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August 17th 1950 happened to be my first experience of the RAF. That was the day I arrived at RAF Padgate for induction and kitting out after being called up to do 2 years compulsory National Service. Briefly, after 1 week there, it was then on to RAF West Kirby to commence an 8 week recruit training course (square bashing). Half way through that period I spent a few days at RAF Cardington having decided I would sign on as a 3 year regular. The bait of the extra pay and leave being offered seemed at the time to make it worth while to stay on an extra year.
(pic) West Kirby end of training "Passing Out" photograph. I am top row 6 from left, seated bottom left is Vic Abramson. The remaining lads, I remember their faces very well and yet unfortunately I am unable to put a name to any of the others.
After passing out from West Kirby, our different individual trade assignments were made known to us. Evidently they had me down to receive clerical training to work in the RAF Postal service, this was to be "on the job" experience in the camp post office at RAF Credenhill, Hereford. On completion I was certainly happy to hear of my posting for I was to stay on the permanent staff at the same Credenhill office with the rank of AC2 - G Johnstone (Postal Clerk).
(pic) Taken on camp at the rear of the Credenhill Station Post office. Once again the names have left me - except Jack Harris standing next to me on my right. I do remember Jack played center half for Hayes Town during our time there.
The usual procedure for personnel movements would be to get all draftees transported to RAF Hendon for a night in their "Transit Hotel" and then next day over to Blackbushe Airport in Surrey for take-off overseas by civilian carrier. This was a tried and tested routine, one which over the years had usually worked like clockwork, that is up until our particular draft came along and attempted to take to the skies!. After starting out from Credenhill along the A40 by coach towards London, we encountered fog. Not just a mist but one of those real 1950`s London fogs!. This bad visibility was to last for 3 days and on the first part of our trip we didn`t even reach our intended stop at Hendon. Somewhere along the way we got diverted to find ourselves at a site between Hampstead and Camden Town, London. We pulled up on the main road at a reinforced brick building and were told to get hold of all our belongings as we would be living underground for maybe some time.
(pic) One of the entrances leading down to this wartime deep underground shelter and situated on Haverstock Hill near Belsize Park station.
We in the meantime made the descent on foot down a spiral staircase to what was to be our billet for a few days. On arrival at the bottom it was plain to see that the place looked just as a London underground tube station minus the platforms and having been converted by dividing the tunnel half way up to give it an upper and lower level. I don`t remember much about the layout really apart from remarking to someone the first time we went to eat at the mess - a long bar arrangement - that it must be similar to life on a submarine. Our living quarters were on the upper level with folding iron beds arranged 3 high down both sides of the tunnel. I just wish I had bothered to dig down into my kitbag and get out my Brownie box camera, maybe it didn`t have a film in it anyway!.
We were lucky to get up and out for one of the evenings. Those who wanted a late pass to to see the foggy sights in Leicester Square or Soho were able to obtain one and easily get the tube in and back to our shelter by 23.59.
When visibility did improve enough for flying we said goodbye to Belsize Park and the UK. We were on our way by coaches again to Blackbushe Airport where a civilian "York" plane was ready to take us off to somewhere! - although we did hear it was to be Malta 1st stop.
(pic) A "YORK" aircraft of the type we used.
Gene Autry to The Mighty Sparrow
You may wonder how Gene Autry and Mighty Sparrow just happen to appear in the same sentence?. Well it`s just my rather convoluted way of recalling a lifetime of certain musical experiences that have been with me since I was about 10 years old in 1942.
I attended junior school in Dumfries, Scotland during those early war years and can definitely recall visits to “The Electric” cinema in Shakespeare Street to watch (several times) a cowboy film starring my boyhood hero Gene Autry. *South of the Border* was the film and also the title of the first real song to enter my head and never to be forgotten - here I am still thinking about him in celebration on his Centennial Birthday - 29 September 2007. He certainly was a real positive influence in shaping my young musical thoughts and for which I will always be truly grateful.
Along with other children of the time our only personal means of making music was mainly restricted to humming on a “Jew`s harp” or blowing through a “paper and comb”, we all seem to have those. The harmonica too was popular for those able to afford one although few could. However, my beloved grandmother, who my mother and I lived with, must have thought I had some musical talent (or, more likely just got fed up with me crying for one) went out and bought me a 2nd hand “Hohner” mouth organ in the local monthly Coop sale rooms for sixpence.
This used harmonica was duly steeped in a pan of old cold tea overnight, granny said she had heard that this would not only sterilise it but somehow enrich the tone?. So having had this *South of the Border* tune spooking me since seeing the film then you will guess it was this tune that I first learned to play. You could say I cut my lips on it!.
Around this same period another film became popular, *Down Argentine Way* - Don Ameche and Betty Grable with the song of that name being the theme tune. So another marvellous and catchy number for me to try and master on this mouth organ, it would seem that early on my predilection for a certain style of rhythm was being formed at this young age.
A few years later I had just left school back here in London to start work in 1947. This was the year that I came into close contact with some American Navy boys who were stationed over here and attached to our local Hendon airfield, my cousins happened to get married (and still are) to 2 of them. The reason for quoting this fact is because not only did I as a youth receive Chesterfield cigs, chocolates and gum chum aplenty but more importantly I also got access to hear the latest imported USA records played on an old wind up gramophone. Sure enough the record I did practically wear out was The Andrews Sisters with their version of *Rum and Coca Cola*. Both tune and words fascinated me, I used to puzzle and try to decipher the line that sounded as “go down poncumana”. When I did finally get it years later as “Point Cumana” I promised myself I`d go there one day. Well here I am aged 75 and despite having visited and stayed in T&T several times over the last 35 years I have yet to make it down Point Cumana to sample that Rum and Coca Cola!.
Forward again just a few years to August 1950. That was the date I was called to do military service and I signed on for 3 years as a regular in the RAF. My first 18 months in their Postal Service was spent in the U.K. but livened up more interestingly during my remaining time when posted to serve abroad at RAF Staging Post, Mauripur, Pakistan. This was a country not many of us had even heard of in those days so soon after the sub-continent had been partitioned into the separate states of India and Pakistan.
In 1952 to get back to my theme, I can recollect being Treasurer of the RAF Corporals Club entertainments for a short period. This entailed among other duties having to select a few records down town in Karachi each month as we did host an occasional dance in the Club. Unfortunately the imported choice available in those austere pre rock 'n' roll days was very limited and only a few Louis Armstrong 78s seemed to be available and definitely no calypso!. However I did fancy myself as a bit of a song writer at that time and even came up with a tune *Boo Boo Calypso*. I still have the original lyrics but have to admit that the only calypso thing about it is that mention in the title, it`s really more a tango. But, the attempt was there and that was the main thing. Mind you I`m not sure just where the idea for the song did come from, maybe a subconscious flash of *South of the Border*?. I know it certainly had nothing to do with Lord Melody`s *Mama Look a Booboo* as his released a couple of years or so later in 1955.
It would be 1968 before I met my Grenadian wife Theresa who on an early date took me along to meet her very good Trinidadian friends Arnold and Thelma Benjamin. Arnold was well into his music and calypso was the order of the evening. I was checking out his collection when an LP caught my eye. I was not familiar then with the artist - Sparrow, but I did spot that one of his tracks was titled *Teresa* and thought it would be an appropriate tune to play. Well I did get to listen to that same album over and over again that first night and it got me hooked on Sparrow`s amazing talents ever since. That LP happened to be the Balisier release which I am glad to say managed to survive a house fire some years later down in San Fernando. I say glad in particular as it led to my good fortune by allowing me the chance to eventually acquire that very same copy to add to my by that time growing Sparrow collection.
So, Gene Autry to The Mighty Sparrow?. A short sentence indeed, but, in this case one that took me so many years to complete.
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Gene Autry - deceased 2nd October 1998.
Mighty Sparrow - still going strong 2007.
Mauripur to Tin Pan Alley
I made mention in a previous post last year of a period during my younger days when I fancied myself as being a bit of a songwriter. It came about due to the fact that whilst serving abroad in the R.A.F. our particular camp situation meant that we were simply unable to keep up with the then current popular tunes and music of the day. We had no facilities to be able to hear the usual radio hit parade scene we had previously always enjoyed back home in England. Although well served by 2 cinemas on camp and even nightly open air film shows outside the canteen, these however did not provide anything new. Our only aural musical entertainment amounted to a pile of 78s being held at that time in the Cpls. Club. Although come to think of it, I did often get to hear "Joe and his Jive Boys" playing *Blue Tango* "live" down town in nearby Karachi, I really did like his version of that tune. *Blue Tango* was the only tune I managed to return home remembering after all my time out there. The "out there" I refer to was where I was stationed for those 18 months back in 1952-1953 at RAF Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi, Pakistan.
Before being posted to Mauripur I was stationed for over a year in England at R.A.F. Hereford as a postal clerk on the permanent staff, this was in 1950-1951. Living in England then with everyday access to the BBC meant that those of us interested in "pop" were able to keep up to date with the current musical scene. Life on camp certainly felt tedious particularly having to last out a whole weekend at Hereford when you were not due a 48 hour leave pass and able to get back home to London. One thing that did break up those periods of boredom for me was the fact that I must have had a good pal working and living in the Station bedding store. I say "must have had" because now (57 years later) I have no idea who he was, or, remember much about him. I only recall he did have a good radio and also that a few of us got to sleeping in his store on some weekend nights. The significance of a Saturday night sleepover in his storage hanger meant that we were able to go to sleep in comfort whilst listening from midnight to all the latest from *Radio Luxenbourg*. In those days and probably before the phrase "disc jockey" had been coined, Jack Jackson was recognised to be the main man for the record hit parade and "208 Luxenbourg - the station of the stars" was definitely the place to be tuned into.
Back at Mauripur in May 1952 many of us on camp were invited to "A Dry Evening - May Day Ball". It was to be a varied programme attended by the High Commissioner and his Lady with other political dignitaries, remember, Karachi was the Capital of Pakistan in those days. My very good oppo Tommy McCamphill and I somehow decided to enter a "Golden Voice Competition" being held and broadcast at this event from midnight. We thought we would get around the instruction of "a dry" night by purchasing a bottle of Invalid Red Port wine in Elphinstone Street and downing it prior to reaching the venue. Mind you it didn`t do us much good, my rendition of *Till The End of Time* failed dismally because when the pianist asked me "what key?" I of course had no idea and managed to choose the wrong one. I found I couldn`t reach the higher notes and Tommy who was next on didn`t manage to finish. A disaster?, well no not really, it did give us something to really laugh about for weeks after.
This baron musical period certainly persisted and I happened to mention this to a WRAF who was in transit and passing through from the U.K. to the Far East. She seemed pleased enough to tell me the song that was all the rage back home was *How Much is that Doggie in the Window*. She even sang me a line or two "the one with the waggly tail" etc - I could hardly believe that this was supposed to be the kind of stuff that was making the top of the charts and told her that I could write a better song than that!. She was on her way the next morning so certainly never got the opportunity to find out if this would turn out to be just an idle boast on my part.
Some time after that encounter I was writing the usual letters home and decided to include for my Mother a page with some verses from a poem I had just rattled off. I had never attempted this before and was surprised that the rhyming thing seemed to be quite easy. My Mum at least thought it was wonderful - of course!. I began then writing a few songs and some of the lads even gave them the nod of approval. This got me believing that I was able to come up with words and music that would make those in "tin pan alley" sit up and take notice when I got back to the U.K..
A few weeks after my demob in September 1953 I saw an advert in one of the papers, "tape recorder for hire". Although I had all my lyrics written down, the actual tunes were not. It struck me that this could the answer, if I were to sing the pick of my songs on tape then maybe I could find a musician willing to jot the notes down for me. So that`s exactly what I did, I hired this recorder for a week from a Mews address behind Harley Street in London. Unfortunately it turned out to be a reel to reel job which meant I would require a similar machine for later playbacks. This unfortunately put paid to that plan to get those taped tunes written down.
This problem was solved when I discovered I could rent studio time at HMV in Oxford Street as the top floor of their store in London was in those days a recording studio. This I booked for 1/2 hour to coincide with me having to return the hired Grundig reel to reel machine to nearby Harley Street. HMV then recorded from my tape source and made me up 3 acetate disc copies featuring what I considered to be my 4 best compositions.
The reason I paid for 3 discs was because they were needed to put into practice the next part of my idea. I had by then already selected 3 famous names from the English musical world with the intention of posting each one a copy of my disc requesting them to listen and let me have their comments on the songs. The first two were top bandleaders, Cyril Stapleton was one but the other one`s name escapes me completely. The third name was Steve Race the well known Musical Broadcaster. The only bandleader that bothered to reply kept the record but wrote back to tell me I was wasting his time as well as my own. Not a very encouraging start especially as the other bandleader chose to ignore me completely. However, I did manage to receive some good and reasoned advice from Steve Race. Not only did he return the record but went on to explain the way things were in the pop scene at that time, the 1950`s. He pointed out that 99% of the hit parade were all tried and tested successes in the USA so commercially no matter how good a UK number might be it just wouldn`t get enough exposure. He went on to say that many of the current singers and actors also thought their songwriting abilities should be recognised. Only one of those personalities ever seemed to make it and that was with one song only - Norman Wisdom topped the hit parade with his composition *Don`t Laugh at Me (cause I`m a Fool)*.
And so, having tried and failed, I am just left now with what I like to call my Musical Portfolio and all contained in an old school exercise book. In the absence of having any copies now of that disc or tape demo, I am unable to recall which 4 songs I chose to record originally. The fact is, looking through those titles, I reckon 5 of them still look pretty good to me so it must have been 4 from those identified and listed below.
RAF Mauripur to Habbaniya Sports Day
It happened around the time of Feb/March 1953 at our camp RAF Staging Post - Mauripur - Karachi. On this particular day it was bound to have been another hot and sticky one, no need to refer to any old weather charts to confirm this as any variation could only mean it was probably hotter than that and even stickier!.
Somebody in the canteen happened to mention to me that there was some sort of sports thing going on that afternoon at the track over by St Patricks Club and suggested we walk up there to have a look. I have no idea now just who or how many of us went along, my only recollection is of finding myself there and watching some of the lads in training. It turned out this particular session was in preparation for things to come. Evidently the Middle East Command Sports were being held in May up at RAF Habbaniya, Iraq and naturally Mauripur was expected to be represented in that competition.
Presumably Mauripur must have always had a station sports section, it`s just that I had never been much aware of it until that afternoon. Evidently a number of mixed ranks were interested in athletics and did regularly train on this track to practice their individual events and to keep fit generally. On this occasion there seemed to be a certain amount of encouragement from them to any of us spectators to join in some of the action that day. I promptly did, only to make a fool of myself by starting out on a 440 run around the track that I just didn`t finish (not in that climate!). Having proved there and then that I wasn`t a racer I did,when I had got my breath back, go on to try my luck at the high jump. Well it turned out I wasn`t too bad at that one. At least I got over the bar they had set and as there was to be a shortage of jumpers it was suggested I should enter that event in our soon upcoming Station Sports. On trying out a few of the other bits of sporting equipment I happened to find out that I was able to throw a javelin quite a respectable distance so found myself entered in both events. Someone kindly took the following two pics of me in action during that competition.
Mauripur Station Sports Day - 1st - Javelin
Having heard also that the winners at our Station Sports would be the ones selected to represent Mauripur in the Command Sports made this a must to be taken seriously. A whole week away from the Staging Post would be the perfect scive, getting in amongst those Malcolm Clubs in Habbaniya for instance, well we could all do with some of that!. The fact is that when it was confirmed I had been named for the team in both those events I did start to wonder just what chance an untrained imposter like me would have. After all I would find myself up against some of those real athletes from all around the Middle East?. I could only hope that I wouldn`t fail too badly - unfortunately I did and quite spectacularly!. I didn`t get past the first round in either event, 3 high jump attempts with 3 failures, then 3 javelin throws and worse still they were 3 foul throws.
Mauripur Sports Team aboard a Valetta en route to Habbaniya - May 1953.
We certainly required a taxi to get the layout of this large camp. 
............... Billet 13 veranda - trying to look cool!
Serving under two reigns and one Monsoon
During my 1952/53 time as NCO I/C - RAF Post Office - Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi I had always just assumed personal exemption from any official camp guard duties. This was following what had been regarded as the norm during the year at RAF Hereford which had been my previous permanent posting, we just didn`t do them. As postal clerks in training we were given the impression that certain GPO regulations applied to us which appeared to override some of the (then) KR`s.
One afternoon lazing on my charpoi, probably enjoying the usual egg banjo and sweet milky glass of tea from our ever present char wallah, a head poked around the corner of my room, it was the Duty Officer who seemed relieved at finding somebody about the place. "Johnstone, get up and dressed for duty" he said, "collect a rifle from the Armoury across the road, transport is already waiting outside complete with the guards who are in need of a Commander". "But I don`t do guards Sir!" I exclaimed. This definitely seemed to aggravate things as you can well imagine. He told me that I do do guards because he says I do, he needed a Guard Commander and I was going to be it regardless of all my GPO spiel. After that exchange we didn`t seem to get on too well and he declined to discuss things only telling me orders would be made known to me when I got there. Naturally our driver (another name I can`t recall) knew where "there" was and also the purpose for our going, after all it was not meant to be a secret...or was it?.
The Duty Officer wasn`t wrong, I collected that rifle and guard duty I certainly did!. The gharrie was outside with a group of armed airmen standing on the back just waiting to see who they were going to get stuck with for the night. It could have been any NCO that the Duty Officer selected as he had started at the first and just gone along the line of Corporal`s rooms. You could say that although I wasn`t really skiveing that afternoon it did serve me right for just being the only one available.
Driving across to Air Traffic Control I could see the object of our duty. A large aircraft, possibly a Hastings? en route to the Australian Woomera Rocket Range had parked for the night (some fault) with a couple of chokidors in close attendance. It seemed that whatever was on that plane was not the 1st priority and that security aspect was to be taken care of by them. Whereas our guard duty order it transpired was to quarantine an area and keep all personnel a certain distance away from a barred cell in the ATC building. A box from that plane had already been laid out on view in this cell, we were told it was lead lined and the story was it was a radiation risk. To say I “sprang into action?” probably doesn`t describe my movements very accurately but I did split up the guards and had them posted around the place probably in pairs. I really do not remember much of the detail, I suppose I made a roster and they got changed around and rested every couple of hours throughout the night. Something I can recall vividly was that when it got light next morning we were tired, hungry, fed up and most sorry to hear that this fault was not fixed and take off was to be further delayed. Not only was that bad news but more so the fact that I had been unable to make contact with anyone in authority to establish when a replacement guard could be expected to take over. To cut a long story short, that same officer did eventually appear again and when I asked him that question regarding relief and breakfast he told me "you are the Guard Commander, you fix it!".
So I did just that and well fixed it too. I stood the guard down and commandeered the services of a nearby MT truck and driver to return us all back to our billets and breakfast. As far as I was concerned we had done our bit and that was going to be it, after all I did have our Post Office to open up that morning.
That didn`t quite turn out to be the end of it. A couple of days later I was walking across the square when the SWO got off his bike to inform me that it looked like I was in big trouble. Evidently it was being considered that I should face likely Court Martial charges which included - (1) Disobeying an order, (2) Endangering life, (3) Deserting my post. This news certainly gave a couple of the lads, the known “barrack room lawyers” of the day the chance to come up with some of their small print ideas to help keep me out of jail. So, although having plenty of advice offered, I was already sure I had the perfect logical defence. To have been told "you are Guard Commander, you fix it" gave me, as far as I was concerned, the perfect opportunity to do just that!.
I can`t remember what the charge wording in connection with this saga was but I did only ever receive one charge against me and that of a minor nature for which I was duly admonished. It seemed to me that they had felt duty bound to take at least some action against somebody over this incident but were in fact just sorry about the way things had been conducted throughout.
Over the 54 years since this occurred I have often wondered just how did this “radiation risk box” get from the plane to ATC and back on board. Was it lead lined?, was it heavy?. Was there really a radiation risk? or was it something else perhaps more sinister?. After all it was certainly heading for our nuclear test site in Australia so maybe, just maybe, our little guard operation did happen to play some small part in a much bigger world picture?...But who would be kidding who?.
Mauripur 1952 on "Sapphire Safari"
Mauripur RAF Post Office - Inglis Barracks ARMY Home Postal DepotWe were lucky to get up and out for one of the evenings. Those who wanted a late pass to to see the foggy sights in Leicester Square or Soho were able to obtain one and easily get the tube in and back to our shelter by 23.59.
When visibility did improve enough for flying we said goodbye to Belsize Park and the UK. We were on our way by coaches again to Blackbushe Airport where a civilian "York" plane was ready to take us off to somewhere! - although we did hear it was to be Malta 1st stop.
(pic) A "YORK" aircraft of the type we used.
Sure enough we landed at RAF Luqa, Malta for refuelling then on to RAF Idris, Libya to spend a night under canvas en route to Egypt next morning. The Egypt hop took us to RAF Fayid only to be trucked from there down past the Little Bitter Lake to RAF El Hamra transit camp, my billet for a week or two. We would anxiously check a blackboard every morning in the mess to see if our name had come up for a posting and more importantly to where?. By this method of elimination half of our draft disappeared evidently getting sent to one of the many camps that dotted the canal zone in Egypt. Then a day arrived when the rest of us were flown up to RAF Habbaniya, Iraq. Once there we had the similar procedure of checking a blackboard each day, some lads evidently got to staying on (a nice posting!) while the rest of us were to travel on.
My particular moment on that blackboard came when I saw against my name, Staging Post Mauripur - Pakistan. Now, through school geography I was aware of Malta, Libya, Egypt, and Iraq but...... Mauripur - Pakistan, where was that?. This wasn`t so long after the partition of the subcontinent so maybe I had an excuse for not having a clue. The fellow standing next to me however said knowingly, "oh, Pakistan, that`s a place down in India". So that was it, Mauripur, bring it on!.
My particular moment on that blackboard came when I saw against my name, Staging Post Mauripur - Pakistan. Now, through school geography I was aware of Malta, Libya, Egypt, and Iraq but...... Mauripur - Pakistan, where was that?. This wasn`t so long after the partition of the subcontinent so maybe I had an excuse for not having a clue. The fellow standing next to me however said knowingly, "oh, Pakistan, that`s a place down in India". So that was it, Mauripur, bring it on!.
Gene Autry to The Mighty Sparrow
You may wonder how Gene Autry and Mighty Sparrow just happen to appear in the same sentence?. Well it`s just my rather convoluted way of recalling a lifetime of certain musical experiences that have been with me since I was about 10 years old in 1942.
I attended junior school in Dumfries, Scotland during those early war years and can definitely recall visits to “The Electric” cinema in Shakespeare Street to watch (several times) a cowboy film starring my boyhood hero Gene Autry. *South of the Border* was the film and also the title of the first real song to enter my head and never to be forgotten - here I am still thinking about him in celebration on his Centennial Birthday - 29 September 2007. He certainly was a real positive influence in shaping my young musical thoughts and for which I will always be truly grateful.
Along with other children of the time our only personal means of making music was mainly restricted to humming on a “Jew`s harp” or blowing through a “paper and comb”, we all seem to have those. The harmonica too was popular for those able to afford one although few could. However, my beloved grandmother, who my mother and I lived with, must have thought I had some musical talent (or, more likely just got fed up with me crying for one) went out and bought me a 2nd hand “Hohner” mouth organ in the local monthly Coop sale rooms for sixpence.
This used harmonica was duly steeped in a pan of old cold tea overnight, granny said she had heard that this would not only sterilise it but somehow enrich the tone?. So having had this *South of the Border* tune spooking me since seeing the film then you will guess it was this tune that I first learned to play. You could say I cut my lips on it!.
Around this same period another film became popular, *Down Argentine Way* - Don Ameche and Betty Grable with the song of that name being the theme tune. So another marvellous and catchy number for me to try and master on this mouth organ, it would seem that early on my predilection for a certain style of rhythm was being formed at this young age.
A few years later I had just left school back here in London to start work in 1947. This was the year that I came into close contact with some American Navy boys who were stationed over here and attached to our local Hendon airfield, my cousins happened to get married (and still are) to 2 of them. The reason for quoting this fact is because not only did I as a youth receive Chesterfield cigs, chocolates and gum chum aplenty but more importantly I also got access to hear the latest imported USA records played on an old wind up gramophone. Sure enough the record I did practically wear out was The Andrews Sisters with their version of *Rum and Coca Cola*. Both tune and words fascinated me, I used to puzzle and try to decipher the line that sounded as “go down poncumana”. When I did finally get it years later as “Point Cumana” I promised myself I`d go there one day. Well here I am aged 75 and despite having visited and stayed in T&T several times over the last 35 years I have yet to make it down Point Cumana to sample that Rum and Coca Cola!.
Forward again just a few years to August 1950. That was the date I was called to do military service and I signed on for 3 years as a regular in the RAF. My first 18 months in their Postal Service was spent in the U.K. but livened up more interestingly during my remaining time when posted to serve abroad at RAF Staging Post, Mauripur, Pakistan. This was a country not many of us had even heard of in those days so soon after the sub-continent had been partitioned into the separate states of India and Pakistan.
In 1952 to get back to my theme, I can recollect being Treasurer of the RAF Corporals Club entertainments for a short period. This entailed among other duties having to select a few records down town in Karachi each month as we did host an occasional dance in the Club. Unfortunately the imported choice available in those austere pre rock 'n' roll days was very limited and only a few Louis Armstrong 78s seemed to be available and definitely no calypso!. However I did fancy myself as a bit of a song writer at that time and even came up with a tune *Boo Boo Calypso*. I still have the original lyrics but have to admit that the only calypso thing about it is that mention in the title, it`s really more a tango. But, the attempt was there and that was the main thing. Mind you I`m not sure just where the idea for the song did come from, maybe a subconscious flash of *South of the Border*?. I know it certainly had nothing to do with Lord Melody`s *Mama Look a Booboo* as his released a couple of years or so later in 1955.
It would be 1968 before I met my Grenadian wife Theresa who on an early date took me along to meet her very good Trinidadian friends Arnold and Thelma Benjamin. Arnold was well into his music and calypso was the order of the evening. I was checking out his collection when an LP caught my eye. I was not familiar then with the artist - Sparrow, but I did spot that one of his tracks was titled *Teresa* and thought it would be an appropriate tune to play. Well I did get to listen to that same album over and over again that first night and it got me hooked on Sparrow`s amazing talents ever since. That LP happened to be the Balisier release which I am glad to say managed to survive a house fire some years later down in San Fernando. I say glad in particular as it led to my good fortune by allowing me the chance to eventually acquire that very same copy to add to my by that time growing Sparrow collection.
So, Gene Autry to The Mighty Sparrow?. A short sentence indeed, but, in this case one that took me so many years to complete.
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Gene Autry - deceased 2nd October 1998.
Mighty Sparrow - still going strong 2007.
Mauripur to Tin Pan Alley
I made mention in a previous post last year of a period during my younger days when I fancied myself as being a bit of a songwriter. It came about due to the fact that whilst serving abroad in the R.A.F. our particular camp situation meant that we were simply unable to keep up with the then current popular tunes and music of the day. We had no facilities to be able to hear the usual radio hit parade scene we had previously always enjoyed back home in England. Although well served by 2 cinemas on camp and even nightly open air film shows outside the canteen, these however did not provide anything new. Our only aural musical entertainment amounted to a pile of 78s being held at that time in the Cpls. Club. Although come to think of it, I did often get to hear "Joe and his Jive Boys" playing *Blue Tango* "live" down town in nearby Karachi, I really did like his version of that tune. *Blue Tango* was the only tune I managed to return home remembering after all my time out there. The "out there" I refer to was where I was stationed for those 18 months back in 1952-1953 at RAF Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi, Pakistan.
Before being posted to Mauripur I was stationed for over a year in England at R.A.F. Hereford as a postal clerk on the permanent staff, this was in 1950-1951. Living in England then with everyday access to the BBC meant that those of us interested in "pop" were able to keep up to date with the current musical scene. Life on camp certainly felt tedious particularly having to last out a whole weekend at Hereford when you were not due a 48 hour leave pass and able to get back home to London. One thing that did break up those periods of boredom for me was the fact that I must have had a good pal working and living in the Station bedding store. I say "must have had" because now (57 years later) I have no idea who he was, or, remember much about him. I only recall he did have a good radio and also that a few of us got to sleeping in his store on some weekend nights. The significance of a Saturday night sleepover in his storage hanger meant that we were able to go to sleep in comfort whilst listening from midnight to all the latest from *Radio Luxenbourg*. In those days and probably before the phrase "disc jockey" had been coined, Jack Jackson was recognised to be the main man for the record hit parade and "208 Luxenbourg - the station of the stars" was definitely the place to be tuned into.
Back at Mauripur in May 1952 many of us on camp were invited to "A Dry Evening - May Day Ball". It was to be a varied programme attended by the High Commissioner and his Lady with other political dignitaries, remember, Karachi was the Capital of Pakistan in those days. My very good oppo Tommy McCamphill and I somehow decided to enter a "Golden Voice Competition" being held and broadcast at this event from midnight. We thought we would get around the instruction of "a dry" night by purchasing a bottle of Invalid Red Port wine in Elphinstone Street and downing it prior to reaching the venue. Mind you it didn`t do us much good, my rendition of *Till The End of Time* failed dismally because when the pianist asked me "what key?" I of course had no idea and managed to choose the wrong one. I found I couldn`t reach the higher notes and Tommy who was next on didn`t manage to finish. A disaster?, well no not really, it did give us something to really laugh about for weeks after.
This baron musical period certainly persisted and I happened to mention this to a WRAF who was in transit and passing through from the U.K. to the Far East. She seemed pleased enough to tell me the song that was all the rage back home was *How Much is that Doggie in the Window*. She even sang me a line or two "the one with the waggly tail" etc - I could hardly believe that this was supposed to be the kind of stuff that was making the top of the charts and told her that I could write a better song than that!. She was on her way the next morning so certainly never got the opportunity to find out if this would turn out to be just an idle boast on my part.
Some time after that encounter I was writing the usual letters home and decided to include for my Mother a page with some verses from a poem I had just rattled off. I had never attempted this before and was surprised that the rhyming thing seemed to be quite easy. My Mum at least thought it was wonderful - of course!. I began then writing a few songs and some of the lads even gave them the nod of approval. This got me believing that I was able to come up with words and music that would make those in "tin pan alley" sit up and take notice when I got back to the U.K..
A few weeks after my demob in September 1953 I saw an advert in one of the papers, "tape recorder for hire". Although I had all my lyrics written down, the actual tunes were not. It struck me that this could the answer, if I were to sing the pick of my songs on tape then maybe I could find a musician willing to jot the notes down for me. So that`s exactly what I did, I hired this recorder for a week from a Mews address behind Harley Street in London. Unfortunately it turned out to be a reel to reel job which meant I would require a similar machine for later playbacks. This unfortunately put paid to that plan to get those taped tunes written down.
This problem was solved when I discovered I could rent studio time at HMV in Oxford Street as the top floor of their store in London was in those days a recording studio. This I booked for 1/2 hour to coincide with me having to return the hired Grundig reel to reel machine to nearby Harley Street. HMV then recorded from my tape source and made me up 3 acetate disc copies featuring what I considered to be my 4 best compositions.
The reason I paid for 3 discs was because they were needed to put into practice the next part of my idea. I had by then already selected 3 famous names from the English musical world with the intention of posting each one a copy of my disc requesting them to listen and let me have their comments on the songs. The first two were top bandleaders, Cyril Stapleton was one but the other one`s name escapes me completely. The third name was Steve Race the well known Musical Broadcaster. The only bandleader that bothered to reply kept the record but wrote back to tell me I was wasting his time as well as my own. Not a very encouraging start especially as the other bandleader chose to ignore me completely. However, I did manage to receive some good and reasoned advice from Steve Race. Not only did he return the record but went on to explain the way things were in the pop scene at that time, the 1950`s. He pointed out that 99% of the hit parade were all tried and tested successes in the USA so commercially no matter how good a UK number might be it just wouldn`t get enough exposure. He went on to say that many of the current singers and actors also thought their songwriting abilities should be recognised. Only one of those personalities ever seemed to make it and that was with one song only - Norman Wisdom topped the hit parade with his composition *Don`t Laugh at Me (cause I`m a Fool)*.
And so, having tried and failed, I am just left now with what I like to call my Musical Portfolio and all contained in an old school exercise book. In the absence of having any copies now of that disc or tape demo, I am unable to recall which 4 songs I chose to record originally. The fact is, looking through those titles, I reckon 5 of them still look pretty good to me so it must have been 4 from those identified and listed below.
RAF Mauripur to Habbaniya Sports Day
It happened around the time of Feb/March 1953 at our camp RAF Staging Post - Mauripur - Karachi. On this particular day it was bound to have been another hot and sticky one, no need to refer to any old weather charts to confirm this as any variation could only mean it was probably hotter than that and even stickier!.
Somebody in the canteen happened to mention to me that there was some sort of sports thing going on that afternoon at the track over by St Patricks Club and suggested we walk up there to have a look. I have no idea now just who or how many of us went along, my only recollection is of finding myself there and watching some of the lads in training. It turned out this particular session was in preparation for things to come. Evidently the Middle East Command Sports were being held in May up at RAF Habbaniya, Iraq and naturally Mauripur was expected to be represented in that competition.
Presumably Mauripur must have always had a station sports section, it`s just that I had never been much aware of it until that afternoon. Evidently a number of mixed ranks were interested in athletics and did regularly train on this track to practice their individual events and to keep fit generally. On this occasion there seemed to be a certain amount of encouragement from them to any of us spectators to join in some of the action that day. I promptly did, only to make a fool of myself by starting out on a 440 run around the track that I just didn`t finish (not in that climate!). Having proved there and then that I wasn`t a racer I did,when I had got my breath back, go on to try my luck at the high jump. Well it turned out I wasn`t too bad at that one. At least I got over the bar they had set and as there was to be a shortage of jumpers it was suggested I should enter that event in our soon upcoming Station Sports. On trying out a few of the other bits of sporting equipment I happened to find out that I was able to throw a javelin quite a respectable distance so found myself entered in both events. Someone kindly took the following two pics of me in action during that competition.
Mauripur Station Sports Day - joint 1st - High Jump
Mauripur Station Sports Day - 1st - Javelin
Having heard also that the winners at our Station Sports would be the ones selected to represent Mauripur in the Command Sports made this a must to be taken seriously. A whole week away from the Staging Post would be the perfect scive, getting in amongst those Malcolm Clubs in Habbaniya for instance, well we could all do with some of that!. The fact is that when it was confirmed I had been named for the team in both those events I did start to wonder just what chance an untrained imposter like me would have. After all I would find myself up against some of those real athletes from all around the Middle East?. I could only hope that I wouldn`t fail too badly - unfortunately I did and quite spectacularly!. I didn`t get past the first round in either event, 3 high jump attempts with 3 failures, then 3 javelin throws and worse still they were 3 foul throws.
Sitting up in the stand and quite comfortably watching the rest of the proceedings, enjoying NAFFI cigs and a few beers, well I just had to content myself with that old saying - "it`s not the winning that`s important it`s the taking part that counts!".
More seriously and for the record I can honestly say I have no idea now of how our Mauripur team got on in those games. All the official results would have been documented at the time and maybe still filed away on a shelf in some RAF Records Office, but of course all this took place 55 years ago. I did however enjoy that break up there on what was a really spectacular camp. But like all holiday breaks, although it`s nice to get away it`s also nice to return home and yes to me home was Mauripur, at least it would be for the few months left until my chitthi day.
Mauripur Sports Team aboard a Valetta en route to Habbaniya - May 1953.
Habbaniya Stadium - The opening Ceremony and march past
Some of the athletes who were under canvas with me.
1. Tommy McCamphill...2.(?)... 3.(?)... 4. "Jock" Skimmings,
5. Joe Johnstone,... 6. (?)
1. Tommy McCamphill...2.(?)... 3.(?)... 4. "Jock" Skimmings,
5. Joe Johnstone,... 6. (?)
We certainly required a taxi to get the layout of this large camp. 
The usual photo opportunity that everybody makes for!.
Up in smoke! - at Staging Post, Mauripur
............... Billet 13 veranda - trying to look cool!For those airmen who did serve on the Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi you may remember, our RAF Post Office was situated directly opposite the S.H.Q. building. With what was the relatively small establishment of B.O.R.`s serving on this Royal Pakistan Air Force camp it only required staffing by one bod at a time. I`m Graham "Joe" Johnstone and I happened to be that person who looked after those postal arrangements there during the period 1952 and part of `53.
I recall that on one occasion the duty Valetta came in on its weekly routine Inter Command run. This carried among other things the usual bag of our mail that held redirections from past addresses. Mail used to follow lads from the U.K. right out to the Far East finding its way to the counter of every forwarding enroute post office in the process. Genuine letters most of them, (remember those dreaded “Dear John`s” for instance?) but, bringing also what could only be described as the original junk mail, that bane of the Postal Service those so out of date football pools coupons, Littlewoods, Vernons, Shermans, Murphys, Zetters et al.
It was not only our mail that was carried in this way but also sometimes diplomatic mail for our Embassy in Karachi, still the then Pakistan Capital. I believe the procedure was for a Pakistan Customs Officer to be present at the unloading of these small regular consignments. It seems that everything went well until one day one of the Embassy Diplomatic seals got broken and their bag opened in mistake for one of ours. Result, a political incident and not a wise thing to do.
Customs then evidently got wary and subsequently decided not to open any more incoming mail bags. Well, I`m not sure just how long it took me to realise the golden opportunity I had to make use of my unique postal position. Naturally “honest Joe” wouldn`t want to get involved in anything shady but the fact that now seemingly, this loophole had appeared in the system (albeit maybe just a temporary one) did prompt me into giving serious thought as to the possibilities of legally exploiting the situation.
I was a smoker in those days, the brand bought on camp seemed to be those Gold Flake local Made in Pakistan ones. They certainly looked the same as our Blighty cigs with the logo and same identical yellow packet but definitely were made with an inferior tobacco. I must have been laying back on the old charpoi smoking one of these one afternoon when it suddenly struck me. If only I could get hold of a good supply of NAAFI fags then I could start to make my fortune!.
We know that at Mauripur we were being paid one of the highest L.O.A`s throughout the British Services for the very reason that we were denied any NAAFI facilities and therefore forced to buy all requirements at local prices. This allowance certainly suited those chatti wallas on camp who concentrated on spending as little as possible and who would visibly wince at having to pay for the two and a half anna stamp that it cost to write home. That reduced stamp by the way when franked in our post office was Pakistan`s only concession to our personal expenses. The rest of the Command had NAAFI and Malcolm Clubs which were all well stocked with tins of most brands of UK manufactured cigarettes and priced up duty free at only half a crown per 50`s tin. So how to get at them was the thing and although I didn`t know personally any of the NCO I/Cs I decided to write to them care of their Post Offices asking a favour. I believe I tried Habbaniya, Sharjah and Bahrain. I really just can`t remember now who it was that agreed to help with my plan, but one of them certainly did. The final arrangement was that my Mother in the U.K. would send regular Sterling payments to him (including his profit) for him to purchase NAAFI cigarettes on my behalf and dispatch via Inter Command to me at Mauripur. The important stipulation however was to ensure that it had a proper customs label attached and correctly completed. I did mention legality and this method of posting did allow for the chance that our mail bags may just get opened again by customs at Mauripur in which case I would simply pay the customs due on a perfectly presented parcel. In fact I never once had cause to pay up!.
Although I say it myself, it was a great idea which worked perfectly whilst it lasted. Unfortunately I`m not too sure now just how long this little business arrangement did last. I have a faint idea that my now forgotten oppo either got himself posted or was returning home for demob. Evidently I never managed to get anything along those lines started again and can only assume that by then the time factor came into play for me also as my own chitthi day must have been getting nearer too.
In the end my visualized cash profit didn`t amount to very much, the fact is having once again acquired the taste for those real cigarettes I somewhat foolishly ended up by selling too few of my imported stock and personally smoking the many!. I suppose in describing my dreams of making that fortune it could be said that in truth they really did “go up in smoke!".
Serving under two reigns and one Monsoon
During my 1952/53 time as NCO I/C - RAF Post Office - Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi I had always just assumed personal exemption from any official camp guard duties. This was following what had been regarded as the norm during the year at RAF Hereford which had been my previous permanent posting, we just didn`t do them. As postal clerks in training we were given the impression that certain GPO regulations applied to us which appeared to override some of the (then) KR`s.
One afternoon lazing on my charpoi, probably enjoying the usual egg banjo and sweet milky glass of tea from our ever present char wallah, a head poked around the corner of my room, it was the Duty Officer who seemed relieved at finding somebody about the place. "Johnstone, get up and dressed for duty" he said, "collect a rifle from the Armoury across the road, transport is already waiting outside complete with the guards who are in need of a Commander". "But I don`t do guards Sir!" I exclaimed. This definitely seemed to aggravate things as you can well imagine. He told me that I do do guards because he says I do, he needed a Guard Commander and I was going to be it regardless of all my GPO spiel. After that exchange we didn`t seem to get on too well and he declined to discuss things only telling me orders would be made known to me when I got there. Naturally our driver (another name I can`t recall) knew where "there" was and also the purpose for our going, after all it was not meant to be a secret...or was it?.
The Duty Officer wasn`t wrong, I collected that rifle and guard duty I certainly did!. The gharrie was outside with a group of armed airmen standing on the back just waiting to see who they were going to get stuck with for the night. It could have been any NCO that the Duty Officer selected as he had started at the first and just gone along the line of Corporal`s rooms. You could say that although I wasn`t really skiveing that afternoon it did serve me right for just being the only one available.
Driving across to Air Traffic Control I could see the object of our duty. A large aircraft, possibly a Hastings? en route to the Australian Woomera Rocket Range had parked for the night (some fault) with a couple of chokidors in close attendance. It seemed that whatever was on that plane was not the 1st priority and that security aspect was to be taken care of by them. Whereas our guard duty order it transpired was to quarantine an area and keep all personnel a certain distance away from a barred cell in the ATC building. A box from that plane had already been laid out on view in this cell, we were told it was lead lined and the story was it was a radiation risk. To say I “sprang into action?” probably doesn`t describe my movements very accurately but I did split up the guards and had them posted around the place probably in pairs. I really do not remember much of the detail, I suppose I made a roster and they got changed around and rested every couple of hours throughout the night. Something I can recall vividly was that when it got light next morning we were tired, hungry, fed up and most sorry to hear that this fault was not fixed and take off was to be further delayed. Not only was that bad news but more so the fact that I had been unable to make contact with anyone in authority to establish when a replacement guard could be expected to take over. To cut a long story short, that same officer did eventually appear again and when I asked him that question regarding relief and breakfast he told me "you are the Guard Commander, you fix it!".
So I did just that and well fixed it too. I stood the guard down and commandeered the services of a nearby MT truck and driver to return us all back to our billets and breakfast. As far as I was concerned we had done our bit and that was going to be it, after all I did have our Post Office to open up that morning.
That didn`t quite turn out to be the end of it. A couple of days later I was walking across the square when the SWO got off his bike to inform me that it looked like I was in big trouble. Evidently it was being considered that I should face likely Court Martial charges which included - (1) Disobeying an order, (2) Endangering life, (3) Deserting my post. This news certainly gave a couple of the lads, the known “barrack room lawyers” of the day the chance to come up with some of their small print ideas to help keep me out of jail. So, although having plenty of advice offered, I was already sure I had the perfect logical defence. To have been told "you are Guard Commander, you fix it" gave me, as far as I was concerned, the perfect opportunity to do just that!.
I can`t remember what the charge wording in connection with this saga was but I did only ever receive one charge against me and that of a minor nature for which I was duly admonished. It seemed to me that they had felt duty bound to take at least some action against somebody over this incident but were in fact just sorry about the way things had been conducted throughout.
Over the 54 years since this occurred I have often wondered just how did this “radiation risk box” get from the plane to ATC and back on board. Was it lead lined?, was it heavy?. Was there really a radiation risk? or was it something else perhaps more sinister?. After all it was certainly heading for our nuclear test site in Australia so maybe, just maybe, our little guard operation did happen to play some small part in a much bigger world picture?...But who would be kidding who?.
Mauripur 1952 on "Sapphire Safari"
Have you ever thought much about bikes?. The fact is that on flat ground you have the opportunity to either practically freewheel to where you are going, or, at least get a chance to freewheel back depending on the strength and wind direction.
So, as it is in that real cycling country - Holland, so it is on airfields...flat with no hills!. Some of you airmen on reflection may remember having had call to use a bike at times in the course of conducting your duties at Mauripur. Personally I never had to ever walk any real distances on camp. Being the station postie meant that all week I had use of the MT provided for the round trip to reach and empty the outgoing mail boxes at each of the Officers, Sgts and Airmens messes. On Sundays however it was a different story. Although there were no box collections I still for some reason needed to open up the Post Office and I really cannot recall why. I certainly do know that although it only required a few hours each day it was always a 7 day week opening office. Unfortunately with no duty gharrie available on Sundays meant that this was designated to be my day to exercise. I had to use our Post Office bike to get from the billet to the Post Office which was situated way over opposite the SHQ building. That`s not to say that I didn`t saddle up on other odd occasions too, the 2 recollections that follow are just such instances.
We got to hear that some N.C.O. out at Transmitters had somehow picked up what appeared to be a precious stone from an area somewhere between their site and the main Mauripur camp. The rumour had it that he`d slipped down to a Karachi jeweller for a valuation and was told that it was in fact a Sapphire stone and probably worth around £40? (remember this was 1952). We never ever did get to hear what happened to it or what eventually transpired regarding his 'supposed' find.
Perhaps it was those “Gold Rush” and “Klondike” movies we had all seen over the years that prompted me into thinking that a “Sapphire Safari” might be in order. This event occurred soon after I had arrived at Mauripur in Jan/52, I can date this because I remember that at the time I was still in the (pic.below) transit billet (41 or 42).
One of the lads in there with me, I just don`t know who, (it`s terrible now to think that I can`t recall the name of a very good oppo) agreed that it seemed a good idea for us to get in some pioneering action. Spending time staking out our claim among those hot rocks was going to be a better way of passing an otherwise boring Sunday afternoon especially if we could get lucky and make it profitable?. If the original Transmitters Sapphire tale was true and it had been been found just laying there on the matti then there was no telling what a real dedicated search and scrape around would turn up?. Of course we had no idea of where to start our scraping but decided we would just pick a spot out there and take our chances.
So it was that on the agreed day of operation we loaded our small packs with water and juice plus some metal spoons etc for scraping and took to the desert on our bikes heading out in the general direction of Transmitters. After some distance we passed over the bridge that spanned the first large monsoon ditch (more about that in later blog). From what I can remember this 'road' north out and away from camp was more just a used track marked up with stones, a sort of, follow the tyre tracks affair!. We didn`t necessarily stick to it and after a mile or so veered off to the lower slopes of those foothills that could be seen in the distance from camp. We stopped there to cool off with a drink and to see what may be lying about on those particular slopes. We were dumbfounded by what we discovered. I suppose we didn`t actually shout out eureka! but thought that somehow we had really struck it lucky when it turned out that the lower parts of these slopes were littered all about with very small semi clear stones. Within an hour we could have easily filled one small pack but now we knew where our "claim" was situated decided to be more selective and just take a selection of the largest back with us to get valued. Believe me there was plenty to sort through but unfortunately at least on this visit there was nothing big, the largest stones only being of a similar size as orange pips or rice grains.
Rather than risk letting any Karachi jewellers know what we were up to it was agreed I would send a few chosen samples home in a padded letter and get my Mother to have them valued in our local and trusted London jeweller. Well I did post off 6 of the best stones from of our haul and they arrived home with no trouble. The request to my mother was that she should not mention me or Karachi to the jeweller or indeed how or where she had got hold of these “rocks”. We only needed them authenticated with a valuation.
So, as it is in that real cycling country - Holland, so it is on airfields...flat with no hills!. Some of you airmen on reflection may remember having had call to use a bike at times in the course of conducting your duties at Mauripur. Personally I never had to ever walk any real distances on camp. Being the station postie meant that all week I had use of the MT provided for the round trip to reach and empty the outgoing mail boxes at each of the Officers, Sgts and Airmens messes. On Sundays however it was a different story. Although there were no box collections I still for some reason needed to open up the Post Office and I really cannot recall why. I certainly do know that although it only required a few hours each day it was always a 7 day week opening office. Unfortunately with no duty gharrie available on Sundays meant that this was designated to be my day to exercise. I had to use our Post Office bike to get from the billet to the Post Office which was situated way over opposite the SHQ building. That`s not to say that I didn`t saddle up on other odd occasions too, the 2 recollections that follow are just such instances.
We got to hear that some N.C.O. out at Transmitters had somehow picked up what appeared to be a precious stone from an area somewhere between their site and the main Mauripur camp. The rumour had it that he`d slipped down to a Karachi jeweller for a valuation and was told that it was in fact a Sapphire stone and probably worth around £40? (remember this was 1952). We never ever did get to hear what happened to it or what eventually transpired regarding his 'supposed' find.
Perhaps it was those “Gold Rush” and “Klondike” movies we had all seen over the years that prompted me into thinking that a “Sapphire Safari” might be in order. This event occurred soon after I had arrived at Mauripur in Jan/52, I can date this because I remember that at the time I was still in the (pic.below) transit billet (41 or 42).
One of the lads in there with me, I just don`t know who, (it`s terrible now to think that I can`t recall the name of a very good oppo) agreed that it seemed a good idea for us to get in some pioneering action. Spending time staking out our claim among those hot rocks was going to be a better way of passing an otherwise boring Sunday afternoon especially if we could get lucky and make it profitable?. If the original Transmitters Sapphire tale was true and it had been been found just laying there on the matti then there was no telling what a real dedicated search and scrape around would turn up?. Of course we had no idea of where to start our scraping but decided we would just pick a spot out there and take our chances.So it was that on the agreed day of operation we loaded our small packs with water and juice plus some metal spoons etc for scraping and took to the desert on our bikes heading out in the general direction of Transmitters. After some distance we passed over the bridge that spanned the first large monsoon ditch (more about that in later blog). From what I can remember this 'road' north out and away from camp was more just a used track marked up with stones, a sort of, follow the tyre tracks affair!. We didn`t necessarily stick to it and after a mile or so veered off to the lower slopes of those foothills that could be seen in the distance from camp. We stopped there to cool off with a drink and to see what may be lying about on those particular slopes. We were dumbfounded by what we discovered. I suppose we didn`t actually shout out eureka! but thought that somehow we had really struck it lucky when it turned out that the lower parts of these slopes were littered all about with very small semi clear stones. Within an hour we could have easily filled one small pack but now we knew where our "claim" was situated decided to be more selective and just take a selection of the largest back with us to get valued. Believe me there was plenty to sort through but unfortunately at least on this visit there was nothing big, the largest stones only being of a similar size as orange pips or rice grains.
Rather than risk letting any Karachi jewellers know what we were up to it was agreed I would send a few chosen samples home in a padded letter and get my Mother to have them valued in our local and trusted London jeweller. Well I did post off 6 of the best stones from of our haul and they arrived home with no trouble. The request to my mother was that she should not mention me or Karachi to the jeweller or indeed how or where she had got hold of these “rocks”. We only needed them authenticated with a valuation.
Eventually we got the reply, the seemingly good news first was yes, they were Sapphires but, unfortunately there was the bad news, they had no value!. The explanation was that they were of the “Industrial” bulk type and commonly used commercially in the manufacture of abrasive products for the building industry and to a lesser extent by others as so called "jewels" for clocks and watches.
So we were back where we started, still poor and wondering what we could do next to amuse ourselves. At least we had got to see a bit more of the surrounding Mauripur countryside and all under our own steam or to be more accurate "our own pedal power" helped along by some of that previously mentioned freewheeling!.
Staging Post - Mauripur "Snakes Alive"
Although those memories of 56 years ago are getting a bit faded now, I still recall maybe 75% of the salient happenings of that day. Although none of us - “Blondie” Crouch and my other oppo who`s name escapes me I`m afraid - held a licence or had even driven before, we didn`t seem to think much about that and it certainly didn`t put us off the idea.
We must have seen an advert “cars for hire” or someone may have just pointed us in the right direction but somehow we ended up off the beaten track in a yard up some narrow Karachi back street. Yes, there was a car for rent, a 4 door Austin 10 Saloon. The owner wasn`t interested in licences anyway and just asked us if we could drive. Our RAF 1250`s were good enough ID for him and he proved anxious to do the business by starting to haggle on just how much it was going to cost us for the day.
Evidently we got the price we wanted and signed up. I don`t know which one of us put pen to paper or came up with the cash but it was me who got the first drive. I had never sat behind a wheel before but had always thought it looked to be easy enough!. Luckily the motor happened to be facing the right way and therefore no tricky manoeuvring was required to get us on our way. So it was straight through the gate and out of his yard and sight!. We had already decided where we might visit first and promptly headed out to Clifton Beach, a journey of just a few miles.
The Clifton area, just as we had been told, proved to be a most desirable place to be living. Many bungalows and nice properties were situated alongside the several diplomatic residences and national embassies that were providing cover in Karachi which of course in 1952 was the then seat of government and the Capital city of Pakistan.
Our drive was a leisurely one taking in the sights and probably taking a picture or two (not that I can find any prints of the occasion). My driving seemed OK, mind you we were travelling in a straight line most of the time so nothing much could go wrong - or could it?. On trying to speed up a bit I found that if I did manage to get into top gear then I had to change back down almost immediately. We thought we had been caught out hiring a motor with a dodgy gearbox. That was until my oppo in the passenger seat shouted out “Joe, you’ve been driving all this time with the bleedin` hand brake on!”. Yes, I had to admit it, if I had released that hand brake back in the yard then I certainly couldn`t have let it out fully. The drag between the changes whilst on this short drive just hadn`t been noticed solely due to our total driving inexperience. However, with this error now behind us we carried on quite merrily at a less laboured speed soon arriving at the famous Clifton beach.
Having quoted the fact that I am unable to recall some of the happenings of that day I have to say that where we went or what we did for the next few hours has gone from me now. I do know we took turns at driving and do for a fact recall us in the afternoon heading down to visit Karachi Airport. I`m sure it was “Blondie” Crouch who was at the wheel at the time with me just watching between them from the back seat. Although this was a reasonable 2 lane road it did narrow down to a single track over some of the monsoon ditches it was to cross. Any road users had to make sure they stayed between the oil drums that were placed all along either side of the bridge as too close to the edge was just asking for trouble.
We had already negotiated some of these dodgy bridges for there were numerous monsoon ditches all around. But there was another coming up, all 3 of us saw it in plenty of time and yes we also spotted 2 or 3 water buffalo being herded by their keeper, a nice old boy with a big stick. They were by the side of the road just at the crossing and looking fairly stationary - that is until he saw us approaching and he must have decided to beat us to it for he promptly barred our way with these animals. “Blondie” certainly did step on the brakes but unfortunately it was to no great effect, they only slowed us down a bit. We did however come to a full stop, the rear end of a water buffalo saw to that!. The unfortunate animal`s front legs buckled and it went down on it`s knees as it took the hit although still remaining upright. It`s left hind got cut from our nearside head lamp which was smashed and our radiator got moved back a bit by the force of the collision, that particular damage was to turn out to be a real big problem. The animal raised up and was apparently OK except for the signs of bleeding it received from the contact with our lamp glass. I do know that naturally the keeper certainly wasn`t happy. In fact he seemed to threaten us with his stick, although by this time all 3 beasts were just ambling across the bridge as if nothing had happened. However, money talks and a small bundle of rupees helped to cheer him up and we actually got a smile as we drove off. I had to accept the blame for the car not stopping as promptly as it should. If I had not helped to burn out those brake shoes with my stupid handbrake error then I`m sure we would have avoided the accident.
We had to look under the bonnet to see what was causing the small pool of water to appear on the road. That was when we discovered the extent of our damage as the fan was now touching the radiator. So as well as a broken headlamp we found this water leaking. Having pulled the radiator back just that little bit enough to separate the blades from it we saw the slow constant trickle of water emerging. Now we knew we would be needing to find some water quick and to carry a supply of it with us just to keep going.
Evidently we found water and arrived OK at where we were headed for in the first place — Karachi Airport. I`m not sure of the time, late afternoon I think, but we sat in the car park for a while working out the best way of returning the car. We had a time to take it back and decided we would hang on and make sure it was going to be late and just hope the damage wouldn`t look bad if the yard wasn`t too bright. I suppose we passed the time by watching a few planes arrive and take off whilst eating egg banjos washed down with the usual glasses of gurram char. All I really remember was the hanging around just waiting for darkness to fall.
Eventually we got it back up the road, dodgy brakes and all, this time managing to steer clear of wandering beasts. Before entering the car yard we stopped first to top up the radiator with our saved water with the intention of parking as close up to a wall as possible. This we thought might shield the damage and hoped there might be a slope that would guide any trickle from the holed radiator away from view. But no, it was evident we had to just admit that we had been hit by a water buffalo and I suppose that`s when the trouble started. I say “suppose”, the reason being that from here on in I cannot remember exactly what did happen.
I did mention at the start of this tale that I could recall only about 75% of the day and have just about used all that memory up. I did start jotting this blog down on paper a few months ago and once or twice have been on the verge of giving up on it due to my vagueness as to how it all got finally resolved. However, rather than “invent” the final paragraph I decided it would be quite in order to just list the few disjointed facts that I can remember and leave it at that.
A wristwatch certainly did play some part in our day. It could be we may have had to pay a deposit when we first got the car and left him a watch?. Or, we had to leave a wristwatch with him after he had spotted the damage. Anyway I`m sure we didn`t pay any cash at that time for the damage caused as we didn`t have any to spare. I seem to recall him threatening to phone our Commanding Officer and drop us right in it by asking the RAF to pay for the repairs. I believe we suggested that we personally would get it repaired as good as new back at the Staging Post but I really couldn`t say what actually transpired. Did it get fixed eventually by our MT? - I honestly don`t know!. We never got into any official trouble over the incident and nothing seem to come of it. I can only presume that our Karachi car wallah somehow got his car back on the road and fixed up to his satisfaction as he certainly didn`t deserve to lose out by our joy riding experience. However, exactly how this eventful day did get resolved certainly does still remain a mystery to me.
"Chitty"day - on leaving Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi
One wednesday morning during July 1953 was the day I boarded the duty Valetta at the end of my overseas tour. This would take me, after serving my 18 months posting at Mauripur on the journey via Iraq, Cyprus and Libya to eventually get me re-started again in "civvy street". The “Chitty” referred to is that long awaited “chit” or piece of paper that would inform me of my official demob date.
Somewhere along the way we were transferred onto an RAF Hastings transport and arrived back in the U.K. at RAF Lyneham. All the way home I was thinking I would have the chance to get some leave in before my demob which was due to take place in the September. But, no such luck, evidently they had me down to finish up my service at RAF Uxbridge. Unfortunately as soon as the NCO I/C Uxbridge Post Office heard I was an NCO "Postal" he immediately bunged in for 2 weeks leave himself. So that was it, although I only had overseas postal experience the fact that I had those 2 stripes meant that the job was to be mine until he returned. Looking back now at the few weeks I did spend there on camp, it seems odd now that my only recollection of that particular camp episode is of being driven one day to somewhere from that office in an RAF blue Standard Vanguard (mail collection maybe?). As this all happened 57 years ago perhaps it`s no wonder that things are now more than just hazy. However, the cash books, postal orders and stamps and stock etc must have all balanced correctly because they let me go!. Eventually my time was up and I did receive discharge under "H" reserve and was glad to get back home to Edgware in NW London where I was able to promptly put my uniform away along with the rest of my stuff, kitbag/packs etc up in the loft.
The “leave” I had been looking forward to had now to be self financed, I`m at home with Mum and Dad but of course now unemployed. Luckily I had managed to accumulate quite a wad of cash during my overseas service. I`ve no idea just how much but it was a pile of £1.00 notes which I had placed for handiness in Mum`s sideboard enabling me to dip into them seemingly every time I was going out. I certainly wasn`t one of those “chatti wallas” mentioned in a previous blog, for in my time at Mauripur I spent and wasted as much as any other normal airman. My Cpls pay plus the high LOA (local overseas allowance) made it possible when added to my other financial activities to make me fairly solvent. For instance those “legal” cigarette imports from Iraq plus frequent £ for Rupees transactions down the Bunder Road had all helped to build up my savings. The cigs deal I did blog about previously and my cash exchanges came from the fact that by arrangement I had my Mum posting back to me some of my wage allotment in £ notes. I didn`t know anything about rates of exchange in those days but was pleased when I found out that I was able to very nearly double my money on the pavement outside a bank down in Karachi.
I had when back at Mauripur been writing to a female pen friend “Sylvia” who lived in Sheffield. All the usual girl/boy things, “I keep your picture under my pillow” and “I dream of you and can`t wait to meet you etc etc”. Well, at least I was true to my word, now I was out and back home I contacted her and arranged to go up to stay 2 or 3 days and always just hoping it wouldn`t turn out to be one of those hoaxes (some “girl” penfriends I`m sure we all know were sometimes men!). In this case I phoned the number she had provided and it looked to be on the level as seemingly it was Sylvia who answered.
To have some idea of where I was heading I first needed to check the map of Sheffield and of her postal address which I had been writing to outside Handsworth. Then we arranged to meet one evening in the bar of The Station Hotel which was just by the railway station. I then phoned and reserved a hotel room for a couple of nights at a small hotel just further up the road from there. All that was needed then was to pack up a few things, grab a bundle of my cash from the sideboard before catching the train up to Derbyshire to meet what was going to be practically a blind date.
Having first booked into my room I would no doubt have tried out the mirror a few times in the hope I was going to make a good impression on my yet to meet Sylvia?. When every hair was in place and I looked my best, I probably took a deep breath before making my way the short distance down to the Station Hotel to sit in the bar at the pre arranged time. There weren`t many people in there, probably as it was still early evening - 7PM and certainly there was nobody on view that looked even similar to the photo that I had been writing to for all that time. I just sat and watched things for a good while and was starting to get worried, had I come all this way by train from London, booked a room only to get foolishly stood up?. Eventually a girl did come in at the far end of the lounge and ordered a drink for herself, she certainly didn`t have any resemblance to that photo I had in my pocket, so, I didn`t pay much more attention to her. These “blind” dates surely are supposed to be a two way thing anyway, I had been half hoping a girl would arrive through the door and immediately recognize me from my photos, give a wave and come straight over!. However, it didn`t work out like that. So, getting desperate by now I eventually looked over to the other end of the bar to this lone girl and made up my mind I would go and ask her at least if she happened to know a girl called Sylvia. You know what`s coming, of course it turned out she was Sylvia, evidently she had thought it might be me but wasn`t sure as I didn`t seem to match up to those photos I had sent her. I certainly had sent her my genuine snaps from camp but I`m still not sure if her one to me was of her or of some other girl!. It didn`t really matter anyway as she turned out to be the really nice girl I had come to expect from reading all the letters she had sent me. I already knew a lot about her, since leaving school she went on to run the office at a local store and lived near Handsworth with her father and one brother who were both steel workers.
We stayed where we were in the lounge late that evening until she hinted that she must get home as her Dad would be waiting up for her. Evidently it was half day the following day and Sylvia said she would take the morning off so as we could make a day of it. She suggested we catch the bus to Leeds and she would show me the town. So the end of a nice evening, we left the lounge and we got a cab to her house. I didn`t go in on this occasion but just returned to Sheffield to be dropped off at my hotel.
So far so good!. Unfortunately this pleasant day was about to end as I found I had been locked out of my booked hotel. Despite all my door bell ringing and loud knocking they just wouldn`t open up and it wasn`t yet midnight. I looked a bit closer at their hotel door sign to see if any specific times were given, there weren`t!. It did however mention that it was in fact a “Temperance” hotel. So that was it, I was to be bedless in a strange town for that night.
There were not many people about but knowing that the Sheffield rail station was just nearby I made my way there to get some shelter. Back in the 1950`s our railway system was still as it was before the war. By that I mean the stations had toilets and large warm waiting rooms with big comfortable leather benches and seats, passenger comfort used to mean something in those days. So all on my own I just lay down on one of those long seats whilst probably cursing my luck at picking the wrong hotel and started dozing off for the night.
I woke up with a sore neck and made my way up to what was supposed to be my hotel. At least I found it did open up early and managed to get in this time and up to my room. When I complained and asked why they had not opened the door when I had so loudly knocked the previous night, they would only say that as a Temperance Hotel they kept certain hours and they were not of the 24 hours opening variety. Evidently these times were on the desk for all guests to see, it`s just that I had never bothered reading them when I had first arrived. I cannot now remember anything about breakfast, I must have just washed up and shaved ready to meet my new girl friend later that morning. I had decided to book out of this place as I couldn`t be sure what time I might get back that evening. All I knew was that we were planning to travel to Leeds and I had no idea how long we would be away for.
I therefore had to pay up for a night and a bed I hadn`t managed to use and gladly left to go down the road again to the Railway Hotel (where I should have gone in the first place!!). I booked in there and readied myself for our date. We had arranged to meet again at a certain time and sure enough Sylvia arrived at the lounge, this time of course instant recognition and a kiss - isn`t love wonderful?.
Looking on the map now I see Leeds seems to be quite a journey from Sheffield but I have no recollection of the bus ride either there or back. In fact the only thing I can remember of that whole day is a ridiculous episode involving ice cream. I said, as you do, “Sylvia would you like an ice cream?” and yes she did so we turned into a rather posh looking restaurant and got a table. The waiter came with menus and thought I was joking when I ordered 2 large ices because he asked me again just as if he hadn`t heard me the first time. “But sir”, he said “you would need to order a meal first". That didn`t seem to put me off, after all I was out to impress my girl so, (blatantly showing off) I said "just fetch me the sweet and charge me for the full meals". It was as if money was no object, although knowing I had an ever decreasing pile of pound notes in Mum`s sideboard, I thought I would just leave any thoughts about that until I got home to London.
We must have enjoyed the day out but I`m afraid I cannot recall anything else about it. We did end up I do know back at Sylvia`s home. I got to meet her dad and brother, had the evening meal with them and helped to wash “the pots” as they called them. This was to be another night I paid for a hotel room and didn`t get to use it as I was to stay the night there with Sylvia. This for sure was to be a more comfortable experience than on that bench seat the previous night I had spent at the railway station. And no, I didn`t!, I slept with her shift worker brother who along with her dad another steel worker were in between shifts and off that night.
Sylvia must have been going to work the next morning and I guess it must have appeared to me that it was time to say goodbye and head for home. The fact was those ice creams had made me realise that I should get home to check my cash supply as it might mean my unpaid leave was at an end and I would have to look for work.
I did enjoy my trip up North and meeting up with my one and only penfriend who at least from 3000 miles had been the girl of my dreams!. However, nothing came of it, Sylvia was a really nice girl but my ice creams didn`t get to warm her heart and I had to console myself with the thought that the world was full of nice girls and with so many hopefully residing very much closer to me back in London.
Cashing up at home I found that unfortunately only about £100 remained, so what was the best course to take?, well I decided to spend it all in one go. I certainly was going to need some wheels and was lucky enough to come across and purchase a very similar motor to this pictured below, a 1933 6 cylinder Standard Avon Special for £115 (mine was all dark green!).
With Mauripur now behind me this was going to be the real start of my life in civvy street.
(c.1953+ to be continued)
.
So we were back where we started, still poor and wondering what we could do next to amuse ourselves. At least we had got to see a bit more of the surrounding Mauripur countryside and all under our own steam or to be more accurate "our own pedal power" helped along by some of that previously mentioned freewheeling!.
Staging Post - Mauripur "Snakes Alive"
On camp at the Staging Post, Mauripur during the early months of 1952, I shared one of the rooms in billet 13. I do remember that is where I was residing when we - that still unidentified oppo and I - managed to come up with another plan to spend a paagal day out in our local Sind desert.
Some of the lads outside our billet. Standing L-R: Joe Johnstone (?) (?) (?) Les Charlton & Seated "Jet" Jones (?) (?)
In a previous blog “Sapphire Safari” (Sept 2008), due to my failing memory I was unable to recall the name of the oppo who accompanied me on that previous unsuccessful bike prospecting trip. Since then and despite wracking my brains, I still cannot put a name to him. However, I do know it was he who again was certainly up for this next bike ride out of camp. We could very well have named the new proposed jaunt to be “Snakes Alive” as for some reason, we actually did think that we would, with our clever planning, be able to capture a live snake!. 57 years have past since that event took place and I now realise that both of us at that time must have been on camp just long enough to have been affected by the Mauripur sun. (I`m tempted to add - don`t try this at home, it is seriously dangerous!).
Once every now and then, the airfield perimeter would get posted with an “off limits” snake warning. The odd python would have been spotted by passengers who were travelling in the duty gharrie when it made the few miles round trip away from camp and up to the Transmitters station. We got to hear of one such sighting and understood that it was seen in the area of the bridge spanning the monsoon ditch north out of camp. Evidently it was viewed slithering into a hole in one side of the concrete base. We both were aware of the exact locality of this structure by virtue of the fact that on our previous “Sapphire Safari” we had passed that way. We knew just where to go to set our snake trap!. We guessed this python must have been out and caught and ate some desert animal and had gone back to its nest to digest it. I seemed to remember from school that they would do that and only come out again when hungry. I don`t know which one of us came up with the ludicrous idea that to somehow lasso this reptile would be the best way to go about capturing it. What were we going to do with it anyway?, don`t ask me, we simply never seemed to give that a thought!. We decided that this nest would probably only have the one entrance, that being the one the boys had seen it going into. Therefore, that would be its only way to leave and of course it must leave head first. That`s where the lasso was to play its vital part. We imagined that a length of wire cable with a running noose in the middle placed over the hole with one of us at each end of the wire ready to pull tight when the snake reappeared would be enough to secure it. To stir it up and get it moving we decided we would be able to smoke it out. After all it may be in the middle of its digesting period and we only had a limited amount of time to sit posing in that dry monsoon ditch. So, along with the pile of rags we had gathered and some used engine oil mixed with some old cookhouse fat we were ready to create our smoke screen. It did take us a bit longer to get hold of a suitable length of telephone wire but got it from someone in the end.
There wasn`t much to carry on our bikes and we didn`t have too far to go. Setting out I am at a loss now to imagine what it was we were actually thinking about at that time. We didn`t seem to think that it was really dangerous although we were aware we should be careful when we were to reach the site. A good scout around the place whilst still astride our bikes making sure the snake wasn`t just coiled up outside its nest and taking a nap in the sun.
All looked clear so straight away we arranged a noose in the middle of the wire over the only hole we could see in this simple structure. We fixed it so as we would both have a reasonably comfortable position at each end of the wire as there was no telling how long we might be there. Then after finding a stick, having forgotten to carry one with us, we got the rags smouldering and just poked them well into what we had to assume was the nest.
Yes we made plenty of acrid smoke, this swirled around our heads nearly choking us at times but as for any signs of a that snake we were unlucky. (Perhaps I should rephrase that to “we were actually damned lucky!”), for if that python had shown up anywhere near us while we just sat on our rocks holding one end of a piece of wire then only one cyclist might have made it back to camp that night.
I can`t think for the life of me why either of us would have attempted anything so stupid. It certainly wasn`t drink or drugs, the hot sun? - well, I don`t really think it was that either. Probably the fact that we were after all a couple of young 20 year olds who at the time should have known better...but apparently didn`t!.
Mauripur - 3 airmen on a day out
During the period 1952/3 when stationed at RAF Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi, I along with a couple of pals decided on an outing and that we would rent a motor for the day. A run around that sprawling city seemed like a good idea as it would get us away from the sometimes boring way of life we were experiencing back on camp.Some of the lads outside our billet. Standing L-R: Joe Johnstone (?) (?) (?) Les Charlton & Seated "Jet" Jones (?) (?)
In a previous blog “Sapphire Safari” (Sept 2008), due to my failing memory I was unable to recall the name of the oppo who accompanied me on that previous unsuccessful bike prospecting trip. Since then and despite wracking my brains, I still cannot put a name to him. However, I do know it was he who again was certainly up for this next bike ride out of camp. We could very well have named the new proposed jaunt to be “Snakes Alive” as for some reason, we actually did think that we would, with our clever planning, be able to capture a live snake!. 57 years have past since that event took place and I now realise that both of us at that time must have been on camp just long enough to have been affected by the Mauripur sun. (I`m tempted to add - don`t try this at home, it is seriously dangerous!).
Once every now and then, the airfield perimeter would get posted with an “off limits” snake warning. The odd python would have been spotted by passengers who were travelling in the duty gharrie when it made the few miles round trip away from camp and up to the Transmitters station. We got to hear of one such sighting and understood that it was seen in the area of the bridge spanning the monsoon ditch north out of camp. Evidently it was viewed slithering into a hole in one side of the concrete base. We both were aware of the exact locality of this structure by virtue of the fact that on our previous “Sapphire Safari” we had passed that way. We knew just where to go to set our snake trap!. We guessed this python must have been out and caught and ate some desert animal and had gone back to its nest to digest it. I seemed to remember from school that they would do that and only come out again when hungry. I don`t know which one of us came up with the ludicrous idea that to somehow lasso this reptile would be the best way to go about capturing it. What were we going to do with it anyway?, don`t ask me, we simply never seemed to give that a thought!. We decided that this nest would probably only have the one entrance, that being the one the boys had seen it going into. Therefore, that would be its only way to leave and of course it must leave head first. That`s where the lasso was to play its vital part. We imagined that a length of wire cable with a running noose in the middle placed over the hole with one of us at each end of the wire ready to pull tight when the snake reappeared would be enough to secure it. To stir it up and get it moving we decided we would be able to smoke it out. After all it may be in the middle of its digesting period and we only had a limited amount of time to sit posing in that dry monsoon ditch. So, along with the pile of rags we had gathered and some used engine oil mixed with some old cookhouse fat we were ready to create our smoke screen. It did take us a bit longer to get hold of a suitable length of telephone wire but got it from someone in the end.
There wasn`t much to carry on our bikes and we didn`t have too far to go. Setting out I am at a loss now to imagine what it was we were actually thinking about at that time. We didn`t seem to think that it was really dangerous although we were aware we should be careful when we were to reach the site. A good scout around the place whilst still astride our bikes making sure the snake wasn`t just coiled up outside its nest and taking a nap in the sun.
All looked clear so straight away we arranged a noose in the middle of the wire over the only hole we could see in this simple structure. We fixed it so as we would both have a reasonably comfortable position at each end of the wire as there was no telling how long we might be there. Then after finding a stick, having forgotten to carry one with us, we got the rags smouldering and just poked them well into what we had to assume was the nest.
Yes we made plenty of acrid smoke, this swirled around our heads nearly choking us at times but as for any signs of a that snake we were unlucky. (Perhaps I should rephrase that to “we were actually damned lucky!”), for if that python had shown up anywhere near us while we just sat on our rocks holding one end of a piece of wire then only one cyclist might have made it back to camp that night.
I can`t think for the life of me why either of us would have attempted anything so stupid. It certainly wasn`t drink or drugs, the hot sun? - well, I don`t really think it was that either. Probably the fact that we were after all a couple of young 20 year olds who at the time should have known better...but apparently didn`t!.
Mauripur - 3 airmen on a day out
Although those memories of 56 years ago are getting a bit faded now, I still recall maybe 75% of the salient happenings of that day. Although none of us - “Blondie” Crouch and my other oppo who`s name escapes me I`m afraid - held a licence or had even driven before, we didn`t seem to think much about that and it certainly didn`t put us off the idea.
We must have seen an advert “cars for hire” or someone may have just pointed us in the right direction but somehow we ended up off the beaten track in a yard up some narrow Karachi back street. Yes, there was a car for rent, a 4 door Austin 10 Saloon. The owner wasn`t interested in licences anyway and just asked us if we could drive. Our RAF 1250`s were good enough ID for him and he proved anxious to do the business by starting to haggle on just how much it was going to cost us for the day.
Evidently we got the price we wanted and signed up. I don`t know which one of us put pen to paper or came up with the cash but it was me who got the first drive. I had never sat behind a wheel before but had always thought it looked to be easy enough!. Luckily the motor happened to be facing the right way and therefore no tricky manoeuvring was required to get us on our way. So it was straight through the gate and out of his yard and sight!. We had already decided where we might visit first and promptly headed out to Clifton Beach, a journey of just a few miles.
The Clifton area, just as we had been told, proved to be a most desirable place to be living. Many bungalows and nice properties were situated alongside the several diplomatic residences and national embassies that were providing cover in Karachi which of course in 1952 was the then seat of government and the Capital city of Pakistan.
Our drive was a leisurely one taking in the sights and probably taking a picture or two (not that I can find any prints of the occasion). My driving seemed OK, mind you we were travelling in a straight line most of the time so nothing much could go wrong - or could it?. On trying to speed up a bit I found that if I did manage to get into top gear then I had to change back down almost immediately. We thought we had been caught out hiring a motor with a dodgy gearbox. That was until my oppo in the passenger seat shouted out “Joe, you’ve been driving all this time with the bleedin` hand brake on!”. Yes, I had to admit it, if I had released that hand brake back in the yard then I certainly couldn`t have let it out fully. The drag between the changes whilst on this short drive just hadn`t been noticed solely due to our total driving inexperience. However, with this error now behind us we carried on quite merrily at a less laboured speed soon arriving at the famous Clifton beach.
Having quoted the fact that I am unable to recall some of the happenings of that day I have to say that where we went or what we did for the next few hours has gone from me now. I do know we took turns at driving and do for a fact recall us in the afternoon heading down to visit Karachi Airport. I`m sure it was “Blondie” Crouch who was at the wheel at the time with me just watching between them from the back seat. Although this was a reasonable 2 lane road it did narrow down to a single track over some of the monsoon ditches it was to cross. Any road users had to make sure they stayed between the oil drums that were placed all along either side of the bridge as too close to the edge was just asking for trouble.
We had already negotiated some of these dodgy bridges for there were numerous monsoon ditches all around. But there was another coming up, all 3 of us saw it in plenty of time and yes we also spotted 2 or 3 water buffalo being herded by their keeper, a nice old boy with a big stick. They were by the side of the road just at the crossing and looking fairly stationary - that is until he saw us approaching and he must have decided to beat us to it for he promptly barred our way with these animals. “Blondie” certainly did step on the brakes but unfortunately it was to no great effect, they only slowed us down a bit. We did however come to a full stop, the rear end of a water buffalo saw to that!. The unfortunate animal`s front legs buckled and it went down on it`s knees as it took the hit although still remaining upright. It`s left hind got cut from our nearside head lamp which was smashed and our radiator got moved back a bit by the force of the collision, that particular damage was to turn out to be a real big problem. The animal raised up and was apparently OK except for the signs of bleeding it received from the contact with our lamp glass. I do know that naturally the keeper certainly wasn`t happy. In fact he seemed to threaten us with his stick, although by this time all 3 beasts were just ambling across the bridge as if nothing had happened. However, money talks and a small bundle of rupees helped to cheer him up and we actually got a smile as we drove off. I had to accept the blame for the car not stopping as promptly as it should. If I had not helped to burn out those brake shoes with my stupid handbrake error then I`m sure we would have avoided the accident.
We had to look under the bonnet to see what was causing the small pool of water to appear on the road. That was when we discovered the extent of our damage as the fan was now touching the radiator. So as well as a broken headlamp we found this water leaking. Having pulled the radiator back just that little bit enough to separate the blades from it we saw the slow constant trickle of water emerging. Now we knew we would be needing to find some water quick and to carry a supply of it with us just to keep going.
Evidently we found water and arrived OK at where we were headed for in the first place — Karachi Airport. I`m not sure of the time, late afternoon I think, but we sat in the car park for a while working out the best way of returning the car. We had a time to take it back and decided we would hang on and make sure it was going to be late and just hope the damage wouldn`t look bad if the yard wasn`t too bright. I suppose we passed the time by watching a few planes arrive and take off whilst eating egg banjos washed down with the usual glasses of gurram char. All I really remember was the hanging around just waiting for darkness to fall.
Eventually we got it back up the road, dodgy brakes and all, this time managing to steer clear of wandering beasts. Before entering the car yard we stopped first to top up the radiator with our saved water with the intention of parking as close up to a wall as possible. This we thought might shield the damage and hoped there might be a slope that would guide any trickle from the holed radiator away from view. But no, it was evident we had to just admit that we had been hit by a water buffalo and I suppose that`s when the trouble started. I say “suppose”, the reason being that from here on in I cannot remember exactly what did happen.
I did mention at the start of this tale that I could recall only about 75% of the day and have just about used all that memory up. I did start jotting this blog down on paper a few months ago and once or twice have been on the verge of giving up on it due to my vagueness as to how it all got finally resolved. However, rather than “invent” the final paragraph I decided it would be quite in order to just list the few disjointed facts that I can remember and leave it at that.
A wristwatch certainly did play some part in our day. It could be we may have had to pay a deposit when we first got the car and left him a watch?. Or, we had to leave a wristwatch with him after he had spotted the damage. Anyway I`m sure we didn`t pay any cash at that time for the damage caused as we didn`t have any to spare. I seem to recall him threatening to phone our Commanding Officer and drop us right in it by asking the RAF to pay for the repairs. I believe we suggested that we personally would get it repaired as good as new back at the Staging Post but I really couldn`t say what actually transpired. Did it get fixed eventually by our MT? - I honestly don`t know!. We never got into any official trouble over the incident and nothing seem to come of it. I can only presume that our Karachi car wallah somehow got his car back on the road and fixed up to his satisfaction as he certainly didn`t deserve to lose out by our joy riding experience. However, exactly how this eventful day did get resolved certainly does still remain a mystery to me.
"Chitty"day - on leaving Staging Post, Mauripur, Karachi
One wednesday morning during July 1953 was the day I boarded the duty Valetta at the end of my overseas tour. This would take me, after serving my 18 months posting at Mauripur on the journey via Iraq, Cyprus and Libya to eventually get me re-started again in "civvy street". The “Chitty” referred to is that long awaited “chit” or piece of paper that would inform me of my official demob date.
Somewhere along the way we were transferred onto an RAF Hastings transport and arrived back in the U.K. at RAF Lyneham. All the way home I was thinking I would have the chance to get some leave in before my demob which was due to take place in the September. But, no such luck, evidently they had me down to finish up my service at RAF Uxbridge. Unfortunately as soon as the NCO I/C Uxbridge Post Office heard I was an NCO "Postal" he immediately bunged in for 2 weeks leave himself. So that was it, although I only had overseas postal experience the fact that I had those 2 stripes meant that the job was to be mine until he returned. Looking back now at the few weeks I did spend there on camp, it seems odd now that my only recollection of that particular camp episode is of being driven one day to somewhere from that office in an RAF blue Standard Vanguard (mail collection maybe?). As this all happened 57 years ago perhaps it`s no wonder that things are now more than just hazy. However, the cash books, postal orders and stamps and stock etc must have all balanced correctly because they let me go!. Eventually my time was up and I did receive discharge under "H" reserve and was glad to get back home to Edgware in NW London where I was able to promptly put my uniform away along with the rest of my stuff, kitbag/packs etc up in the loft.
The “leave” I had been looking forward to had now to be self financed, I`m at home with Mum and Dad but of course now unemployed. Luckily I had managed to accumulate quite a wad of cash during my overseas service. I`ve no idea just how much but it was a pile of £1.00 notes which I had placed for handiness in Mum`s sideboard enabling me to dip into them seemingly every time I was going out. I certainly wasn`t one of those “chatti wallas” mentioned in a previous blog, for in my time at Mauripur I spent and wasted as much as any other normal airman. My Cpls pay plus the high LOA (local overseas allowance) made it possible when added to my other financial activities to make me fairly solvent. For instance those “legal” cigarette imports from Iraq plus frequent £ for Rupees transactions down the Bunder Road had all helped to build up my savings. The cigs deal I did blog about previously and my cash exchanges came from the fact that by arrangement I had my Mum posting back to me some of my wage allotment in £ notes. I didn`t know anything about rates of exchange in those days but was pleased when I found out that I was able to very nearly double my money on the pavement outside a bank down in Karachi.
I had when back at Mauripur been writing to a female pen friend “Sylvia” who lived in Sheffield. All the usual girl/boy things, “I keep your picture under my pillow” and “I dream of you and can`t wait to meet you etc etc”. Well, at least I was true to my word, now I was out and back home I contacted her and arranged to go up to stay 2 or 3 days and always just hoping it wouldn`t turn out to be one of those hoaxes (some “girl” penfriends I`m sure we all know were sometimes men!). In this case I phoned the number she had provided and it looked to be on the level as seemingly it was Sylvia who answered.
To have some idea of where I was heading I first needed to check the map of Sheffield and of her postal address which I had been writing to outside Handsworth. Then we arranged to meet one evening in the bar of The Station Hotel which was just by the railway station. I then phoned and reserved a hotel room for a couple of nights at a small hotel just further up the road from there. All that was needed then was to pack up a few things, grab a bundle of my cash from the sideboard before catching the train up to Derbyshire to meet what was going to be practically a blind date.
Having first booked into my room I would no doubt have tried out the mirror a few times in the hope I was going to make a good impression on my yet to meet Sylvia?. When every hair was in place and I looked my best, I probably took a deep breath before making my way the short distance down to the Station Hotel to sit in the bar at the pre arranged time. There weren`t many people in there, probably as it was still early evening - 7PM and certainly there was nobody on view that looked even similar to the photo that I had been writing to for all that time. I just sat and watched things for a good while and was starting to get worried, had I come all this way by train from London, booked a room only to get foolishly stood up?. Eventually a girl did come in at the far end of the lounge and ordered a drink for herself, she certainly didn`t have any resemblance to that photo I had in my pocket, so, I didn`t pay much more attention to her. These “blind” dates surely are supposed to be a two way thing anyway, I had been half hoping a girl would arrive through the door and immediately recognize me from my photos, give a wave and come straight over!. However, it didn`t work out like that. So, getting desperate by now I eventually looked over to the other end of the bar to this lone girl and made up my mind I would go and ask her at least if she happened to know a girl called Sylvia. You know what`s coming, of course it turned out she was Sylvia, evidently she had thought it might be me but wasn`t sure as I didn`t seem to match up to those photos I had sent her. I certainly had sent her my genuine snaps from camp but I`m still not sure if her one to me was of her or of some other girl!. It didn`t really matter anyway as she turned out to be the really nice girl I had come to expect from reading all the letters she had sent me. I already knew a lot about her, since leaving school she went on to run the office at a local store and lived near Handsworth with her father and one brother who were both steel workers.
We stayed where we were in the lounge late that evening until she hinted that she must get home as her Dad would be waiting up for her. Evidently it was half day the following day and Sylvia said she would take the morning off so as we could make a day of it. She suggested we catch the bus to Leeds and she would show me the town. So the end of a nice evening, we left the lounge and we got a cab to her house. I didn`t go in on this occasion but just returned to Sheffield to be dropped off at my hotel.
So far so good!. Unfortunately this pleasant day was about to end as I found I had been locked out of my booked hotel. Despite all my door bell ringing and loud knocking they just wouldn`t open up and it wasn`t yet midnight. I looked a bit closer at their hotel door sign to see if any specific times were given, there weren`t!. It did however mention that it was in fact a “Temperance” hotel. So that was it, I was to be bedless in a strange town for that night.
There were not many people about but knowing that the Sheffield rail station was just nearby I made my way there to get some shelter. Back in the 1950`s our railway system was still as it was before the war. By that I mean the stations had toilets and large warm waiting rooms with big comfortable leather benches and seats, passenger comfort used to mean something in those days. So all on my own I just lay down on one of those long seats whilst probably cursing my luck at picking the wrong hotel and started dozing off for the night.
I woke up with a sore neck and made my way up to what was supposed to be my hotel. At least I found it did open up early and managed to get in this time and up to my room. When I complained and asked why they had not opened the door when I had so loudly knocked the previous night, they would only say that as a Temperance Hotel they kept certain hours and they were not of the 24 hours opening variety. Evidently these times were on the desk for all guests to see, it`s just that I had never bothered reading them when I had first arrived. I cannot now remember anything about breakfast, I must have just washed up and shaved ready to meet my new girl friend later that morning. I had decided to book out of this place as I couldn`t be sure what time I might get back that evening. All I knew was that we were planning to travel to Leeds and I had no idea how long we would be away for.
I therefore had to pay up for a night and a bed I hadn`t managed to use and gladly left to go down the road again to the Railway Hotel (where I should have gone in the first place!!). I booked in there and readied myself for our date. We had arranged to meet again at a certain time and sure enough Sylvia arrived at the lounge, this time of course instant recognition and a kiss - isn`t love wonderful?.
Looking on the map now I see Leeds seems to be quite a journey from Sheffield but I have no recollection of the bus ride either there or back. In fact the only thing I can remember of that whole day is a ridiculous episode involving ice cream. I said, as you do, “Sylvia would you like an ice cream?” and yes she did so we turned into a rather posh looking restaurant and got a table. The waiter came with menus and thought I was joking when I ordered 2 large ices because he asked me again just as if he hadn`t heard me the first time. “But sir”, he said “you would need to order a meal first". That didn`t seem to put me off, after all I was out to impress my girl so, (blatantly showing off) I said "just fetch me the sweet and charge me for the full meals". It was as if money was no object, although knowing I had an ever decreasing pile of pound notes in Mum`s sideboard, I thought I would just leave any thoughts about that until I got home to London.
We must have enjoyed the day out but I`m afraid I cannot recall anything else about it. We did end up I do know back at Sylvia`s home. I got to meet her dad and brother, had the evening meal with them and helped to wash “the pots” as they called them. This was to be another night I paid for a hotel room and didn`t get to use it as I was to stay the night there with Sylvia. This for sure was to be a more comfortable experience than on that bench seat the previous night I had spent at the railway station. And no, I didn`t!, I slept with her shift worker brother who along with her dad another steel worker were in between shifts and off that night.
Sylvia must have been going to work the next morning and I guess it must have appeared to me that it was time to say goodbye and head for home. The fact was those ice creams had made me realise that I should get home to check my cash supply as it might mean my unpaid leave was at an end and I would have to look for work.
I did enjoy my trip up North and meeting up with my one and only penfriend who at least from 3000 miles had been the girl of my dreams!. However, nothing came of it, Sylvia was a really nice girl but my ice creams didn`t get to warm her heart and I had to console myself with the thought that the world was full of nice girls and with so many hopefully residing very much closer to me back in London.
Cashing up at home I found that unfortunately only about £100 remained, so what was the best course to take?, well I decided to spend it all in one go. I certainly was going to need some wheels and was lucky enough to come across and purchase a very similar motor to this pictured below, a 1933 6 cylinder Standard Avon Special for £115 (mine was all dark green!).
With Mauripur now behind me this was going to be the real start of my life in civvy street.
(c.1953+ to be continued)
.
Even if I`d wanted one, there could be no excuse for me not looking for a job, it turned out I only had to walk 200 yards to reach the local Ministry of Labour Employment Exchange. It was situated on the corner of Station Road and High Street, Edgware. A ground floor shop premises beneath offices that was converted during WW2 with a bricked up frontage and were then still being used for that same purpose of direction of labour etc..
In those days of 1953 there were plenty of jobs going. Our local paper “Hendon and Finchley Times” had pages of advertised vacancies every week, so there were no worries about getting employment. I was however required to at least attend a Labour Exchange to “sign on”, this was to get me back from the RAF accounting methods and into the civvy system of tax returns again.
There were 2 or 3 interview desks available, it seems I was the only one there at that particular time so, it being a quiet day there was no waiting. One of those at the desks said I was his and asked what kind of job I was after. I explained I was ex RAF and that I had been advised on demob I should report to a Ministry office. I must have filled up a form and he took some relevant details from my RAF history discharge papers. He noted from these papers my RAF trade had been Postal Clerk and immediately turned to a card index looking pleased with himself stating we should look no further as he had the very job for me.
The fact he seemed so confident about this made me wonder just what kind of a work it could be as he`d hardly asked me a question. However it appeared that the Army (Royal Engineers) were presently employing some civilians to work at their “Home Postal Depot” handily situated at nearby Mill Hill East. The job vacancy was titled "Temporary Clerical Civil Servant" with prospects of pension and permanency after 6 months. Having previously sent 4 or 5 older retired men to work there with no complaints he felt that with my RAF postal work experience it sounded as if that position was just made for me. He phoned the officer in charge of the depot to confirm that there were still vacancies and was told that in my case no prior interview would be required. I could start the next day but to bring with me my service pay book, he would need to peruse my service records before being able to confirm an immediate appointment. After the Labour Exchange clerk had quoted me a pay rate and the working hours he gave me the vacancy job card that I would need to gain entrance through the Inglis Barracks guard room.
That was easy I thought, the term “civil servant” had appealed to me, fancy me in with maybe a chance of a job for life, in 6 months and 40 years later I could be drawing a good government pension!. Also it was so handy to get to the work place, I found that a 240a bus from Edgware bus station just 1/2 mile from my home had a stop right there outside the Barracks entrance at Mill Hill East. With just an easy each way journey of about 15 minutes and the thoughts of being able to experience something of the Army life without actually having to sign up, sent me home from the Labour Exchange that morning quite pleased with myself!.
So, sure enough I did get to start as arranged the very next day. I got to meet not only some of the officers and ranks of both sexes but also the 4 or 5 civilians that had were there as “temp” civil servants. As apparently they were already pensioners, I immediately thought that at least they would not be looking for that permanent promotion that I fancied. But of course it seemed I was getting too far ahead with my ambitions, I should have realised that it was still my 1st day there and I knew nothing about this job and their way of working. For instance I didn`t even know whether I would like the job or be happy enough there to want to make a career out of it.
The few days left in that week went quite well, getting acquainted and plenty tea drinking made me feel as if life hadn`t much changed from my RAF days. Paydays however were to be different!. On that 1st Friday and not receiving a wage packet like the other 5 civilians did I thought well fair enough as I hadn`t worked the full week and as I was the new boy maybe all my details had just not caught up with the system. But wait!, how long is it going to take for them to get to know that I am now on their payroll?...for the 2nd Friday came around and yet still no payslip or cash for me. I thought I would still take it easy and be patient and wait to see what was going to come my way on the 3rd payday. Not having got around to buying my demob car by then meant that I wasn`t yet exactly broke, however the idea of now apparently working for nothing was beginning to annoy me. During those weeks I had been in to see the Officer IC of the depot and had voiced my concerns over his non payment for my services. I was assured by him that he would chase things up again and get back to me. Nothing more was said until that Friday the 4th payday when sure enough once again my pay packet was missing. The advice received from my by now, very good mates - those other civilians, was to get in there and tear a strip off the Officer IC. The fact I was no longer in uniform meant that I would be able to say exactly what I wanted without any threat of “252 action” (RAF charge) hanging over me.
I did go in and pointed out that all these apologies he had been giving me since I had started working under him were not paying my rent, now I wanted action. The officer then made a call to London in my presence and got their assurance that a cheque would be posted to my home address immediately. The cheque did arrive on the Monday, fine, except that as far as I was concerned they were underpaying me for the dates I had worked. There was nothing for it now but to get straight into the office to follow up my complaint. I knew exactly what I was expecting as I had seen these other civvy pay slips each week and from that I knew I was quite a few quid short for those weeks I`d attended there. The officer called me in as he needed confirmation that I had received the cheque and that I was now happy. When I told him that I was far from happy as their Civil Service pay accounts had evidently calculated them wrong and that they still owed me. He did now have in front of him something not previously available - a printout of pay and conditions that were applicable to employed “Temp Civil Servants”. I tried to prove my case to him by reference to this information but quickly spotted from it that they were calculating my wage on a different scale to the other civilians. I was age 21 and the others (pensioners) were of course all over 26. I left the job there and then and promised to sue the Civil Service for employing me under false pretences. It turned out to have been the fault of my labour exchange and the clerk for sending me along to the Home Postal Depot with the wrong wages information. Further correspondence on my part got me a another cheque which actually did manage to overpay me in the end, they did write to me regarding that particular mistake and requested me to refund an amount.
Did they really expect me to waste yet another stamp?.