It must have been about two o’clock when we at last steamed into Algiers station, having passed many marshalling yards and railway sidings, and been soundly told off for scattering bully-beef tins to some of the hungry and appealing ragamuffins following our slow progress along the lines. It was difficult to refuse those dark eyes and urgent requests of ‘plees, mees, shocola’, and soon our entire remaining stock of sweets was exhausted.
We were not sorry to arrive and emerge from the hot and dusty carriages. Willy, Iris and I found to our chagrin that we were obliged to part from our ten companions, and were soon in a PU (a small covered army van), being driven swiftly up the villa-lined slopes of the higher part of the town towards the country. Below us lay the harbour, dotted with troopships, grey like the naval vessels against the blue sky. The sun was brilliant and the white buildings looked clean and fresh. The trees were at their best and we felt glad to be on the shores of the Mediterranean.
5
Algerian Interlude
W e drove on, past the attractive villas shaded by luxuriant palms and adorned by cactuses in pots, and creeping roses. The wisteria and lilac were still in bloom, and the air was perfumed, their scent blended with the nostalgic odour of oleanders. We were on the main road and there were tramlines on it too. Every now and then we would pass a typical French tram, the interior crammed and the gallery at the back overflowing with a motley crowd in rather variegated attire, many of them in Arab dress or just wearing a fez with their European clothes. An occasional British uniform appeared a little incongruous in the scrum. It was hot and the passengers looked sticky, but they seemed cheerful enough – and indeed there was a cheerful spirit prevailing everywhere, for Cassino had fallen to the Allied troops only a few days earlier. The war seemed to be nearing its end. No-one could have foreseen the long and bitter struggle that would take place in the twelve months to come.
Soon we were away from the outskirts of Algiers and, still climbing, in the open country. Always the air was hot and brilliant, and the trees were remarkable for their rich foliage. We passed through one or two Arab villages, where one could see some of the inhabitants sitting and sipping coffee, many cross-legged on the ground. It must have been the very black and sweet Turkish coffee, ‘cafe arabe’, as it is called. Others would be haggling over business deals, or driving long-suffering mules with enormous burdens, perhaps to market or returning from a fair. One would also see Arab women carrying bundles or pitchers on their heads – Europe seemed to wane as we advanced further into the country, for the oriental influence was strongest in these villages. It was therefore with quite a surprise that at the end of a long village street, we came upon a road lined with modern French villas, and soon passed through the gate of one of them, which seemed surrounded with barbed wire, and at whose entrance a sentry on duty came smartly to attention.
We were quickly introduced to the major in charge of administration, who scrutinised our papers and told us briefly that we would have to wait for a few days until our passages to Italy were arranged. We had not expected this, and in truth we were not very happy about it, for we had all three been promised a change from the type of work we had been doing until then, and had hoped to be employed in the big headquarters, where the other ten from our course were to work. Fate had decreed otherwise, and there was nothing for us to do but assent and obey orders. We meanwhile bided our time, but decided to ask for an interview with the chief AT and request a transfer.
Shortly after this, we were escorted to our billets by another ATS officer. Willy and I had two nice little rooms in a French villa, which was beautifully clean and cool and refreshing, with the French shutters tightly closed to keep out the sun during the heat of the day. We began to unpack, while trying to improve the appearance of our khaki drill, which was to be a problem for some little time yet. Iris meanwhile was quartered in another house, a little further up the road.
We had dinner in the mess that night, and were for the first time in a mess run by the Americans. The new unit was also inter-service, and this time the CO was an American, and his second-in-command was British. The food in the mess was mainly American, and the batmen, cook and other kitchen staff were either American, or Italian so-called ‘co-operators’. These latter, to the best of my knowledge, were Italians who had laid down their arms at the time of the Armistice in 1943, some of them in Abyssinia, Libya, etc., and had volunteered to work for the British forces in a paramilitary capacity. There was an ex-sergeant major of the Bersaglieri in this mess, and very smart and capable he was too.
We felt a little strange that evening, for everyone else seemed so much at home and at ease in the country, in their clothes and with the mixed crowds in the mess, representing different nationalities and services. Some of the Americans had strange names – Polish, Italian, Russian and even German – and even more than when in the United Kingdom I began to understand why the United States has been called a ‘melting-pot’. The food seemed strange at first, coffee at the beginning of the meal in a pot on the table, as much as you liked, and sweet and savoury things all mixed up. We retired early that night, and were woken at about eight the following morning by Madame, who brought us a small cup of black coffee. She told us that there was a danger of locusts, as one or two had been seen about, and this usually heralded the approach of a cloud of them.
One would see donkeys or mules patiently plodding along under their huge loads, driven slowly down the road by Arab women or children, most of them barefoot or wearing crude sandals. They would urge on their beasts with loud cries, slapping them with switches and jangling the bells on their harness. It was a ten-minute walk downhill for us to the mess, and that first morning Willy and I waited for Iris, and then we all strolled down together at about nine. As there was nothing for us to do, we had been told to take things easily, and by the time we reached our destination at the bottom of the road, near the junction of the village street, which was the main thoroughfare from Algiers, everyone else had finished their breakfast and gone up to the office. The sergeant major of the Bersaglieri served us on the veranda in front of the mess – coffee, fried eggs and pancakes, apricots and cherries. We discovered that the pancakes were an American fashion, and the Americans would happily eat pancakes, bacon and marmalade or jam all at once, which seemed strange to us, but we got used to it in time. Anyway, said pancakes were delicious, made with dehydrated egg, about a quarter of an inch thick, dryish, and very nourishing.
That afternoon we were taken into the headquarters in Algiers to see the Head AT in the command, which was at that time BNAF – British North African Forces. She was the first woman I saw in uniform wearing a kilt and looked very impressive, especially as she was tall and handsome. She heard our troubles with much sympathy, and while not holding out great hopes of a change, said she would see what could be done. I was very impressed by her personal assistant, or female ADC (Assistant Division Commander), who was the smartest girl in uniform I had then seen. She managed to look most attractive in her khaki drill, despite the short, tight skirt – and she was wearing more make-up than most. I noticed that quite a few women overseas did this, and it seemed to fit in with the brilliance of the climate. I believe the PA mentioned above, a junior commander, was a great personality and well-known in the command. Certainly a lot of people seemed to know her, and as she had great charm, that was not at all surprising.
The following day we decided to hitchhike into Algiers. This was the usual practice overseas and it was very easy, especially if you were a girl, to get a lift, as there was always plenty of military traffic on the roads, particularly in the earlier days. As it happened, there was a truck going in from our unit, taking some American GIs to the American ORs’ club, so we got a lift with them. We were soon whizzing down into the town at great speed, passing the same villas that we had seen on our way up two days previously. By now we felt much more confident and not quite so ‘green’. They dropped us at the Aletti, one of the biggest hotels in Algiers, which ha
d been taken over as an Allied officers’ club. It was dark and cool inside, but there was nothing doing, because the middle of the afternoon is always a dead hour in hot climates. We left the one or two slumberers to slumber on in their armchairs and walked back up the hill to where we had heard that the YWCA was situated. There we slaked our considerable thirst with large earthenware cups of boiling tea, and ate tiny sandwiches and dainty little cakes. The YWs were the greatest boon to service girls of all ranks overseas. There, one could always get a nice meal, a bath, a bed or just a comfortable chair to relax quietly in, and there were always beautiful flowers in every room. It was peaceful, and whoever requisitioned the buildings for the use of YWs always seemed to select just the right place, with a homely, comfortable and tranquil atmosphere. It was somewhere that one could really relax from the hurly-burly of roaring transport, a crowded mess, or after a long day trying to work hard when dripping with heat and beset with flies, or in winter frozen with cold when fuel was scarce or nonexistent.
The YW at Algiers was on the main road leading through the town, and it had a pleasantly cool atmosphere and a cleanliness and freshness. After puffing up from the lower town in the May heat, which was hotter than it ever is in England in August, one sank thankfully into a chair and was glad to turn over the pages of an English magazine, perhaps several months old, but news to us. One might be sitting next to an ATS corporal, a QA sister, a physiotherapist, a civilian girl perhaps employed by the Foreign Office, a ‘Free Fanny’3, a Wren officer or a WAAF of other rank. During my time overseas, I must have met representatives from all the women’s services in various YWs, and the personnel of the latter were invariably charming and helpful. Besides staffing the hotel itself and looking after the catering, the civilian workers, the accommodation and the stores, including the inventory (very important in a requisitioned hotel), they also provided a complete entertainment guide. They sometimes arranged excursions, effected introductions for lonely girls or for men and girls on leave who wanted company, but were too shy or lacked the opportunity to find it, organised dances, and last but not least, always had a small chapel where one had the opportunity to attend Holy Communion and other services. In addition to all this, they coped with any individual problems and welfare questions that might crop up. These places were a comfortable and homely place for a rendezvous, and probably a large percentage of the many service romances were fostered by the kindly helpers there. No doubt any of them interested in matchmaking must have had wedding bells constantly tinkling in their ears – they certainly could not lack scope for their inclinations.
Opposite the YW in Algiers was the office of Thomas Cook & Son, and it was placarded extensively with invitations to go on a tour of the Kasbah, the famous native quarter of Algiers, whence, it was rumoured, Allied soldiers had not infrequently disappeared in search of adventure, never to return. Some of their bodies were found, and others were just never seen alive again. But, with Thomas Cook & Son, in broad daylight and accompanied by experienced and accredited guides, one need have no fear, and so we booked to go on one such excursion, deciding to ignore the horrific stories we heard of a stench that took one’s breath away. In actual fact, I did not find the smell unbearable, and the visit was so fascinating that I forgot any sordidness that there might have been.
We went along tiny narrow streets, where curtains of beads hung over the doors to keep out the heat and the flies. In some of these little house-fronts craftsmen were busy – cobblers, knife-grinders, tailors, bakers and others. Everywhere were Arabs selling fruit in huge baskets, or nuts, or peculiar sweets and cakes on trays, some still hot. There were rather straggly-looking stray dogs, and numbers of little barefooted, grinning children of all ages. We visited a mosque, and saw Moslems at prayer. It was all in white stone and gleamed in the bright sunshine. When you first stepped over the threshold, it was almost impossible to see after the glare outside. We also visited one or two Arab houses, and I particularly remember one that was all painted blue, with a magnificent courtyard in the middle, where a fountain splashed into a marble basin of water, and palms and grass were of a green never seen in the fields and gardens, so sheltered were they from the heat and dust. The balcony and roof were ornamented with the sculptured marble, which reminded me of fretwork, and the atmosphere was one of coolness and perfume. Only a stone’s throw away, in the street alongside, was the scramble of busy urban life, and not far away the hoot of motor-horns and the rumble of heavy traffic. Centuries of time seemed to separate the seclusion of this Arab dwelling from the modernity of the mechanised thoroughfare so close at hand.
We also had the luck to see another such interior, not so old, but in a not dissimilar style, at a dance to which we were invited outside Algiers, in a house taken over as an officers’ mess. There the floors and walls were covered in mosaics, and the hall, where the dance took place, was in the centre of the building and vaulted with pillars almost like a church. This ecclesiastical appearance did not detract from the gaiety of the evening nor lessen the urgent syncopation of the army band, playing for the dancers, and the frequent imbibing of bottled American beer added to the jollity, for it was a hot sultry evening.
We were experiencing for the first time the real joy of tropical uniform – open collar, sleeves rolled up, and for the women, ankle socks, except at night. For the evenings it was strictly laid down that we should wear stockings, and the men trousers. Everyone also had to roll down their sleeves, and for dinner or for official occasions it was the rule to wear a collar and tie. But it was delightful in the hot days to wear just the minimum and be free of stockings and the sticky agony of a ‘roll-on’, which in the midday heat was martyrdom. In this climate, however, the nights were warm and balmy. One evening a film was shown out on the veranda in front of the mess; overhead the stars twinkled and below us in the street half the population were gathered to listen.
One day we had a very pleasant bathe, not far from Algiers, up the coast to the west. It was extremely windy, although I do not know the name of the local winds, but it seemed a sort of scirocco – hot, dry and very gusty. Willy and I went with a WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force) officer and two escorts, and were rather startled to find that one was supposed to undress on the open beach, where there was not much cover and on the edge of which were some small stone houses. As there seemed to be very few people about, we separated from our escorts and managed the undressing part fairly well. The bathe was lovely, and we enjoyed the big rollers and dashing surf, swept in all directions by the wind. Dressing was not so good, for sand seemed to cling to one everywhere. It whirled all round, into one’s clothes and blinding one’s sight, and the wind swept our towels up and away just at the wrong moment. But we managed to get on our clothes with a certain amount of bad language, and on my part fervid inward vows that I would never again be persuaded to undertake such a bathing excursion. We assumed that we had at least enjoyed some privacy, but as we collected our damp and sandy costumes and tried to make some order of our disarranged and sand-matted hair, we saw at a window of one of the houses above quite a crowd of dark grinning faces of different sizes watching us with evident amusement. An Arab family must have been the inhabitants of the house and were spending the stormy day indoors – doubtless we had provided them with quite an amusing pantomime to enliven their day.
During this time we had no actual work to do, so we spent our time looking over our kit, turning up the hems of our voluminous skirts, seeing what we could of Algiers, having our hair done, and in general getting ourselves acclimatised to the life. I went to a French hairdresser near the YW. He was very pro-Ally, and told me how bad things had been under the Germans, and how the loyal French had been in danger of arrest at any time, needing to tread very carefully if their sympathies were with de Gaulle. I had to take my own towel and shampoo, which latter I bought in the NAAFI, for the French were short of food, soap, wool and indeed every sort of necessity. I was able to arrange for my mother to send some knitting wool from Engl
and a little later for Madame, whose daughter was expecting a baby and was sorely lacking in materials for her layette. The shops were very bare and, except for exorbitantly expensive leather goods and equally dear but very attractive sweetmeats such as dates and walnuts stuffed with marzipan, there was very little one could buy. There was a forces gift shop, and I purchased there a very lovely pocket book for my father in red Moroccan leather, stamped in gold, and also a small earthenware ashtray. I sent home a box of marzipan-filled dates from a shop, which said they sent purchases home direct for the forces. Unfortunately, it never arrived, and was perhaps on a ship that sank or was pilfered. This was almost the only item that I ever lost in transit, which was a good record and good fortune.
The life of Algiers at that time, apart from the continuous military activity and the business it occasioned in the port and the streets, seemed almost at a standstill. Many buildings were requisitioned, and there was no theatre but opera, and that offered only a variety with some slightly ‘shocking’ acts to attract the forces. I never went, as the management did not intend ladies to be part of the audience. We did however manage to hear Thaïs at the Opera House. There were one or two cinemas, showing rather second-rate films, and there were of course the cafés, where the many enforced idlers could take black coffee (which was probably mostly ersatz) or drink an inferior aperitif. Trade and commerce seemed almost non-existent. The civilian population were engrossed in the day-to-day struggle for sufficient food to keep body and soul together, and the Allied soldiers did not generally have enough money to pay the high prices for what was offered in the way of luxury goods to send home to their families. We were not there long enough to make much personal acquaintance with the local inhabitants, and indeed I did not even have time to look up a lady to whom I was given an introduction by an American in England. I have since greatly regretted this, but living out in the country, within sight of the distant Atlas range as we did, our expeditions into Algiers were necessarily limited, and when we did go it was usually for a specific purpose, such as a visit to headquarters – the Allied Forces Headquarters, as it was then called.
My Italian Adventures Page 5