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Extracts from An
Element of Luck
by Michael A Crouch:
Introduction
1.
A day of reckoning
2. Full circle: "It
should never have happened"
3. Returning
"home"
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
-
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.
-
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
-
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
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