Dear Adrian
Came across your sixgolds site whan I was looking for more info on Eric Tulloch and Gerry Waine. I knew both from my early days in Dubai. I last saw Gerry a few days before he passed away suddenly. He was still working at 80 plus and nine parts blind. His driver took him everywhere.
These characters made a major contribution to Dubai's development.
I enjoyed reading some of the stories on your site. I used to play squash at the "barracks" near the old airport. I was there the night the last servicemen flew out. An old school friend was the Captain of the RAF VC10.
I have established a website about Dubai in the Old Days and wondered if you would permit me to post some extracts from your site on my website. I would show you the website page before publishing for your approval or otherwise plus I would include an acknowledgement and a link to your site.
I am in the process of updating my site but you can see the current site here
www.dubaiasitusedtobe.com Copy this to your address line.
Kind regards
Len Chapman

Thanks for the contact Len, I have no objection to you copying sections of this page. The more information we can patch together will go a long way to making the history of the UAE come alive again.
Adrian

  by Gerry Dowden
Dear Adrian,
Many thanks for your e-mail, I was in Sharjah 67-68, originally I was posted to Bahrain, was there just about three weeks or so before sent to Masirah to join 22 Tactical Signals Unit (22TSU) we airlifted everything out of there up to Sharjah where I spent the rest of my posting. I was not a member of the RAOB but find the webpage very interesting I will be reading this in depth and reminiscing those days in Sharjah, I used also to work on FRS (Forces Radio Sharjah) doing a couple of programs a week, I still have the program for Aug 1968! I noted your comments ref Freemasonry, well I went on in my later years to become a Mason here in Panama, something from which I get a tremendous amount of pleasure, if you ever make it to this Central American Paradise make sure you let me know.
Best regards
Gerry Dowden
P.S. still do a bit of broadcasting (www.on-the-radio.com)

  I surfed to the address above and listened to your podcast, the station sounds a lot more professional than Radio Sharjah. At Radio Sharjah I hot wired the telephone to the transmitter and tried to start a live chat in programme, a total failure. (RF feedback)
GERRY is still working on the Radio and he can be heard on ....
        http://www.pbcpanama.com/coolnights.html       
Just copy this into the address line and hit return.....
Join me at 8pm until 10pm Tuesdays and Thursdays on "Cool FM" (89.3) for "Cool Nights" the smoothest place on your radio dial... even smoother than a babies bottom! Any artist or piece of music you want to hear on the program, want to say "Hello", "Goodbye", "Happy Birthday"? Follow the contact link below and leave me a message, I will be happy to include it.

By Michael Green
Hi Adrian,
I remember Sharjah with affection, strangely, despite the separation from wife and children. My time was July 1969 - August 1970, so no overlap for us there.
Remember Sheik Robbi ( I think a Jock came into play here) very well, who repaid a favour with a gold ring by making another much larger new ring as a thank you.
Was never a member of the Buffs, unfortunately.
I did have a couple of MDRT excursions, but found too many members to be extremely thick and juvenile. You would not believe their technique for extricating a bogged down Landrover - a high speed snatch at the bogged-down vehicle, attached with a steel hawser. They could not understand how they managed to shear all 12 crown wheel pinion bolts! I did in fact say " I told you so" and enjoyed it.
I wonder if Sharjah and Dubai are still infected by bed bugs, which were reputedly imported from Aden with all their surplus bedding after closure/evacuation. The Aden population got their revenge in a subtle manner; perhaps the bugs have prospered, despite the modernisation and vast fortunes of the local population.
Thanks for the contact.
Regards,
Mike.

  Thankfully, I never got bogged down in the sand, we carried two reels of redundant fire hose which gave traction regardless of how bad the sand was. The high speed snatch sounds like a great method for pulling the back off the tow truck and the front end clean off the stuck vehicle. It takes a wonderfully complex mind to come up with something as daft as that.

By Tony Tubbenhaue
  Hi Adrian.
  I was just 18 when the war broke out.   I'd been born in a small NSW country town visited about once a year by an aircraft which landed on the golf course and on which ten shilling flights were available.    God knows why but I'd always wanted to fly so I saved my pennies and took a flight.    I built model aircraft and drew aircraft.     Thanks to Mr Hitler I got the chance.    I volunteered immediately,  but as a gunner.  How, I thought, could a quiet country kid hope to equal the exploits of Kingsford Smith and Hinkler.   

The lovely RAAF, in chaos I'm not sure it ever got out of, lost the application, said reapply, I did as pilot, found I was a natural, trained on Tiger Moths, then Ansons, on the Queen Mary reached Egypt, was flown to Kenya, converted to Blenheim light bombers, back to Egypt then via Palestine and Syria to Habbaniya west of Baghdad, a couple of months there flying with Communication Flight Habb's antiquated aircraft, the led the first three of 244 Squadrons clapped out Blenheims to Sharjah, arriving on April 8,1942.   

I'd arranged with the other pilots that we'd give the camp a good beatup.    We did, shaking the tents with our slipstreams, landed, taxied in, shut down, only to be greeted by the region's AOC who'd flown on ahead of us.    We expected a real bollocking but,probably remembering his youth, he just grinned and welcomed us. **** Sharjah was a shock.    Tents, searing heat, poor food, aircraft that had had the guts beaten out of them over Europe.    There were also a couple of ancient Vincents there, used for carting things and people around.    Big biplanes, slow but great for getting into and out of tight spots, I soon was flying those too going into and out of small emergency strips along the Arabian Sea's coast.     244's job was to keep the enemy submarines off the ships bringing Lend Lease war supplies destined for southern Russia to Basra.  

With my crew of two Aussies, Gordon and Bill, I'd climb aboard a Blenheim that had been standing in the sun in 50 degree heat.     The aircraft thermometers were always hard against the stops.   I'd have flown bare chested but the parachute buckles were too hot for that.     Guess what was the first thing on board.     Parachutes and flight gear? Wrong.    It was the Goolie Chit.What was that?  The more remote tribes were not at all friendly.    Probably still aren't.    To enliven their dull lives, we were told, a downed airman, being an infidel, was often handed over to the ladies for their entertainment.    Airman's choice or ladies choice, well I don't know but it consisted of either slitting the guy's belly and dropping in hot stones of which there was a plentiful supply or rolling his testicles between two of them until they popped.    Now you see why the Chit, which was printed on both sides and bore photos of local dignitaries and the promise of a bag of gold to anyone who returned the airman to the loving arms of the RAF, goolies intact, went on board first.  None of us had ambitions of singing soprano in a church choir if we were ever back in normal life again.    I have an idea that the correct spelling may be ‘ghuli’ but in Oz, probably imported by WW1 service guys returning from the Middle East,’goolie’ is another word for stone.
Tony.

  Lovely report Tony. Sorry, I don't yet know your antomymic name ( nickname, to confuse enemy listening stations ) your were known by ..... (probably "Tubby" ).     Brian Trubshaw (Concord) also used Tubby, If I'm correct, you're in good company. You can always correct me....
I'm sorry to disillusion you about the bag of gold to pay for your safe return.... The bag of gold would be a whip round of the various mess halls to collect from the Servicemen. That is providing we received information that the downed Pilot was still alive and being held captive. Most likely every available aircraft would head out towards where the Pilot was held captive and buzz the place. Next to arrive would be a motley collection of landrovers and motorcycles armed to the teeth just itching for a good fire-fight.
In my time we would listen on the radio for the Sarbe beacon and home in on it. If the Pilot was able to walk they were told to get as far away from habitation as possible and just wait for rescue. .......and don't shoot off the flares, .... they cost money you know.

The winged boot or flying boot. This was not an official award.
I don't remember if we had a Marine Craft Unit at Sharjah, probably not, so if you plopped into the drink you were in for a long swim. Sharjah Creek next to the airfield would have been the ideal place to operate from. This is a badge earned by men who were rescued from the desert or who walked back to base after parking their aircraft in a remote un-designated zone. Many pilots would later succumb to blood poisoning after their C/O stuck the pin into flesh rather than the uniform.

  By Tony Tubbenhaue
PART 2
A typical operational flight went like this. Taken to our aircraft which, standing in the sun, was hot enough to fry eggs on its metal surfaces, I'd do a walk-around to see there were no bits missing, we'd have our ritual good luck pee on a main tyre, clamber aboard, get settled, I'd fire up the two engines, taxi out, do my cockpit drill and line up, check that Gordon and Bill were ready and ease the the throttles forward and, hopefully, lift off.
As we were surrounded by ammunition, volatile fuel and sitting over a bomb bay stuffed with depth charges, the thought of losing a worn motor when just airborne was something I didn't want to think about. There was a good chance of exiting this life with a big bang. Way to save funeral expenses, I guess.
I'd turn onto course and begin the climb to 7000 feet that took us over the bare black basalt mountains. As we went over the top there were some tiny villages perched on the heights, as remote as anywhere on the planet. Up there it was delightfully cool but to protect the convoy we were to meet we had to drop down to 1000 feet and into the heat. For the next 3 or 4 hours we'd circle it, watching and ready to drop our load on any submarine we spotted through the clear water.
On one such trip, ahead and below the surface I sighted a long dark shape, alerted my crew, dived, opened the bomb bay doors, slowed so the depth charges wouldn't break up as they hit the sea. Only seconds before dropping a plume of spray rose high in the air as the huge whale, probably a blue, surfaced. ****
Dust as fine as talc was one of the hazards. We'd done our time around a convoy and were approaching the Strait of Hormuz, entrance to the Gulf. Why climb over the mountains, why not set a course that took us well through the Strait and then turn left for Sharjah. Gordon figured one, handed it to me, I turned onto it. The dust got thicker. After an interval he handed me the next course. I turned onto that, settled. The dust thinned slightly. Suddenly, dead ahead there reared a sheer black cliff. Wrenching on the controls and ramming both throttles wide, I stood the Blenheim on its side. If there'd been vegetation on that cliff we would have taken some of it home with us. We never did that again. If there was dust we went back over the top.
**** Maybe Bristol, the Blenheim makers, were being careful with taxpayers money when they decided to use Mercury engines. We probably were the only WW2 flyers who carried a choice of fuels, two grades, necessary when using the +9 lever mounted in the cockpit, irreverently dubbed by pilots ... "The Tit, there, pilots for the use of," it was for if emergency power was needed. Gave the engines extra herbs. Only catch was that we had to be sucking from the 100 octane-filled tanks, not the 87. Otherwise we'd blow the motors, hardly the idea. We hoped that the groundstaff guys had put the different fuels into the correct tanks.
**** 244 aircrew, like in most RAF Squadrons, was a mix of men from all over, Canada, New Zealand, South Africa, Rhodesia, Oz and of course the British Iles. We got on fine together. The Brits mostly were regular guys but there were a couple with Old School accents, who were silly enough to tell us that we were Colonials and therefore couldn’t be as good as they were. Knowing we were and possibly better, we waited for an opportunity to take the piss out of them. "Do they have fox hunting in Orstralia"? one asked in the mess. What an opportunity. "Yeah, mate" was the reply. "I say, do they wear the proper gear," to which the answer was "Sure, little red coats and all." "And do you have a hunting cry?" Yeah mate,
"TALLY HO, THERE GOES THE HAIRY BASTARD."

PART 3.
Life was filled with adventure, not even dreamed of as a young boy and would-be flier. No complaints up to now. Not an over-confident person, somehow I had decided I'd fly any aircraft that the kind RAAF and RAF would let me get my hands on. By the time I left The Mob, I'd added 18 to my log book.
At Sharjah we kept busy.Practice circuits and bumps, night flying, visiting and landing on remote emergency strips along the coast, practice bombing, air to ground firing, anti sub patrols,convoy escorts, taking aircraft to Habbaniya for maintenance that couldn't be done at Sharjah, searching for aircraft that had gone into the sea, air tests after the fitters or riggers had worked on them where I liked to take the guys who'd done the work, a guarantee of quality, taking passengers to Bahrain, carrying out an oil search inside the Gulf, landing so the expert could get out, look around, scratch his nether regions, clamber back in and go on to the next spot, even carting an appendix case to Bahrain.
June 6,10 minutes in Vincent K6359 peering over Flt.Folkhard's shoulder, then taking it by myself for an hour's solo circuits and bumps, later that day flying it to Bahrain. June 12, recce of emergency landing grounds Ras Tanura, Jubail, Abu Hadriya, Ras Mishab.June 15, Blenheim P6931, Sharjah, Muscat, Masirah Island, Salala.
Jimmy Chapple, an Aussie, killed after the war in West Australia as captain in Australias worst air crash, the Amana carrying I think 29 passengers and crew, had limped into Salalah on one fan I flew a fitter to him to try to get the engine going. Circling Salala strip, close to a long beach, we saw a good surf was running. Parking the aircraft we reckoned we must have some of that.
The RAF guys thought we were mad when we plunged in and began cracking waves. We'd cut our teeth in the surf. They were not used to it. Jimmy formated on us on the way home. Another trip took us across the corner of the Empty Quarter to Masirah. I flew low, stunned by the savagery of the country. Bare black rock, ravines a thousand feet deep. Nearly too low, slowly rising ground nearly got us like the snow did that New Zealand jet full of passengers at Mt.Erebus in Antarctica. Suddenly I realised and poured on the power and climbed. Another close one.
Tony.

PART 4.
Landing at Masirah late one afternoon I walked into a hut, found a bed. In the gloom a voice asked 'what the hell are you doing here?' A school friend I hadn't seen since 1931, he was flying Aden-India, at Masirah only overnight as I was. He and his crew were killed shortly after in India. Small world, but cruel. July 23 in a Vincent, taking dried dates to Jiwani to Indian soldiers at Gwardar.
Another trip there in a Blenheim. On final I spotted an aerial wire some idiot had strung across the approach. I should have gone around again but cursing, hurdled it, banged the Blenheim down spraining Gordon's ankle. Things sent to try us. August 2, with my birthday only days away, to Muscat in a Vincent, then Ras al Hadd, picked up 16,000 MT Dollars and delivered them to Masirah and another 18,000 on the 4th.
On the 6th, to Basra in a Blenheim, with my crew and a passenger, then to Tehran on leave. Had my 21st at I think Ahwaz in 132F heat. Overseas it doesn't pay to presume locals around you don't speak English. We travelled from the camp into the city by local bus. A monument we'd christened The Blue Prick because that was what it resembled, was our get-off spot. Someone up front spotted it, yelled out 'The Blue Prick.' Seated across from me there was a nice looking young woman. With a grin she leaned over and asked "could you please tell me the time." Red faces all round. Chatted up she revealed she was an English diplomat's daughter living in Tehran. Tehran was much enjoyed, cool, great fruit, good food. And a group of Polish Army girls who'd been evacuated through Southern Russia. All too soon we were back at Sharjah in the heat. I was at Masirah handing up tins of petrol filling the Blenheim's tanks. Two Arabs from the local village watched us. We had no common language. As an empty was handed down they pointed at it and then themselves. Thinking they would make something, I nodded yes. They grabbed one each, upended them, drank the dregs.
Back at Sharjah I was telling the guys in the mess. Duke, Brit. pilot and a regular guy (I think it was him who landed a Vincent under fire to rescue a downed crew when the Iraqis had surrounded Habbaniya), was listening. " I say, Old Boy" he said in his BBC accent " I'll bet he went home and raped his beastly woman in plus 9.I hope it was 100 octane." Tedder, an Aussie with the RAF and I think an Air Marshal, cap with much scrambled egg on it anyway, had told us in Tehran we'd be getting new aircraft. September 27, with my crew and four pilots on board, I took off for Wadi Shariah near Gaza to pick up the first of the Bisleys, Blenheim 5's.

PART 5.
We'd planned Bahrain / Shaibah / Habbaniya / Wadi Shariah / Gaza / Aquir, leave the Blenheim at Aquir, be flown back to Wadi Shariah where the Bisleys had been sitting in the sun for ages. Refueled at Bahrain, I did my cockpit drill, eased the throttles forward, was off the ground and just above the palms when the port engine cut cold. Training cut in, praying the other engine would give full power, I did a right- hand circuit and managed to get us back to earth in one piece. Bit like outback here when the station boss took Jacky up at an airshow, dived on the crowd, zoomed, said "I'll bet 50% down there filled their pants" and Jacky replied "yeah, and 50% up here too, boss."
When we got back to Wadi Shariah the strip was socked in with very low cloud. The Sergeant pilot flying us began stooging around in it below hilltop height. I didn't want us to die on a Palestinian hill. I had to pull rank to get him to abort. It was clear later. We test-flew the Bisleys with Gordon navigating and the other pilots following us and on October 4 landed back at Sharjah without further incident. On the 9th.we were off again to collect another batch. We'd been given some leave and mess funds to buy wine in Palestine. Of course we had to sample before buying.
On the 19th. in Bisley BA 524 I was standing just off the strip, motors idling, watching the others take off. They'd follow on us again. Stupidly we'd loaded all the wine bottles into one Bisley. As the last of them passed me on his takeoff run I saw his cooling gills were open and knew he wouldn't get off. Roaring down the strip he realised that too, throttled back, smoked the brakes, disappeared down the wadi, a cloud of dust shot up.
There was no smoke, I throttled up, raced down the strip to see the pilot climbing out unhurt. The Bisley was badly bent. Suddenly I realised it was the one carrying the wine. Jesus wept, I thought, how am I going to be able to tell those thirsty guys at Sharjah that their wine was soaking into the dust at Wadi Shariah.
Gingerly I clambered on board the wreck and found not a single bottle was broken. The others landed, we got another Bisley, we spread the bottles amongst all and made a successful return to Sharjah, climbing to 4000 feet a couple of hours out to cool the wine.
One more incident comes to memory. I didn't log it, wanted to forget. We'd overnighted at Muscat. The Vincent's engine- start needed someone to stand on a small step just behind the big propellor and wind a crank handle to energise, I guess, a flywheel so the pilot could mesh it with the big prop. Gordon mounted the step, wound, I did my bit, the engine fired, I throttled right back, the prop was going 'whish, whish, whish', Gordon stepped down ---- and walked through the turning prop. Unharmed. I still shudder. See:- I say below.

Our time at 244 was coming to a close. Montgomery was in the process of seeing Rommel out of North Africa. 244's CO sweet-talked us. They needed us. Instead of taking the several months break between Squadrons would we go straight on. On December 20 we were flown from Habbaniya to Cairo, because we were given no leave we got lost for a couple of days there, joined 203 Squadron RAF flying Martin Baltimores over the Med., Agean, Adriatic photoing enemy harbours and hunting submarines. Got a bollocking from the CO for getting lost too. It was worth it. I did 78 ops. flights straight off without the break. An article on the net says 76 but I've found two more. Not a single bit of the flak flying around us in the Aegean hit my aircraft. Lucky lad.
It was as well we got out of Sharjah when we did. I'm told they had 32 crashes after we left. Mostly Bisleys, I guess. We took the things there. Probably they'd have hung us --- if there'd been trees.
Tony.

  Hi Adrian.
Forgive me if I don't remember you from R.A.F. Sharjah, although I remember well the year I spent there working in the Communication Centre from '64 to '65.
  No problem there were thousands of chaps always coming and going from Sharjah. I also worked in Coms in the PBX Section so we just missed each other by a cat's whisker. (diode to a Wop)
  I'm sure there are some names or incidents which you will be familiar with.
Big Sam the 'Rockape' fireman who didn't take kindly to getting his food threw on the plate to him by one of the Arab cooks and quickly sorted him out.
Roger the RAF policeman who kept a beautiful pet monkey.
The time we boycotted the mess, only to have the food served up a couple of days later when our local rebellion was quashed when the C.O. ordered 'Flying Kunja Club' not to serve meals.
The terrible washing facilities where you needed 'Val Soap' to lather up in the salt water shower. I could go on, but I'll leave it for another time.

 VAL SOAP I still remember that stuff, had to rinse my clothes with lemonade to get the salt out.
Drinking water was very scarse at Sharjah all washing, shaving, showering even your undies was done with that soap. Another name springs to mind, it may have been called "Vel"
Another pain was the salt tablets sitting at the mess entrance.
What were those yellow tablets for.? ... Probably antimalarial medicine.
Tape worms were a big problem for the locals. Ick Daoud showed me a worm he removed from an Arab gentleman it only just fitted into a 1 gallon sweet jar. Don't eat the local dates stick to cooked food only.

  It is interesting to know that we are near neighbours as I live in Newtownards (originally Dungannon), so if you would like to get together for a chat I would be delighted. I have spent the last hour looking at your web site and must say you have a very busy life. I spent much of my leisure time going to the mountains as well.

I don't know if you ever made contact with my good friend in Dungannon (Geoff Robinson), who was a keen Armature Radio enthusiast for years (I taught him the Morse Code for his tests). He is also a member of the local Rifle Club there, and I know he came regularly to Bangor, but not sure about Comber.

  Ron (Bob) Lucas was in the region a few years before me he was a Wop from Coms he also did a stint on RAF Gan Britains version of Alcatras.

 Your web page on Sharjah is helping me to recall long lost memories.
The swimming pool, where the water was only a degree or so cooler than the air temperature.
Driving to Ras-al-Khaimah mountains in a 3-tonner. Also riding around in a land-drover similar to the one you mentioned with one of the Armourers looking for scorpions and such. I played in the station Basketball team (bit short at 5' 8") but a big West Indian lad (Tiny Fields) and i worked in the CommCen and paled about together hence me being on the team. We played the oil men from Abu Dhabi in one tournament. I didn't believe The Trucial Oman States were supposed to be dry after that encounter!

  On a posting to Ballykelly after returning from Sharjah i met a local fellow who had just served 9 years in the Trucial Oman Scouts, but I think the sun had got to him!!!!

  The sun got to him, ... I understand, there were a lot of men who went 'walk about', driven half mad with the heat and loneliness. Not only that the stress of being constantly on patrol under desert conditions can leave some men devastated. I class these men as casualties and they should be given the maximum help just as if they had been injured in action with the dissident tribesmen. That is one reason I support the Royal British Legion in their struggle to force the Government into honouring the Covenant. (See link at bottom of page)

  The policeman was Roger Crisp another chap was Frank Knight (from the West Indies also). I went on leave to Mombasa with two other lads but for the life of me can't remember their names, I think they were in the fire section.

 I missed out on Mombers., Too much to do at Sharjah.

Forgot to mention that your mountain interests are similar to mine. A couple of years ago I went with a company called 'Himalayan Kingdoms' to Nepal and trekked the Edmund Hilary trail to Kala Pattar (Everest Base Camp). I previously done the 'Tour de Mont Blanc' which was a super trek as well as various climbs in Scotland.
William Av...,

  I don't do any foreign hills since a couple of lads from here went missing in the Gilgit region of Northern Pakistan about ten years ago. Anyway, I'm getting too old for that sort of big adventure,.. Ben Nevis is a nice gentle walk for an old "has been" like myself. Not a trace of Gordon Campbell and his friend Ian Rendall have been found since. They were probably murdered for their kit or simply because they were foreigners. Having said that there may be a perfectly simple reason for them to be missing. The area is very prone to landslides and flash flooding or they simply got lost.
I would appeal to anyone travelling in that region to make discreet enquiries about them and inform me.

---

Adrian
A pleasant surprise to open the link to Sharjah and in particular the Aero Trucial Lodge. I was stationed at RAF Sharjah from Nov 63 to Nov 64 and initiated into the RAOB at that Lodge during that time. I progressed, through other lodges, to KOM; however, during my first of many tours in Germany I became very disillusioned after an incident at the Lodge where I had become a member. That was back in 1977 and I have not attended a Lodge since.
Anyway, I digress. I enjoyed my 12 month tour at Sharjah because I made something of it and got involved in other things outside of my trade. (Which was Cpl RAF Police) I went to MT and obtained my 3 tonner licence so that I could take the guys on weekend trips to Ras-el-Khaimah and down to Dubai swimming. I was also a committee member for the Khunja Club. I remember Roger Crisp and Big Sam. One of the highlights was the Donkey Derby and the biggest and best donkey belonged to 'Lofty' from the Airmens Mess. Well mine was the biggest donation so I got to ride him and won. A great day.
Another memory is Sheikh Rabbi, I still have the gold ring he made for me whilst I sat and watched and drank tea.
I still have my Rehabilitation Letter that you send off to the family just prior to repat. I did 31 years in the RAF Police retiring as WO and did tours in Hong Kong, Cyprus and 15 years total in Germany but Sharjah was something special.
Regards
David Sw.......
RAF Police 1961 -1992


  Reita Faria reminded me of the Indian barbers of Sharjah who gave those relaxing and refreshing scalp massages. If you wanted to know what was happening in Sharjah or Dubai or any other place then ask these chaps they were a mine of good information.

RUSSELL's VIPER
The Russell's Viper a nasty piece of work. I was sitting in the Communications Section late one night (night shift) when I saw the cable trunking move close to where I was. I thought I was dreaming more likely hallucinating. I was soon shaken out of my stupor when the trunking bounced a couple of times which confirmed I was wide awake. I thought something was in the trunking and most probably a Russell's Viper and didn't want it in the room with me. I jumped on the trunking and crushed whatever was underneath. There was a scream and a lot of frantic scrabbling sounds as the animal made its escape. When I thought it was safe I opened the trunking and found a piece of a cat's tail and two new born kittens. The poor old moggy had just given birth in the cable trunking. SNAFU = Situation Normal all Fouled Up.

TRAFFIC ACCIDENTS
The road between Sharjah and Dubai in places is a mile wide yet the number of head on crashes has got to be seen to be believed. For some reason or other vehicles would collide head on into each other for no good reason. Many theories were put forward some more plausible than others. The best theory was because the sand turned to mud during bad weather and then dry very quickly and bake the ruts into virtual tram lines between the two towns. The locals discovered that if you let the vehicle trundle along on its own it would steer itself following the ruts between the two towns. Stick a weight on the accelerator, lie back for forty winks and you will wake up at your destination. Naturally as more and more locals discovered this trick the accident rate shot up. These days there is a fantastic motorway between the two towns and no accidents .....how boring.

BED BUGS
These nasty little creatures attacked during the night and would engorge themselves with the poor victims blood. The first line of defence was to take the metal frame of the bed outside and pour lighter fluid all over it then set it on fire. The flames were just sufficient to kill the little blighters but not hot enough to burn the paint off the metal frame. Next the mattress was taken out into the sun and thoroughly battered to remove the little pests. Methylated spirits was then sprayed over the mattress and blankets. The fresh air and heat soon got rid of the smell. The next thing was to find four dishes or tins to place under each leg of the bed these were filled with water with a dash of Old Spice or Four Seven Eleven 4711. The idea being to make a barrier which the bugs could not cross. Once the bed is returned to its place it was essential to keep it away from the walls as it was believed the perishers would crawl up the wall and hop across to the bed. All these precautions probably did not work but the act of going through this ritual probably gave some piece of mind, rather than a cure. Re infestation was probably caused by eggs surviving deep inside the mattress regardless of this treatment.
Old Spice and Four Seven Eleven (4711) were the only chemicals containing alcohol available in Sharjah at the time even though they stank to high heaven. Sick quarters were forbidden to give out bottles of surgical spirits just in case we drank it instead of putting it to proper use. So, NO, ... We RAF types are not a bunch of raving poofs.

SEA SNAKES
This creature was known to exist in Sharjah Creek, I never saw one, and have no desire to see one.

STONE FISH
This was a menace on Sharjah beach, step on one of these things and thats your entire day, ...., "ruined".

CAMEL SPIDERS .... I fell for this yarn as well. These mythical spiders were invented by someone to strike terror into "moonies" (A moonie is someone new to the Middle East whose skin is still white or pink) Their bite is not poisonous and death is not inevitable. However they can run very fast and can give a nasty nip with their crushing jaws.

METEOR
Otherwise known as a "MEATBOX". The Meteor, one of the worlds first practical jet aircraft.

AEROSOL BOMB
Spray cans are banned from aircraft and here is the reason. A certain chap who shall remain nameless dipped a rope into the petrol tank of the landrover and then tied it round a can of insect spray. Next he set fire to it and retired to a safe distance, for a few minutes he watched it, nothing happened, so he gave up and went into his hut. Just as he closed the door there was a massive explosion. The explosion echoed for several seconds and when he went outside there was a sizeable crater in the sand outside. There was a panic as people headed to the armoury to collect ..... I need tell no more, you know the rest.........

CANBERRA Max 70,000ft altitude?????
This aircraft has been around a very long time, still operational in some countries. This aircraft had a lot of mystery and lies sorrounding it,. most if it true, ... probably.

HAWKER HUNTER

BEVERLY
This was one ugly machine and we had to sit in nets suspended from the roof. On the way from Aden to Sharjah I'll swear that we hit the top of every palm tree on the way.

ARGOSY
Much better loking than the Beverley
Do these creatures and things bring back any memories.?.... anyone!

Sharjah was a wonderful place if you respected the locals and providing you could drink the sweet tea without milk. You soon acquired a taste for it as it was better than that served in the mess. All you needed to meet the locals was a packet of cigarettes and plenty of "Salaam Ali Com and Ali Com Salaams" a few family photographs and a packet of chewing gum. I did not smoke cigarettes and never did eat chewing gum but it is essential kit when out walking or riding. Even though neither will understand a word said plenty of smiles and a positive body language always works. I always dressed properly for two reasons, 1... The sun will get you, and 2... out of respect for the locals. During those far off days we were given boxes of cigarettes for free, they came in handy for swaping, giving to locals or a bit of bribery. That was the days before fags gave you lung cancer or heart problems.
Bring the camera with you, a cheap one, something like a Kodak Instamatic not a Corfield 66 or Hassiblad you may need to swap it or give it as a gift. The sheep's eyeballs are a myth it is most likely a goat's you will be given if any. Abbas told me to always accept the gift graciously and ask/indicate that the giver should open his mouth, pop it in, throw your arms round him keeping his arms by his side, and pat his back in a friendly manner, until he swallows it. Sounds like a poof operating here ... so give him a good friendly hug until it's gone. This is their favourite tit bit and being generous enough to give it back is always better, especially for you. Abbas (Abby) the Policeman from Sharjah kept me well advised ( Arabs do have a sense of humour.) on my many trips out into the desert. He always told the folks we met that I was a personal friend of the Sheikh and that always got a result. While he gave me the advice about the eyeballs, thank goodness I never had to put his advice into practice. There must be a better yarn in there somewhere.
The traditionally cooked goat kebabs are wonderful and an Instamatic or a packet of cigarettes in exchange works out a lot cheaper than the kebabs in the Oasis Dubai. Arabian kebabs are not threaded on a skewer but are cooked in a pot with spices and herbs. Keep the good camera out of sight in your kit bag. The whirling Bedouin Dervish dance is a male only affair and if you are invited to join in do your best, do not barge in, wait to be invited. If the kids ask for bucksheesh do not give them any money until you are well away from the village otherwise they will beg everything they can from a softie or sucker. I have had these kids follow me for miles and when it is obvious they are tired and want to go home give them the money, and chase them. ( "Imshi mafeesh faloos" seemed to do the trick.)
Wandering in the traditional souks, streets covered with palm leaves to keep the sun off which makes life tolerable. The merchants are very persuasive fellows and there is lots of interesting stuff to buy. When I was there the spice shops were worth visiting the smell alone of the herbs and spices was wonderful. There are bazaars of all description and plenty of good eating places if you are prepared to go local. Kunjas were dirt cheap and were the real thing not intended for the tourist trade anyway it was long before tourists discovered the place. There were two types of Kunja one the locals stuck into their belts which looked decorative and the practical one they used everyday, and a good knife it was too. I loved a good haggle and they enjoyed taking the mickey out of me. Always walk away if the price is too high but come back later and let him make the first approach. Once they get to know you and they soon will, because they talk about you behind your back, when they decide you are not a sucker but a nice fellow you get it at the best price. Even if it takes a few days or weeks always go lower than his asking price, wear him down. When I was returning home I had four bomb boxes stuffed with bits and pieces. The RAF took some home for me but I had to pay for the rest as I was well over my quota.

At the end of a long day out in the desert miles away from the nearest city lights the sky would provide a spectacular display of stars. I remember those views as though they were yesterday, modern light pollution has rendered the stars almost invisible. Siting out in the cool of the evening and watch the stars was magical. Sometimes the heavens provided a display of shooting stars the like of which I have not seen in the forty years since.

    There is not much left to see of RAF Sharjah the runway is now King Abdul Aziz Street. The control tower still exists where the red arrow is pointing. The building immediately behind the control tower is the Al Mahatta Museum. The museum contains historic aircraft and some parts of aircraft picked up over the years. There is a web site showing images of the museums content and it is worth taking a quick look.
The link is:- MUSEUM
This image is taken from Google Earth and the location is
25 20'44.72"N 55 23'42.70E
or just Type in Sharjah and look for Sharjah Creek. The oval shaped roundabout (top middle) is the most recognisable feature from the '60's to give you an orientation clue.
The old well is situated somewhere to the North of this roundabout in Rolla Square which is not far from Sharjah Fort which stil exists. Most of the town has been replaced with modern buildings sweeping centuries of tradition and history away to be forgotten. If I had still been there I would have asked for a few preservation orders to be placed on some of the old architectural gems they once had.

---

The Hajar Mountains of the Northern Arabian Peninsula

Click to enlarge. MOUNTAINS 1        J. Shumm. 2        J. Khabb 3        Aqabat al Khyrus 4        J. al 'alam 5        J. ad Dahir 8        J. Ash Shayba 9        J. Siha 10      J. Masaf 11      J. Riyadir 12      J. Al Fayah 13      J. Tya 14      J. Rumh 15      J. Tawah

       First let me apologise for the poor quality of this map which is a rough approximation of the UAE United Arab Emirates which used to be known as the Trucial Oman States. During the time I was there 1965 - 1967. The borders of the various Trucial States and the Oman were still in dispute.

       Most Arabian mountains begin with the prefix "Jabal" in this list I have reduced it to "J" This is the Northern end of the Hajar Mountain range and starts about 60 miles East of Sharjah,. Do not use this map for navigation, my positions for the mountains are guess work with a lot of artistic licence. (Anyway, the names have all been changed. ) The old fuzzy blue borders are gone the whole area is UAE territory the green borders are those of Oman.

       When I say dispute the borders had simply not been settled at that time but it did not matter as the Trucial States became the United Arab Emirates. The Omani border was also unsettled but agreement was reached between the UAE and the Omani's and I think there is nothing in dispute today. (Apart from the accuracy of this map)

       During the period I was there we thought nothing of heading out into the desert across the peninsula to the Hajar mountains. In the last few months while working on this page I discovered this was not a wise thing to do we were fortunate not to run into the bandits hiding in the desert, or to be picked up by the security forces of another State. The only briefing that I ever received was in relation to a man called Qaboos of Oman and the probability that Communists were attempting to do him harm in the region. We were told to keep out of the Oman for fear that we may be mistaken for Communist Insurgents. We were to report anything of a suspicious nature that we observed and take no action without backup forces. I must admit the last thing on my mind was interfering in local politics or getting involved in shooting, all we wanted to do was get into the mountains and enjoy the countryside. We kept this advice in mind and never strayed into the Oman as the further you needed to drive the less time you had for recreation in the mountains. We were not briefed on the perils of wandering in the desert with totally inadequate maps. We were told that in some areas there had been trouble with dissident tribesmen who wandered about taking pot shots at strangers, and that was that. We were told to take weapons with us but not to use them except in case of emergency. I must confess that guns were the last thing on our minds as we slowly ground and wound our way in low gear and four wheel drive across the desert. The landrovers seemed to work in just about any conditions and we never really got stuck. The technology built into them (sorry, the lack of technology) suited the desert to perfection modern machines built to fine tolerances would just not work for long. The JEEP theory "Just Enough Essential Parts" is common sense in the desert. I think it was Tom Sheppard (it may have been Wing Commander Tom Sheppard with the same name, and probably one and the same person) who did a lot of research into vehicles suited to desert conditions. The person that I am talking about wore two watches, one set for local time and the other to Zulu time (UTC).

        We received very little training in the use of the 303, we were told which end the bullet came out of but not much on how to get the bullet into the rifle in the first place. The SMG was more popular than the rifle but the training was even less. Just fire short bursts, nobody told us that a short burst would empty the magazine. It's amazing how fast the SMG pumps out bullets and equally amazing how few actually hit the target. "OK", Said the instructor, "Whatever you hit we'll call that the target." Grenades were hated by everyone especially the armourer who wanted rid of them, "Take these bloody things and get rid of them" was the usual. These were probably redundant grenades left by the Army units which visited Sharjah from time to time since the Suez Crisis 1956, the base plates were rusted in position and the grenade could not be deactivated. Hundreds of these things were in storage and needed to be safely disposed somehow. Some were used for fishing and the lads paid for fishing trips in the dhows by handing over a few. It must be stated that these things were dangerous, you needed the strength of Samson to throw them any distance and if they went off you were liable to get hit with pieces flying away from it. Often they would just lie on the sand and do nothing. These had to be detonated by shooting at them with the 303 from a very long distance away. This improved the accuracy of our shooting and stopped us snatching at the triggers. If it failed to detonate someone had to crawl up to it and pour petrol round it. We soon twigged to the fact that if you laid a long trail of petrol leading to the grenade it gave you a better chance of getting away. The wax used to prevent moisture entering the grenade would jam the mechanism, when it melted with the heat it fired. Dropping them of a dhow was the safest method of disposal.

       A trip to the mountains which were East of us was across the open desert. We always carried plenty of water, fuel and food. We did have a superb medical kit and sometimes the Doctor would come with us to familiarise himself with the area. The trips were euphemistically called Desert Rescue Exercises. During my stay at Sharjah we did not actually need to rescue anyone but we did need to know the area. None of the mountains would be considered a difficult climb but the heat of the day and the extra work load forced us to walk slowly. This slow steady walking has remained with me even to this day and I am perhaps the slowest walker ever seen on any mountain.

       We did simulated casualties and practised first aid on the new recruits and moonies. Naturally these casualties would remain for hours tied securely to a stretcher and often dumped into the nearest water we could find. When I first joined I got the ducking but before I left I passed this initiation onto my replacement.

       I suppose it gave the Pilots some comfort that they would be picked up if something happened their aircraft. The Arabian Peninsula was not well mapped and a sheet of sandpaper would have been just as useful. If you headed East you would eventually reach the Hajar mountains then you either went North or South. To get home again simply head West until you reach the coast then guess is Sharjah North or South of this location. There were no roads as such all that was needed was to follow the tracks of vehicles, footprints and animal droppings which had been that way before. If you left these tracks it was guaranteed that you would reach a waddi which was impassable except on foot or horseback. Ruts in the desert were a sure way getting to a village, but villages were few and far between. Most of the time there was no sign of life except the occasional track left by someone perhaps weeks before.

       It took several trips out to the mountains before you became familiar with the region. It is a truly wild place of outstanding beauty. None of the mountains are very high and most can easily be walked in a day from the base. Sometimes we came across a small oasis which gave us a chance to have a swim. The deeper wadis often were lined with trees and were a welcome break from the sun. Only the largest mountains were marked on the map and few were named this is typical of a pilots map of the period. We numbered them from North to South to simplify things some we named ourselves after features we found there.

       My time in the RAF was up and I volunteered to do a little extra time in Sharjah as I was enjoying life so much. I was thinking seriously of staying on in the RAF and making it my career but my mother took seriously ill and had to return to Blighty. I was offered some good jobs by the kind folks of Sharjah but reluctantly had to turn them down. My mother lived for another 20 years, God bless her.

       At Sharjah I was given an almost totally free hand but first I had to prove that I could be trusted, the RAF Officers were not fools and they expected high standards. I always turned up on time and properly turned out for duty and in a fit state to do my job properly. I am not saying that the Soldiers were any less trustworthy, however when you earned the trust of your superiors you were permitted to think and act for yourself unsupervised. It was better to run hair brained schemes past a senior officer and let them take the flack if it went SNAFU. Anything less than near perfection was soon corrected by a certain brown substance hitting that fan thing on front of an aircraft. A certain Flight Lieutenant with about twenty years service was still enamoured by the fact, that when you pull back on the yoke stick thingamajiggy the houses get smaller and when you push it forward the houses get bigger. This profound knowledge of flying only comes with many years flying experience. I have just downloaded the latest version of Google Earth and flew over the Hajar Mountains at a height of about 1,000 feet. I could not identify a single place that I had visited as the desert is now covered with houses, gardens and plantations. The roads are fantastic and there more airfields dotted about the place than Britain had during W.W.II.

  THE DEMISE OF JASWANT SINGH
We were camped up at a location close by Bathnah which is due East of Sharjah at a distance of about 60 miles. I was with SAC Jaswant Singh and a couple of other lads who's names escape me for the moment.
  JASWANT   This was a good spot as we could get the vehicles out of sight and not attract the attention of any unwanted company. The track ran below our location and we could see and hear anyone coming and the wadi still had some water flowing down towards the track. There were a few places where the water had backed up behind rocks forming shallow pools just big enough to bathe in. Out came the washing kit, a shave and bath in fresh cool water, what luxury. We finished washing and we got the stoves going for a brew and a bite to eat. Out came the frying pan and in went the bacon to be followed by eggs, beans and other tasty treats.

It was at this precise moment we heard a vehicle on the track below which stopped for a few moments where the track crossed the wadi. A woman got out of the vehicle and filled a water bottle in the wadi and the vehicle set off again along the track. Suddenly the vehicle stopped again and the lady got out again accompanied this time by two Arab Ladies both with Russian Kalashnikov Carbines (≈ AK47). The first lady was no idiot, she stuck her wet finger up above her head worked out the wind direction where the smell of cooking was coming from and pointed in our direction.

That reminds me...
Two RAF pilots were stuck in the desert, one was on secondment from Mexico, they were close to death. "Hey Peter, do you smell what I smell. Ees bacon I is sure of eet." "Yes, Pedro it smells like bacon to me." So, with renewed strength, they struggle up the next sand dune, and there, in the distance, is a tree loaded with bacon. They saw fried bacon, back bacon, double smoked bacon... every imaginable kind of cured pig meat. "Peter, we is saved. "Eees a bacon tree." "Pedro, are you sure it's not a mirage? We are in the desert don't forget this is a Moslem Country." "Peter when deed you ever hear of a mirage that smell like bacon... ees no mirage, ees a bacon tree". And with that... Pedro Races towards the tree. He gets to within 5 metres, Peter following closely behind, when all of a sudden, a machine gun opens up, and Pedro is cut down in his tracks. It is clear he is mortally wounded but, a true friend that he is, he manages to warn Peter with his dying breath. "Peter... go back man, you was right ees not a bacon tree." "Pedro my friend... what is it? "Peter... ees not a bacon tree... Ees.......... Eees a Ham Bush.
Sorry, I just coulden't resist.

The smell of bacon cooking was the clue which give us away, and she started walking with strident intent in our direction. When she got close to us I could see that she was wearing a revolver. I pulled the 303 from the Landrover as I did not know what to expect. Naturally, I chambered a round, just in case, the other lads also readied their weapons.
I stuck my head up and shouted to her and she waved in acknowledgement. She turned out to be an American, she was the bodyguard / governess of the two young Arab Ladies and could handle herself in just about any situation, being ex US Army and a Police Officer and she wasn't married, she frightened men. The first thing she wanted to know was, "Did we have any extra bacon to share." This was the first time she had smelled bacon in almost a year and knew it could only be non Moslems (infidels) cooking it.

She had taken a serious risk in guessing we were friendlys if she had stumbled on Russian Speznats (Spetsnaz) it would have been a different matter. Naturally we gave her a plate of the crispy stuff and she also ate the stuff we offered the Arab Ladies by mistake. The girls were not in the least offended by the bacon as they had both attended Roedean, and they spoke perfect English. One of the girls borrowed a bar of soap, my good Imperial Leather which I kept for special occasions, she unashamedly went Commando in the Wadi for a bath. It was then I noticed that she was also wearing a gun, which was concealed under her clothes, a lovely nickel plated revolver and she wasn't worried about it getting wet.

Jaswant just couldn't keep his eyes off the revolver for some strange reason. He had found the love of his life in this most improbable desolate place and ended up marrying her a few months later. Jaswant and his wife went on honeymoon to India and never returned. A few months later I received a letter from him saying that he had returned to his home town in India and would be staying there with his new wife. He bought a big house and a new car and his wife was expecting her first child. As far as I am aware he is still on the run from the RAF but he's not worried after he married into a heap of money. The worst thing about this is that I never got my bar of soap back.
Please let me assure you that there was no impropriety of any sort took place.... At least not when that tough American lady was about.
Jaswant, if you ever read this ...... I want my soap back.    

  Please don't get the impression that we were in the SAS or any other such outfit. We were all regular "5/8th's", airmen with no specialist training in warfare. Yes!., we could shoot a 303,, chuck a grenade, spray the countryside with the Sterling, but not the Bren Gun,. too big heavy and ugly for us to bother with. The problem with the Bren Gun was that it was too accurate. I once was asked by an armourer, .. "Just how dead do you want to kill them", ... "One well placed round from the 303 will do the job." That was the best advice we ever got.

I suppose some of you are wondering how we got cool drinks and fresh food in the desert.
This was only 20 or so years after W.W.II and things were no longer in short supply and there was a lot of surplus equipment lying about.     One interesting bit of kit was called a NORWEGIAN FLASK this was a large container with tight fitting lid and insulated walls.     The day before a trip into the desert we would fill the flask(s) to capacity with the goodies we wanted to take with us.     The flask would then be unpacked and the contents taken into the main deep freeze in the mess hall and chilled overnight.

On the morning of the trip we would re-pack the container with the goodies which were now frozen solid.     Any extra space was filled with bath towels shoved in at the top which provided extra insulation and stopped the contents shaking about within the flask.     When properly packed this container still had ice in it after four days providing it was wrapped in old blankets to keep it cool and shield it from the sun.     I should not be telling you the next part but the RAF can't do anything about it now, ... as the food was used up during the day in went bottles of warm beer and in the evening we had cool drinks, just like home.     After a few trips we realised that the warm beer stole cold from the food and too many bottles absorbed all the cold.     There were a lot of unused buildings round RAF Sharjah and in one we found a disused domestic fridge which was dual voltage 12v and 250v. Unfortunately neither of the elements were working but one of the Armourers added an oil heater and a chimney to it and it worked a treat. (The oil heater ran on paraffin oil called kerosene in the USA)

Using the overnight freezing trick we were able to carry this fridge with twice as much of food and cold drinks.     Good-bye tinned sausages and cornedbeef, we still carried plenty of tinned potatoes.     Brackets to mount the fridge to the middle bulkhead of the landrover and a leather strap to keep the door closed were fitted.     (I searched for a similar freezer on the internet and would you believe such a machine is manufactured commercially the Servel RK400 kerosene refrigerator and costs $2999.00., we made ours from scrap.)    The fridge was covered with blankets just like the Norwegian Flask to give it a bit more insulation.    Naturally, the smoke stack was left uncovered, later the smoke stack height was increased to clear the fumes above our heads.     This worked a treat until we pulled over at the first rest stop and when the door was opened the entire contents spilled out.     A quick modification was made and the fridge was tilted back a few degrees, problem solved.     This Heath Robinson contraption worked well and as long as the heater was topped up with oil the food stayed cool indefinitely.

The first great era of the RAF was known as the "Wind and Whiskers Mob" the second era was the "Brylcreem Boys" I suppose this was the Post Brylcreem period when the chaps recruited into the Service were the best the country had to offer all bright volunteers. "The Regulars" and "The Brats".

We realised we had a problem as we got closer to Sharjah on the return journey,......     If an Officer or Snowdrop (RAF Policeman) spotted the fridge there would be questions asked.     We were passing the Communications Centre when the Signals Officer     (Whose name I have forget. .... Probably just as well.)    called on us to halt.     He spotted the fridge, but instead of asking us what we were doing with it, he wanted us to go out again next day and investigate a report he had received.     He then asked about the fridge, so we explained what it was, and how it worked.     This particular Signals Officer was quite a whiz kid when it came to the technical stuff, but on this occasion all we could get from him was a "marvellous" every now and again and a few "bloody 'ells" .... "It's still flipping freezing."     We got to keep the fridge.

 JASWANT part 2
What I did not tell you about Jaswant is that he had a sideline trading in goats. On the frequent trips out into the mountains he would trade with the locals for anything which would produce a quick profit. Being Indian this gave him some credibility with the locals he met and Abby could chatter away at "ten to the dozen." Jaswant and Abby got on very well together and one day Abby turned up at the rendezvous point in a civilian three ton truck. It was evident that Jaswant knew all about this arrangement but hadn't bothered to confided in me.

To cut a long story short this truck moved a lot slower than the Landrovers but it did make steady progress towards the mountains. We approached a village which we normally skirted round but Abby and Jaswant headed straight in, we did not follow but remained about two miles distant. About an hour later we saw the truck coming out of the village and moved in. As we got closer to the truck we heard the bleating of goats and discovered that Jaswant and Abby had bartered them from the locals, and filled the truck with goats. As the truck had nothing to do with me I turned a blind eye to the affair and started once again towards the mountains. I stopped for brew and the truck paused for a few minutes and Abby explained he was heading for Khor Fakkan, to make a delivery, and would meet up with us again at another location we had used frequently in the past. Next day the truck rolled up, empty, Abby had flogged the goats in Khor Fakkan and made a good profit on the deal. Jaswant's face was radiant as the two shared the cash together. The trip was quite uneventful except Abby and Jaswant made frequent forays into different villages to barter with the locals. The truck soon began to take on the appearance of a mobile shop as it was loaded with every conceivable useful item you could mention. There was horticultural equipment, spades, picks, saws, bags of nails, balls of string and rope and rolls of canvas, not to mention goats and chickens and planks of wood. Note:- A good selling item was sheets of corrugated aluminium, used for roofing and making water.
The people of the region knew that water condensed on metal and these thin aluminium sheets could be shaped by hand to make a water collector. I know this is true as the metal walls and roof of most buildings would drip water during the night. I don't know how much water could be obtained this way but the locals thought it was worthwhile. I think the metal being cooler than the air would attract airborne water droplets which would then run down into a collecting point.

Every village they went to items were bought and sold and the truck got more and more full of goods. I got quite worried as I needed Jaswant to navigate and Abby to act as interpreter and the delays were putting us way behind schedule. Little did I know then, that Jaswant was planning his future, he was building up a nest egg to give him the necessary spondulics to achieve it. The problem was that his entrepreneurial activities were beginning to affect the operational integrity of the unit and as we were trying to impress the boss something had to be done. I had words with Jaswant and he readily agreed that it had to stop and he spoke to Abby. Within minutes Abby headed off alone with the truck in the direction of Sharjah and we continued the patrol.

Two days later we arrived back at Sharjah and there was Abby waiting for us with a grin on his face. He handed Jaswant a large wad of notes which put a smile on his face. Abby then told us that he was leaving the Police to set up as a mobile trader with his truck. He had discovered that it was unprofitable for the locals to travel long distances into town to sell their goods and much more convenient to trade with the truck. Abby was making good money and the locals were happy at the prices he was offering without the long walk. Abby handed me a 100 Rial note as a contribution towards the charity work of the RAOB which he had heard about. Jaswant also gave me 100 Rials which I passed on to the Treasurer. This contribution was worth about £30 a big contribution for those days but with modern inflation would hardly get a meal in a good restaurant.
That was the last time Jaswant ever crossed the line until he vanished.  

  NOTE:- I discovered a reference to a Desert Survival School set up in Sharjah during 1968, I had left the Sharjah by late 1968. I had nothing to do with this school or its setting up, so you chaps who had to kill, cook and eat snakes and other such delacies don't blame me for your misery. Adrian

MUSIC and WALKING   Background music to this page. Click reload to play again.
Have you ever wondered why people out running wear a set of headphones listening to something.? Well! I have often wondered the same thing. On my walk between Sharjah and the neighbouring town of Dubai about 10 miles distant, the going was tough, not that there were any hills, just miles of sand and blistering heat. Temperatures probably exceeded 50°C or in old money +100°F this sort of walk is not for the faint hearted.

I was fit, very fit, playing Badminton in the hanger, weight training in Sharjah Fort, running and lots of swimming. As long as I kept my fair skin well covered to protect it from the sun and drank plenty of water I was pretty well able to do anything I pleased.

I was well used to hill walking in the Hajar Mountains and carrying equipment I set off across the desert. I carried several bottles of water and a good supply of tasty grub. The first few miles were easy but I was getting hot so I started drinking some water. The next few miles were not as easy as I started to feel cold even though the air temperature was well in excess of 100°F, I had enough sense to realise something was not right with me. I stopped for a few minutes to cool down drink more water, eat something before continuing. As I approached Dubai I felt really awful but I knew I had to keep going.

Each step became a nightmare, but I was determined to continue. I started counting my footsteps and the counting in my head almost drove me to distraction, I could not drive the counting out of my head. I thought of everything I could think of and remembered a tune "Be Still My Soul" to the tune of Finlandia. I began to hum the tune and this provided the distraction I needed from the incessant counting, this lifted my spirits to the point where I began to sing. It was as though a "Balm in Gillead" of some description had worked a miracle and my performance improved, just as well there was nobody else about otherwise they would have thought I had gone cuckoo.

I arrived safely in Dubai and immediately went to my friends house and she ran me back to Sharjah. I had a slight headache that night and it persisted the following morning. It was my turn to do guard duty on the Canberra aircraft parked down on the airstrip. This duty only lasted three hours but it turned into hell on earth. I began to feel very cold even though this was a hotter day than yesterday and I knew then that I had contracted Malaria or some other serious ailment. Those three hours lasted an eternity and when my relief arrived I slung my rifle into the Armoury and walked into Sick Quarters.

I was bundled without ceremony into the Infectious Ward and without them asking too many questions I was told to drop my trousers and bend over. I felt a small jab in my left hip and then a searing pain which almost caused me to pass out. ( I originally wrote this sentence as:-"I felt a small prick in my bottom....". Then I realised what I had written would give a bad / false impression.) I had received an injection of penicillin straight into the muscle of my leg, believe me it really hurt. I was placed on a bed and I immediately passed out, apparently I was on that bed for three days and the only time I awoke was to be given another injection and forced to drink lots of a diabolical tasting, but cool concoction. I could hardly walk my gluteus maximus was like a pin cushion with all the injections I had received. While I am thankful to the "little, fat, fair-haired, pink-faced, beady-eyed Medical Orderly, . . . Jock" for working so hard to cure me, I am still in two minds wondering if he actually enjoyed inflicting so much pain. Jock, if you ever read this, get in contact, I'll probably alter your description, . . a little. Anyway, I owe you a drink.

Ever since then, "When the Body's all aching and wracked with pain." I have always relied on "Be still my Soul" that inspiring melody and meaningful words to uplift my spirits. I have tried an MP3 player and miniature transistor radio to give the necessary distraction and it works if you can find a good meaningful tune. Give it a go, it just may work for you. However there are times to pull out the headphones and have a good old hum to yourself.