Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel)

by B A Lightfoot

  As he moved around the room closing the shutters, Edward could see hundreds of bats swooping over the parade ground. He watched the Arab labourers sweeping the dusty walkway outside the window. When they saw him they shouted a greeting, smiling broadly as they demonstrated their interesting, although limited and often robust, English vocabulary. ‘Heh. Good bloody rugby man. You have good bloody win today,’ one of them shouted when he saw Edward through the window.

  ‘Aye. It was a hard game but we’re well pleased with the win,’ he said, smiling as the Arab waved his brush in the air. It had been a good game. They had played against the 7th Lancashires in front of a crowd of around eight hundred that had included a sprinkling of tourists and locals amongst the troops from both Battalions. The heat had been stifling but they had all suffered equally. They had made the 7th defend in their own half for most of the game and had come out eventual winners by 9 points to nil. Liam’s constant probing attacks from scrum half had bemused the opposition and given Edward the space and the platform to operate in his position at stand off. Big Charlie’s powerful runs from prop, particularly on balls fed to him by Liam, had been devastating and even the semi professional players in the 7th team had found him difficult to handle.

  ‘Well, you might feel like knacker horses that have just finished their shift,’ Edward said as he closed the last set of shutters, ‘but let’s go and get a couple of beers. We can celebrate and kill the pain at the same time.’

  ***

  The Battalion found that, apart from training, drilling and desert marches, much of their time was spent in strengthening the defences around the Suez Canal and improving the communication facilities. What had become clear at an early stage was that they also had a special role in cultivating suitable relationships with the Arabs. They had a strict code of conduct to adhere to whenever they were in contact with local people but the good natured geniality of the northern soldiers broke down many barriers.

  At first, they had found that the cultural differences and the unfathomable language created a large gulf, but the natural affinity and respect between working class men of any race soon helped to bridge it.

  Edward was intrigued by the contrast between the Spartan and often shoddy clothes that the men wore and the brightly coloured clothes and glittery sandals of the women. Their contact was invariably with either the men or the boys as they were the ones who filled the jobs in the barracks and served in the bars, the cafes and the shops.

  Off the main thoroughfares, the back streets of Cairo were a riot of exciting and vivid experiences. Plain, pale brown buildings with erratic windows and protruding upper floors supported by bracing, wooden jambs leaned together conspiratorially over narrow alleys. Broken render revealed the mud bricks of the structure. The streets had an amazing vigour, with heady aromas of exotic spices and cooking hanging sharply against the pungent and often putrid smells of cloth dying and leather tanning. Front rooms of the houses were given over to the pursuit of the family business with blacksmiths, pan makers, cobblers, leather workers and tailors, shops selling fruit and vegetables and stalls laden with colourful seeds, peppers and spices. The cries of the tradesmen, the sound of the carts and the babble of neighbourly exchanges and customer negotiations, created an atmosphere that thrilled the three Salford men as they walked around.

  Liam was quick to pick up some Arabic words and enjoyed the rapport that he soon established. His technique was a combination of facial expressions, gesticulating and pointing, and a disarming willingness to laugh at his own difficulties. The Arabs responded warmly to him and tried to use the few English words that they, in turn, had managed to acquire.

  Initially, Edward felt a natural reticence, fearing the embarrassment of using words in the wrong context, but Liam’s determined and good humoured approach reinforced him and he quickly acquired a limited but useful vocabulary. Big Charlie, however, relied on his repertoire of expressive grunts reinforced by the nodding or shaking of his head, in order to get by. The Arabs were, anyway, generally just pleased to find that this large, somewhat intimidating, Englishman was actually quite affable.

  The Salford Battalion, with their friendly and patient approach, and the Arabs, with their creative and articulate gestures, soon established a level of communication. Gradually, the soldiers managed to gain the trust and friendship of the natives and this helped to overcome the Turkish efforts to turn the conflict into a religious war.

  During their time off the troops organized a variety of sports and social activities. Some of them discovered hidden talents as they took part in performances by the concert party whilst many, despite the stifling heat during the day, nurtured their talents in football, rugby, cricket and lacrosse.

  On the odd occasions that they had a free evening, the three friends would take the opportunity to see a little more of Cairo, wandering around the busy streets, sitting in the cafes or in the bars. Their sense of adventure, or their yearning for a decent pint of beer, often induced them to sample a range of locally produced drinks with, sometimes, unfortunate consequences.

  ‘Do you have a dominant leg when you’ve had a few, Eddie?’ Liam asked, suddenly breaking the raw silence that hung over their breakfast cups.

  Edward looked up, his bloodshot eyes and the untouched breakfast betraying the excesses of the previous night’s visit to a bar suggested by another group of soldiers with a recommendation that they should try the Camel whisky. Mistaking the name for a famous Scottish clan and being surprised by the reasonable price, they had ignored the dubious taste, which the Egyptian barman had told them was because of the heat, and had drunk a few too many of them.

  ‘Sorry, mate, what are you saying about legs?’

  ‘Do you have one that takes over when you are a bit drunk?’ said Liam, his voice sounding like two sheet of sandpaper rubbing together. ‘I always find that my right leg goes off and takes my right arm with it. Then my left leg makes a bloody feeble attempt to catch up but my left arm gets no signal at all and just hangs there. Just when I’m trying to get my left side sorted out, my right leg takes off again and makes a right bugger’s muddle of things.’

  ‘Can’t say that I’ve ever really thought about it,’ Edward replied, frowning with the strain of having to address such a demanding issue. ‘But I know that last night my left leg had a mind of its own.’

  ‘Have you ever noticed Big Charlie? The signals seem to take a bit of time to get down to his legs. His body takes off first but his feet stay where they are, and then he has to do a bit of a run to catch up with himself.’

  ‘Talking about Charlie,’ Edward said, suddenly remembering his big friend’s whereabouts, ‘We’d better go and give him a shake. We’re due on parade in ten minutes.’

  ***

  When the morning parade was finished, and being much in need of some fresh air and exercise to purge the evil Camel whisky spirits, they decided on a trip to the pyramids.

  ‘I wonder how many navvies they needed to build this lot,’ the slowly recovering Big Charlie observed phlegmatically.

  ‘Well, they would have had plenty to go at if Cairo had been anything like it is today,’ Liam observed helpfully. ‘And if they ran a bit short they could always nip up the Nile into Africa and grab another boatload. They controlled everything round here in those days.’

  ‘But it sets you wondering, doesn’t it, as to how they got those big blocks up there?’ said Edward thoughtfully. ‘They must weigh a few tons apiece some of those.’

  ‘Aye. It’d take a fair bit of effort to lift them to the top of there,’ observed Big Charlie, his brow furrowing as he concentrated on the heights of the mighty constructions.

  ‘Hmm. I think that they would have had some kind of crane that they would have kept moving up to the different levels,’ suggested Liam.

  ‘Bit of a problem when you got to the pointed bit on the top though,’ Big Charlie countered.

  ‘Well, it’s probably hollow inside so that they could pull the stones u
p round it,’ Liam said impatiently. ‘If you opened it up you would probably find a crane still inside it.’

  Leaving the awe inspiring constructions they retreated to the welcoming shade of a palm tree and shared a much needed billy-can of water. They watched as a British Army officer marched down the line of a long queue and stood in front of a group of camels carrying soldiers from the ranks of the 1/8 Lancashires. The sandy moustached, slightly rotund Major, monocle stuck imperiously in his right eye, held up his hand to stop the procession.

  ‘You there. Get off that animal and rejoin the queue. I will be taking this one over,’ he commanded.

  The man looked impassively down at him but didn’t move and the Arab minder urged the camel forward.

  ‘Do you hear me? I am ordering you to get off that camel. I am your superior officer and you will do what I say immediately,’ the officer shouted angrily.

  ‘Well, sir,’ the soldier eventually said, ‘’Appen there might be a bit of a problem there. I’m a bit high up like. You’ll have to have a chat with the Gyppo there. It’s his camel.’

  The officer’s already crimson face became like a glowing beacon. He pointed his stick angrily at the Arab. ‘You. Get him down off there immediately.’

  The camel’s minder began to jabber incomprehensibly, his thin brown arms flailing like a demented windmill as he pointed his long, almost black, finger firstly at the officer and the camel, then generally in the area. ‘Perhaps, sir, he’s explaining that officers only travel by first class camel,’ a soldier seated on the animal behind suggested helpfully. ‘These for the ranks do tend to whiff a bit.’

  The men around began to laugh, adding their own less-than-helpful contributions to the rapidly expanding debate. The officer, trembling with anger, waved his stick threateningly at the Arab.

  A European dressed in a pale linen suit and white trilby stepped forward from the waiting crowd. ‘Excuse me. If I may be of assistance.’ He smiled placatingly at the irate British officer. ‘I think that the minder is pointing out that there is a queue and that you might like to join it along with the rest of us who are waiting for a ride.’ He smiled again and nodded his head towards the back of the line.

  The officer, eyes bulging and fists clenching and unclenching, erupted into a pneumatic, sweating frenzy. ‘I am a Major in his Majesty’s British Army and I will not have some filthy native telling me what to do,’ he fumed. ‘I am not queuing with this working class rabble. I have important duties at Headquarters to get back to.’

  The Arab tried to ignore the bawling Englishman but the camel, clearly discomfited by the antics of this sweaty, twitching object jumping around in front of him, felt less generously disposed. It turned its massive head, curled back its thick, rubbery lips to reveal great, slab like, brown teeth and spat in the Major’s face.

  The soldier on the camel managed to keep his face fairly straight but others in the queue were less restrained. One man, seeing the officer attempting to wipe his face with the cuff of his sleeve, was heard to shout that it was nice to see the Major doing a bit of spit and polish, another informed him that the camel must have taken the hump with him, whilst a third suggested that the concert party, of which the Major was a woefully inadequate director, should be renamed as Fosdyke’s Follies.

  ‘It’s a pity it didn’t bite the little bastard’s head off his stupid fat shoulders,’ Liam muttered almost inaudibly. Edward turned and was surprised to see the burning hate in his friend’s face.

  ‘Why, who is it?’ he enquired. ‘Can’t say I have come across him before.’

  ‘No you won’t have. The only action he gets involved in is emptying whisky bottles.’

  The officer, now turning from crimson into an unpleasant puce, was retreating down the dusty road and threatening to put everybody on a charge. His spluttering progress was accompanied by raucous jibes and loud laughter.

  ‘Where do you know him from?’

  ‘His name’s Fforbes-Fosdyke. His dad was a General and now owns a lot of property round Salford and Hulme. That little sod thinks that’s what entitles him to behave like an absolute dog’s dick.’

  Edward heard a rumbling growl and saw Big Charlie lumbering to his feet. For a moment he stood frowning at the comic figure before turning away and finding a seat under a palm tree a few yards away. His chin rested on his knees, his arms grasping round his calves as he stared fixedly at the retreating figure.

  ‘What is it with this Fforbes-Fosdyke, Liam?’ Edward asked. ‘He’s obviously an unpleasant character but you and Big Charlie both seem really put out by seeing him.’

  ‘Aye, he’s the sort that would make rats seem like nice company. Anyway, least said soonest mended.’

  ***

  29 Myrtle Street

  Cross Lane

  Salford 5

  Great Britain

  4th January 1915

  Dear Dad,

  Thank you for the Bible that you sent me for Christmas. It was very nice. I took it to Sunday School to show Miss Howard but I think that she was going to cry. I heard Mrs Jones telling Mrs Willoughby that Miss Howard has a sweetheart in somewhere called Flanders.

  I asked Mam if Miss Howard is sad because you are in Egypt because I am sad when I think about you.

  Me and our Edward went to the gas works yesterday for some coke. It’s a bit cold now. The horses were slipping on the ice on Cross Lane which made us laugh. We took our Mary’s pram out of the back yard.

  Do you still love us in Egypt or do you get very sad?

  Uncle James came round yesterday with a rabbit that he caught on Dorney Hills but it didn’t look like my Floppy. Mam hung it on the rack in the kitchen with a piece of string. It smelt a bit funny.

  Who does your washing in Egypt? Mam was darning our Edward’s socks yesterday and she said that you will be having to darn your own socks now. Has the Army given you one of those mushroom things like Mam has?

  I will finish now because we are going to get your wages and buy something to go with the rabbit.

  Dad, will you bring us some of that sand home so that we can play in the backyard with it. Mam said that you are in a great big desert so it should be alright.

  Love,

  Laura – age nearly 8

  Ps. Mam said to put ps to say something else and to tell you that we are all well and we all send our love. Mam said to hurry up because I have taken all morning to do this but I forgot to tell you that I got a nice doll for Christmas made out of wood. I have called her Dorothy because she is pretty like Miss Howard and I heard Mrs Willoughby call her Dorothy. But the bible is the best thing ever.

  Ps2 Will you be coming home soon?

  Chapter 3

  Suez, 1915

  Egypt was becoming, for the soldiers from Lancashire, a tediously hot and ultimately frustrating experience. Their capacity to take on board liquid was not met by the Army’s willingness to supply it and Big Charlie’s pleas that he did not have the build to be a Gyppie fell on largely unsympathetic ears.

  Liam spent two days in detention on a charge contrived by Major Fforbes-Fosdyke who had emerged from the theatre tent in a haze of whisky fumes. Liam, unfortunately passing by at the time, had been ordered to run down at double-quick time to the officers’ mess to get another bottle of whisky to use as a stage prop as it was essential to the plot and the smooth progress of the rehearsal. Liam had taken the liberty of suggesting that, as all the Arabs took things at a very slow pace in order to conserve their energy ‘in this sodding heat’ then, particularly as he was now off duty, he had no intention of running anywhere. He would, however, oblige the Major but would only walk down to the officers’ mess.

  The cell, apparently, did have the merit of being cooler during the day than the desert but he had yearned for his greatcoat during the night.

  Although for much of the time the contact with the enemy had been restricted to minor skirmishes, the Army remained unshakeably keen to develop their abilities as soldiers. In the early months o
f 1915 they were increasingly taken out on route marches in the desert where, throughout the day, they suffered with the extreme heat, the dust and the flies. Even worse were the sandstorms which made breathing difficult and drove sand deep into their clothes.

  At the end of the day the plummeting temperatures meant that any nights spent out in the desert in bivouac became long, sleepless, freezing hours waiting for the sun to come up.

  There had been intelligence received, in October of the previous year, that the Turkish army were about to mount an attack. The Allied troops had been quickly put into position, the threat had petered out, and life had settled back into the normal dusty, perspiring routine.

  By mid January 1915, however, the Turks were ready to advance again, having now assembled a force of two divisions, with another one in reserve, plus assorted camel and horse units. This was a relatively small army for supporting their ambitious plan to seize the Canal and, ultimately, to remove the Allied troops from Egypt, but they had many problems to overcome and a larger force might have made the task impossible.

  The Turkish army had to march across two hundred miles of desert and this had needed careful timing in order that they could complete it during the short rainy season. They had taken the central route across the Sinai, enduring a hard, exhausting ten day march. Their objective was to capture Ismailia and therefore the critical drinking water supplies.

  As the Allies prepared themselves for the attack, Edward and his battalion were moved back to the barracks at Alexandria and artillery was put into place alongside the west bank of the Canal. The guns were mostly concealed by the pines that were growing within a hundred yards of the Canal.

  British aircraft tracked the progress of the Turks and, on 28 January 1915, observers identified a large column of troops on the central route. British and French ships entered the Canal and opened fire on the tired and exhausted army whilst the infantry manned defensive positions. Allied patrols initially clashed with the Turks on 2 February, but a sandstorm eventually halted the action.