TRIPOLI AND LEBANON
The castle in Tripoli is balanced high on a rock overlooking the town. There is a splendid antique cannon patiently poised for the action which will come no more. From the ramparts we could see the circular area where the Whirling Dervishes practice their gyrating art.
We visited our Manager in Tripoli, Stewart Stott, for lunch one Friday, and managed to dodge the worst of a civil disturbance that had erupted that day. The Tripolitanians had a tendency to riot if given half a chance. I do not now remember the particular bone of contention on that occasion, but it was probably based on some religious injustice felt by one of the Muslim factions. The Manager was genuinely nervous for the welfare of his family and had a store of Molotov cocktails ready at the top of his stairs in case his home should be attacked. We were glad that we did not feel so threatened. At that time there had been very little rioting in Beirut and apart from the bag searching and the periodic car searches, especially of taxis at night, life carried on much as usual.
While at a coffee morning I heard about Christine Taylor, a British teacher at the university who had contracted Polio. I had not met her but I heard that she was very worried about her three-year-old son. He had to be left in the care of a very young Lebanese girl and without supervision. Her husband, Brian, was a full time professor at the University and was finding it difficult to do his work, as well as some of his wife’s, and to care for little David at the same time. We contacted Brian and asked if he would like David to spend the days with us, then return to his own home at night. This worked well until David became ill and it was necessary to keep him in bed in our spare room. His father then came to stay with us to be with him, and their maid came during the day to help, which made quite a houseful.
As we lived very close to the hospital we were able to take David to see his mother every day, as she slowly recovered. I would go to help her in the swimming pool where the physiotherapist tried to make her legs work again. Later she recovered enough to be allowed to come out to the beach on picnics. There was no room for a wheelchair in our car with all the children and their paraphernalia, so we had to park as near to the sea as we could and open the door to enable her to feel like one of the party.
After a couple of months, the wife of the manager of Middle East Airlines offered to take over the care of David. They were in a better position to accommodate his mother when she came out of hospital. It was a wonderful day when she was considered well enough to fly home to England, helped by Middle East Airlines.
Not long after David and his parents had returned home to England John’s mother, Granny L, came out for a visit. It was wonderful to see her and the children were very excited and eager to show her all their favourite toys, friends and places to swim and picnic.
At first Granny L could not get used to every day being hot and sunny. She would greet people in the street with a cheery, “Lovely day isn’t it,” and to all plans she would add the proviso “if it’s fine”.
We took the opportunity to give a large party to introduce Mum to our many friends. This ensured that she was invited to any parties to which we were invited. The social life in Beirut even in those troubled times was hectic. We were invited out to some party or other most evenings, and when we were not, we were giving a party of our own. Our Manager, Angus MacQueen, was invited to even more of them than we were, and on more than one occasion he would ask us to go to a party to represent him as he had too many invitations that evening. It was not unknown for John and me to go to different parties and then to meet at a third and go on for dinner. Somehow we did not notice how hectic life was at the time, but our letters home, kept by our parents, have helped to jog my memory.
Mum arrived in time to see Patricia take the lead in a little play at the kindergarten, about a mother goat rescuing her babies from the stomach of the big bad wolf. I was very proud to see my child, aged about four and a half, acting and speaking her part in German so confidently.
John was working very hard at this time. Banking was not easy at the best of times and the political situation did not help. But there was very little noticeable trouble and we were free to move about and take Mum on trips out of town. One of the assistant accountants, Alan Ashmole, had just acquired a moped and asked to come with us, as he was unsure of himself and would appreciate some back up. I recall that it was difficult for John to keep down to Alan’s speed, especially up the mountains. It was a question of going on ahead and waiting for him to catch up or sending him on ahead and catching him up. Coming downhill was a different matter. On one occasion we came upon Alan lying in the road after he had lost control on a hairpin bend. Luckily he was unhurt.
One afternoon trip we stopped at the salt pans on our way to Tripoli. We had not stopped there before, and were fascinated to see the sea water drawn up by windmills, poured out on the uppermost shallow tank, where it overflowed into the next tank, then the next, until the whole area was covered to a depth of about 6 inches. The water then evaporated in the hot sun, leaving the vast pans white with salt, which was collected before the process began all over again.
We had heard that there were fossils to be found in the mountains above Byblos, so we thought we would try to find them. We had good instructions and our old car managed to climb up the mountain until the road ran out. We had to walk the last 500 yards in the extreme heat. At last we saw the slate- like stone we were searching for. The little hammers we had brought to loosen the fossil bearing pieces worked easily and we quickly had a few samples. Poor Mum was not used to the heat and did not perspire easily, so she quickly felt faint. Luckily we had plenty of water with us and got her back to the car, but not before we had found several real fossils of small fish and shells.
We decided to go downhill and find some shade in which to have our picnic. The spot we found was a grassy slope beside the track under some oleander trees, overlooking the sea. There was a cool breeze blowing and the deep blue sea far below, with its scallops of creamy, lace-edged waves breaking on the long sandy beach, looked very tempting. We had a good view of the salt pans too.
After our picnic lunch we decided to go for a swim at the Deep Water Sea Club at Pigeon Rocks. The car was pleased to be running down hill as we drove round Beirut to the club, quickly slipping into our bathing suits and wallowing in the dark green cooling water. Mum was a little weary that evening, so we put her to bed and planned a peaceful day the next day.
We went to church most Sundays, where John sometimes read the lesson, and then had lunch at the St. George’s Club next door. This enabled us to be free to go on outings in the afternoons. One day we drove over the mountains to Beit Eddine, the summer palace of the President. The drive took us past the small farms built on terraces up the mountainsides.
Dry stone walls held the earth in at each level, looking for all the world like contour lines on a relief map. The vegetables planted in neat rows were very reminiscent of the drawings of Mr McGregor’s garden in Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit books.
The entrance to Beit Eddine Palace was through an arched gateway leading to a large dusty courtyard where we parked the car. We walked round the house, though there was little to see as it was being redecorated and was not furnished. The walls were covered with brightly-coloured glossy mosaic tiles, which must have helped to keep the rooms at a pleasant temperature. There was a primitive cooling system. Spring water trickled down over tiles to make a deep gurgle as it plopped into a shell-shaped bowl before disappearing down a shallow runnel and out into the garden.
The views from the windows, added to the burble of the water, were very relaxing. The dome of the Turkish bath was studded with wine bottles that let in a speckled, mottled, eerie light when the sun shone through. I am sure the President found it a very therapeutic place, and felt better able to face the traumas that went with his high office after spending a few days there.
One day on a trip into the mountains, John did not see an unpainted traffic island hidden in the shadows, and... crunch! The sump hit the solid stone kerb. We were miles from anywhere, but there was a house a little way along the road. We could not see any telephone wires going to it, although that was not unusual in that part of the world, since not every house had phones in those days.
Suddenly we became aware that we had not seen another car, nor noticed any sign of anyone about for some time. It was a lonely spot. We all walked up to the house and much to our surprise and delight a woman came out to greet us. It appeared that this was a café, closed until the summer, but still able to provide us with a cup of tea. She told us that there was no garage in the area and it was some three miles to the nearest village. No, she did not have a car, but there was a bus twice a week and today was one of the days. It would be here in two hours’ time. What luck!
The children were excited to think that they were to have an unaccustomed ride in a bus. Mum was pleased at the opportunity to experience a Lebanese bus too, though John and I were anxious at the prospect of the journey down the mountain with a Lebanese driver.
Eventually the bus arrived; it was nearly empty so we had a window seat each. The views were spectacular as the bus swung round the corners at Monte Carlo rally speeds. We picked up a few passengers on the way, but I did not think that the service could make much profit. We took a taxi home from the bus depot, then called a garage to ask them to collect the car and see what could be done with it. It was very annoying, as this would curtail some of the visits we had planned for Mum.
We hired a taxi and took her to see the stalactites in the caves of Jahita at Nahr Kelb, and visited the museums in Beirut, for which a car was not essential. The museums of Beirut were full of archaeological interest, as one might expect, and Mum was able to spend happy hours looking at things on her own. The children enjoyed the rather moth-eaten Natural History Gallery, but were too young to be interested in “stones”, as they called most other exhibits.
As we had no transport, Mum decided that she would stay and look after the children and John and I could go away for a weekend on our own. We had not had a night away from the children since they were born. John hired a taxi and we went up to a hotel at Bhamdoon. It was strange to be on our own and we both kept thinking of the children. However we enjoyed having a proper breakfast without having to nag them. We also enjoyed our peaceful lie-in. It was lovely to walk in the mountains on our own, but we both were aware of the feeling that something was missing. It was great to get home again. I think we missed the children more than we had expected.
We got the car back before Mum left to return home, but the weather was beginning to warm up and she was feeling the heat, so reluctantly, we took her to the airport.
Not long after she had gone, things started to warm up in more ways than one. Bombs exploded in the business part of town, the British Ambassador’s residence was attacked and then the American Embassy was bombed. I remember the new department store in El Hamra had its huge plate-glass windows shattered. The military were more in evidence and armed guards stood outside all foreign offices and embassies. There was one outside our Manager’s house and we shared another with the Bank’s sub-office across the road. People were wary of going too far from home unless it was really necessary, and everyone was nervous about the safety of their menfolk. The majority of the Lebanese people behaved quite normally, but the social life quietened down, mainly because the cocktail party set had begun to leave town to spend the summer at their holiday houses in the mountains at Allee and Dar Eshooair.
I found it interesting to learn about the different dishes produced in the various countries. Hommous was made from chickpeas, sesame seed paste, lemon juice, garlic and olive oil. Tabouli was made from cracked wheat, onions, chopped tomatoes and mint. Dolma was savoury rice rolled in vine leaves. Khubbe’s main ingredient was chopped meat, the preparation of which made such a din in the flat above us. It was cooked on a charcoal fire which nearly always smoked us out. Delicious shish kebabs, made from pieces of lamb alternating with pieces of onion, tomato and green pepper, were one of our favourites, especially when served on a bed of rice with the yolk of a raw egg mixed in it, or sometimes with a green salad or a fresh piece of unleavened bread. The delicious fruits of the Lebanon, fresh figs, apricots, peaches, melons, oranges and grapes, made a wonderful dessert.
One evening, as we were holding a dinner party and had just reached the coffee stage, there was a loud bang. It was as if all our guests were puppets, controlled by one central string. They all rose at once and made for the door. I did not know where to go first. There was silence in the nursery and the maid was screaming in the kitchen. John went to the maid, and I went to the children, who were fast asleep but covered in broken glass. The maid was not hurt but all the windows on the road side of the house were shattered.
We gingerly opened the front door to see what had happened. People were rushing about shouting to each other. Cars were coming and going at speed. The bomb had gone off in the Bank across the road. John ran over to see if anyone was hurt, but it appeared no one had been. However there was a large hole in the wall of the office, above which a large poster invited people to visit Bonnie Scotland ... as if this was the route!
The money safe was intact, so the motive was not robbery, a comparatively rare occurrence in those days. It would seem that the attack was political.
Poor Jeanette, the maid, was in shock. The kitchen windows overlooked the place where the bomb had exploded. She had seen the flash and had been showered with glass, though thankfully she was not badly cut. As soon as it was considered safe to go out she said she wanted to go to see her mother, who lived a short distance away. She seemed all right, so we let her go on her own. She did not return the next morning, when I was expecting her to help me clear up the mess, as well as guard the house, while I arranged for the windows to be repaired. I went round to her mother’s house to see if she was all right, only to be told that she was not there and had not been there. Nobody had seen her.
The following day one of the Bank’s messengers brought her back to me, saying he had found her in the souk, recognised her as our maid and brought her home. Poor girl, she was lost and confused. I wanted to take her home to her mother but she preferred to stay and work with me. I sent her to bed, as she had not slept since the bomb, and said we would discuss what to do when she awoke.
Next morning she brought in our early-morning tea as usual and seemed fully recovered. I sent her to see her mother to let her know she was well. I half expected her to stay there, but she soon came back and we were back to normal.
Not long after this, Cindy, our adopted refugee corgi cross, gave birth to a black puppy on the chair in the hall. The children were very excited and chose the name Shadow. John built a kennel for the dogs and the children had a lovely time painting it. Unfortunately, when the rain came we found the kennel was not waterproof, so we draped the children’s plastic paddling pool over it.
One morning John phoned me to say that he had had a cable from Peter and Molly Townsend, some Bank friends of ours who had just gone to Tangier. Their dog, Wendy, had escaped from its lead while being walked at Beirut Airport on its way to join them. We knew Wendy, and were very fond of her. We did drive out to the airport to see if we could find her, but we felt it was unlikely. Similarly we had little confidence that the advert we had placed in the papers would do much good. However, much to our surprise we did get a call from someone who had found a dog wandering lost. We drove out to see if it was Wendy and there she was, thin but safe. We were happy to send her on to Peter and Molly. It was certainly a piece of luck. The idea of a loved pet being lost in a strange country is very distressing.
The garden flourished and all the seeds the children and I had sown sprouted and grew to a great size. It seemed that most plants, flowers, fruit and vegetables grow to above average proportions in Lebanon. Certainly the loofah seeds I planted along the railings on the roadside of the garden grew and grew, rather like Jack’s beanstalk. They grew up the telegraph pole and across the wires that stretched over the road, the loofahs dangling like cucumber-shaped decorations 30 feet up. The snapdragons grew four feet tall and the carnations spread over the path.
I remember the wind had blown a packet of sweet pea seeds off the window sill and they fell onto the flower bed below the dining room window. Before long they began to grow, up to the windowsill, and then past the window and onwards up to the second floor window. They had to be parted like a pair of external curtains, as they blocked out the light. Finally they reached the sill of the third floor window, where they could be seen from the inside as if they were growing in a window box. The scent wafting in through the windows from the flowers all the way up was really heady.
Christopher watered the garden one evening, having a wonderful time spraying the path, then he carefully put the hose down and came thoughtfully up to me and said, “Mummy, is water broken or mended?” I was stumped for an answer, as I knew what he wanted to know, having watched him allowing the water to “splat” onto the path. Christopher was a thoughtful little chap. On another occasion he watched ants crawling in and out of an ant hill and wanted to know why ants were so little. He accepted my explanation that it was to enable them to get down the little hole!
Both children enjoyed the swing, trapeze and rings we had erected in the garden, and the rope ladder at the end of the frame. They and their friends enjoyed the garden, small though it was, because so many people lived in flats in Beirut, with no garden at all. We were especially fortunate to have the space to put a large paddling pool and a sandpit. Our house and garden were a popular place to park children when parents were out shopping.
The time was coming when we were again due for home leave. There were all the farewell parties to attend and to give, both for the children and for ourselves. There was a home to find for the dogs, always a sad business when we had to change postings. Then there was the packing up or sale of outgrown tricycles, pedal cars and other no-longer-required items, and the selecting of souvenirs to remind us of happy times. It was strange to find that when we came to unpack at our new home, it seemed we had packed the items from the wrong list. Everything looked old and tatty and badly in need of replacement.
This time, for once, we were all going to fly home together, so any problems would be shared with John. As luck would have it, all went very smoothly and we arrived at London Airport on time.