The Royal Air Force Detachment to the Lebanon -

June 1951 to June 1953

The winter of 1950 – 1951 in the United Kingdom had left a lot to be desired, the usual cold and wet weather seemed to have been colder and wetter than ever before and I was, as no doubt were many others, completely fed up with it all.  I had been stationed at RAF Middle Wallop in Hampshire since returning from the Far East in 1947 and trying to keep warm in the huge hangars, even though we were in the south of England, was well nigh impossible and my feet never seemed to get really warm.  I often thought of the sunshine of Singapore and the Tropics.

One day towards the end of February 1951, whilst feeling in a particularly depressed state of mind, I saw on Station Routine Orders that volunteers in mine and several other trades were required for a two year tour as instructors with the Lebanese Air Force which was being formed at the time and further details could be obtained from headquarters.  After lunch I went and read the Air Ministry letter which gave details of allowances etc. which would be payable to those selected for the job.  The possibilities of the job and the chance to live once again in a warm climate appealed to me tremendously so I applied to be interviewed in the usual way.  One other chap at Middle Wallop, a Sgt. Poffley, applied at the same time and our applications were duly sent off to the Air Ministry.  Some weeks of waiting followed during which time I found out all I could about Lebanon.  It had only been an independent country since 1947 when the French mandate had expired.  I had some idea of the type of country and the people who lived there from my experiences in Palestine in 1938 and during the war.  We used to fly up to Ramleh near Lydda from Helwan in Egypt in Wellesleys of No. 45 Squadron on official trips and return laden with jaffa oranges and eggs etc which were of a better quality than Egyptian produce and much cheaper.

I finally received orders to present my self at Monck Street, Victoria for an interview in a few days time. I booked accommodation at the Union Jack Club at Waterloo and, on the day before the interview I travelled up to London from Andover. I spent the evening reacquainting myself with the big city and after breakfast I took the tube to Victoria and presented myself at No 17 Monck Street as instructed. 

My first interview was with F/Lt Kempston who was going with the detachment as Chief Technical Officer. We talked of my life in the RAF, where I'd been and what sort of aircraft I'd worked on where I'd served abroad. Then I had a very pleasant chat with a lady, whose name I forget for the moment, concerning my family life and my hobbies, sports and literary tastes etc. I remember her as a very charming woman with whom I immediately felt at ease. I was able to say exactly what I wanted to without the usual inevitable feeling, experienced at interviews, that one is being subjected to a modified form of grilling. When the interviews were over we all went our various ways back to our units all over England and I was full of mixed hopes and fears, the hope that I would be selected and the fear that I had made a mess of things in some way or other.

However, after some weeks of wondering and hoping, I received a further call to Air Ministry and found that I had been selected as one of a party of eight NCOs and four officers to form the detachment to the Lebanon. This time we were interviewed, one at a time, by W/Cdr Carter, our future C.O. who gave us a good idea of what to expect when we got to Rayak which was the base for the L’Armée de L’Air Libanaise and our future home for the next two years. It is situated in the Bekaa valley some twenty miles from Baalbeck, a well known site of Roman ruins. The W/Cdr did his best to give us an insight into the political set up in the country, how it was being governed at the present time and some general information about the Lebanon. He struck me as just the right bloke to lead us in the difficult job we had ahead. I was to learn more of the problems and frustrations he had to contend with as time passed.

Having been told that our movement orders would be forwarded in due course I returned to my unit and proceeded to put my affairs in order ready for departure.  I broke the news to my parents at the weekend, they were not surprised, I had been coming and going for three or four years at a time since 1938 so they are well used to it by now. I then drew some money from the bank and began to get together all the bits and pieces one needs in these situations. Inoculations, vaccinations etc had to be completed and then I took a fortnightly leave which I spent doing some painting and decorating at my parents house in Southampton, then at last, news of our departure. 

I received orders to report to the P.D.C. at Hednesford in Cumberland (WHERE IS IT ?) on the 15th June 1951 which left me with one week for final preparations. The last three or four days before my departure I spent at home saying cheerio to all my friends and family and we had a party at the local pub, the Bassett Hotel, where I drank not wisely but too well. I returned to Middle Wallop for a couple of days and then on the 18th June I wiped the soil of Hampshire from my feet, picked up my kit bag and suitcases and started the long trail which ended precisely three weeks later at Rayak in the Lebanon. 

I arrived at Hednesford at about 7.30pm after  a wait  of  almost  an hour for transport at the station where I had left the train.  I had drunk innumerable cups of very dubious coffee from a mobile canteen and it was with a sigh of relief that I carried my last bit of luggage into the wooden hut that was to be my home until the boat left for the Lebanon.  Hednesford has to be seen to be believed, a more depressing place I have never seen. It is situated on top of a very large hill about twenty miles north of Wolverhampton and was, I believe, during the war the temporary prison for many hundreds of our enemies, particularly Germans. The camp spreads itself over a large area with very little system in its layout. The buildings, mostly of wood, are well past their prime and the barrack square has a decided list to one side due, I am told, to subsidence of the ground above old pit workings. There is not a single tree or hill anywhere around to prevent every wind which blows from howling amongst the living accommodation and finding its way into every nook and cranny. We were extremely fortunate to be passing through during the warmer months of the year. It must be hell on earth during the winter.

I recall reading in a national newspaper a couple of years ago that the RAF station at Hednesford was completely isolated by heavy falls of snow and supplies of food were being dropped from the air by Transport Command.  Besides being a P.D.C. it also handled a large number of National Servicemen who did their initial training there before being posted to other units in the United Kingdom, and I must say I pity them. It gives them the wrong impression of the RAF during their most impressionable period and just before we left I heard a rumour that the P.D.C. was moving up to Weston or nearby. 

Several drafts were sailing with us bound for different units between Gibraltar and Port Said and each draft was allotted a Draft Conducting NCO.  His job was to shepherd us through the various stages of preparation and ensure we left England completely equipped in mind, body and soul. Numbering only eight, our draft was one of the smallest ever to pass through the P.D.C. and we were fairly hustled through the place.  Issue of tropical kit, X-Rays, vaccination and inoculation checks and a thousand and one other things were completed with the greatest of ease and speed and by Wednesday lunchtime all our preparations were complete apart from the final packing. We were due to embark on the following Monday, 2sth June and were looking forward to a few lazy days when our Draft Conducting NCO suddenly sprung the news that we were to go down to a Maintenance unit at Hartlebury to draw an outfit of civilian clothes and then we were to proceed to Monck St. Victoria for a final briefing on the Friday morning. 

This sudden news caused a certain amount of panic, we all had kit being altered at the tailors and cases and kit bags still had to be marked etc. in fact we had been caught on the hop. One gets used to this sort of thing in the RAF though and with much flapping around and a lot of assistance and priority we were ready on time to leave for Hartlebury. The train service from Hartlebury was so bad that we were given transport for that part of the journey and, after a couple of very uncomfortable hours, we reached our destination. The choice of clothing, when we finally reached the part of the M.U. where it was stored was negligible and I in particular wanted a sports coat and trousers but there wasn't a coat to fit me in the place except for one very loud, horrible looking purple object which almost shouted out as the lid of the box was lifted. After a lot of trying on I finally settled for a suit, medium grey in colour and not too loud, a single breasted raincoat, two shirts, a tie and a hat and with it all under my arm in a cardboard box I joined the others and we made our way back to the station to catch the train back to London. For a train, which stopped at such an insignificant station as Hartlebury, it was a pleasant surprise, plenty of room on board and above all a restaurant car. Soon after we started I went along to see the dining car attendant, a few shillings changed hands and he said I could stay in the dining car all the way to London. There was a good supply of iced Bass on board and the journey passed very pleasantly, even if expensively, my bill was over £1 but I enjoyed it and by the time we arrived at Euston I felt at peace with the world. We all managed to find a room apiece at the Union Jack Club and after a wash and a brush up we had a meal and then Bill King and I decided we would go the rounds of the Festival Fun Fair at Battersea Park.  There were crowds of people there and we tried our hands at one or two of the more hectic forms of amusement such as looping the loop in motor cars and doing slow rolls in toy aeroplanes on the end of whirling steel girders. One needed a stomach of iron and a strong head and I saw one or two of the weaker sex who had parted company with their insides and were looking very sorry for themselves. I would have liked a trip on the Big Dipper but the queue was too long so I gave it a miss.  I don’t like queues. Feeling rather weary we made our way back to the U.J. Club and went to bed. We didn't expect to see London again for at least a couple of years.

The following morning at Air Ministry we were given a short talk by W/Cdr Mills who had just returned from the Lebanon.  Then it was on to the Ministry of Defence for photographs before catching a train back to Hednesford.  We were all very tired and hungry having had very little to eat all day. The weekend, our last in England, passed quietly and quickly. some of the chaps who lived in the area went home for the night, the rest of us visited one of the local pubs for a couple of drinks before bed. 

Roll calls complete we clambered into waiting coaches and set off for Rugeley station. The special train to Liverpool was waiting, our Draft was No. 4091BB and we were the last to arrive at the station with all the stragglers and we only had a short time to wait before the special train pulled in. When the RAF orders a special train I often wonder from where on earth British Railways get the prehistoric, filthy, dilapidated horse boxes they call coaches. I can only presume that they hire them from a museum somewhere. The "40 hommes - 8 chevaux" goods trucks of the First World War could scarcely have been dirtier. Still after numerous halts and shuntings, the train finally arrived at Empress station alongside the Pool at Liverpool and we all detrained. The embarkation staff were waiting for us and we were all given a ticket showing where our accommodation was etc. and after a short wait we went on board.

The ship was HMT Empress of Australia, an ancient vessel of some 23,000 tons, it was painted a filthy grey colour all over and it had three ugly funnels reaching up into the sky. Ancient doesn't really describe it. It was originally built for the Kaiser in 1913, was captured by us and used as a passenger liner by the Canadian Pacific line for several years. It had been used on a state visit by the King and Queen in the 1920s and it seems that every trip it had done during the last two years had been scheduled as its last before the one to the breakers yard.  The powers that be keep on extending its life and it will be just my luck to sail home in it in a couple of year's time.  The ship’s staff who travel with the ship were Army personnel and nothing to do with the ship’s crew and that fact in itself boded ill for the RAF contingent on board who wouldn't be getting any favours from the brown jobs. Even in these days of National Service there is a vast difference between the Army and the RAF as far as cleanliness. honesty and decency go.  This fact, obvious to anyone, is noticeable amongst all ranks, even amongst the commissioned types.  My personal view is that the Army suffer from an inferiority complex as far as the RAF are concerned and they attempt to thwart this complex by ensuring that the RAF are as uncomfortable as possible. The airmen on board were incarcerated, no other word fits, in the lowest deck compartment in the forward part of the ship with poor ventilation and only one exit. We, the SNCOs, were put into a narrow. overcrowded ex- mail compartment on the opposite side of a corridor from the engine room. There were 70 of us with our kit in a space about the size of an English railway coach and we had no room to move around at all. Except for a very narrow gangway, the whole space was taken up with mess tables. The food was disgusting, badly cooked and more often than not was cold when it finally reached us. The bread was always stale and, at times, actually smelt musty. The salt was always a sodden mass in the bottom of the salt cellar and mustard was a word which was missing entirely from the vocabulary of the Ship's messing staff. The ship's Sgt Major, a fat, obese, piggy eyed specimen was one of the most ignorant men I have ever met. obviously he was good for nothing else except his present job and his blustering attempts to be efficient would have been humorous if they hadn't been so detrimental to our comfort and peace of mind, petty restrictions abounded, first and second class passengers had three quarters of the open deck space while the troop deck passengers were herded into the well decks at either end of the ship amongst the winches and cables etc. with about one seat for every forty or fifty men. Prices in the canteen were exorbitant even the cigarettes and a thorough investigation into the rackets worked by the crew would bring a great deal of profiteering to light. I had no doubt that the tea of a very dubious quality sold in the canteen for 2d a cup was made with our rations and nothing else. 

The O.C. Troops, a Colonel, was only in the job he had because he was able to get his whisky cheaper than ashore, his face proclaimed that fact to all. He was a perfect example of the Colonel Blimp era even to the moustache. The Senior NCOs on board had a recreation room and a bar to themselves. The barman, a weedy Scot, always gave short measure and presumably will shortly retire and buy a pub somewhere in Scotland and drink himself to death on the profits he dwindled from the troops during his many voyages across the seven seas. I have mentioned one or two examples of our hosts? both civil and military on board the Australia but the descriptions would fit any of the crew or the military staff. In these days of Tedder barrack rooms etc. in the RAF and the high priority placed on morale by the senior ranks in the Service. I think it would be a good idea, in fact a necessity, to form a Commission to thoroughly investigate conditions on troopships today. Enough of disparagements for now, they soon become a bad memory and the voyage will soon be over. 

On the morning of the fourth day we sailed into the Mediterranean and anchored in Gibraltar, that magnificent bastion of the British Empire and a constant thorn in Franco's side.  As soon as we stopped we were surrounded by Bum boats from the Spanish coast selling all manner of things from shawls to Lucky Strike cigarettes, it was exactly the same when I sailed into Gibraltar in January 1938 on my way to Port Said, nothing has changed. The Spaniards in the boats were very persistent salesmen even when kept at bay with big pressure hoses from the upper decks of the ship. Quite a few servicemen on board bought odds and ends and, needless to say were dwindled in the process. Having only a few people to disembark we were soon on our way again and heading for Malta, directly east into the early morning sun. 

The weather was now getting warm and K.D. was the order of the day. Issue K.D. never fits except where it touches and some of the ensembles I saw on the first morning were amazing. Some of the men seemed to be swathed in khaki drill from head to foot with only occasional glimpses of very white bony knees. A fine sight to strike respect into the hearts of the local natives I m sure. Three more days of monotony, discomfort and boredom saw us heading into the Grand Harbour at Valetta, Malta where we came to anchor at about 7.30am. Hatch-covers were removed by a gang of Maltese stevedores and a large amount of deep sea kit was off loaded onto lighters and then the troops for Malta disembarked and comparative peace returned to the ship. Hour after hour passed and still we waited then the buzz went round that we were all going to disembark and that the ship was proceeding empty to Tripoli to pick up a brigade of Guards. There was probably something in the rumour because the trouble at Abadan in the Persian Gulf was serious at that time but the variations of the story and the reasons for our delay that I heard were countless. Anyhow night fell over Malta G. C. and still no signs of movement as the ship settled down. The peace of the night was only disturbed by some of the ship’s crew who had been ashore and imbibed rather too much and made a lot of clatter coming back on board. The now familiar thump, thump of the engines was my first recollection next morning and I knew we were on our way. We had sailed at about 2am after receipt of a cable from the War Office authorizing our departure. Our next port of call was Famagusta, some Red Devils were disembarking there as reinforcements for the Parachute Brigade already stationed on the island. We anchored way off shore and they went ashore on lighters. 

We, the Lebanese draft, were only about 90 miles from Beirut at this point in our journey but after repeated applications to disembark we were told that Port Said was our destination and to Port Said we would have to go. Another good example of the frustration and lack of organisation one is subject to these days. Onwards, a short run of some 150 miles to Port Said and as I settled down on my hard bed I could only think of one thing, my last night of discomfort was here at last and all being well on the morrow I would be able to quit this hulk and get back into the more congenial surroundings of a RAF camp. Little did I know! The ship was astir about 5am next morning, there were a thousand and one things to be done and as NCO i/c one of the Troop Decks I had to see that everywhere was left spotless and all unwanted items such as old books and bits of kit were cleared out from the racks and from behind bulkheads and thrown over the side.  It is amazing the number of items a person can accumulate on a ship in the short time of ten days. 

Breakfast was the last meal on board, thank goodness and, as many of us would be travelling onwards until the evening we were issued with rations in paper bags. The issue of rations was one of the biggest cock-ups of all time and such was the confusion that I doubt if everyone got their entitlement, in fact I know several on my deck who got nothing at all. Luckily all they thought of was getting off the ship and away from the inefficient bunch of idiots who were masquerading under the name of Catering Staff. At last the ship's broadcasting announced that we, the RAF, were to disembark and we made our way down to 'C' Deck Square and on to the RASC lighters which bore us ashore to the RAF disembarkation staff jetty. Things were still a bit disorganised but it was heaven after the Army chaos. Tea and sandwiches were available and within an hour we were packed into buses and on our way to El Hamra. We had received. with mixed emotions that we, the Lebanese draft were to remain in Egypt at a transit camp for a period of six days but we had no alternative but to resign ourselves to the fact knowing that it was only temporary.  Albert, the armourer, had experienced some problems with importing his private sporting guns into Egypt and had to leave them behind at Port Said and the remainder of our deep sea baggage was also left there at the tender mercies of the Port staff. 

Whilst in Egypt some 10 to 12 years earlier I had travelled to and from Port Said while visiting Ismailia during the war and the road running alongside the Suez Canal had then been open to military traffic. Now, however, the road was closed and all military vehicles had to use what was known as the Treaty Road. This road also runs from Port Said to Ismailia and on down to Port Suez and must be the worst road in Egypt. The surface is one long succession of ripples which shake and jar every bone in the body and can hurl you out of your seat every now and then. It was so bumpy that it was well nigh impossible to light a cigarette. After being rattled and bounced for some four hours with only one stop for a drink we arrived at El Hamra at about 6pm. just too late for a meal and thoroughly fed up. 

The accommodation at El Hamra was disgusting, another attempt to demoralise the troops obviously, as if being in the concentration camp called the Canal Zone wasn't sufficient in itself. We were accommodated in some of the most dilapidated tents I've ever seen. Guy ropes were missing, tent end flaps tattered and torn and sand everywhere. This was to be our home for the next six days. The facilities in the Sgts Mess were totally inadequate.  Shortage of staff, crockery and cutlery made mealtimes a farce and a bind. There were no Dhobi facilities to wash our accumulation of dirty clothes unless. of course, we paid hard cash, in fact it was one of the worst organised camps I’ve been unfortunate enough to have to live in. The days rolled by though and on the evening of the 5th July 1951 we picked up our goods and chatters and armed with the necessary papers we set out once more for Port Said. The same awful road, the same bumping and rattling but this time in the right direction. Accommodation had been prepared for us at Fort Found at the RAF camp and we spent a busy evening sorting out our civilian clothes from our deep-sea kit which was waiting for us when we arrived. After one or two beers in the Mess we got our heads down. 

An Egyptian ship, the S. S. Fouadieh, was to be our next mode of transport and after one or two hitches over passports we went aboard at 3pm on the 12th July 1951. We had first class passages but the cabin we were to sleep in was about as big as an undersized kitchenette. We squeezed in somehow but we had to leave the majority of our luggage in the corridor. The ship was terribly crowded at first, there were people sleeping all over the open decks, on the hatches and in alleyways everywhere, packed in like yardings. We, travelling first class, had some deck space to ourselves and were reasonably comfortable, the food was good and time did not hang too heavily on our hands. 

Next morning saw us in Limassol in southern Cyprus.    The majority of the deck passengers and some of the first and second class disembarked here. After about five hours unloading and loading cargo we set course for Famagusta, Cyprus' main seaport which is on the south eastern tip of the island some 150 miles away. Upon arrival at Famagusta we made enquiries and found we were due to stay for a couple of days, not a very pleasant thought considering we were all short of cash by this time and the prices of drinks on board were prohibitive. However there wasn't much we could do about it short of going to Nicosia for an advance of pay at the RAF station so we resigned ourselves to a boring couple of days. Some of the chaps went swimming. I was unable to do so because of a slight ear infection and one evening we pooled our resources and visited a cabaret in the town. The artist's were very mediocre and the drinks extremely dear but we at least felt that we had broken the boredom which we had been subject to since leaving Englander shores. After almost two days we set sail again for Larnaca, our last stop before Beirut. It was only a four-hour run and we stayed there for a further five hours while shouting stevedores hurled cargo all over the place. The ship's gantries groaned and cranked as they carried bales and barrels over the side. Then, at last, came the welcome sound of the anchor being raised and, heading out to sea we set course for Lebanon, our final destination. When I awoke next morning we were nosing our way into Beirut harbour and eventually tied up about 7am. No one was allowed ashore until passports had been cleared and landing permits issued but after about an hour of waiting and shoving we finally got our papers and disembarked. 

W/Cdr Carter was there to meet us with Antoine, a local who spoke very good English and we waited for our many pieces of baggage to be unloaded. One by one the pieces of baggage came over the side on a piece of rope and then the inevitable happened, the rope slipped and one of Ken Englander’s kitbags fell into the sea. Luckily it floated and the wogs rescued it but it was almost saturated with the filthy oily water which floats around docks the world over. Ken wasn't too pleased! The next problem was the Customs. We eventually got our kit round to the right shed, lined it up on some tables and started the long harangue about the contents. The W/Cdr managed to persuade the Customs officer that all we had was either personal kit or instructional equipment but Gilbert had to declare his small arsenal of sports rifles. These caused much head scratching and chattering and more delay because the Lebanese had not met such a situation before. Trust Gilly ! and the outcome was that he had to leave his guns behind after getting a receipt. Introduction of arms to any Middle Eastern country is fraught with problems and I think the policy of declaring them was right. He could possibly have got away with it but eventually word would have got around, as it does and there could have been an international incident. At the time of writing those rifles are still in Beirut despite repeated requests to all and sundry including the General and when Gilly will get them back I don't know, he will probably pick them up on his way home in a couple of years time. After much affixing of labels and much countersigning we eventually emerged from the Customs shed and loaded ourselves into two pickup vans. Then we set off for Rayak. 

We had explained to the W/Cdr, whose official title was Air Adviser to the Lebanese Government and Britain's Air attaché as well as being our C.O., that we were all hard pressed for cash and en route to Zahle we stopped at the British Legation and the W/Cdr obtained £10 each for us from the Ambassadorial coffers. Then on full speed to Rayak and our new home ! 

A short description of the geography of the Lebanon will be of some assistance here to the reader to help him picture the country in his minds eye. The country consists of a narrow strip of land on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean between Turkey and Israel. The seaports apart from Beirut are Sidon and Tyre of biblical fame and Tripoli which is the oil terminal for the products of the Iraq Petroleum Company's oil wells in Iraq. Rising almost directly behind the narrow coastal plain are the Lebanon mountains towering up to a height of 6 to 7 thousand feet and the higher tips are covered with snow for part of the year. In the colder months the highest levels receive good falls of snow and there is a winter sports centre called the Cedars of Lebanon where skiing is enjoyed. Beyond these mountains lies the Bhikar, a rich agricultural valley some ten miles in width and 3000ft above sea level. It is in this valley that the Base Aerienne de Rayak lies and here it was that we were to spend two years instructing the Lebanese how an Air Force should function. There were another couple of airfields in the Bhikar, unused relics of the last war. To the east of the Bhikar lies another range of mountains, the Anti Lebanons, these form a natural frontier with Syria which is still a mandated territory of France. 

The journey by road from Beirut to Rayak is, to say the least, hair raising.    The road winds gradually upwards, twisting and turning with sheer drops of many hundreds of feet on one side or the other. Lebanese drivers apparently inured to the dangers, hurl their cars around corners at high speed, overtake on blind corners and generally drive like maniacs.  The scenery as one climbs upwards is stupendous. Houses dot the hillsides in what seem to be inaccessible positions and the fields are terraced and cultivated. All types of fruits are growing according to the altitude and in some places wisps of cloud caress the higher peaks as if shy of the wonders around them. We passed through some large villages on the way up, Bambdoun and Aley are the two largest and apparently these places are only occupied during the summer months, they close down completely in the winter for two or three months beneath a mantle of snow. The descent from the summit to Schtora at the foot of the hills the other side is comparatively quick after the long climb up from Beirut and as we enter the Bhikar the road forks and the road to Rayak runs north to the famous ruins at Baalbeck and on into Syria while the other fork is the road to Damascus. Fruits and vegetables of all kinds flourish and there are vineyards to be seen, all well watered from reservoirs in the surrounding hills. It is extremely and pleasantly different from other parts of the Middle East I had been in, there is a complete lack of industrial activity, no big Chimneys belching smoke and the whole area is purely agricultural except for an army camp and the airfield at Rayak where we are being based. Accompanying the road from Beirut is a rack railway, single track, used for hauling heavy goods over the mountains.  The railway continues and I understand it carries on to Damascus and Horns and then on to the Turkish frontier. I would have liked to have travelled over the mountains to Beirut with my camera but it is strictly a non-passenger service and I was unable to wangle it. The road from Schtora to Rayak runs along the western edge of the Bhikar skirting the foothills of the Lebanons range and passes through small villages and just touches the fringes of a town called Zahle. Another fifteen minutes driving and we passed a large army barracks at Abla which is still under French administration for the time being and then away to the right one can see the Base Adrienne de Rayak.

THE AIR BASE AT RAYAK

At first sight the air base seemed to be derelict, the runway was overgrown with a particularly vicious type of grass called Bermuda grass, I've no idea how it got its name, but it was growing up between the cracks in the runway and I was told it will even lift concrete and cause cracks and holes to appear. The hangars which were closed, looked deserted and very few people were moving around. However there were signs of life at the main entrance to the airfield and a soldier with a rifle and bayonet threw us a smart salute as we walked in. We made our way to the headquarters building where we were reunited with our C.T.O. and two of the other fellows who had come out earlier.

The following day we spent generally looking round the Base and the present aircraft which consisted of two Percival Prentice Trainers, a D.H. Dove, a Percival Proctor and three D.H. Chipmunks in the process of being assembled. The workshops which, under the French had been a thriving hive of activity, were bare. When the French relinquished their mandate they had removed all the machinery and equipment, destroyed the Test Beds, torn up the conduits from below the floor and generally wrecked the place.  The original perimeter of the camp had been greatly reduced. I believe the Lebanese had sold a lot of the buildings to raise cash and now they were left with the minimum of suitable buildings for setting up the necessary sections to run an Air Force such as such as Stores and Technical Offices and Armoury. What had obviously been the living quarters of the French troops was now a large Greek Orthodox Seminary.  The camp as it is at present, speaking from a technical point of view, consists of two sets of hangars some 300 yards apart. The hangars nearest to the entrance to the camp housed the workshops and the four Savoia Marchetti 79 three engaged Italian bomber aircraft.  This type of aircraft was used extensively by the Italians during the early desert campaigns in North Africa during last war. These aircraft and their maintenance engineers and their pilots were a self-contained unit separated completely from the organisation we were trying to set up with the other aircraft. The other group of buildings was some 300 yards away near the Control Tower and were used for day to day servicing and operation of all the other aircraft, apart from the Savoias, that were used in pilot training. Lack of equipment is apparent everywhere, there are very few working benches or wrestles. no gantries for lifting in fact there was no lifting tackle of any description. All movement of aircraft had to be done by manpower. The one and only refueller was of ancient design as was the oil bowser.  An air of depression hung over the whole place and we were supposed to organise all this into a functioning concern.

The majority of the tradesmen were civilians apart from a few senior NCOs who had served in that capacity with the French Air Force prior to the end of the Mandate. Time will be needed to weigh up their capabilities. In addition there were a number of apprentices and Aides hanging around in various places. From first appearances it seemed as if we, the nine of us, had quite a job on our hands to knock this gaggle into some sort of shape but I think in a couple of years we should have a reasonable organisation going. I now want to say a few words about our accommodation.

On the first day of our arrival at Rayak we had spent a couple of hours meeting people and chatting and partaking of the odd beer or two in the Mess before we were whisked away to Zahle to the Hotel Kadri. This was to be our temporary home until permanent quarters were fixed up for us on the airfield. The Hotel Kadri is a very high class establishment catering during the hot season for visitors from all over the Middle East. It is an imposing building standing back in its own grounds and surrounded by tall trees and flower gardens with here and there a fountain playing.  We were made very welcome by M. Kadri himself and duly installed in our rooms, mainly on the top floor. The food, although a bit on the oriental side, was good and plentiful and the rooms comfortable so we settled in to enjoy an existence which, had we been paying, would have cost us 25 shillings a day which was a lot of money in 1951.

The town of Zahle had some very good shops and boasted three cinemas, all of which showed British films with Arabic and French subtitles and we discovered a pleasant little cafe called the Salon des Families where one could sit and quaff a cold beer or have a snack and chat with some of the locals. However living in the hotel was nice but ere long problems started to arise. The prices of practically everything were exorbitant and before long I began to realise that I was not going to cope too well on my present rate of pay. Even with just normal expenses it would be impossible to save for a holiday. Four of us were feeling the pinch, the wives of the other five had arrived and they were drawing full allowances and living like lords. Three of the others were expecting their wives any day so that left me alone as the only single man in the detachment. To give you an idea of prices I will quote a few examples of those in the hotel. Shirts and shorts washed, 1/9d each, daily paper 7d, cigarettes the same price as at home and beer 2/- a pint and twice that in the hotel.  Toiletries were very expensive as well. On top of that one had to take taxis if one wanted to go from the camp to the hotel or back and any other journeys come to that. Food was very expensive - tea 12/6 a lb at the cheapest and butter 6 Or 7/- a lb. Obviously 1 couldn't continue to live in the hotel so I raised the matter of allowances with the W/Cdr and told him that if he couldn't get a decent overseas allowance of say E300 a year then I would prefer to return to the U.K.. He agreed with me fully and sent a signal to Air Ministry for authority to pay me higher allowances and meanwhile I was living the life of a hermit.

My official position was Chef d’Atelier in charge of all the workshops and my first task was to set up a Technical Library. We had brought several technical books with us and the Lebanese had purchased several from the U.K. particularly the ones appertaining to the aircraft they already held. I catalogued them all and then had to bring them up to date with current amendments and we started the Technical Library. During this period the C.T.O. had been vetting all the civilian employees, he had already appointed me as Chef d Applier and I was to get the workshops running as soon as possible. Sections had to be laid out and equipped, stores organised and a Repair and Servicing started as well as building and equipping a machine shop. The Lebanese had purchased a number of machines from different sources and we first got into position those that were to form the machine shop and then we found that the idiot who had ordered them had omitted to order all the necessary equipment to go with them and they were virtually useless. Anyhow we ordered the missing parts and I suppose they will arrive eventually.

There was plenty of work going on but in a very haphazard fashion, there was an engine change on one of the Prentices, two major inspections and the assembly of the Chipmunks from their packing cases but the state of the hangar where all this work was going on made me shudder. The next task was to clear out all the junk and make the place look like a hanger and not a rubbish dump. This we did and the place soon looked different altogether.  Next I organised the system of maintenance on the Savoia Marchetti Bomber flight (3 Aircraft) into one of the hangars and they appeared to settle down very well. With the assistance of Bill King we moved the Tinsmith’s and Welding shop to a new location and into production and I established myself in an upstairs office in the Administration block inside the big hangar, So far so good. Stores was the biggest bugbear, George the storeman had everything on his charge and to get even a split pin one had to sign for it and return the unserviceable part to the stores. A most unsatisfactory state of affairs which was, unfortunately to continue despite my protests. They had no idea of what we called 'C' Stores – Consumables, everything had to be signed for and in no way could we convince the Lebanese that it was extremely difficult to service and maintain aircraft without access to 'C' Stores. Having to sign for every nut, bolt and even every bit of lubricant was nothing short of a farce. Possibly, in time, we might get them to come round to our way of thinking but I doubt it.

The flying side of the job was progressing by leaps and bounds under the leadership of Sgt Barnes and morale was high. The pupils were very keen and getting a fair amount of flying and the prospects were good. I think our presence at Rayak was at last beginning to be felt. According to our contracts, copies of which we were handed in London, we were to receive from the Lebanese government the same facilities and concessions that we were accustomed to in the U.K. Things were turning out to be far different. No medical facilities were available, I went to see the camp doctor with my ear problem and he tried to syringe it out with a very small imitation motor horn which he aimed at my ear from several inches away. There were no welfare facilities either in fact nothing and nothing changed despite the efforts of the Air Attaché on our behalf.

Meanwhile life at the Hotel Kadri had begun to pall. The same old routine, dressing for dinner every night and walking around without a penny in my pocket and the tempers of some of the wives were reaching breaking point. They were there all day with nothing to do except watch the kids and it became obvious that the promised Quarters on the airfield would have to be completed shortly or the morale of our party would begin to wane. Something had to happen or be done very Shortly. Ever since our arrival here F/Lt Kempston had been preparing lists of furniture to equip the married quarters on the airfield and the single quarter for me. The lists had been sent to Army H.Q. in Beirut for approval and purchase, then the bombshell fell. The Lebanese refused to buy the items and so it happened that last Monday we all had a meeting with the Air Attaché to thrash the matter out. He said that it was becoming obvious that the Lebanese were adopting a thrifty attitude towards us and he wanted our views. He knew my feelings about pay and allowances and not being concerned with the furniture problem I had very little to say. Mooney however, who was still awaiting the arrival of his wife, stated that unless he heard some definite news very shortly he wanted to return to the U.K. Not one of the others had a single constructive thing to say. Ken England made an idiotic remark about wanting to get out of the Hotel and Gilbert burbled something about not coping on his pay. He is drawing about £20 a week and has no kids and I think the man is both a fool and a liar. The w/Cdr is sending off a strong letter to Air Ministry, in fact it has already gone, stating the results of our conference and we now await the reply to see whether we stay or not.

LIFE IN ZAHLE AND AT THE HOTEL KADRI

Readers of this short account must excuse me if I repeat myself here and there but I do not profess to be an author or even a writer of any sort, the words I have already set down and any more I may write before I return to my native land are purely my version of this detachment written as if I were writing a long letter home.

The town of Zahle nestles in a big Wadi, a big cleft in the eastern slopes of the Lebanon mountains. A pleasant, clean little town, its houses with white stone walls and red and blue tiled roofs, arranged in rows according to their position on the hillsides. It looks like something from a guide-book or children's fairy tales. Twisting, narrow roads climb up from the central main street to the houses on the higher levels and the spaces between the buildings are honeycombed with steps and tracks. Here and there small streams come tumbling down over the rocky ground, they add greatly to the picturesque beauty of the town but the smell of some of them is pretty awful carrying a lot of sewage as they have to. Practically every house worthy of the name has its verandah and, in the cool of the evenings before the chill of the night sets in. one can see the more elderly of the inhabitants sitting out drinking either their evening coffee or their Arak, a spirit made from grapes and a national drink.

The main street during business hours is a bustling, noisy thoroughfare, most of the noise coming from the horns of motor cars and taxis. How a Lebanese driver would get on without his hooter, God alone knows, he would be helpless. There are shops of all descriptions, an abundance of cafes and a bank. The latter is a fine building of recent construction but the lack of trust and faith in each other, which is prevalent here, is evidenced by the presence of a soldier cum policeman outside the bank doors complete with rifle, bayonet and sentry box. I don't think the average Lebanese would trust his own grandmother.

The Lebanese people apart from the Arabs, who are in the minority, are a clean, tidy race. They are pale of countenance and mainly catholic by religion. They dress well in a rather gaudy European style with a great tendency to the American fashion as far as the men go. The most popular type of shoe for men is of brown leather with white inserts. a type of shoe one would expect to find on the feet of a spiv or barrow boy in England. Everyone who is anyone seems to have a car and not a small one either. The popular choice is a big Yankee type automobile mainly on account of the steep gradients on almost every road in the country. Outnumbering the private cars are the taxis discernible by their red number plates and the raucous shouting of the drivers as they attempt to attract fares. There is no public transport in the Lebanon and one has to travel by taxi on all journeys. The rates are more or less fixed and the driver attempts to cram in as many people as he can. I travelled on one occasion as one of four alongside the driver and I think there were a further six in the back. As one proceeds up the main street towards the hills the shops cease and one comes across the two cinemas and the start of the mountain stream. The stream runs down the wadi from the power station further up in the hills where it drives generators for Zahle's lighting and power. After the lineman the area becomes more residential, hotels including the Kadri and big private houses line the road with trees lining the sidewalk. Then, suddenly, the buildings end and the road doubles back on itself and one is left facing a narrow gap between two towering cliffs. A small concrete road runs between the two cliffs and alongside the river and as one turns a corner there in front is the "Wadi" the Mecca of hundreds of Lebanese every weekend and a very charming spot too. The Wadi as it is called consists of a number of open-air cafes all grouped together and only differing in the colour of the tables and chairs. The river runs through the centre and it is here as I said, the Lebanese from far and wide congregate at weekends in family groups to discuss the week’s events and news and drink their beloved arak while eating platefuls of local dishes. They, especially the women, and there are lots of pretty girls and women, all wear their best clothes on Sundays as we used to do in the U.K. To sit at a table and quaff a beer or two on a Sunday evening is as good as attending any Paris fashion show.

The Lebanese are great ones for a gamble as well, from fruit machines to big casinos with roulette, vingt-et-un etc for the rich. The hotel Kadri has its own small casino at the rear of the building, licensed by law, where hundreds of pounds change hands every night. One type casually mentioned to me one evening that he had lost 17,000 Lebanese pounds, which is equivalent to £1,800 Sterling, on the previous evening and wasn't even annoyed. I imagined he was one of the people who made a fortune from the illegal trade in hashish which assumed gigantic proportions before the government stepped in and made it illegal. No doubt that that is where all the money for the posh big cars came from.

In the Kadri life was very monotonous for us enforced residents. Up at 5am for a spot of breakfast and off to work by car to Rayak Eggs every morning and never a bit of bacon. We get back from work at 1.30pm for lunch after a quick wash and then up to the room for our daily siesta followed by a bit of reading or letter writing then a shower ready for dinner at 8.00pm. Dinner is what I think got me down more than anything else, always a prolonged affair, we seldom rose from the table before 9pm unless we were paying a visit to the cinema when we would start eating at 7.30pm before the main body of diners arrived. After dinner perhaps a stroll down town for a beer and to buy some fags, couldn't afford to drink even lemon in the hotel, then back to our rooms for a read and bed.

Every day the same routine, unbroken by even a visit to Beirut. Saturdays and Sundays were no different except that we didn't go to work. It got boring after a fortnight, believe me, and therefore at the first opportunity I moved out and went to live down on the aerodrome. Life for me down here is lonely enough I can assure you as the only Englishman, but I can at least let my hair down as the saying goes and can go to dinner wearing an old pair of pumps and without shaving if I feel so inclined.

So much for Zahle and the Kadri hotel, it was a pleasant novel experience except for the after shocks we experienced from an earthquake one evening but the novelty wore off and I have bid it all farewell. I feel I can make my small flat into quite a comfortable spot if I stay in the Lebanon for the next couple of years.

A VISIT TO BAALBECK

Working with us on the job out here on a very temporary basis for two or three months we have a representative of the De Havilland Aircraft Co. whose name is Mr. Strange. He is an ex-RAF type who left the Service at the end of the war and, before coming out here he had worked some four years in Brazil. He was a very pleasant chap and one day he suggested we pay a visit to Baalbeck which lies some 30 kilometres up the varlet towards Horns.  Terry Mooney and I were very pleased to fall in with his suggestion and we ordered a taxi for the following day at 2pm giving ourselves time for a wash and change and a quick snack at the Mess

The run to Baalbeck took us about half an hour along a very uninteresting stretch of road marked only occasionally by a police post or a couple of mud huts and then one comes to a large area of green trees and small streams and we arrived at the town of Baalbeck. It is much on a par with Zahle as far as layout goes and much the same size. It is much the same size with one big main street with several alleyways and side streets and shops of all descriptions including a large number of curio sellers. Whether the curios are authentic or not I don't know but I doubt it very much. However to get to the ruins we passed through the town and bearing left we came to the official entrance where we left our taxi driver instructing him to wait for us at the exit which was 100 yards or so away. As with every other ruin in the world, this one has been commercialised and we were pestered by guides and dragomen, all using different methods of persuasion for us to employ them, but for once they were unlucky, we paid our fee of £1 Lebanese and wandered inside.

Before I go any further I will try and give you a brief history of the temple.  It was commenced in roughly 200 AD and took 300 years to build, my date of origination is not to be taken as correct by the way, every nation which held this part of world during those 300 years did its bit and it must have been a wonderful sight when it was a going concern as one might say.  We saw inside a very well made model of the temple as historians had reconstructed it.

To be continued...

Last updated March 2004