one was really lucky, they might take wing.

I only have one clear memory of Sheikh Othman as an oasis of calm away from the hubbub of Aden proper. I think we had to take malaria tablets before going there as well. Other than that the memory is fuzzy.

Then there were the salt pans and the windmills. The salt pans seemed to stretch for miles and the windmills nearly always were motionless, waiting for a breath of air or an Arab Don Quixote to disturb their slumber.

A small memory of my childhood, from the back seat of a Fiat, before I nodded off to sleep. I have often found it very easy to sleep when travelling.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 15: Kenya

What has Kenya to do with Aden? It’s a different country, and a different continent.

One thing many Aden people did was to go to Kenya. It wasn’t too far, Aden Airways’ Dakotas could get you there and back again, sometimes. We used the same currency, the East African Shilling. There was the Leave Centre in Mombassa. When in Aden, do as the rest of the Air Force do, and go to Kenya.

Our outward journey was not the best start for a nervous passenger. We must have got up at some ungodly hour, as I vaguely remember the sun was not high up when we boarded. The engines started, and we trundled toward the runway. The stewardesses offered boiled sweets or cotton wool. We got to the runway. The engines roared, the plane shuddered, the engines roared, the plane rattled, the engines roared.

The pilot then announced he could not get sufficient power and we would have to return to the terminal building and get on another plane. Which we dutifully did, disembarking and re-embarking.

The engines started, and we trundled toward the runway. The stewardesses offered boiled sweets or cotton wool. We got to the runway. The engines roared, the plane shuddered, the engines roared, the plane rattled, the engines roared. This second plane was not moving either.

Then, imperceptibly, a forward movement was felt, the plane suddenly became lighter as the worries of the passengers melted away like morning mist, and we accelerated along the runway and then, magically, the vibrations beneath us stopped, and the sounds of the engines changed from a tortured groan to a gentler hum. We were on our way. At last!

Looking out the window, I could see below us the reddish earth as we crossed over the horn of Africa. Just as on old steam trains, the Dakota seemed to move so leisurely that speed was not of the essence. As the sun rose ever higher I could see our shadow sauntering beneath us.

We arrived safe and sound in Mombassa. My memories of the place are few, but I was happy there. There was more traffic than in Aden, I thought. I had my first photo (or more accurately strip of four photos) in a Photo-Me booth while we were there. Arching over the road were gigantic elephant tusks made from metal and painted white. While we were there, I bought some little wooden figures, the Three Wise Monkeys, a tribal mask and various small animals as well as a drum made from an animal’s hide. My parents bought some of the same, but bigger, for themselves and as presents to back home for those who would never be able to come here. The drum they bought as our present for ourselves was much bigger than mine, almost as big as me in fact.

And then there was the beach. Never have I seen sand so bright and shiny. It was almost a dazzling pure white. The sea was blue and stretched even further than the sea at Aden.

While we were at Mombassa we went on Safari in the Tsavo Royal National Park. We woke up in pitch black darkness and made or way to the VW van that was to be our home for most of the rest of the day. We were beyond street lighting, the only light was the headlights of the van. As we were driven to the park cracks in the darkness appeared. The colour of the sky broke into fragments of hues of all kinds of shades of pink and red and orange, and then it smeared into a richer darker blue, which turned ever lighter and brighter by degrees. We arrived at the park entrance in half light and drove into a world not even a zoo could conjure. A dik-dik darted into the vegetation at the road side. 

I had been collecting cards given away with Brook Bond Tea. One set was African Wildlife. I have no idea if I had managed to collect the entire set, but I carefully glued every card I collected into the relevant collector’s book for every set I tried to collected. I swotted up on the animals in my book as I wanted to recognise and name as many as I could. What child doesn’t want to impress? One of the first animals in the collection was a dik-dik, and it seemed appropriate that was the first animal I saw in the National Park.

Later on we saw gazelles and zebra and wildebeest and warthogs and all kinds of creatures running, grazing or sauntering in the landscape. When they rushed about, the animals kicked up rich red dust clouds as they disturbed the dry earth beneath their hooves.

Suddenly the driver stopped the van, turned off the engine and told us to be quiet. We waited for an eternity and then, about 800 yards ahead of us, a troupe of elephants of all sizes crossed the road. They were as silent as the night. We saw more elephants during the day. At one point we were looked at very suspiciously by a bull elephant. The driver wasted no time in driving us off as fast as he could go, rather than face the possibility of a charge from the towering and menacing creature.

We saw termite hills that were taller than an eight year old. I was chosen as the yardstick for everybody to photograph. In a river we saw motionless logs. More careful inspection revealed them as crocodiles. Fortunately they were a good distance away from us. A very good distance.

The highlight of the trip was an animal orphanage. There we saw a year old elephant, that was so large I couldn’t imagine how big it must have been at birth to be that size. There was also a young orphaned rhino. The images we were used to was of angry creatures trying to demolish land rovers with their horns as battering rams. Despite the fact the rhino was only about waist height to me I was extra vigilant, but not vigilant enough. While I was stroking the elephant I felt a nudging behind me and a mid-range soprano sound ‘ee-ee, ee-ee’. I turned and to my horror the rhino had sneaked up behind me. I was terrified. The grownups just laughed. It was all right for them, they were much bigger than the rhino, I tried to get away but the creature kept following me. It was just a friendly child. I was a silly frightened child. Frightened by a youngster wanting to be friends. The journey back seemed to take forever, and we returned in the dark.

Whilst in Kenya, we also went to Nairobi and met up with friends of my parents. They showed us several of their films while we were there. Real moving pictures of their adventures. How I wished we had a camera like them and take home movies. We also took the opportunity to go through the Nairobi Royal National Park. The main point was to see the lions, but they were as timid as my friend the rhino in Tsavo had been intimate. We saw no lions. What we did see in abundance within moments of arriving in the park were baboons, or more accurately a windscreen seemingly covered by bare red baboon backsides.

As with all good things, this holiday had to come to an end. We made our way to Mombassa airport laden with our presents. In those days, not only was the luggage weighed but the passengers were too. My wooden figures and mask and my drum were all packed in the suitcase, the large drum my parents bought was too large to pack, and it was likely to take us over the weight limit. My turn came to be weighed. One or both of my parents told me to pick up the drum. I looked at them horrified. I was going to have to hold the drum and get weighed in front of all the other passengers. The shame and embarrassment I felt was, and still is, indescribable. I can almost feel the red flush rushing to my face and the sweat breaking out as all the grownups laughed. Very funny, I don’t think. How would they like to be made to do that? The journey home to Aden was without any memorable incident. I never forgave my parents for that, and I doubt if I ever will. I am scarred by it, even now. As I said before, I hate to be made a fool of in public.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 14: Fun and Games

My parents were social creatures, and yet they found time for me. I never felt neglected or unloved by them. We would play card games, Newmarket was a family favourite, and board games, I had Scrabble for children. On my own I even used to make up words from the letters I had, and I guess this has led to an adult pleasure in puns, anagrams and word games in general.

Another board game we had was ‘The Archers’. One evening, some friends of my parents came over and I insisted we play this game. Now grownups being the kind of people they are, they need a few drinks inside them to play with kids. They feel the need to let themselves relax and be themselves, but for some unaccountable reason this can only be aided by alcohol. Grownups are most peculiar. They also plied me with Pimms, but I can tell you, I never got squiffy. I could hold my drink, even at the age of eight! If anybody dares suggest I didn’t have a full strength drink is just a nasty, spiteful meanie.

Anyway, the female friend landed on a penalty square, and it read “You have thrown a stone through Carol Grey’s greenhouse. Miss a turn”. Due to the liveliness of her character and also no doubt to an overindulgence or fondness for Pimms and/or Booth’s gin, both of which seemed to flow like water from the tap at these get togethers, it came out as “You have thrown a stone through Carol Green’s greyhouse. Miss a turn”. It was forever uttered thus on all future occasions.

I recall quite vividly my parents joining in a treasure hunt. I was allowed to go with them in the car. All the adults waited for the signal and they ran back to their respective cars and drove off in all directions. They were having a lot of trouble over one of the clues and I told them where we should be going. Did they listen? Of course not. Grownups always know best. As a result we got nowhere near winning. If they had only listened to the insight of their firstborn!

Entertainment by British performers was often provided. At the Mermaid club the family went to see the popular comedian “Al Read”. Quite honestly, I didn’t find him at all funny, my mother considered his material to be rather blue.

One entertainer who I was lucky enough to see in Aden was the incomparable Tommy Cooper. Tears rolled down my face as one magic trick after another didn’t work. He watered a plastic flower in a plastic flower pot that ‘wilted’ every time he walked away from the table. As his pièce de resistance he announced he would pull the cloth off the table without dislodging anything. Of course he did achieve this, but the table cloth had been cut up so it was placed around all the objects on it. His bemused look of amazement that the trick worked, and his bewilderment that we could see how it was achieved is something I can remember to this very day.

Not only did we have entertainers like him come along, but we also had a visit from the BBC in the shape of Forces Chance. Brian Johnston was the chairman, and the panellists were Nan Winton, Charles Gardner and Wynford Vaughan-Thomas. I have a postcard as a memento of their visit. Nan Winton demonstrated the dance craze that was the loco-motion to us, since we were so far beyond civilisation!

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 13: The Mikado

In the programme I have my own special entry Ko-Ko’s Sword Bearer-Timothy Ellis. My role was silent but crucial to the drama, and heavens above I also had to carry a sword! Now, theatre is all about illusion, I can reveal (and I hope this revelation doesn’t destroy any belief that theatre is heightened reality) the sword was not real. It was made of wood.

My big moment came when the chorus (which included my father) sang the word “Defer” very loud. Ko-Ko suddenly became timid and jumped out of his skin. I turned and looked at him, with perfect timing, most haughtily. I’m even better at it as I get older.

We put on six performances from 5th to 10th November 1962 at 8.30 p.m. at the Khormaksar Primary School Theatre. However, the best was yet to come! On 11th November the entire cast and orchestra were ferried far out into the harbour where we boarded the Ark Royal and gave a performance in the Upper Hangar. Thanks for the specific information here is due totally to this website address http://www.axfordsabode.org.uk/pdf-docs/arkroy17.pdf. I Googled “Steamer Point Light Opera Society” and this is one of the few entries I found. I can’t give a direct thank you to the website creator, so I trust this will do.

After the performance the Mikado (who terrified the life out of me when in costume) gave me two of his prop “elliptical billiard balls”. One bears the now faded inscription “To Tim from Mik”. Vincent Martinelli, whoever you were, wherever you are, you made one eight years and 2 days old kid really happy that night.

The only bad thing about it all concerned my mother who was one of those who helped the wardrobe mistress. They got her first name wrong in the programme, Maria instead of Margaret. That’s grownups for you.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 12: The Cubs

I belonged to the Air Force’s own Sea Cubs and Scouts in Aden. Yes, you did read that correctly!

Being a cub, I had to learn the National Anthem. Why is it such a dirge of a song? No wonder the Queen always looks so sombre on official occasions. I also did really exciting things like learn to cook (thanks Mum!), meet the Chief Scout (he wore a kilt) and the Archbishop of Jerusalem. Life was, as I am sure you will appreciate, one hectic social whirl having to deal with celebrities all the time.

One thing that also happened when I was a Cub, was the Gang Show. I took part in it at least one year. I remember we had our local version of Flying High, it was called Smelling High a dubious tribute to Crater. I wish I could remember the words. I’m sure the lyrics could still amuse.

I can’t remember if this was my first thespian experience or not. I’m sure it wasn’t though. My first was ... (see the next blog entry!)

The Archbishop of Jerusalem and I discussing weighty matters, as one does.

Bits and bobs from my time as a member of the 14th Aden.

Badges I got as cub, and I still have!

Where exactly this was taken I can't recall, but it's where we had our cub meetings. I can remember sand getting in my sandals and socks a lot!

Me outside the Church of the Rock (I'm sure I'm right). Why I am in uniform I have no idea. I've still got my whistle and lanyard!

My memento of the visit of the Chief Scout to Aden.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 11: Choose a Church and Carol Singing

My family wasn’t the most religious. What level of faith my parents had I really don’t know. We did however go to various churches. Priests were always called Padre. It’s an Air Force thing.

The family’s approach seemed to be of the “pick and mix” variety. Before we went to Aden, I don’t remember church going as part of the weekly routine. I may have been packed off to Sunday school, mainly to get me out from under my parent’s feet. For whatever reason, after we arrived in Aden, we tried a few churches here and there. My mother was particularly unimpressed with the Church of England in a gloomy building, where later I was to meet the Archbishop of Jerusalem. We settled on the Church of the Rock and the minister was Padre Hurl (I’m not sure of the spelling here). I am not sure, but I think it was a Methodist church. No matter which denomination it was, it was a jolly cheerful place.

One aspect of church going meant we were press ganged into carol singing one year. The nautical association is apt. This was carol singing, but with a difference. I don’t know how many people have sung ‘Away in a Manger’ and other carols at Christmas while dressed in summer clothes bobbing about in a harbour in a small boat among the large ships. To my childhood imagination they appeared to be lit up much more brightly than usual that night. Possibly they were.

Christmas is now a rather more mundane affair, not to mention colder!

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 10: Steamer Point

For me Steamer Point was Aden. It is probably the area I liked the most (apart from the beaches and swimming pool at Khormaksar). Most shops were on The Crescent and in the cool of the evening, lights enticed one inside. Here my parents bought a transistor radio from an electrical shop run by Indians (I think they were Sikhs). Until the old thing fell apart from much wear and tear, especially in its latter years when it went with me to college (my parents having upgraded to something more modern, reliable and not falling apart!) it was our radio set. Things were built to last in those days!

Steamer Point was also a commercial centre, since the harbour landing stage was there. Among all the shops, one of my favourites was a book shop, where I bought my own pack of de la Rue Patience playing cards. I also bought some books there, including a Puffin paperback ‘The Little Grey Men’ by the strangely named author ‘B.B.’ I loved that book. Now it has probably fallen apart and is rotting in a landfill site somewhere, if it has not suffered the worst fate of a book, being burned.

‘Melody Corner’ was a record shop. It was an Aladdin’s cave to me. Even to this day I love to seek out good record shops, even the online variety. I loved the sight of the LP covers.  The size of the CD jewel case does not stand up to the larger canvas offered by the LP sleeve to a graphic artist’s imagination. I’m not saying every LP sleeve was a work of art, but I doubt if the many CD covers will be celebrated in 50 years or so in quite the same way.

Presents from there for me included a Chipmunks’ Album. ‘Ragtime Cowboy Joe’ was a favourite track of mine as Alvin rode from one side to the other. The magic of stereo came to life in our new Black Box record player. It was so sleek and up to the minute and now we could buy stereo records and listen to them properly all the time, or, more accurately, this child could sit transfixed as the sound went from one side of the box to the other while my parents more than likely rued the day they bought the LP and wished I would get fed up with it sooner rather than later.

Here are some photos on an earlier blog of Steamer Point.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 9: Crater

Probably the best known part of Aden for most British people would have been Crater, and for the wrong reasons, ‘Mad Mitch’ and the Argylles and his iron fist policy. I am not making any claim as to the rights and wrongs on either side, but we must always be mindful that the various outposts of the British Empire were there for strategic and commercial interests, and the military was an important part of that jigsaw.

Crater was so named as it was the remnants of a volcanic crater. It’s not exactly the most romantic of names or reasons, but functional. Memory tells me Crater was chaotic and something of a dump. I felt less safe there than anywhere else in Aden. One of the few memorable visits there was my mother buying rings. Seeing the craftsmen at work working with pinpoint accuracy impressed me tremendously.

Our cars in Aden were a Fiat 500 and later a Fiat 600. The first was white and the second was grey. A rare photo of my father (it was his camera!) at the wheel of one of our Fiats. A rare photo of my father (it was his camera!) at the wheel of one of our Fiats (posted in an earlier blog).

One day my father took the car for servicing and I went with him, not knowing the adventure that lay ahead. I am pretty sure the garage was on the edge of Crater and consequently on the edge of the dead volcano’s crater walls. We started to climb up. As we got higher, the wind was noticeable and the temperature dropped so by the time we were on the very rim we were in the cloud (not that there was much of it) and everything felt damp. My father pointed out to me where we had been and where we were going. We made the descent and arrived home, back in the more or less 100˚F in the shade. 

The main attraction in Crater was the Cisterns of Tawila. They were hundreds even possibly thousands of years old. It was most likely the first time I learned that my Western culture and tradition was not necessarily the most advanced throughout history. Although the complex of tanks and walkways may seem smaller to me now, were I to revisit Aden, I am sure I would still be amazed and impressed by the construction as well as the ingenuity of the older Arab culture.

There’s also something noteworthy. Round the area of the tanks is vegetation, maybe not masses of grassy lawns, but it wasn’t ‘all desert’. So much for what my friends at Churchdown knew about anything.

There was only one way in and one way out of Crater by car from Ma'alla and that was the Crater Pass. Even back in the early 60s in Aden, cars were becoming more commonplace and decisions were being made around the needs for vehicles. Crater Pass was narrow, it was clear it had been hewn out of the crater wall. On the rim of the crater there was a wall either side of the pass linked by a bridge. To enable a better flow of traffic, the gap in the crater wall had to be widened, and consequently this meant the bridge had to go.

The scheduled day of demolition arrived. My father and I watched the explosion. The noise was the loudest I’ve ever heard. A huge cloud of dust hung in the air. As it cleared, the bridge was no more. How long the wall had been there, I do not know, but to this day, I am amazed at man’s ingenuity at solving problems, until it comes to the motor car. Whatever is needed to get somebody from A to B in the fastest possible time and with the greatest convenience is paramount, irrespective of the consequences. As I write, the 2011 Party Conference Season is reaching its final days, and the Tories want to raise the speed limit on motorways, even though this is likely to increase pollution and result in more lives lost. This is, I believe, called policy making.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 8: Not Wanted

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

Aden: Random Memories 7: The Cinema

The cinema was still popular at this time. When we lived in Innsworth I went to the Astra to see films. I especially remember ‘The King and I’ and particularly the scene between the King and Anna as they dance. The rest of the film was not so memorable.

Well, we saw films as a family in Aden at both Astra cinemas, Steamer Point and Khormaksar. This was film going with a difference, we were in the open air. Enclosed by the cinema walls and the dark night sky above, the huge images projected onto the screen, this was unique movie going.

For Tom and Jerry cartoons, I was very good and sat up very straight! The night we saw the Hope and Crosby ‘Road to Hong Kong’ had me laughing until my sides ached. We went to see ‘South Pacific’, my mother had seen it on stage in London and loved it very much. I recall being bored rigid by it and not understanding why the colours in the film went all funny whenever people started singing. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful and didn’t say anything negative, but I felt better when my mother said she was very disappointed by the movie and Mitzi Gaynor was not as good as Mary Martin.

There were other movies, but most have made no lasting impression on me, and I am not intending to turn this into a critical review of cinema of that time for an ordinary child living in extraordinary circumstances. Only one other movie deserves mention, Flower Drum Song. We had lived in Singapore and Hong Kong before, and watching a film full of (supposedly) Chinese people came as no surprise to me. Perhaps, for the first time in my life I felt a nostalgic twinge (of course I didn’t realise that’s what it was at the time), and that home was not necessarily where everybody, or the vast majority, was white.

I have many places I think of as home to varying degrees such as Gloucester, Singapore, Hong Kong, Aden, Cottesmore and Stanmore. My brother, ten years my junior, sadly was never with us on an overseas posting, and although he too led a nomadic life, that was only in Britain. Like me he has an affinity with Gloucester and the rugby and takes great delight when Bath is soundly thrashed!

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 6: Steamer Point / Chapel Hill Primary School

Across the road from the apartment I was to get the bus which would take me to take me to my new school.

School was a long way off from our flat. Every day we were collected by bus and driven there. Back in those days, there was none of the modern parental smothering and being driven individually. In those days you had to be there in time for the bus. It was mostly uneventful.

Then one morning, something was different. Armed Military Police were there with the bus. The windows were covered in what looked like chicken wire. When I got home I asked my mother about this (the other kids all seemed to be taking it all in their stride, and I didn’t want to appear stupid). For the first time in my life I discovered that because of an accident of birth, I was most unwelcome to some people. Hatred that drives anybody to kill somebody just because they represent something I have never been able to understand since that day. My mother told me the escort was for our protection (obviously) and the chicken wire was to stop grenades getting thrown inside the bus.

Whenever this happened again in the future, I can’t say I was scared. After all, what does one’s own death mean to a child? I was uneasy, and on part of the route to school we went past a graveyard at the end of Ma'alla Strait. I still remember the sadness I felt knowing among those buried there were service personnel who never went home. I also had morbid thoughts, not something I discussed with anybody, nor have I ever mentioned before now.

On a much brighter note, there were two individuals at Chapel Hill I remember with great affection. The first is a teacher, Mr. Bounty. I really enjoyed his lessons. The following year when I changed class and we were on the next floor up and at the other end of the building our teacher was Miss or Mrs. Wright. I realised what a difference a person can make to learning and understanding. I shall say no more about my time under her care!

The second person who meant a lot to me was Colin Birch. He was my best friend ever. Nobody could ever be as great as him. He showed me the word ‘fart’ in the dictionary. We made up crosswords together. We were at a birthday party at the other end of Ma'alla to where I lived, and everybody apart from me and him were doing the twist. I thought it was rather a silly thing to do and was very embarrassed when a grownup encouraged me to try it. That sort of thing has never been of much interest to me since, making a fool of myself, as myself, in public. Making a fool of myself other than as myself is a different matter!

© 2012 Gwailo54

Class photograph. I am on the back row, fourth boy from the right.

My school badge.

Aden: Random Memories 5: Swimming.

Life went on in its usual way. Dad had to go to work, I had to go to school, and Mum stayed behind at home doing what mothers do, but there were some differences now we were in Aden. I had to go to school REALLY early in the morning, but the upside was about lunch time I wasn’t in school for the rest of the day! How those free afternoons were spent in the early months I cannot recall, but as a family we used to go to the beach a lot. Our two haunts were at first Elephant Bay and the Lido at Steamer Point. Elephant Bay got its name from the eroded rock jutting out into the sea because it looked like the head and trunk of an elephant.

To get to Elephant bay was not easy. It wasn’t in the middle of bustling Steamer Point. The road down to it was wide enough for only one way traffic, and if you got there just as the lights had turned red, well, you had to wait for ever and ever before they changed to green. And why did they change when there was no car coming up anyway, especially, as my father assured me, there was a man (who, mysteriously enough, was invisible) controlling the lights from a little tin shack just beyond the topmost lights?

When we got down there, the sea that looked calm from higher up was not so placid. Sometimes the sea would come crashing in with big waves (nearly any wave is big if you are only 7 or 8 or 9). We were safe anyway, as there was a wall and a shark net. Nevertheless, I always kept an eye open for sharks, just in case the net wasn’t in perfect condition. It never hurts to be cautious.

It was in Elephant Bay I had my first swimming lesson, and a very big lesson in life. Never believe a word your parents say, they are the biggest fibbers, ever! We went until I was really out of my depth, a sense of security was given by letting me sit on our green Li-Lo. My parents in turn held me while I practised doggy paddle strokes. This happened over several days, and then one day, my mother let go of me and I had to paddle like crazy to get to my father. I was swallowing gallons of sea water. The taste was disgusting. I swear my father kept backing away from me, and of course they thought it was all very amusing.

Despite the fact I had been let down by my parents (and I haven’t even got round to talking about Father Christmas, the biggest adult deception ever), I learned to swim and I have enjoyed it ever since, but swimming in the sea between the tropics (or at a pinch a heated swimming pool) is preferable to anywhere else!

Well, after that, I also spent time in the pool at RAF Khormaksar, getting proper swimming lessons. They always took place late in the afternoon, and most times it was dark, or almost dark, by the time I had changed out of my trunks and back into my ordinary clothes.

I was able to return to Elephant Bay and swim with greater confidence, so much so I could get to the built up part at the far end of the enclosed area. Locals would fish from there and their catch would make a meal. The sight of an angel fish always reminds me of Elephant Bay where they were caught in abundance, and dispatched swiftly and efficiently by the Arab fishermen.

As the time to leave came closer, it seems to me I spent more time at the pool on the base at Khormaksar. Not only could I swim, but I jumped and even dived into the pool and this was from the top board as well! My mother used to sit in the shade knitting jumpers for us. We were due to return in April, Eliot's 'cruelest month'. My mother wasn't going to take any chances!

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 4: Joining Dad.

Some time later it was our turn to go, and unlike my father we would be flying! Before all that, well, when you went to a foreign country everything is not quite as it is at home. You must have an injection for this, and an injection for that, then there’s something else that needs, you guessed, another injection, until you think you’re a pin cushion for doctors and nurses. I was so glad when it was all over.

For some time home for us had been R.A.F. service married quarters, 25 Mottershead Drive, Innsworth, Gloucestershire. Leaving there is a bit of a blur. I know my mother had to do ‘the inventory’. It was something that always happened when I wasn’t around. I had always heard about ‘the inventory’, the counting of the spoons and that sort of thing. My mother was always tense as it got closer.

I imagine it went reasonably well, since we left Innsworth on the start of the long voyage to join my father. I know we took the train to London and got a taxi from Paddington but the driver took us to the wrong building. It should have been Victoria but he took us to Regent Street or maybe it was the other way round, I think. The taxi was one of those really old fashioned ones where there was a kind of cubby hole next to the driver where you would put your luggage. Despite going to the wrong London building, somehow or other we managed to get to the airport, Stansted. My mother told me the terminal was just tents, something that has been borne out in my researches. The plane however was was big and had jet engines, and we would be flying non-stop, so I knew it was modern. Flying direct over long distances was a novel experience. On the way to and from the Far East we apparently stopped off in many places such as Basra, Colombo, Calcutta, Rome. In the 1950s it took us a long weekend to get to Singapore.

Do I remember much about the flight? Only a bit. Mum pointed out the Swiss Alps, and told me when she was young, she and her sister Edna went on holiday down there before I was born. I have since retraced some of that holiday, and it is surprising how little some of the places have changed. I hope to post something about that in the future as well. Oh, and we had pea soup.

Kids being kids, the ‘are we nearly there yet?’ routine must have driven my mother to the edge of hysteria. I must have said it on more than one occasion. I also had new clothes to change into. They weren’t as heavy as those I was wearing when we left Innsworth. I had to change out of pullovers and long trousers into cotton summer shirts and shorts. Eventually we got there. I have seen a photograph of me running to my father after we had landed. In those days it seems the formalities of customs weren’t too rigid. Unless if you are a V.I.P. or a celebrity, I don’t suppose anybody gets welcomed on the tarmac as they get off a plane anywhere anymore. I don’t remember the heat, which must have been intense as Aden was generally 100˚F in the shade between sunrise and sunset. Seeing my father again at last after a very long separation was more important anything. 

Dad took us to our new home, 6 Cherry Buildings, Ma'alla (I have got this right in essence if not in detail). We were very close to the Stim factory (the local producer of carbonated drinks). A sight and sound that sticks in my memory is of crates full of bottles trundling along the rollers.

In the other direction on the same side of the street was a bank (I have stumbled across a photo of Maalla on the internet and discovered it was a Grindlays Bank, but I was convinced it was a Lloyds bank).

Across the road was the NAAFI and an Avon shop where my mother bought so many perfumes. I have a roll of film, in rather poor condition. One of the negatives is of my parent’s bedroom. On the dressing table (it sounds rather grand for something so plain, functional and unimpressive) stand various containers, a jar of vaseline, my father’s Old Spice after shave, Johnson’s baby talcum powder. I recognise the Avon bottles, I am sure my mother liked Topaz a lot. The shape of one of the bottles and of the top is unforgettable. The image is the fourth photo in this blog entry.

My own bedroom in the apartment was enormous in comparison to the tiny room I had had at Innsworth. Also there was a novelty waiting for me, an air conditioning unit. I don’t recall us having air conditioning in Hong Kong or Singapore, we just had ceiling fans. This particular unit was green and noisy. It also had a peculiar odour.

On the window ledge (it was much bigger than a sill!) were some brand new books waiting for my arrival. There was a Billy Bunter, which I didn’t really care for (sorry Dad) and Beatrix Potter’s The Fairy Caravan, which I did like. One of the characters was a guinea pig, and we had had guinea pigs back in Innsworth. I am sure there were other books. I can’t recall if The Wind in the Willows was one of them or if I got that later while we were in Aden, not that it matters much now, some 50 years later. It is peculiar to think that for me The Wind in the Willows and Aden are inextricably twinned, whereas that book conjures up a very English world.

Here I was, in my new home. Thoughts of family and England were set aside as quickly as night follows day in the tropics. Service children always seemed to adapt. We didn’t get homesick, and if we did, it didn’t last long. Aden was going to be home. Not forever, but then, forever is a long time, and two years is forever to a seven year old child.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 3: Bye, Dad.

It was some time later, I can remember a cold morning. My mother saw my father off. They tried not to wake me up. Dad and I had already said our goodbyes the night before, but I did wake up. It was like the reverse of Christmas. The day was very important, not because I would have heaps of presents and new toys, but I was going to lose one of my parents. Grownups try to make you feel good. They tell you it will only be for a short time, but to a child a short time is seconds or minutes, not weeks or months. Years don’t even bear thinking about.

Even though I promised I would be a good boy and sleep, part of my brain was alert, waiting for the moment when he would leave. I woke up. There were sounds which weren’t part of the usual morning routine. It wasn’t the muffled clanking sound of my mother cleaning out the grate and loading it up with fresh coal. It wasn’t the sound of the table being laid nor breakfast being made. No. There were sounds, but they were too muffled, like somebody trying very hard to be quiet. Then a sound. It was the front door opening. The unmistakable grinding sound of my father’s boots, and the much quieter gentle pad of my mother’s slippers on the path.

I looked out of my bedroom window. I tried not to move the curtains too much. I didn’t want my mother to think I had woken up and seen my father go. I had promised. Grownups have an extra sense that children don’t know about until they get older. I am sure both of them knew I was awake and had opened the curtains oh so slightly. I was trying so hard to be brave and not cry, but I wasn’t going to see my Dad for ages, he was going to be so far away. Did I cry? Of course I did. Only an unloved or unwanted child could feel no emotion.

Anyway off he went on his troop ship, the Nevasa, if memory serves me well. Eventually Mum got postcards or letters. If there were postcards, I guess he addressed them to me. It’s the sort of thing grownups do for kids. I also expect he was telling me to look after Mum as I was the only man left at home. It’s the sort of thing grownups do for kids. I know the ship docked for a while in Malta.

He arrived in Aden and began the process of getting accommodation for the family as well as performing his duties. I’m sure the Air Force would not be heartless and not make it easy for a married man to make everything ready for his wife and their, then, only child. Nevertheless, there must have been a lot to do, and he did make it special for me as you will soon learn.

© 2012 Gwailo54