Chapter XVI: Cyprus
Towards the end of September I had to set out from Beirut to Cyprus. I had no regrets on leaving Beirut in spite of the fact that life on the whole had been pleasant and far from demanding. So the prospect of a transfer to an island which was thought to be even more beautiful than Beirut and its surrounding country was anticipated with a certain amount of satisfaction.
I forget how I was transported from Beirut to the harbour of Haifa, whether it was by train or in an Army truck. The voyage from Haifa to the Cyprus port of Famagusta was a comparatively short one, but very interesting. The ship was cram-full of Cypriots returning to their island homes, and what a noisy and happy lot they were! It was interesting to watch them dancing on the upper deck. They seemed to be dancing traditional Cypriot dances in a boisterous and happy mood.
After arriving in Famagusta, I was directed to the station to catch a train to Nicosia. The train journey was a novel experience for me. There were very few passengers and so I was able to sit near the driver. The novelty was in the fact that the train was really a bus running on a rail track. My only experience of a rail-bus was the one from Gwaun-Cae-Gurwen to Garnant, but this one was different. It was a motor car in all respects except that it was on rails. The driver was sitting behind a steering wheel, which could have been of no practical use, as the bus could not be steered off the rails. He had a gear lever, which he used to change gear exactly like changing the gear of a car. Actually, once it was in top gear there was hardly any need for gear-changing as the run to Nicosia was over a flat plain. Indeed the terrain and scenery was by no means a good example of the expected beauty of the island.
On arrival at Nicosia station I was transported to the outskirts of the town, where there was a military encampment of Nissan huts. I must confess at this stage that my experiences in Cyprus are not very clearly defined in my memory. I was able to recall my visit to Jerusalem in much detail, as I had kept a diary. But I have no such diary for my stay in Cyprus. So I shall have to be content with recounting only those experiences which come vividly to the mind.
The name given to the A.E.C. headquarters in the centre of the town was Shakespeare House, a name derived from the fact that at that time Cyprus was a British Crown Colony. There were other names reminiscent of this fact, such as Lloyd George Square. It seems that by now, indeed since Cyprus was declared a republic in 1960, the English names have been substituted by Greek names.
Although I have said that Shakespeare House was in the centre, it was actually just outside the walls of the Old City. These Sixth Century walls described a circle three miles in circumference. Within these walls is the famous Ledra Street, originally the main shopping thoroughfare. It is narrow, labyrinthine, and crowded. The shops were full of all sorts of wares, several displaying really beautiful Cyprus laces which were often bought by British solders to take home as souvenirs. A lot of business was done in the open outside the shops, tea shops with tables under sunshades, barbers cutting hair outside their shops, kebabs being roasted on spits over charcoal fires. Right throughout October and the early part of November it was very pleasant to be out in the open. Autumn in Cyprus is called the Lazy Man’s summer. The scorching heat of summer has given way to a relaxing warmth, which is very tolerable in spite of the humidity.
Shakespeare House was a large mansion with an imposing frontage. It was a pleasant place in which to work, but there was no work. The officer-in-charge could in no way get the various Army units to accept a visit from one of the instructors. They were all very small units of about a dozen soldiers, intent on packing up ready for disbanding. The only kind of work achieved was an occasional concert of classical music, performed by local trios and quartets, and an occasional film show, comprising mainly of propaganda films. So life in Shakespeare House was very uneventful, especially in the daytime.
The other sergeant working along with me was a very odd character. He must have been recruited into the A.E.C. on the strength of his music qualifications. But I could not understand how a nervous person who had odd mannerisms, such as pushing his handkerchief bit by bit into his mouth while listening to gramophone records, was accepted. He spent the whole day and every day in a tiny room listening to records of classical music. Although he was in a very confined space, he played these records with the full volume turned on.
I sometimes squeezed myself into his ’sanctum sanctorum’ to listen to some of his records. It was then I heard William Walton’s ‘Belshazzar’s Feast’ for the first time. The choruses were played at ear-splitting volume and yet I enjoyed this rousing music, and ever since I have looked forward to hearing a performance of this work either in a concert or on the radio.
I cannot remember whether the A.E.C. had a truck at its disposal, but I do remember some of the trips we had to see the surrounding country. One of these trips was to Limassol along an undulating road in a part of the island that was more interesting than the flat plain on which I made my first acquaintance with the island. It was not an area of outstanding beauty. Large parts of the island are bare of trees, the result of there being so many goats that are voracious eaters of all plant life, and especially their fondness for eating the bark of young trees. Limassol had a fine harbour full of small ships and fishing boats. I understand that it is now the chief port of the Greek part of Cyprus, while Famagusta is in the hands of the Turks.
The run from Nicosia to the north of the island was one of breath-taking beauty - mountains dotted with red-roofed villas, and some famous monasteries, such as Bellapais Abbey. I was told that the mountain scenes of Walt Disney’s ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ were filmed in these mountains, but I have been unable to have this confirmed from any other source.
Kyrenia too gives you a fairy-tale picture. It has a small harbour, dotted with fishing boats whose sails of many colours glisten in the bright sunshine. My friend and I came upon a small tea-room, run by two pleasant old English ladies, who had lived so long in Kyrenia that they considered themselves more Cypriot than English.
Their tea-room had a superb view. We were able to sit at a table near a window overlooking the harbour. It was fascinating watching the movements of the boats, when suddenly there came into view a small boat in which a Greek Orthodox priest was being rowed to one of the fishing boats. We watched his movements with intense interest. After boarding one of the fishing boats he took out a book, a Bible, I suppose, and proceeded to hold a kind of religious ceremony. We asked the old ladies what the priest was doing. Their answer was that he was giving the blessing of God to the fishermen and their boat before they set out on a fishing trip.
Another interesting trip we made was to the Mauro Vouni Copper mine. It is from the word copper that the island has derived its name Cyprus. The mine was under the control of a British company, a fact that young Cypriot nationals resented very much. They wanted to have complete control of their economy even though for the time being their living standards might suffer. They had the same arguments as the Welsh Nationalists have today - better to control your own economic destiny than to be controlled by companies from across the border. And yet the Cypriots wanted what they called Enosis, that is union with Greece. By today, of course, they have attained that status, but at the same time they have lost control of a large part of the island to the Turks.
At this time what was uppermost in my mind was when it was going to be the turn of Group 24 to be demobilised. Would I be able to return to civilian life in time to celebrate a Christmas with my family after a lapse of four years. Every morning I made my way to the Sergeant’s Notice Board to see whether the order for the Group to be moved had been posted up. It was now the beginning of November with no sign of the announcement.
There were many signs, however, of the approach of the Cyprus winter and the accompanying rains. The mountain range of the Pentadactylos provided a wonderful display of fireworks every night for several weeks. Flashes of forked lightning gave a wonderful display around the five peaks.
Another harbinger of the coming change was an extremely strong and destructive whirlwind over our encampment. I had seen miniature whirlwinds on a hot summer’s day at home, when hay was whisked up into the air in an ever-rising spiral circle. But the whirlwind in Cyprus was so powerful that the whole corner of one Nissan hut was lifted up into the air and corrugated sheets could be seen whirling around and landing about a hundred yards away.
When the rain did come, it came in a continuous downpour for three or four days. But what a transformation in the appearance of the land! Instead of a dust-covered desert-like landscape there was a lot of greenness and a brilliant carpet of wild flowers, with the bright red of the poppies dominant.
There was still no work to be done except that the Commanding Officer stationed nearly had heard that one of the A.E.C. sergeants was a qualified Classics teacher. He was a self-confident product of a Public School and had joined the army at the beginning of the War before completing his course at one of the Oxbridge colleges. He told me that he would like to brush up his knowledge of the Classics, and more especially Latin. I soon found out that I could teach him very little, as he had had a thorough grounding in his Public School. However, we spent the time of the private lessons reading some Latin texts, such as Virgil and Cicero. Although his rank of Major and his command of the Cyprus forces was rather awesome to an insignificant sergeant, I found him a pleasing personality who affected no side and avoided any show of condescension.
Another novel experience I had was having to take my turn as Catering Officer of the Sergeants’ Mess. The sergeants collected a levy of one shilling per week from each sergeant in order to supplement the Army rations. There was a rota of weekly duty as caterer, when you had to decide with the native chef what supplementary food and drink had to be ordered. The menu for each meal had to be decided by the sergeant-on-duty.
Being wholly inexperienced in such a job I had to be completely dependent on the advice of the chef, who gave all sorts of tips on how to economise on certain items. One of his tips was not to make strong tea, as that would require more milk. Particular cuts of meat were more economical than others. The main disadvantage of that was that the sergeants were sometimes given reasons for complaints, and, of course, the complaints were heaped on the caterer.
At last at the beginning of December there was great joy and jubilation - Group 24 was to start on its homeward journey in a few days, and now there was every prospect of being able to reach home in time for a happy reunion with the family at the Christmas celebrations. Actually the journey home was long, tedious and tiring with many anxious moments of delay and uncertainty about the final date of our return home.
There were several stages to the journey, with many stops at various Transit Camps, some stops seeming unduly and unnecessarily long. The first stage was the train journey, or rather rail-bus journey, from Nicosia to Famagusta. Then came the short trip on sea to Haifa, Israel’s main port. I was surprised to find the train in Haifa so full, having travelled to there only from Beirut. So I had to push my way into a compartment that was already almost full.
If accommodation for the soldiers only had been required, the journey would have been fairly comfortable in spite of the hard seats and in spite of the long haul through Israel to Egypt. But the Army authorities, or maybe the Government, had devised a clever way of transporting back to England a large number of rifles. Every soldier, whether he had been issued with a rifle already, had to take one with him. I had not seen a .303 rifle since being sent abroad, but one was foisted on me. So in addition to carrying a full and heavy kit-bag, I had this rifle to carry. And so every compartment was cluttered with kit-bags and rifles as well as soldiers. But in spite of the discomfort everybody was happy; everybody was looking forward to a happy end to a long journey and to the end of a restrictive Army life.
More troops on the way were pushed into closely packed compartments, some of the men even lying down on the luggage racks and the spaces between the seats. A very colourful squad of the Black Watch, headed by a band of bag-pipes, marched into one of the stations. Then further on, I believe it was at Gaza, we stopped in order to be fed - hundreds of hungry soldiers. The whole operation was well organised and managed, although, as usual, there were the few who grumbled and complained.
Eventually we arrived in Egypt at the port of Alexandria. We must have stayed over at least two nights before we were taken to board a ship. In spite of the fact that it was now December, it was extremely hot during the daytime. The transit camp was on a sandy stretch not far from the harbour. All that I can remember of the stay was that we were able to wash our underclothes, dry and air them in a very short time. The drying and airing was done by burying the vest and pants in the very hot dry sand. In no time at all they were able to be pulled out ready for wearing.
It was in a Dutch ship that we set sail from Alexandria, a large ship named Volendam. I should think that two to three thousand men had been assembled in Alexandria. We boarded the ship, the different units boarding in turn. There were only two A.E.C. sergeants and, as usual, it was they who were ordered on last and also last off the ship. Our sleeping quarters were down in the bowels of the ship. We slept not in bunks but in hammocks. It was quite a tricky business getting into the hammocks, as they swung to and fro, but when successfully mounted they were quite comfortable.
The first night on sea was an unforgettable one. It was a stormy one with huge waves tossing the ship at will, and on the following morning there was visible evidence, mostly on the stairs, of the sea-sickness suffered by the majority of the men. It is my proud boast that I have never suffered the pain and indignity of sea-sickness. So when I approached the breakfast table I found that out of our squad of twenty, seventeen were missing. Apparently they had been so sick that they could not face any kind of breakfast. The three of us who were able to eat breakfast had the foresight to take back with us to our sleeping quarters all the bread rolls that had been placed on the plates which the missing soldiers were to use. And when the day progressed the casualties became so ravenously hungry that they were very thankful that they were able to satisfy a little of their hunger with the bread rolls saved.
Our first sight of land was Malta. We entered the harbour of Valetta, all the men crowding the rails to see what damage had been done by the German bombers to the Victoria Cross island. Many of the buildings were in ruins but what took our notice more especially was the number of ships half sunk in the harbour. Most of them were Italian ships, distinguished by the drab black paintwork. During our short stay in the harbour, no one was allowed off the ship, but there was a busy traffic of small boats to and fro from the mainland.
The end of the Mediterranean crossing came at Toulon, the naval port of the south of France. We approached Toulon about midday in really hot sunshine. The slopes behind the harbour were dotted with beautiful houses, while their red roofs brightened by the rays of strong sunshine afforded a fine picture of outstanding beauty. Again the men were taken off the ship in their respective units, and by the time the last unit, just two A.E.C. soldiers, were allowed off dusk was beginning to set in.
So when we arrived at the transit camp we were led to a marquee that had bunks laid on the huge floor. They were bare of any bedding, and so every man had to collect his palliasse and blankets from the quartermaster’s stores. When my friend and I went to fetch the palliasse and blankets we came up against a closed door. The quarter master and his staff had gone off duty. So we had to return to our bunks minus any kind of bedding. We had as pillows knobbly hard kit-bags and instead of blankets we had to use our great coats. A most uncomfortable night was spent, comparable with the one when our squad of Anti-Tank men arrived in Broadway on a cold and frosty night in February. Not only was the marquee with its open entrances cold but it was also draughty.
I doubt whether I slept at all; it was a great relief to get up at dawn. But even then there was more torture - shaving with icy cold water. But I had never experienced such extremes of temperature - a hard frost at night, and then midday on the following day we were eating and drinking on outdoor tables and glad to have them covered with sun-shades.
There was some delay in Toulon again. A suitable time, I suppose, for our transport by train to be arranged so that there would be no clashes with the regular trains from the South to the North. We were eventually moved at an unfortunate time for us, for we boarded a train just before darkness set in, then the journey all the way from Toulon to Dieppe was made in darkness, so that we were deprived of any view of the countryside.
After travelling for several hours we seemed to be travelling through an extensive built-up area. The men made a guess that this was a part of Paris, which, of course, we would have loved to have seen. We arrived at Dieppe soon after the break of dawn, and were immediately transferred to another transit camp. This time we had much more comfortable quarters. This was fortunate as we had an unacceptably long delay before we could make the crossing to Newhaven.
After we were informed that a ferry boat for our transport had arrived in the harbour we were told that very stormy weather in the English Channel was preventing the boat from setting sail. The all-important question now was would we be able to cross in time for our demobilisation to be completed so that we could be home for Christmas. With this in mind the Army decided that an attempt should be made on a particular morning, and so we were all transported to the harbour. But our hopes of sailing were dashed when the captain announced that to venture out in such stormy weather would be taking an unnecessary risk. So back to the camp for another period of anxious waiting.
However, on the next morning we set out again for the harbour and this time the Captain on his loudspeaker declared that as Christmas was coming in a few days, he was prepared to make a special effort. When we boarded the ship, each soldier was given a brown paper bag. We were packed so close together on the deck of the ship, quite a long way from the toilets, that those who would be seasick were ordered not to attempt to reach the toilets, nor to hang over the rails, but to stay put and vomit their breakfast into the paper bags.
After a short period of tossing and wallowing in the mountainous waves, you could see some of the men beginning to look uncomfortable and to develop a greenish-grey hue on their faces and then the expected result gushed forth. Although the tossing and pitching of the ship in the huge waves was rather unnerving, I kept my composure and was able to have an interesting view of several small ships being tossed by the waves - one moment they would come clearly into view and the next moment they would disappear in the trough between two waves.
When we were approaching the narrow entrance to the harbour of Newhaven an order came from the bridge for every soldier to stay put and not to crowd on one side, so that the balance of the ship could be kept in what was going to be a tricky negotiation of the entrance by the pilot. After landing we had to go through customs, just as if we were now civilians returning home after a trip abroad. However the customs men took only a cursory glance at our kit, and were quite satisfied when we told them that we had nothing to declare. There was a train waiting for us near the harbour, and so from there we set on the last stage of a journey full of delays and frustrations.
The train took us to an Army depot somewhere near Oxford, where we were quickly kitted out in civilian clothes. Everything at the end of the war was ‘utility’ - mass-produced with the cheapest material. However I managed to obtain a suit, a hat, and shoes which fitted me very well. I was allowed to keep my Army boots. These lasted me as gardening boots for very many years.
From this Army depot each one made his own arrangements for the homeward journey, after travelling vouchers had been issued. Although the journey home entailed many changes, with every change I was getting that much nearer home. At last I arrived home, freed from the shackles of Army service and in good time for Christmas, a Christmas which to me, and to my family I suppose, was the happiest of all Christmases.