LIBYA
When John had recovered sufficiently we set off to our new posting in Libya. We were quite pleased to be getting back to work. John was feeling much better and found time hanging heavily with nothing specific to do. We set off together by air, an unusual thing to do as we preferred to fly separately on the whole. The journey was comparatively short and uneventful, compared to our dramatic flight home from the Gulf.
The Mediterranean looked very blue as we flew over it. This was quite a contrast to the snow on the peaks of the mountains when we passed over the Pyrenees. As the coast of North Africa appeared, the sandy beaches seemed to be edged with white lace as the waves broke on the shore. There appeared to be a wide strip of vegetation along the coast that faded into desert brown as it got further inland.
Our plane came in to land on the tarmac and trundled up to the airport buildings of Idris Airport, once known as Castel Benito. As we stepped on to the platform at the top of the steps we were hit by a blast of hot air, as if we had opened an oven door. We had forgotten the contrast after stepping out of the air-conditioning in the plane and into the full North African sun. Whew! We were back.
Tony Panter was there to greet us and it was good to see him again. We had shared a house in Amman while on the Arabic course, but he and his wife had separated since then.
After immigration and customs we were driven along the country road, lined by wattle bushes and eucalyptus trees struggling to survive in the dry sand. On the edge of Tripoli we passed through the suburb of Collina Verde, where bungalows with green gardens lined the sandy side roads. Soon we drove passed a very high wall, which, we were told, hid the palace of King Idris, who ruled Libya at that time. We could see the gold dome peering over the turquoise tiles along the top of the wall, and a few treetops struggled to be seen. There were traffic lights outside the palace gates ready to stop the traffic whenever the King went in or out. Sentries stood at the gate much as at Buckingham Palace, but we could only catch a glimpse of the building inside through the gates.
We drove round the wall and passed the Russian Embassy, which was one of our near neighbours. They had armed guards on the gates, which were probably a good thing for us, as they would deter any would-be burglars in the vicinity. We drew up outside a wooden gate set in a high, brick wall. Tony opened the gate with a key. A brass plate proclaimed that this was Villa Bactria. The path up to the house was some 10ft wide and made of paving slabs. The gardener had valiantly tried to level the builder’s rubble, but it was evident that our new home was very new.
Mahommed, our houseboy, greeted us and carried in our cases. Tony told me he was untrained but seemed fairly willing. He said he did not have a permanent cook, as he preferred to eat out most of the time. However he did have an itinerant cook who came in whenever he had to entertain at home. He had asked him to be there today to greet us.
The first impression of our new home was that it was impressively spacious. The entrance hall was vast, with a grand marble floor covered, in part, by a splendid Persian carpet. There was a long wooden Swedish screen dividing the hall from the dining room. It had a “trough” along the hall side of it, filled with assorted indoor plants, while the dining room side had a seat with a lift-up lid to store tablemats and linen. On the left was a wide marble staircase. Beyond this were two concertina doors that led into the drawing room. This was another large room, rather sparsely furnished, but had an enormous fireplace which, we were told, gave out a tremendous heat in the winter when fed with logs. The large patio doors opened on to an open terrace leading to the garden at the back. A flight of five steps led us up to an area about the size of two tennis courts, which was badly in need of organisation.
Mahommed brought us a tray of tea and biscuits, which was very welcome. I was somewhat daunted by the task of making these marble halls homely. Perhaps it would look better when we had some curtains and a few pictures.
We climbed the marble staircase to explore the upstairs. There were four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The en suite to the master bedroom had very jolly spotted tiles, which would take some getting used to, but the family one was a plainer creamy colour. All the rooms were large and airy with rugs over terrazza tiles. Probably cool in summer, but I hoped that the winters were not too cold. All the rooms had vast built- in cupboards, but the furnishings were sparse. Tony had ordered curtains for all the bedrooms, thank goodness.
The Bank was closed when we arrived, otherwise John would have wanted to visit his office. Instead we were taken on a tour of the town. Tony drove us first past the office, which was in no way impressive. Apparently a splendid new building was conceived. It was intended to build this in the main street, but it was in the planning stage as yet. This was yet another new office for John to build. Did Head Office think he needed more practice? I hoped it would be easier than in Jeddah.
The main street of Tripoli was called the Istiklal and here most of the upmarket shops were to be found. The road was wide and there were covered pavements with pollarded oleander trees adding a bit of colour to the pristine whitewashed buildings. The road parallel to the Istiklal was called 24th of December Street to commemorate Libya’s Independence Day. After World War Two, the British controlled Libya and the army was much in evidence, but they had diminished by the time we got there.
Turning right at the entrance to the souk we came into the town square. The castle was to our left and housed the museum. High in the wall were two huge windows from which, we were told, Mussolini harangued the populace after he had landed at the steps up from the sea. As at the entrance to Piazza Marco Polo in Venice, there are two tall columns said to mark the road to Rome, which often are found in Italian ports. In Tripoli, at that time, Romulus stood on the top of one and Remus on the other. At a later date these were swapped for a star and moon, the Libyan insignia.
Turning right again, we drove along the Corniche, a spectacular wide road lined with palm trees on the right and a low stone balustrade overlooking the blue Mediterranean on the left. The British Embassy and the Ambassador’s Residence overlooked the Corniche and the Mediterranean. We next turned right again at the end of the road and passed the American Embassy, arriving eventually at our own back door. John opened the garage and we drove in.
Entering the kitchen we met our cook, whose name was also Mahommed. How confusing, I thought. He was a friendly chap and wore the dark red brimless hat sported by the majority of Libyans. His English was quite good and he was busy preparing our evening meal. Tony told us that he had invited the accountant and the assistant accountant to come to dinner. We had one hour to prepare ourselves before they arrived.
I hastily unpacked our cases while John became acquainted with our spotty tiles in the bathroom. Thank goodness for my crease-resistant frock. Clean and refreshed, we came downstairs just as the two young men arrived. We sat and talked and drank Libyan wine and then sat down at the table, where we had an enormous meal – I remember that the starter was followed by a pigeon each. Both accountants liked Tripoli and found the staff reasonably efficient. The accountant, Jim Mc Murray, lived in the old Manager’s house, Villa Viviana, a pleasant villa in a mature garden in Collina Verde, a suburb of Tripoli. The assistant accountant, Bob Clunie, had a flat above the bank downtown. We chatted until quite late and retired about one in the morning.
Neither John nor I slept very well that night. We put it down to the very hard Swedish beds. The mattresses were unsprung and the bases of the beds were reminiscent of duckboards, each one of which we could feel through to our bones.
Next morning John set off to the office with Tony and I set out to explore our new home. Boy Mahommed was capable of cooking a simple breakfast and had a routine for doing the household chores. I told him to carry on as usual. Cook Mahommed was not in evidence. So far I had hardly spoken a word to him. Boy Mahommed told me that Cook Mahommed would be in later to cook lunch for me. The Masters would not be in for lunch, he said, so I would be on my own. It seems that we were all invited out for dinner that evening, so would it be possible for him to go home that afternoon? If indeed we were going out for dinner, I could see no reason for him to stay in, so I said that he could go.
I was at a bit of a loss to know what to do with myself. I finished my unpacking and wandered about the house absorbing the situation. I tried to converse with the gardener, but Salem’s English was non-existent and I had forgotten the little Arabic I knew. So we held discussions as best we could, with much laughing, gesticulating and head nodding.
I decided that I would walk downtown to the Bank and find out what the programme was to be. The second language in Tripoli was, of course, Italian, of which I had very little experience, apart from my short sojourn in Ethiopia. I decided that if I got lost I could at least ask for the bank in Arabic. I passed the Russian Embassy and was greeted with a stony stare in response to my greeting to the Russian guards. Oh dear, this did not augur well if indeed we were beset by burglars.
I walked past the palace wall and peered through the gates into the palace grounds. It was a pretty garden and the grass was lush and green. I walked down the Istiklal and looked in the shop windows. There were dress shops displaying Italian clothes and beautiful shoes, Gucci handbags, wallets, belts and luggage. The display of materials for curtains was evident but I did not feel prepared to start on that task yet. I felt I ought to wait at least until Tony had left. I know how one feels when handing over to someone else. Almost anything the incomer does to change things can be taken as a criticism, so it is probably more diplomatic to bide one’s time. I stopped at a café and was just about to ask for a “caffe latte per favore” when I remembered, just in time, that I had no money. It would have taxed my linguistic capabilities to explain that away!
I walked down the street looking in the windows, impressed by the variety of goods available. It was all so different from the shops in Iran and down the Gulf. Suddenly I came upon the crossed palm trees and three coconuts symbol which heralded the presence of the Bank. I went into the office and found it quite busy. Jim, the accountant, spotted me at once and took me to see John in his office. I asked Tony what our programme was and was told that they were going out to lunch with a customer and would be home in the early afternoon. I was offered Abdulla, the Bank driver, who could show me where I might do my shopping, and as his English was quite good, he could translate if required. Please could I have the car back for them at 12.30 pm?
Abdulla, like all bank drivers, was a fund of information. I found that in those days there were few supermarkets in Tripoli. I did my shopping at various small shops, grocers for groceries, butchers for meat and so on. It was important to know the religion of your shopkeeper, as they tended to close on the day of rest as dictated by their religion. Arabs closed on Fridays, Jews on Saturdays and Christians on Sundays. It was helpful to have Abdulla who had driven for several Bank wives before me, and was well aware of these useful tips.
I was relieved to see that Cook Mahommed was there when we arrived home, as I did not have a door key to get in. Having given Boy Mahommed the afternoon off, I had forgotten this little problem. I suggested that for the time being it would be as well if the Mahommeds took their orders from Tony, until we took over properly.
We dined out nearly every evening, as people were saying goodbye to Tony and were welcoming us. As usual we found this a great trial, as so many people knew who we were, but we had difficulty in remembering who was who. John and I usually sat up in bed and tried to remember names as soon as we got home. We found it helped if we could tie them to their spouse in some way. It was also helpful if we could have a little thumb sketch of people – for example “tall hair and curly teeth.”
Finally we were able to wave farewell to Tony and start to make our own life in Libya and settle into our new home. As soon as Tony left our social life quietened down, and we stopped drinking so much wine every night. We also started to sleep better, but whether it was because we had become accustomed to the beds, or the fact that we no longer drank large quantities of the local wine (which may have been rather too indigestible), we shall never know.
At long last our overland luggage arrived, and we were able to hang a few pictures and make the bookcases look more useful. I enjoyed displaying some of the treasures we had accumulated in our sundry postings. Some things looked so sad and crumpled after being packed in our trunks for so long. However they conjured up memories and made the house more homely. I was glad that the children’s things were there to welcome them. Inevitably there was a great need for me to find where I could replace their outgrown clothing. Fortunately, shorts and T-shirts were the order of every day with flip-flops and bathing suits. These were the days before designer wear became a necessity, thank goodness.
The children were about to arrive for their first Libyan holiday. I enlisted the help of new-found friends to find furnishings and fittings to complete the house and to prepare for their arrival. As usual I was nervous that our new home would not quite come up to the children’s expectations, or that we would not find the sort of things that would interest them. We discovered that most people went home for the summer holidays, so there would not be very many children for our young to meet. However there were so many things to do we were a bit spoiled for choice. There were beach clubs where we could go to swim in the sea and have lunch. The children could meet such others as there were and their social life would begin. There was the Old Town to explore. Tripoli means three towns - Leptis Magna, Sabratha, and Oea (which was the old Roman name for Tripoli). Tripolitania was once the name of western Libya. The eastern part was called Cyrenaica. The ancient ruins of Cyrene were there, hence the name.
Both John and I were impatient for the children to arrive. We had not had much time to explore ourselves, beyond visiting the old city, which held the traditional souk. Unlike the Gulf States in the 1950s, Libya had a fair number of tourists. The shops in the souk made typical brass ornaments and trays for them to buy. There were also rugs and woven blankets in tribal designs. The courtyards off the main souk were tiled and encircled by tiny stalls glittering with gold jewellery. As in all Arab countries gold was much sought after. Many of the courtyards had small ponds with fountains playing.
The museum displayed a variety of Roman artefacts, for example there were complete mosaic floors, some of them brightly coloured and others faded and incomplete. There were coins, statues and pottery lamps, some of which looked as if they might contain a genie ready to grant three wishes if the right formula could be found to release them. They had been removed from Roman excavation sites in order to preserve them from the sun and rain, not to mention souvenir hunters. Apparently there had been many earthquakes over the years and much had been destroyed.
Near the port of Tripoli there was a magnificent Marcus Aurelius arch, not quite wide enough to have a modern road through it, so it stood on an island and the roads ran round it. The National Bank of Libya was down by the port too. I was told that as the building was of such historical interest, it had been filled with sand during the Second World War, in order to preserve it from damage. This seemed to have worked as the building is of considerable beauty and the mosaic ceiling inside was well worth a visit.
We first visited Sabratha, some forty miles east of Tripoli, one afternoon after John had finished work, as it was within such easy reach. Sabratha had never been a grand Roman metropolis, but was more of a market town. As one walks into the site along a dusty road, the plan of the buildings can easily be seen outlined by the foundations of the thick walls. The rooms appear to have been small by present-day standards.
A little further along we came to the remains of a Christian basilica, complete with an altar, which must have been a later addition as it seemed to be made of several overturned bases of pillars. There were some sarcophagi and a baptistery with steps down into it for total immersion and more steps up the other side. Moving on were the remains of the Antonine Temple, surrounded by pillars, which had steps up to a flat marble area which lay spread out on the dusty ground. We were told that the beautiful mosaic floors had been removed to the local museum.
The forum is a large area, and at the time of our visit it was much littered by fallen columns and large blocks of stone, evidence of the earthquakes which over the years had destroyed so much of the Punic and Roman remains. There was a magnificent Portico leading to a 14-seater lavatory. The seat was made of marble. Once upon a time the floor might have been marble or mosaic, but now it was modern concrete. I was told that this latrine probably would have been a town council meeting place, where many serious discussions had taken place.
The theatre had been considerably restored and the monumental stage had been painstakingly rebuilt. A wooden platform for the stage had been constructed in front of the row of pillars on the wall at the back. A French company was intending to present Shakespeare in French, which we very much wanted to see. Beyond that stood another Christian Basilica, said to be of the 4th century, probably built on the ruins of a Roman Temple and of more modest proportions than the first we had seen. Beside the sea we came to the magnificent Amphitheatre, reputed to be the largest in Africa. Certainly we were impressed by the acoustics. After a run along the beach we went to the museum, to look at the mosaics and statues. They were moved there both for protection from the weather and safekeeping from the souvenir hunters, from whom nothing seems safe.
At last the day arrived and we went up to the airport to meet Patricia and Christopher. We scanned the people clumping down the steps from the plane. Why weren’t our children the first, or were they? It is so hard to recognise people when they are laden with coats and bags. There they were and we waved madly. At last they reached immigration and the stewardess helped them through into customs, but they were not stopped. They were smiling shyly, clutching bags, coats and sundry books and papers, excited and eager to see their new home. Abdulla took hold of as many bags as he could and we made our way out to the car. We were eager for news of home and all the family.
When we arrived at the house, the two Mahommeds were there to greet us. They shook hands with the children and took the luggage upstairs. The children were impressed with the house and garden and remarked on the possibility of being able to swing several cats. We showed them their rooms and they immediately changed out of their hot school uniform and into shorts and shirts.
We thought that a swim would be the first thing to do.
John said he was not going back to the Bank that day, so he would come with us. The Piccolo Capri Officer’s Club was some distance away beyond the suburb of Giorgimpopoli, which we named “Georgium pot-holey” as the roads through it were full of enormous potholes, which made progress very slow and difficult.
Eventually we arrived at the club. After buying the inevitable Coca Cola at the bar we showed the children where to change in the row of huts along the beach. The tide was in, not that it made much difference, as there is very little rise or fall in the Mediterranean. It did however make a bit of difference to the size of the breakers on the sandy beach. Much to the children’s annoyance, I made them wear T-shirts for the first few days, as I was always anxious that they did not get burnt before they got acclimatised.We all had a wonderful time and were quite ready for our evening meal by the time we returned home.
The next few days I showed them as much as I could. The afternoons were spent swimming or exploring the town with its fascinating souk, or paying visits to Sabratha. The children had their photographs taken with their heads showing over a statue of a headless Roman soldier, which stood at one side of the Forum.
We were able to go further afield at weekends. We were all longing to go to Leptis Magna, a large Roman metropolis lying some 70 miles along the coast. Taking a picnic lunch, we set off. We said we would stop in Homs to try to find some freshly cooked Arab bread. The village was a bustling little place and the children found the souk interesting. I bought them some wide-brimmed straw hats on our way to find the bakery. It was interesting watching the flat pancakes of dough blowing out on the roof of the domed oven and falling off as soon as it was cooked. We would open the “bags” of bread and fill it with whatever fillings we chose. These were nicknamed “handbags”.
As we drove up to the gates of Leptis Magna a camel train loped round the corner. The animals were laden with huge sacking-wrapped bundles, probably rugs and carpets that had been woven by the Bedouin women who lived in tents in the desert. This appeared in complete contrast to the large car in which we had just swept into the car park. After a short walk over the dusty car park, we came to the imposing remains of an archway. The guidebook informed us that it was named after the Roman Emperor Septimus Severus.
The early history of Leptis is somewhat vague as it appears it was a town in the Carthaginian Empire and in spite of its size does not appear to have been very important at that time. However we found the ruts in the streets made by the chariot wheels of long ago very exciting, reminiscent of tramlines in our own towns. Walls of huge hand-hewn stones, about four feet high, lined the road, with tufts of long dried grass growing in the cracks. It was very hot, so we were glad of our sunhats.
As we walked along the road we came to a large open space littered with huge carved stones lying where they had fallen after one of the earthquakes. The children enjoyed playing leapfrog over Ionic capitals and chunks of marble pillar. I suspect they were a little young to really appreciate the wonders of the vast ruins. Indeed there are many adults who remain unimpressed, and who should blame them? John and I have always taken a great interest in archaeology and all things antique.
However the children were very interested in an inscription on a fallen pulpit. “Septimus Severus died at York.” We have no idea why it was written in English. Beyond the fallen stones we came to an enormous, 38-seater lavatory. The seat was made of a long shelf of marble with holes at suitable intervals. It seems that the Romans were in no way prudish. In fact we were led to believe that, as in Sabratha, important council meetings were held here. I can’t help feeling that it must have been a chilly place in winter, though summer may have been more bearable!
Passing through the lavatory, we came to the baths. We could see where the hot steam flowed beneath the baths through the hypocaust to heat the water. There were several statues of Roman ladies and gentlemen standing decoratively round the baths, draped in folds. It was as if they were waiting for the baths to fill up to enable them to dip a toe in the water. There was evidence of pipes where steam would have warmed the water. Some of this was in reasonable repair and it was possible to see how the system worked. There was much more excavating to be done, but the port was evident along the seashore, though the sea had silted up the harbour itself. Waves crashed against the base of the lighthouse. It was a wonderful thought that perhaps Romans had watched waves rolling up the beach much as we were doing now.
Along the sand we came to the Basilica of Septimus Severus and the Byzantine Church, with its wonderful carved marble pillars. Fingers could be hooked behind the carved vines that wound around the pillars with various animals, hunters and huntresses intertwined in the fine tendrils amongst the leaves. It was impossible to explore the whole of so vast an area in one day, so we set off home just as the sun was setting. We would have plenty of time to explore further at a later date.
The time passed all too quickly and it was time to take the children to the airport and send them back to school.
Princess Alexandra paid a visit to King Idriss and stayed at the Embassy with her husband Angus Ogilvie. Prince Michael was also in Libya on a military exercise in the desert. I happened to be visiting the Military attaché’s wife one morning, when Prince Michael rushed in looking very scruffy. He was desperate to find a razor and to iron his own shirt before he met his sister. Somehow it was amusing to see the young Prince having domestic difficulties and being afraid of his sister’s displeasure.
Princess Alexandra showed great consideration to a friend of mine, Mary. There had been a visit to Leptis Magna and Mary had been in the party. While they were there the heavens opened and everyone got soaked. Mary was upset as her hairstyle had been ruined and she was due to go to the reception at the Embassy that evening. There was a knock at the door and a lady announced that she was the Princess’s hairdresser. It seemed that the Princess was going to wear her toupe that evening and had asked that her hairdresser should find Mary and set her hair for her. What a kind thought.
John and I went to the reception. I was now expecting my third child, and when I met the Princess she gave me a hand up from my curtsy. I was to meet her again at an Embassy Reception two years later in Teheran and was amazed when she asked me whether I had a baby boy or girl. I was so surprised I was almost speechless. However I think that she must have been primed, as I cannot imagine she would remember me.
I would soon follow the children home, as, in line with medical advice, I was to return to England in time to give birth. As luck would have it John’s younger brother Bob, who worked for International Air Radio, had been posted to Tripoli Airport. As was common practice when taking an overseas posting, married accommodation was not provided during the first tour. We decided it would be good if Bob and Jenny moved into our house and looked after him while I was away, thus allowing Bob and Jenny to be together and John to have company.
I flew home to stay for a few days with Granny Lindesay, taking time to visit Trish and Chris at school as well as seeing the Grannies. I then went up to Scotland to await my baby’s arrival. On one of my weekly check-ups at Cresswell Hospital, Dumfries, I was advised to go into hospital, as my blood pressure was a little high. I was very pleased that the end was in sight, as I had huge abscesses on my front teeth, and the dentist would not take them out because I was too near my time.
The doctor asked me which day I would like my baby to be born. For no particular reason I thought it would be appropriate to give John a wedding anniversary present of his new baby. I was put on a drip to try to hasten things along but, annoyingly, Claire was in no hurry to put in an appearance. Finally, 36 hours later on May 27th, much to everyone’s relief, I was delivered of an 8lb bouncing girl. Very soon my dentist removed my offending teeth and fitted me with a bridge, which still works very satisfactorily today. Incidentally I was very nonplussed, on a recent visit to Dumfries Museum, to see the very dentist’s chair in which I sat being displayed as veritable museum piece.
I had a problem when I tried to register Claire. The Registrar could not accept John’s address as being a postbox number. In the end she settled for Villa Bactria, Tripoli, Libya. It was just as well that she had no need to write to him, as I think the Post Office would have had difficulty in delivering it.
My next problem was to arrange for Claire’s name to be added to my passport. Apparently I had to obtain written permission from John before I could take her out of Britain. I became quite cross at all these difficulties, after all there was no doubt at all that the child was indeed mine. However letters were duly written and papers put in order. I took leave of my parents, who had been immeasurably helpful and supportive throughout the whole business, and set off back to Libya to introduce our little daughter to her dad.
I went to London by train. Granny Lindesay came to meet us and took us to see the Great Grannies and to pay a quick visit to Patricia and Christopher before we took off from London Heathrow. I could hardly wait to show Claire to John. Landing at the airport was all very exciting and it was wonderful to be met by John, as well as Bob and Jenny, all eager to see the latest addition to the family. Claire was a lovely baby with a rosy complexion and large brown eyes. She was very placid from birth and a good sleeper at night, which was a great joy.
One evening she screamed loudly from her cot upstairs. I raced up to see what was wrong with her. She was lying on her back grasping her tuft of hair in her little fist and was pulling it as hard as she could. Her face was puce and her mouth was as wide as it would go. She was very angry!
At first we were able to take her with us in her carrycot when we went out in the evening. Our hosts were always happy to see her as she was so little trouble. It was easy for me to feed her as she was on the “demand feeding” system, the latest fashion, which worked very well.
Bob and Jenny were given a villa in Collina Verde and set up their own home. They found a boxer dog, which they named Stubby. It was fun having them there as we were unaccustomed to having real family near at hand.
The summer holidays were soon upon us and the children were due to join us. This time they were escorting Granjo. They arrived at the airport, grandmother and children eager to meet their little sister, to see how much she had developed. She was quite a novelty for the first few days and turns were taken to bath, powder and dress her. They also enjoyed showing their grandmother around. We had bought a pushchair and a parasol that clipped onto the frame and could be suitably adjusted to protect Claire from the sun.
We had discovered the Botanical Gardens, an interesting place to wander. Apart from the wonderful variety of shrubs and bushes there were some magnificent Uaddan gazelles. These large, goat-like animals had long hair hanging from their throats, reminiscent of the tassels on a Scots sporran. There were also monkeys, which were a source of great amusement. They had acquired some little mirrors from somewhere and enjoyed using them to peep round corners at visitors. They had also learned that they could catch the sun and make “Tinkerbell” appear in each other’s eyes. The bougainvillea that climbed some of the trees was very spectacular, especially the mauve variety.
It was the tomato season and the roads were blocked with lorries laden with tomatoes, queuing at the factory gates. These dripping loads were to be made into tomato paste, or tinned. It was a truly messy and smelly sight.
Granjo really enjoyed swimming in the warm Mediterranean seawater, but, because she had lovely red hair and the very fair skin that went with it, we had to be very careful of her in the sun, as she burned so easily. She also enjoyed our visits to the Roman sites and exploring the town and souks.
We arranged for Granny Lindesay to fly out to visit us while Granjo was still with us. Bob and Jenny had her to stay with them. This gave us an opportunity to have Claire christened with family there to witness it. The Garrison church was there at that time (though it closed shortly afterwards) and the Reverend Wilkinson (who, incidentally was a friend of our vicar at home, the Reverend Canon Sam Boothman), was prepared to christen Claire. We had a lovely day and it was so special that we had so many of our family present. Our cine film shows both Patricia and Christopher taking turns to carry Claire from the church (which as a result had to happen twice!) Granny Lindesay had brought the family christening robe with her for the occasion. The Villa Bactria lent itself to holding large parties and the lunch to celebrate Claire’s christening was no exception.
Shortly after the christening it was time for Granjo to return home. Gampy had been very noble allowing her to be away again for so long. It was sad that he was too ill to be able to join us. It was while we were seeing Granjo off that suddenly, John lifted Patricia into the air and stamped his foot hard. We all looked at him in amazement and then saw the reason for this sudden action. A scorpion, albeit squashed and very dead, was lying just where Trish had been standing in her open sandals. This was the first scorpion we had seen.
We were sad to see Granjo go, but we all had enjoyed her visit, and we had Granny Lindesay to introduce to Libya.
One morning Boy Mahommed was late and seemed in a bit of a state at breakfast time. His wife Fatima, who was expecting a baby, had started haemorrhaging. It seemed he had not called a doctor but had sent for her mother to help. I was worried about this, so I sent for Abdulla the driver, and leaving Granny L. to look after the children, Mahommed and I set out with Abdulla to see what we could do. Mahommed lived in a one- storey house in the middle of a plot of land on the edge of a village beyond Collina Verdi. It was a pretty spot with flowers in the garden and vegetables at the side. The house had stone floors with a colourful wool carpet in the centre. A tall cupboard stood against one wall and a chest of drawers against another. There were neither chairs nor a table, but several brightly-coloured cushions were scattered about. One could picture people lounging Roman style, especially as the Libyan national dress is very reminiscent of the Roman toga.
Poor Fatima was still haemorrhaging and was rather distressed, lying on a mattress in the other room. Her mother was there and was relieved that we had come to collect her. We got Fatima into the car and drove her to the hospital in the centre of town. She was admitted and we were not allowed to stay with her. Even Mahommed was asked to leave, so we all returned to Villa Bactria. Later in the day we sent Mahommed to make enquiries. He came back grinning from ear to ear; he was the father of a very small son.
That evening Mahommed invited us to visit his son and heir in the hospital. It was an enormous building and very full of patients, so full that we found Fatima lying head to tail in a bed with another mother. However she seemed content and was very pleased with her tiny son. Although he was small he seemed fairly lusty, if his cries were anything to go by. However the doctors were quite happy for her to remain in hospital for a day or so as the infant was so small and Fatima had had a bit of difficulty. Normally Libyan women do not go to hospital to have their babies and probably Fatima would not have done so if we had not taken her. I told Mahommed that I would get Abdulla to take his family home in our car when the time came.
A day or so later Abdulla arrived one morning in great excitement. One of his farmer friends had been trying to move some very large stones from the field he was ploughing. In doing so he had uncovered an underground cave with a hole just large enough to allow one to wriggle inside. The farmer had fetched a torch and crawled in. He found that the walls were decorated with paintings of animals and dancing figures. They appeared to be hunting scenes and one wall was taken up with an angel rising up to heaven. We couldn’t wait to go and see this exciting find, and Abdulla couldn’t wait to show us.
We all climbed into the car and drove into the desert. Mahommed took us to a small farmhouse which stood miles from anywhere. His farmer friend squeezed into the car with us. We bumped over the ground and stopped in the middle of a dry, dusty area. We had to walk the rest of the way. Claire was in her carrycot fast asleep and Granny L. was eagerly making her way towards a heap of stones some distance away. There was the hole in the ground with a built-up low wall on either side of the entrance. The farmer urged us to crawl into the hole. He was wearing his best suit, I suspect in our honour, and did not really wish to demonstrate the way in.
John lay on his stomach and wriggled forward, easing his shoulders into the hole. We had remembered to bring a torch, which was just as well, as the inside was pitch black. This was probably the reason the paintings had remained in such good condition and the reddish brown colours were still clear.
We all took turns crawling into the cave, which was quite cool in contrast to the hot dusty sunshine outside. We had no idea how long the tomb, if indeed that is what it was, had been there before it had been opened the previous week. The farmer did not wish to inform anyone about it at that time, as he felt he might lose his land, so we were asked not to tell anyone where it was. Actually we would have been taxed to find the spot in the desert without any landmarks, so I think his secret is safe with us. I do, however, have some photographs of what we saw.
After more visits to Leptis and Sabratha and their museums, and many bathes in the sea, the time came for Granny L. to return home. We were sad to see her go as her enthusiasm to see everything available inspired us to get out in spite of the heat.
On one of our trips out and about we discovered a place where we could park and watch the American military planes landing at Wheelus Airbase. Patricia and Christopher were fascinated when the parachutes billowed out of the backs of the planes as they roared in to land. They also loved to watch them doing aerobatics over the sea.
Not long after the children returned to school we had the sad news that our Manager in Benghazi had suddenly died. As this was in John’s “parish” he wanted to get down there to see how things were. We made arrangements with the accountant in Benghazi for us to stay in the Manager’s house. We had been told that the best hotel in Benghazi, the Berenice, was not to be recommended. We flew down for a weekend taking Claire with us. I don’t recall much of that visit, except the awful night we spent being eaten by bed bugs. I had not encountered them before; it turned out that both John and I were allergic to them and we were both covered with bites and had swollen limbs. From where the bed bugs appeared has remained a mystery, but I do recall that orders were given for the beds to be burned and new ones bought.
The next holiday was Christmas. There were heaps of parties for us as well as the children. Claire was now too large for her carrycot, so we were in need of a baby sitter. Mahommed was reliable enough, provided she was asleep, but was at a loss if she did wake up. We made inquiries and a girl called Minette was found. She spoke a bit of English, so we felt that she could cope. Claire was very good and usually slept well enough. Minette had experience with children, having two of her own. She lived in Collina Verdi and was prepared to work during the day for Jenny. This arrangement should work well. She worked well enough and Claire quite liked her. Then I was told that Minette had small children of her own and she left them at home, alone and tied to the table leg, while she worked for us. The idea of a child being left in such conditions upset me greatly. Apparently Minette’s husband was away a great deal (if, indeed, she did have a husband). I told her that I could not continue to employ her unless she made arrangements for her children. Sadly we next found that she was stealing from us and we lost confidence in her. Babysitting became a problem, but Bob and Jenny stepped into the breech, so long as we were not invited to the same parties. Sometimes the Bank bachelors would help out in return for a square meal and a bottle of wine!
All the time we were in Libya John was struggling to build his new Bank on the Istiklal. There were unexpected difficulties right from the start. While digging for the foundations they struck water. This meant that steel pylons had to be driven down all round the plot. This was pretty unpopular as the thumping of the giant hammers could be heard all over town for days on end. Poor John had a very frustrating time with the architects and contractors, while at the same time trying to run the Bank.
About a month before Claire’s first birthday I had been using some drawing pins and had dropped the box on the floor. I had gathered them up carefully, or so I thought. That night Claire awoke and screamed and screamed. I tried gripe water and a hot water bottle on her tummy, patting her as we walked up and down. Nothing would pacify her. I then began to think of what I had given her to eat that day. Then I remembered the drawing pins. I called John and we drove to the military hospital. We were not really supposed to use it, but I did not fancy the local one from the little I had seen of it. We arrived at the military hospital at about 5.30 am. The doctor on duty was very kind and gave her an X-ray to try to spot the drawing pin if it was to be seen. Nothing. So far so good.
By now she had been screaming so much she had a roaring temperature. She was put in an oxygen tent and kept in hospital for several days before I was allowed to bring her home. I had to keep an eye on her temperature and return her to hospital if it rose to 40 degrees. This I did twice and she was given oxygen. Eventually I took her to the Evalina Hospital in London, but to this day we have no satisfactory diagnosis as to why she should spark this high temperature from time to time. She seemed perfectly happy, so we all learned to keep a wary eye on her and to live with it. Eventually, whatever was causing it went away.
Mahommed gave the children a ginger cat as a Christmas present. I am not very fond of cats on the whole but this animal was quite convinced that he was a human, and did his best to behave like one, much to our amusement. He would sit on a chair like a human with his legs hanging down and leaning against John’s thigh. Mahommed had gone to all the trouble of house training him first. The result was that Kitty Wee or Winkle Cat, as he was named, would miaow loudly when “caught short” in the garden and when let in would speed, cross-legged, to his sandbox. Somehow the idea that the world was all a huge sandbox did not enter his head. He was a very playful cat and enjoyed swinging on the curtain pulls and playing goalie with a marble, the goal posts being a gap between two rugs on the drawing room floor. Kitty became a great pet with all the family.
John decided that we would have the children fly to Malta for their next holiday and we would fly to meet them there and spend ten days exploring the island. There was plenty to see as we explored the villages, each with its huge cathedral. They seemed quite disproportionate to the size of the congregation they served. We enjoyed a visit to the Blue Grotto, where the water was really blue and clear. We sat in our little boat and gently drifted in and out of the caves watching the fish about their business far below. Then we beached the boat on a little sandy beach and dipped into the water for a wonderful swim. Claire was not in the least afraid of the water and floated about in her rubber ring full of confidence.
One day we crossed on the ferry to the island of Gozo, where the streets were lined with women making lace. They were twiddling their bobbins, which were pinned to cushions, at a tremendous speed. The most intricate patterns appeared and they all made it look so easy. I was tempted by some creamy table linen that I found to be ridiculously cheap. We all enjoyed the view of the harbour with the Royal Navy ships tied up alongside, some of them dressed overall. The local Dicer boats were being sculled backwards and forwards across the harbour, their distinctive high bows ploughing proudly through the water.
We were all very pleased to flop into the hotel pool after the trips out and about. Claire loved having her big brother and sister there to be impressed by anything she did. In fact it was in Malta that she took her first steps, staggering between big brother and sister. Everyone was very pleased they had been there to witness her first lurching paces. There was no holding her back from then on.
When we returned to Tripoli I took Patricia and Christopher out to the military stables I had found. A retired British Army Colonel ran it and had invited me to take the children out for a ride during the holidays. As both children rode at school I wanted to see how they were progressing.
The children were excited at the prospect. I had been before and ridden out with one of the grooms. It had been some time since I had ridden, and I was a little stiff afterwards, but I enjoyed it. Two quietish horses were selected for the children. Patricia had a smart little pony called Apollo and Christopher was given a large stallion called Willing, which he had some difficulty in mounting. However, with the aid of the mounting block he was soon in the saddle with a broad grin on his face. I rode the same little mare I had ridden last time. The groom came with us, mainly because I did not know the routes to take. It was a wonderful experience and we enjoyed several rides throughout the holidays, sometimes taking other children with us.
On one occasion, after Patricia and Christopher had returned to school, I took three other children out on a ride. Two of them were mounted on stallions, both of which I thought I knew. Suddenly the horses decided to fight. I had never seen this before and was quite horrified and unsure as to the best course of action. First I decided I had to get the children off, so I slipped off my mare and beat her with my whip hoping she would race home. I then grasped the bridles of the fighting stallions and managed to pull the ring on the snaffle bit into their mouths and then hung on for dear life. The terrified children slipped off. I asked the third child to ride home as quickly as she could to summon help. As she was a beginner and not very confident, she did well to go as quickly as she did.
Before very long, though it seemed a lifetime, a groom came galloping into sight. He had been alerted by my riderless horse and came to try to find us. I am happy to say that none of us were hurt and the children came out with me again, but I think it was that experience that caused me to lose some enthusiasm for riding lively horses - although I did ride with the children again when they came out for the holidays.
On our next trip to Leptis Magna we drove a bit further on and came to a huge Roman sports arena which was in the process of being excavated. The floor had a deep oblong pit in the middle. We were led to believe that this was where the lions were kept before being let loose on the unfortunate Christians, in the name of sport. All round the basin of the arena, the remains of tiered seats could be clearly seen. We climbed right up to the top and found what must have been the best seats. There was a wonderful view of the arena, and if one turned round there was a spectacular view across the beach where the chariot races were held. If one became bored of Christians being eaten by lions, then there were always the chariots, drawn by wild galloping horses, to cheer on. Perhaps the marvellous view over the Mediterranean Sea, with its cooling breeze bringing sailing ships into port, might calm the over excited audiences. There were partially-excavated tunnels beneath the stone seats, but we were reluctant to explore them too closely for fear of meeting smaller antagonists such as snakes or scorpions.
On another occasion while walking in the desert looking for wild plants, we were very startled to hear the sound of rushing water. There had been a sudden rainstorm a while earlier and we were walking round the base of some small hillocks. Suddenly a wave of water was coming towards us, bowling quite large boulders before it. Evidently the rain on the plateau above us was sufficient to reawaken an old riverbed and the water was trying to flow again. We quickly climbed up the slope to the car and were in no danger, but it was strange to see the flash flood go pouring past us, along the seemingly long-forgotten course.
Salem, the gardener, had been feeling unwell for some time and went into hospital to have his gall bladder removed. Abdulla had been to see him and brought me the message that Salem would very much like me to visit him in hospital. Although I could converse with him in the garden, our language was very much of the “tic tac” school. I was in no way confident that I could cope at his bedside. However I went and found him in a bed of his own (!) in a ward with many others. He showed me with pride his gall bladder, which he had on his bedside table in a jar. We managed to converse with the usual arm waving and head nodding, punctuated with much laughter. He and his friends about him seemed to enjoy my visit. I am told that I earned him much kudos and that his social standing was raised because he had a European visitor. Remember this was in the time of King Idris. I doubt if it would have been the same under Gaddafi.
Our time in Libya was drawing to an end and the new Bank was nearly complete. A date was set for the opening and Bank directors were organised to come and wave the flag. A huge reception was organised at the best hotel and hundreds of invitations were sent out. Then the man who cut the marble got a splinter in his eye, and was unable to finish the entrance hall. Of all places to have incomplete, this was the most noticeable. Marble cutting is a very skilled business and there was no one available to take over. It was such a pity, as the office would really look good if the entrance were finished. However the show had to go on and the Bank was duly opened. The customary reception was held for some 300 people and life returned more or less to normal.
Shortly after this we were to move on again, this time to the Bank of Iran and the Middle East in Teheran. John handed over his new office to Kenneth Bradford. For the second time John had suffered all the problems of building a bank for someone else to enjoy.