Extracts from An Element of Luck by Michael A Crouch:
1. A day of reckoning
1964: the author details what was to be the most extraordinary of the various attempts made on his life. He was living in the newly created federal capital of al-Ittihad, near Aden, with his then wife and baby. He had been ‘condemned to death’ over Cairo Radio and an assassination squad had been sent from the then Republic of Yemen.
The extract goes on to explain the turbulent background in Aden itself, as the liberation struggle hotted up. Footnotes at the end of the chapter give further detail on the personalities and events of the time.
I provisionally booked Lynette's and Charles's passages to Kenya, for a month from 7 September. July in fact was not too bad for that torrid climate, with only one memorable sand storm; as at Mukalla the sea temperature dropped in summer, and swimming was a joy. In the meantime our social life continued apace: 'Ali bin Ahmed came to lunch with us at Al Ittihad. He had returned from Britain where he had been a guest at sister Sabrina's wedding.[1] She had married her Royal Anglian officer and he had returned to an unaccompanied posting in the Oman, and Sabrina was back in Aden, continuing to work as an air hostess for Aden Airways. 'Ali bin Ahmed asked us back to lunch in Lahej, in early August.
In the meantime we looked after Anthony Verrier who was writing for The Economist. He had a rather worrying reputation, which he lived up to. In his first article on Aden he described the Commander-in-Chief (while staying with him) as being keener on building roads than fighting a war against dissidents. He had also hinted at a possible mutiny in the Federal Army: I took him up to Baihan and kept a close eye on him while he interviewed the Amir, who said just what he thought of Mr Secretary Greenwood's policies.
Jamila, the Saluki, was gradually settling in, though at one point she slipped her lead and was off across the sand desert that surrounded Al Ittihad. I went out in a vehicle at 5.00 a.m. the next morning and by pure luck found her ten miles away. I had got into a habit of walking her last thing in the evening, around the security light pylons, to ensure she went comfortably to bed.
The first week of August was steamy and the evenings were heavy. On 6 August we had given Salim, my personal orderly, the day off and had spent that day at Lahej, lunching with 'Ali bin Ahmed. Poor little Charles had felt the heat during the drive to and from Lahej; that evening in our upstairs bedroom Lynette put him down in the wicker work crib in which he slept, on the verandah close by the double glass doors, open to catch any breeze that might be around. She was standing in the same area, ironing, with the lights full on, so as to see what she was doing. The curtains were tightly pulled back, so as not to interrupt the breeze.
I was waiting for the end of the TV news at 8.30 p.m., so that I could put Jamila on her lead and promenade her round the security light standards, as had been my wont. At 8.30, before I could go out, the phone rang; it was Sabrina, in Ma'alla across the bay, having just returned from a flight. We had not spoken together for some time and exchanged gossip for about ten minutes. She gave me news of her Bill and I told her of our day at Lahej and how Charles was progressing. As I put the phone down there was a loud rattle of a machinegun close outside the house.
Lynette and I reacted quite instinctively to the accustomed sound of gunfire. She turned out the lights near her and crawled on hands and knees to pick Charles out of the crib, hurling herself on top of him, I just had time to snatch at the other light switch, above the telephone. and beat the world standing record for a sideways leap. With Lynette still crawling and holding the baby I landed on top of them both and, as I did so, there was the most petrifying BANG! The wall above the telephone disintegrated as a bazooka anti-tank missile penetrated the stone, having exploded on impact.
Bits of white-hot metal and phosphorus shredded all the furniture and shattered the glass doors, windows and mirrors into jagged fragments that also whistled round, just a foot above my head. There was then a sudden silence in the room: we were both partly deafened by the blast, and choking in the dust and fumes, unable to see clearly. I heard Lynette, "Oh my baby! My baby!" and then - the best sound of all we could have hoped for - the wail of a badly frightened baby having been wakened from a deep sleep and hurled into a corner. Charles and Lynette were alive, and I was fine. Charles had collected a bruise and a few tiny burns on his back, but that was all.
There was chaos outside as I staggered to the phone. It was working. The operator came on the line and I bellowed, "Towari! Towari'!" ("Emergency! Emergency!") and gave him my location. Meanwhile the Federal Guard had opened up with enthusiasm, firing in all directions, but not at anything in particular. They had been caught completely by surprise, as had we all. There was a pounding on the stairs and a mob of Arab soldiers burst into the room. Someone helped Lynette and Charles towards the door; there was a smell of burning cloth and a sound of crackling wood. We pulled open the built-in cupboards to find that bits of shrapnel had penetrated the doors and set light to the contents. Soldiers reached inside to grab at smoldering cotton towels and ran round the ruined bedroom, trying to extinguish them. The scene did have its comical side.
As we were being helped away the phone rang. It was for me and it was the BBC correspondent across the bay in Aden. "I hear there's been a bit of a to-do over your way," he said laconically. I told him what had happened but was too shocked to be able to give him the whole picture. That was clear, once it was daylight. The next day the British papers carried front-page reports, based mainly on my brief interview. Lynette was very brave throughout the whole ordeal and once again I was proud of her - it was her second close encounter. My mother cabled her congratulations on our close escape.
I was unable to claim a direct link between Cairo's Voice of the Arabs and the attack, but it had been organized carefully to take advantage of the house being positioned at the end of the row, of Salim being away for the day and of my stupidity in walking the dog every night at the same time. It had been a small gang: the plan was for the getaway car to be parked on the main road, only a few hundred yards away. The gang was able to take up a position behind a sand drift just a few yards from one of the security light standards, around which I walked nightly. The scheme was to gun me down as I stood (they could hardly have missed), create whatever diversion they could with the missiles and withdraw in the confusion to the car, which would take them to the border crossing. They had to be there by 10.00 p.m. before a certain customs officer went off duty.[2]
Sabrina's call threw the whole plan out - the timing was so tight. Accordingly they opened up with the machine gun and managed to fire three missiles, two of which exploded harmlessly off the garden walls. We had to spend some time away while the house was rebuilt and, since Kenya did not seem to be an option (Lynette's mother could not have us to stay),[3] we booked a short expensive holiday in Ethiopia, spending a few days in Addis Ababa and then a week in Asmara, where I left Lynette to relax with Charles for a bit longer. We were due to take proper leave at Christmas and visit Kenya, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand - all part of the quest for where to settle after Aden. Ethiopia was interesting but hardly long enough for relaxation and to recover from the experience.[4] Addis was a contrast of modern hotels right next to squalor; great eucalyptuses towered above bare red eroded slopes. Asmara was like staying in a pleasant, rather boring, Italian provincial town.
On our return to our rebuilt house we threw ourselves once more into the swing of life, without dwelling on what might have been. I had learnt a valuable lesson, and at the right time. The murder gangs were now in full swing, although they were often as inept as they had been with us. In Aden the increase to 237 casualties from 36 the previous year, was an indication of the serious deterioration in the security situation. There were also strikes and demonstrations: our opponents could show that if not all the murder attempts were successful, the local Aden population was in general thoroughly subverted and controlled.
The High Commissioner had attempted to react with vigour to the decline in the Aden government's ability to carry out normal administrative tasks. A state of emergency was declared which, though it made it easier for the security forces to undertake what needed to be done, was a setback to those who had hoped that the new Federation would progress smoothly towards running its own affairs. It was also a propaganda victory for the terrorists and their fellow travellers whose aim was ultimately to make Aden ungovernable, and force withdrawal of the British. On 4 October 1965 The Daily Express described the worsening situation just as we, on the spot, would have put it:
Demands for independence. Demonstrations by students who do more demonstrating than studying. Strikes. Riots, buildings fired, cars smashed, Britons stoned. And then the bomb throwers, the terrorists whose target is the British serviceman, his wife, his children ... This was Aden yesterday. This is where we came in, so many yesterdays ago.
Sir Richard Turnbull, rather later on, circulated a pamphlet to British residents that in matter-of-fact terms clearly identified the almost daily deterioration from the perspective of the residents of Aden, rather than from that of a visiting newspaper reporter. I reproduce it here: it was at this stage of the escalation in urban violence that everyone should have known what was happening. It was only much later that it was thought necessary to state what was by then self-evident - and not leave publicity just to the press:
It must be obvious to everybody that we have a far more dangerous situation on our hands than before. Here are a few points that require your urgent and careful attention.
1. The mine in the Ma'alla flat that killed two European women on 28 February was planted by a servant! The NLF is now claiming responsibility for this. You should search your premises often, especially if the flat or house is unattended during working hours. Take this seriously and do not think, 'This could not happen to me.'
2. Do not leave your appointment diary open so that others can see it. Only you need to know that you have an invitation but this information may be of vital interest to someone else.
The Dhow, the forces' newspaper, had a special column headed 'DHOW Security News.' This was a typical entry:
24 December
16.45 hrs. explosion in baggage shed in civil airport Khormaksar. Two members of security forces slightly injured. One local national was also injured.
19.10 hrs. Grenade thrown into yard of Police Station Tawahi. No casualties or damage.
23.40 and 23.55 hrs. Two explosions in FRA workshop compound, Seedeseer Lines. Two vehicles damaged no casualties.
25 December
18.40 hrs. Two grenades exploded in area of Aden supply depot, Ma'alla. No casualties.
19.13 hrs. Grenade exploded in area of Tawahi bus depot. No casualties.
19.55 hrs. Rocket launcher fired in Mansurah area of Shaikh Othman. Some damage and one soldier injured.
21.53 hrs. Grenade exploded in Dukes Way, Little Aden. No casualties.
23.59 hrs. Grenade exploded near Bank of India, Crater. No casualties or damage.
26 December
20.15 hrs. Grenade thrown in Dolphin Square, Ma'alla, No casualties, civilian car damaged.
21.55 hrs. Grenade thrown at mobile patrol outside armed police barracks, Crater. Four local nationals injured, one subsequently died. Four members of security forces injured.
28 December
19.50 hrs. Grenade thrown at mobile patrol in Shaikh Othman. Two members of security forces wounded, one local national killed and six injured, four seriously.
20.30 hrs. Two grenades thrown at mobile patrol in Shaikh Othman. Two members of security forces injured.
1 January
20.40 hrs. Two grenades thrown into compound of Aden supply depot, Ma'alla. Slight damage no casualties.
I wrote to my mother in October 1965:
The last week has been quiet enough apart from the nightly grenades which do practically no damage, but that natural Middle Eastern weapon of mobs has been in full cry - the schoolboys. Schoolmasters have organized strikes of all boys up and down the Federation and practically all schools have been closed. In Aden it has been the same but of course with the added attraction of British troops to stone. I must say they have behaved awfully well under fearful provocation.
I continued my account with what now seems a thoroughly over-stated diatribe against the mobs, but which was understandable in the context of the time.
As for turning cars over it was mostly poor wretches who were quite unable to defend themselves. I go everywhere with my guard armed with a Stirling sub-machine gun, and I think I would have no hesitation at all in shooting on a mob. I hope it doesn't arise but we take no risks and life is quite dull.
In spite of all the woes of Aden and our personal experience it was possible to note there were some progressive happenings in the WAP, especially after the British forces' efforts in Radfan. My political colleagues, who included Godfrey Meynell, laboured long and earnestly to introduce some measure of development into those areas isolated by warfare and poor communications. The Aden Chronicle of 30 December 1965 contained a typically hopeful (yet hopeless) press release:
MORE LOANS FOR UPCOUNTRY [sic] FARMERS
The Federal Ministry of Agriculture has, in an attempt to step up agricultural development in Shaib Shaikhdom, provided the sum of SA f7,500 to be issued as agricultural loans to individual farmers in the State.
At vast expense a road was built up the Wadi Rabwa, medical teams provided some basic assistance to remote communities, but it was just too late in the political scenario. Mines continued to be laid and convoys on the Dhala' road were frequently attacked. However, the political staff must have felt encouraged: at least we were spending some money that was not just on arms and ammunition. I too felt a touch of euphoria brought about, I suppose, by the simple notion that we had survived so much. We were also nearly off on leave and it was to be a good one, intended to be enjoyed with nary a thought of what we had left behind. I wrote:
All sorts of moves behind the scenes we are told regarding new appointments, promotions, etc.. I suppose there is a faint chance of my being 'upped' permanently, but I think I am really too young. In any case, if I do come back at my substantive rank (Assistant Adviser) I should like one more tour up-country and have asked to be considered for Baihan. Unfortunately [sic] Bill Heber Percy has done very well there and has taken over from me in this job; he is angling to get back to Baihan on my return. We shall see. I shall be fed up though, if I come back and find I am expected to act again. I've been doing that for three years now!
All things considered, this has been a good tour, bazookas etc. aside, with interesting work. What has been lacking has been leadership from the top, added to which the government in the UK and UNO have done their best to disturb our friends and encourage our enemies by vacillating and by oozing bonhomie at the wrong moments. It will be interesting to see the set-up here when we get back because we are leaving at a time when there is a political vacuum. Sorry - I've rambled a bit.[5]
However, I was able to indulge this nostalgia (for that is all it was) for a last posting in the blue by taking Lynette and Charles on a tour of part of the eastern sector of the Western Aden Protectorate. This would have been the last tour of that type undertaken by a political officer, his wife and small boy, before conditions had deteriorated irrevocably to the stage that even officers travelling alone did so with extreme care. We too had taken precautions.
My trip was primarily to 'show the flag' and specifically to call on my ex-orderly Salim, whose son was the same age as Charles, so that the wives could coo over each other's offspring. The other call was on 'Ali Misa'ed Babakri MC, he who had been my assistant political officer in earlier, less troubled times. We travelled in some style. Our huge armour-plated Land Rover had Charles and Lynette firmly buckled in: ahead and behind us there were trucks of troops and two armoured cars.
As we bumped our way down the picturesque but traditionally treacherous Wadi Yeshbum, with its huge castle-like houses looming on each crag, we received a great welcome at every point, the tribesmen lined up to deliver their traditional fusillade of greeting shots whistling over our heads. Charles in particular was a great success - a little fair-haired youngster, he was adored in the various harems that Lynette visited. In Wahidi he received the ultimate honour of being presented with a two-thirds size jambiya customarily given to the son of the head of the tribe.
We flew off to Kenya for Christmas and then via South Africa to Australia. I had known South Africa from my early days, but I wanted Lynette to be able to see for herself that that was no country in which to bring up a young family, despite it being intrinsically a wonderful part of the world. We were lucky that Charles was such an equable traveller who accepted being bundled on and off aircraft with equanimity. Lynette was by then also expecting our second child and she too suffered the constant travel patiently.
At that stage I at least had determined to live where we could bring up a family, without the constant worries of being shot at, or of being moved around the world at the whim of a government service. That ensured there would be no future prospects in a transfer to, say, the British foreign service, even if my language skills and my temperament were judged as appropriate for a diplomat. I knew they were unsuitable.
I had also developed a deal of personal antagonism to the policies of Mr Wilson's Labour government, and an impatience with what I saw as the British politicians' hypocritical and expedient policies, proclaimed under the banner of outdated socialist dogma - the emergence of indigent people from the colonial yoke, that sort of attitude. Not that I held anything for the right wingers' approach to South Arabia's problems, either: they were just as unrealistic in their approach to how to deal with the mess confronting us. Their solution had been to push for self government by a Federation run by local institutions that were plainly unready in most instances to control anything more sophisticated than a village council. This was not a criticism of that handful of excellent Federal leaders, such as Sultan Salih the Audhali, the Sharif Hussein of Baihan and Shaikh Mohamed Farid of 'Aulaqi - more the medieval institutions they represented. Essentially it was a small number of British keeping it together. Whatever the 'right' course of events I could see there would be no future in staying on: I was keen to make a fresh start, well away from the Middle East.
New Zealand looked about as far as we could get (at one stage we had quite fancied Arizona as a base, but the expense would have been unrealistic). However, it was in Western Australia that we came across the 'block' of land (as they call it, in Australia) which became the focus of my dreams from then on. We continued across Australia before spending a few weeks in New Zealand, just for a 'look-see' now that we had found our future base in Western Australia.
Awaiting me at the poste restante in Sydney was a formal looking, bulky envelope. It contained not a notice that I had been promoted, recommended for this or that, but a formal offer to be prematurely retired from the service on being superseded, as part of the Arabization policy. This was the procedure to draw indigenous officers into the senior part of the administration, by accelerating their promotion over the head of the most senior on the list. That happened to be me at that juncture and the Arab officer so recognized was my old colleague from whom I had taken over in Wahidi, Mohamed Sa'id Nagi.[6]
We had mixed feelings. On the one hand there was that lovely piece of land awaiting us: on the other, we had already arranged to return to Aden. If we accepted the offer we would be leaving in rather messy circumstances: we (or I at least) would probably have to return to pack up bits and pieces, in any event. We had not made our farewells to anyone: and the final convincing argument to return was that we could not afford just to pull out at that stage. How like government, we thought, to face us with this quandary half way through a Leave, when we had committed funds to travel.
I notified Aden we would be back: we flew on to New Zealand for a wonderful three weeks' exploration (beautiful but provincial - rather like a mixture of Walthamstow and the Yorkshire Moors, I thought). We weathered one fairly strong earthquake in Wellington and caught the P & O Orcades back to Aden. We stopped at Fremantle, hired a car so we could drive up to the hills and gaze at our land - and very nearly missed the ship's sailing. We were back in Aden, as planned. Life was very different from when we had departed, five months before.
Footnotes
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'Ali had brought them a packaged dinner coffee set which he presented at the wedding and they had casually tossed it aside until after the festivities. On opening it later they were thrilled to find it was the most expensive bone china and luckily unbroken after the casual handling
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The gang was picked up a year later and interned. I met them a year after and one of them, quite cheerfully, told me the story. He seemed to bear me no personal ill will.
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She had a bridge tournament
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Apart from the commiserations/congratulations of colleagues on our escape there was absolutely no assistance in the form of modern-day 'counselling.' We survived. We had to
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I certainly had: looking back, I must have been suffering from a touch of cafard - desert madness - but they say you seldom recognize it when you get it
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Poor fellow: he was assassinated within the year
