Troodos story

[Devil]

Looking through your blog on Troodos, reminded me of an adventure that happened to me when I was on national service. In 1952, Troodos was inevitably closed for a couple of months but there was a rest camp for officers up there which was intermittently closed. Telephone was unreliable as the wires failed under the weight of the snow. It was decided to have a radio link between Troodos and the headquarters in Wolseley barracks in Nicosia. A sergeant was delegated to go up and install it and when push came to shove, it was found that it didn't work. I was the only Royal Signals radio mechanic on the island and I was delegated to go up and find out what had gone wrong. I managed to obtain warm clothing for the trip as the temperature up there was hovering around zero, well really 32° F. The road up there was hair raising in those days, just one car wide. My driver got me there in a new Landrover about 10:30 and I started to have a look around to find what was wrong and found that the antenna was a total shambles and I had to take it down and start again. About midday, I was told that a meal had been prepared for me, which I consumed in the officers' mess. About an hour later I went out back to work and found that there were a couple of inches of snow fallen while I was eating. It had turned bitterly cold and I had to continue work on the antenna in a blizzard, not at all pleasant. I had finished at about 4 o'clock with communications working with Nicosia, but the snow had become probably between 30 and 40 cm deep average but drifting. Fortunately, the Land Rover had brand-new tyres and we gingerly set off along the hair raising road, in four-wheel-drive. On three occasions, I had to get out of the Land Rover with a stick in the half light to show the driver where the road went, knowing that there were unprotected precipices on each side. Fortunately, as we progressed downhill the snow thinned out quicker than you would think. By the time we got down, it was starting to clear, turning to sleet and then rain by Kakopetria. Believe me, it was quite an adventure.

The food in the officers' mess was good!

[jagwheels]

A fascinating story Devil which reminded me of one of Sheila Hawkins books where she said "you can Ski in the morning in the Troodos mountains & go swimming in the med in the afternoon"

[Dominic]

The sea is pretty cold at this time of year.

[jagwheels]

I never tested this myself but as she loved the Island so much I am sure there was a little bit of embellishment at times ??

[Kili01]

When in the RAF here I was told that some people had done this as a challenge...
When I first arrived in Cyprus in 1968, a friend drove us up to visit the RAF base there, I think that by then 'the new road' had been built, but he pointed out a very narrow, corkscrew-ing road on the other side of a ravine which he said was' the old way' to get there. Said it' was a 'white knuckle ride' to go that way.. Thanks, Devil for your very vivid description of it...

[Ams]

I never tested this myself but as she loved the Island so much I am sure there was a little bit of embellishment at times ??

It's quite possible to do both in a day, I've never done it because I don't like rushing so much on my precious weekends and once I've driven up to Troodos I like to enjoy my time in the mountains, but I have been up in the snow one day and in the sea the next.

[Firefly]

Brilliant tale Devil. Thank you.

[Devil]

I have just checked and have found that 474 views have been made on this subject. I have a wealth of other anecdotes of my experience in the 1950s Cyprus. Am I to assume from the voting level that you would like to hear them?

[Firefly]

Yes please Devil, you get my vote.

[Devil]

Before I was posted to Cyprus, I had no idea where I was going (war department security!). Instead, I was posted in transit to Pocklington in East Yorkshire. It was January and the howling East gale was blowing at 0° C or less, all the way from Russia. We were housed in a Nissen hut in the middle of a disused airfield with nothing in sight for 10 miles around except snow. The hut had central heating, a stove right in the middle but we weren't given any wood to burn in it, let alone coke or coal. The 30 odd squaddies were given an extra blanket which was filthy. NEVER had I been so miserable, particularly as my late CO had said that I would get a good posting.

After surviving a week or so there, my name came up to leave. Never was I so glad and the transport we were given took us to Stansted aerodrome and we were hustled onto a DC3 plane, which had been kitted out for transporting conscripts like myself. I was informed that the destination was Fayid in the Canal zone of Egypt. On hearing this news, my heart dropped down with a crash to my ankles. At least I had a comfortable window seat above the right wing. After flying for a couple of hours or so, we got a flight bulletin passed around which I think told us that we had five or six hours left to arrive in Egypt and that we were flying at 10,000 feet. We would be shortly passing over Sardinia. Peering out the window, I could see a few lights at first and then blackness as we passed over the mountains. All of a sudden, we hit what was then called an air pocket and the plane dropped several hundred feet in a few seconds. One of the two RAF "hosts"! was thrown up against the ceiling and broke a leg. Happily, we had a doctor and a couple of medics on the plane, who were able to treat the poor bugger. A bulletin was passed around from the cockpit, regretting the incident, outside of their control. The plane continued flying but I noticed that the propeller of the engine nearest to where I was sitting was hardly turning and suddenly there was a fire in the nacelle. I think I must have bitten my fingernails up to my elbows at this stage, although the fire had been doused quickly, presumably with halon. A further bulletin passed around saying that the loss of an engine was not serious but they were heading for Luqa airfield in Malta. A few minutes later, the outside engine on the port wing also failed and this was serious. The next bulletin said they were continuing to Luqa but they were having trouble to maintain height with just two engines. When we flew over the Maltese coast, I admit it looked remarkably close. I learned later that the pilot had no chance to botch the landing – the plane was incapable of regaining any height.

So, I had a two-day holiday stuck in a building at Luqa along with about 60 other blokes.

When the powers that be made their decisions, we found ourselves marching out again onto the tarmac with our kit. We were relieved at the thought of leaving Malta but I had heard many bad things about the British military in Egypt. Were we heading to a different hell than Pocklington and the flight from England to Malta? We boarded the DC3 and were soon trundling down the runway and up and away over the Med. in the dawn light. The actual flight from Malta to Egypt was unremarkable. Most of it was done at the low altitude of 7000 feet, don't ask me why. Anyway, we landed at Fayid at dusk and were given a good meal at the RAF cookhouse – a rumour was going around that the roast meat on our plates was camel but I don't think that camels went oink-oink.

Next time, from Fayid to Nicosia…

[Dominic]

Devil, please do continue with your anecdotes.

[Ams]

Great stories Devil, I look forward to the next instalment.

I liked the extra Malta element (well, except for it being a negative experience) since I'm Maltese

[Sadie]

I never tested this myself but as she loved the Island so much I am sure there was a little bit of embellishment at times ??

My Aunt used to say the same, her husband did a tour of duty here before the island was divided and she did both so the family story goes

[Devil]

III. Fayid to Cyprus...

After the excellent "roast camel", us-squaddies were marched outside to Tent City, with four of us to a tent. The following morning, we shook our boots before putting them on as we had been warned by the scuttlebutt about scorpions. We were very much a mixed bunch and we went through a session of triage. At the end of that, I found myself in the GCHQ Royal Signals, where we had nothing to do. After lunch, as we were on "active service" and were being inactive and the powers that be allowed us out of the camp to take a walk to the side of the Great Bitter Lake, provided that there were always two or more of us and that we had our arms with us. As it was winter we were dressed in battledress and were armed to the teeth carrying a Lee-Enfield short magazine rifle with five rounds in the magazine! We walked through an Egyptian village to reach the lake, but no bathing – too bloody cold! After a few days of twiddling our thumbs I was summoned to go to the CO' s office, where I was marched in by an old school regimental sergeant major screaming left right left right halt, whereupon I gave my smartest salute. I was informed I was being seconded to Cyprus as part of a team who were waiting for me. I was marched out again left right left right dismiss! The team that I thus met consisted of a second lieutenant, a sergeant, a corporal then me.

The four of us marched out to where we were confronted by two huge containers, one of which was full of transmitter equipment, the other full of receiver equipment. The whole lot was labelled RCA (Radio Corporation of America), down to the smallest detail. Looking back now, I guess this was 'lease lend '. We were informed that communications would have to be started between Nicosia and Fayid. Currently, there was only an intermittent connection between low-power 19 sets, with communications open, in hand keyed Morse code à la 19th-century. We were initially a little dazzled by this US stuff but, at the end of five weeks, we knew that it was not up to the same standards as British equipment. Okay, two whacking containers were in Egypt and needed to go to Cyprus. The great idea was to tow the containers to Port Said, for transshipment. We trundled them northwards along the west bank of the canal to Port Fouad. Catastrophe! None of the ferries between the ports could carry even one, let alone two, of our containers and the port facilities were insufficient to welcome the Royal Navy ship that was to take us to Cyprus. We were stuck on the edge of the Egyptian desert and nowhere to go! The powers that be decided that we should camp out on a spit leading into the Med, easily guarded by us four. On the second day in our makeshift camp, sleeping in the containers, eating food that was brought in, "our" lieutenant crossed over from a visit to Port Said. He sat down on the steps to one of the containers and declared, "George is dead". The three of us hearing him did not understand that he was referring to the King, George VI. We speculated, of course, that we were now soldiers of the Queen, long live her Majesty. Being in the middle of nowhere at the time, we were not in any position to take part in any formal ceremony. No bul*sh*t parade! The following day, an ex-D-Day heavy barge was able to make land in the canal as close to us as possible and we were able to load the containers and ourselves for a direct crossing to Cyprus. It was called a barge but, in fact, it had been well fitted out for transporting heavy/bulky material with sufficient sea-going capacity. We each had a private bedroom with good toilet facilities at hand where we were able to wash the Egyptian sand out of our hair.

The following morning, we woke with a watery Mediterranean sun and had breakfast of bacon and eggs. Land was in sight, which we were told was Cyprus and, within an hour, we had berthed in Famagusta Harbour, as we watched the containers being offloaded onto the quayside. We, ourselves, were offloaded from the quayside into an Austin Tilly, a kind of apology for a jeep. We were being taken to Nicosia. After 15 minutes or so, the driver, a redheaded Cockney, stopped the car and told us to get out at a kafenion and ordered drinks for all of us as a "Welcome to Cyprus" gesture. At 10:30 in the morning, we were offered a brandy sour. I had never drunk any spirits before but I took a sip and thought it horrible; what to do? Happily for me, a cat went by with a kitten and everyone at the table looked at it, while I surreptitiously "spilt" my brandy into the earthen floor

Next: my first month in Cyprus

[Firefly]

I can feel a book coming on.

[Devil]

IV. Arrival in Nicosia

Having "spilt" my brandy sour, we moved off again along the highway to Nicosia. In those days, the word "highway" implied rough tarmac, just wide enough for one vehicle. Alongside the tarmac, on both sides, there was just a band of stones, so that meeting oncoming traffic implied that one or both of us had to pull over onto the rough until the other had passed! Those were the days, my friends! Of course, the strong-willed drivers stayed on the tarmac as much as possible, forcing his opponent into the rough. The traffic wasn't heavy but was usually headed by the slowest moving vehicle, usually a donkey, whether or not attached to what may be called a cart. It was therefore common for motor vehicles to have to wait their chance to pass, creating trains of five or six motor vehicles, many of which were of doubtful age, perhaps 30 or 40 years. After a couple of hours, the green fields turned to a few houses and then we pulled up outside an imposing building, with a stone coat of arms over the doorway, Wolseley barracks. Our driver indicated that we should go inside but, before we could with all our gear, we heard a stentorian voice approach, a Regimental Sergeant Major. He marched up to us and saluted (I think for our second lieutenant!), Implying that we shouldn't be there with the voice touching 110 dB. He ordered us to pick up our gear and he marched us in, almost at the double. We were invited to sit on a bench in the entranceway. We waited about 20 minutes when the RSM came back and said that the commanding officer would receive us. We smartly marched in and confronted a brigadier complete with the red tabs of a staff officer. After some mumbling to welcome us to Cyprus, we were simply told that the purpose of our presence was to ensure the best possible communications between Nicosia and Fayid. About Turn; Quick March; Left, Right, Left, Right,

We three were then bundled back into the vehicle, an Austin Tillie and whisked away. Our lieutenant stayed in Wolseley barracks. After about 10 minutes, we arrived our destination, Cyprus Signal Squadron, a tiny unit in the southern height above Nicosia. Physically, it was a camp within a square of barbed wire about 100 m across, full of Nissen huts and a tiny little tarmac parade ground. Three of the huts were our sleeping quarters, each with about eight beds. Two more housed the kitchen and mess hall. One was set up with a row of showers, another was a games room with tables for billiards, ping-pong and cards. On the more formal side, one was a series of three offices. Finally, there was one divided into a communications room with a 19 set, while the other side housed the necessary for charging batteries.

The three of us then settled in, in the places where we had been designated, according to our ranks. Obviously, as a simple signalman, I was placed in a barrackroom with half a dozen others. These other guys had various other jobs, a number of dispatch riders, some wireless operators (20 words per minute Morse code operators) and so on. I quickly learnt, by surprise, that the officers here were our CO, a major, aided and abetted by a lieutenant. There was also a sergeant and a quartermaster, at the top of the NCO category. I started to wonder, no cooks, no dogsbodies and was told that there was no NAAFI canteen. It slowly dawned on me that these missing items were provided by some very good Cypriot men. It turned out that we did have a cook, an excellent cook who was able to do miracles with the rations that he was able to pick up in Wolseley barracks. In fact, we ate very well, very well indeed, helped by our cookhouse's swill being fed to a pig which became part of our diet. Various other jobs were filled by Cypriot men.

[Devil]

V.Settling in

Well, there I was in a small army unit within walking distance of Nicosia. Guess what? After settling down, I had bugger all to do! Then, the following day there was one helluva commotion at the camp gate. I was peacefully lying on my bed, reading, when an overweight corporal came puffing in, looking for me. I went down to the gate to find one of our containers being towed. I had already been informed where it was going, as if there was some choice. There was only one patch of ground big enough for it to stand on, close to the barbed wire. In short, we manipulated it into its definitive position and my work started. The container that arrived in the camp was the one containing two 1.5 kW transmitters. I learnt that the other container, with the receivers, was being deposited close to Wolseley barracks. My work then started in earnest. First of all, we had to get power into the containers. After some serious head scratching, I found that the electrical connections to them were – surprise – 220 V, 50 Hz and, juggling with my slide rule, I worked out that the transmitters needed of whacking 30 A connection. I quickly ran to the junction box where the whole camp power was connected. Everything from there was powered through comparatively low ampere connections with the traditional British style fuse box. It was single phase and I found that the BIG SWITCH fed five different 10 amp fuse boxes. I'm sure that it didn't conform to IEE regulations, if there were any at that time, but I managed to botch up a connection from there to the transmitter trailer and a bloke came along to bury the cable. So, we had power available but nowhere for it to go; the transmitters did not have an aerial (antenna in 21st-century speak).

My next job was to connect the antenna, which didn't exist. For this, I had some help from the Pioneer Corps. There was no space for them in the camp and they had to be installed outside. Basically, it consisted of two carefully positioned masts, 30 m high. Once these were installed I had to make and string an antenna between them. And I was on the ground looking up at them, scared as hell because I do not like heights. The antenna itself was made from copper plated steel wire, from memory, about 3 1/2 mm diameter, which was a real bugger to work. The exact lengths were important. I measured out the length that was needed, along the ground. I then fixed on a reinforced glass insulator, about a foot long, at each end and then some more of that terrible wire to fix onto the top of the masts. Guess who was designated to do this? Yes! You're right – I was the dogsbody! It certainly scared the life out of me; how the hell am I going to climb up a steel pipe, about 12 cm diameter? I would have liked a helicopter but I don't think that there were any on the island at that time! Instead, I was given three pieces of equipment, none of which gave my qualms any peace. These were a belt of very stout leather and two modified ankle grips, as used by linesmen, which somehow worked on the masts. Little by little I would be able to get up the mast to fix the antenna at the top. I think it took me about three or four hours in a blue funk just to reach the top, haul up the end of the antenna and fix it. The following day, I did the same thing at the other end, but it was even more difficult. Although the antenna wire was not very fat, the whole caboodle took a lot of hauling up and fixing. Was I happy? Not really, not until I received a message from Fayid that they were reading us loud and clear. Yahoooh! I was happy, Cyprus was shaking hands with Egypt!

During this installation period, I had some free time. If I remained in the camp, we had the games room and a canteen, so life was not all black. Better still two or three of us would walk down to Nicosia and have a drink or go to a cinema showing recent films. At that time, it was still quite chilly in the evenings but, a month or two later, nearly everything was outdoors, including the outdoor cinema. Not really my style, but some of my colleagues enjoyed the cabarets which I suspect were open doors to brothels. I tasted souvlaki from a street vendor for the first time. I'm not absolutely sure but I think it cost me 2 or 3 piastres (there were 9 to the shilling). Yes! Perhaps a posting in Cyprus was not so bad as I imagined!

[Devil]

VI. Life goes on

I'm an old man and my memory is still good, but I do go off the rails every now and then. I cannot remember whether I evoked our sanitary facilities in a previous chapter. Showers were no problem except that there was hot water only on Friday afternoons. The idea of showering more than once a week was anathema everywhere, although I do remember that there was constant hot water at coalmines that I visited as a student – well, they didn't have to pay for their fuel, did they?

"Toilet" facilities consisted of a hut built along the boundary barbed wire on one side of the camp. The hut was divided into three sections, for officers, NCOs and the common herd which could accommodate four soldiers at a time. Basically, and it was very basic, it consisted of bare wood with suitably sized holes on which to sit. Underneath the holes, there was a tin bucket to catch whatever one's body produced. About midnight, a bloke with a donkey and a cart came along the wire, where there were a few bucket-sized gaps. The man reached in for each bucket, in turn, and emptied it into his cart. What a wonderful job, thunderbox emptier! Of course, this was in the days before television but I could well imagine Eamon Andrew's comments if he had a thunderbox emptier in, "What's My Line?"!

It goes without saying that I had a job to do within the squadron; I had to ensure that communications were open at all times between Cyprus and Egypt. I cannot say that the American equipment, which was not designed for military use, was adequate for the job or not so. For example, the two receivers were RCA models AR88 and were certainly not built to the same standards as, for example, the UK R107, which was a really robust bit of kit. That meant that much more time was spent on maintenance than was strictly necessary. So, quite a bit of my time was spent on both preventive and curative maintenance of the equipment. At the receiver end, the key equipment was the US teletype (TTY) which formed the human interface for the signals to and from Egypt.

Every week, the British Military Hospital (RAMC) in Nicosia submitted a report to their headquarters at Fayid. The report was handwritten and the teletype operator would send it with the appropriate addressing. On one occasion, the handwriting was a little bit iffy and what was meant as "Infectious Disease: 3" was sent as "Infectious Decease: 3". Apparently, the medical Corps in Fayid went into panic stations because we got a reply in an unprecedented 20 minutes asking for full details of the cause of death and the names, ranks and numbers of the dead. This mistake was rectified and peace re-descended upon us in our lazy little Nicosia backwater.

...

[WHL]

Most enjoyable Devil

[Firefly]

Really look forward to your tales Devil, more please.