VIP Graffiti in 1930s Egypt, Exotic and Not-So-Exotic Dancing

Demoiselle Crane, 47 Squadron's crest

The next installment of my grand-uncle's eyebrow-raising war memoirs.

 

In June 1939 we were alerted to prepare to fly the Vincents up to Egypt to the depot at RAF Abu Sueir. With the overload tanks full we took off for Wadi Halfa, cruising at about 120 knots. All arrived safely and immediately refuelled the aircraft, covered up and picketed the aircraft down.

The 'drome was about five miles north from the town of Wadi Halfa and the journey was undertaken in in about six open V.8 fast taxis, across open desert tracks, with a reward for the one reaching the hotel first. Fifty miles an hour, we were airborne off hour seats half the time.

The aircrew were housed in the beautiful hotel and ground staff given cabins in the Nile steamer moored on the river adjacent to the hotel.

Before take-off the following morning we were warned by the pilot that, prior to setting course for Egypt we would be flying at 'nought' feet over The Nile, in front of the entrance to Abu Simbel's Temple, in order that photographs could be taken.

This we did and is now a photograph that can never be taken again, due to the fact that the temple has now been cut into huge sections and moved bodily to higher ground to prevent it being submerged when the High Aswan Dam was built in 1966/67.

Airborne again, and after about five hours flying we arrived at RAF Abu Sueir, a few miles from the Suez Canal. A total distance of about 1100 miles.

Parking the aircraft, we immediately got aboard three-ton lorries and drove north about 15 miles to RAF Ismailia, where we were fed and billeted. We were to stay about 10 days while the aircrew familiarised themselves with the Vickers Wellesley. Similarly the ground crew went into the hangars to get to know the aircraft.

Ten days later the Squadron took off once again for Wadi Halfi and Khartoum. The fitters were warned that the aircraft on long flights drained unevenly and that it may be necessary for them to open a zip fastener in the fuselage wall, reach into the root end of the main plane and manually turn off certain fuel tank cocks to even up the aircraft.

The tunnel of the aircraft was filled with aircraft jacks, covers, modification kits and desert equipment to the roof, with a short space left for the fitter and myself, the rigger, to sit behind the pilot's seat.

After about three hours flying a hand was seen waving behind the pilot's seat with a note on which was written 'Turn off the Starboard Outer Fuel Cock.'

Another, my fitter, immediately started an argument as to which side was Starboard and insisted that he was finally right and turned off the port outer cock. And this was only after moving all the equipment away from the port side zip fastener. The fuel system was his responsibility and he was adamant.

Fifteen minutes later the pilot's hand, waving forcibly, passed another note with 'What the hell are you doing?'

Finally, agreeing that I was right he turned on the port outer cock and after us moving all the equipment again finally turned off the starboard outer cock. I think the Sgt Pilot at the end of the flight had a lean to one side for a number of days. The fuel system was neutralised later on arriving on Wadi Halfa.

The Squadron Commander had previously decided to overfly Wadi Halfa and make Khartoum in one trip. Passing over Wadi Halfa the aircraft ran into an extended high level sand storm and after half an hour the aircraft returned to Wadi Halfa. Once again we were billeted as previously.

We were given the following day free and as Wadi Halfa is situated on the 2^nd Cataract of the Nile a boat trip was arranged to the hill edging the rapids and on climbing it was found to have dozens of VIP names scratched into the rock face, one of whom I will always remember was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who wrote the Sherlock Holmes series. He died in 1930.

Trying to sleep on the Nile paddle steamer was impossible. Tens of thousands of frogs were croaking all night. The din was incessant, only broken momentarily by the heaving of empty beer bottles in their direction. A few seconds later they were off again.

The next day we landed back at Khartoum with our new, but old, aircraft. We settled back to our routine, once again getting to know the Wellesley.

Later in the year one of the aircraft force landed with engine trouble about a hundred miles out in the desert. A lorry was loaded with a new engine, shear legs, tents, and rations. Cpl. Fife, six engine fitters and myself travelled about 5 hours and finally located the aircraft. Tents were pitched ready for work in the morning. Metal was found in the filter. As the aircraft had landed safely it was decided being a metal rigger that I would be the cook. One of the first things the gang did was to suspend a tent bag in the roof of one of the tents and then fill with water. Very warm water. Then a couple of dozen bottles of beer were put into the water. About 5 hours later the water and the beer was quite cold. The sweating tent bag acted similarly to a 'chatee.' A perfect fridge. (No suitable explanations of 'chatee' online.)

The fitters set to work at first light. The shear legs were erected and a block and tackle hung. The prop was removed and the weight of the engine taken. More weight, then calamity. One of the legs collapsed like a bent elbow.

The pilot had already left the wagon, having already spent the night in the aircraft since he had landed. Operating the radio, contact was made with the squadron and an Indian Army Recovery lorry was dispatched to us. It arrived late in the afternoon. On backing up to the aircraft it was found that the small rear jib had insufficient height to reach over the top of the engine to lift it out. The engine was two feet higher than the jib. So the shovels were produced and gradually a sand ramp was built, higher and higher until when the lorry was backed up it, the jib had clearance to enable the engine to be lifted out successfully.

Finally, the change was made, the engine oil primed, turned over by hand and started. After a few adjustments everything was declared satisfactory and the WT used to request a pilot.

Being the cook, I do not think that I have ever worked as hard in all my life. They wanted a mug of tea in bed, porridge, eggs, bacon, sausage and tea for breakfast. Have you ever tried keeping five old fashioned Primus stoves operating at once, pumping, pricking, pumping, filling. Anyway, they did not starve!

With the aircraft ready, awaiting a pilot, it was decided that we had time to visit a small village that we could see way in the distance. Leaving one man on guard, the remainder trudged across the sand to the mud huts. We were met by nearly naked Sudanese and taken to the Headman's hut. He greeted us and invited us to a compound at the rear of the hut. We sat down in a circle with him on a huge mat and women brought out big bowls of what looked like dried grass and oats. These were passed around the circle with Cpl Fife insisting that we try both bowls to insure we did not insult our hosts.

One of the natives had a good smattering of English and we were informed by him that the headman had laid on some entertainment for us. We were taken to another hut and once again sat in a circle on the floor. In came a rather attractive Sudanese girl of about eighteen, naked to the waist, with very long greasy ringlet hair. To the accompaniment of a drum, she danced in the centre of the ring, in front of each one of us in turn, gyrating and finally with a quick flick of her head wrapped her hair around the face of each one of us. None escaped even though we tried to duck. Her greasy hair smelt like nothing on earth. The dance we were told was connected to the dancing habits of the sexes.

Finally, we were taken to a clearing in the centre of the huts to find that about fifty natives had assembled. At one side sat a dozen old-ish women, on the floor, with drums in their laps.

They sat us down and shortly afterwards the drumming and dancing began. The men were leaping into the air at amazing heights, and every now and then the young teenage men suddenly stopped, placed a stave in the middle of their backs, leaned back on them and the others whipped them harshly on their bare bodies five or six times. The youngsters did not flinch and immediately the women with the drums made their high shrill trilling sound of appreciation. This leaping, jumping and whipping went on for a good half an hour then they came to us to reciprocate. They needed a rest. It was an initiation dance or ceremony to show the bravery of future young warriors.

So we had to follow on. We borrowed their staves and moved into the centre ring and tried to copy their acrobatic leaping. Fat Nash, with his belly hanging over the top of his shorts, managed a jump of about six inches. The natives were in stitches, laughing their heads off and after five minutes, when we could leap no more, the women drummers also gave us a high shrilling warble to thank us. We sat down. Water was passed around. No whipping had occurred!

The men repeated their leaping again and after ten minutes sat down once again requesting us to repeat our act.

We were still not ready for a second session, so after a quick 'conflab' we decided to do the London Palladium opening number act of 6 all differently dressed airmen coming into the centre ring, 1 behind the other, right hands on the chap in front's right shoulder, high kicking our legs alternately. Not quite like thirty fit beautiful girls.

At the side of the ring we reversed and retraced our steps, reversing again and again. Finally, we finished up all kicking each other up the backside around the ring, especially the corporal. Once again the audience were in hysterics and the women gave out their shrill trilling sound.

It was now time to leave, and after we had a collection for the new drums they were saving for we said our happy farewells and returned to the aircraft. Mad dogs and Englishmen!

In the morning we found that the pilot was on his way so we struck the tents, packed up and gave away unused food to the 'chichoes' who had been with us on and off the whole time we were there.

Midday the pilot arrived, carried out his checks, took off, did a short air test and overshot us, waggled his wings and flew off.

We loaded up and in fifteen minutes were on out way back to Khartoum and the Squadron. A smashing experience.

The Squadron, about this time, was presented with a newly designed crest which contained a Demoiselle Crane. This bird migrates from Southern Russia to the Sudan every year. It appears that it was selected due to the fact that 47 Squadron had served in Southern Russia in 1919. The story goes that the Squadron complained about the cold weather so much that they sent it down to Khartoum in the Sudan to a warmer climate. From the sublime to the ridiculous.

The Squadron was also presented with a beautiful solid silver model of a Vickers Vincent in gratitude for rescuing a VIP and his wife from the jungle. This is now resident in the Officer's mess at RAF Lyneham.

A visit to NAAFI one evening resulted in an unusual sight of four white bald 'eggs' sitting at a table drinking beer. One of them had been pulled up by the Station Warrant Officer for a 'haircut' and had decided to have it all off. The three others followed him in sympathy. Four very brown faces and bodies topped off with four very white bald heads looked very funny and strange.