In the last paragraphs of my tale called "The story of a wartime journey" I explained that I went down with an attack of infectious jaundice soon after arriving in Morocco. The French had no drugs or treatment for this very unpleasant condition, but after about ten days I began to feel slightly better. It was at this stage that the local French people offered to provide the "tender, loving care" that is so important in the progress of any treatment. It is during this final effort to return to full efficiency that convalescence in a private home is so valuable and the local French were prepared to offer it.
The family who took me in lived in a small town about fifteen miles into the foothills of the Atlas mountains. This village provided the link between the large port of Casablanca and the increasingly wild country encountered as the road penetrated further into the northeast. The family were called "Smit" and Monsieur Smit was a very important man. He was what the English would call the "District Officer" for the huge area stretching from the coast into the mountains. He provided the law, government and local administration for the whole area. He spent little time in the civilised parts around the cities, his main job being to go on expeditions into the hinterland, acting as magistrate These journeys took him into extremely wild areas where progress could only be made on foot. Over the years of his rule certain centres had been established where he set up his court and administered the law Obviously I can only have a very vague understanding of all his powers but I realised that he was not just important, but the absolute ruler of his territory..
My last two days with the Smit family were taken up with accompanying the man himself on a short foray to one of his administration centres. Before that expedition took place I spent three weeks in the care of Mrs Smit, in their small dwelling.The geography of the area by English standards was breathtaking, the minor road to the Smit house went over a pass into a steep and rugged valley. There was practically no vegetation and the small town was adhering to the mountainside facing us. The houses seemed to be growing out of cracks in the rocks. How life progressed in such places was difficult to imagine. How could there be water there? How did one get there, and having got there how did one stay without falling down into the dim and mist covered depths below.? In fact the road went round the back of the town to a flatter area where there was a village square just large enough to take the local bus and the lorry on which I had originally arrived. One or two good trees provided shade under which tables were set out and life seemed to progress as it usually did in French Mediterranean villages. The "Place" provided the town offices, gendarmerie, town hall, post office and several cafés, a bank and one or two not very clearly identifiable buildings that I was later able to pin down as hotels, brothels and shops.
Madame Smit was a dominant but charming person with a beautiful voice that she used with consummate skill. She could charm an American four-star General with the same ease as she dealt with local Berber warlords ( who only spoke to women who were their mothers or their servants ?) I well remember when I had an awful relapse that jaundice does sometimes involve, she stayed close by my bed or not far away for two solid days. She then announced that we could both do with a bath, and did I know she was trained as a nurse? After that experience I really could not hang about convalescing, but to prove I was recovered I had to go on a two day trek with "Le Patron" as Monsieur Smit was known.
First my clothing had to be inspected, British battle dress was considered to be very suitable and in fact was much admired. My footwear were French espadrilles the flexible lightweight shoes that most mountain regions produce. We started out as a party of four, Le Patron himself, Le Brigadier and the "homme tout a fait". The names of the two latter characters exactly describe their functions. The Brigadier arranged everything and looked after all the gear, he knew the track and produced extra people when required while the "homme tout a fait" was there to back him up. He had the sort of parade-ground voice needed when our numbers increased for one reason or another. In fact the whole procedure had gone on for so many years that very few orders or instruction were needed. The "homme tout a fait" only had to glance around, nod his head and we were off. The start was in the cab of the vehicle that came with us when the road was negotiable. Latterly we had to trudge along on foot and slowly we progressed for the next two days The Brigadier carried a large bag on his back and this I presumed to contain the supplies not available on site.
We had each been supplied with a dried gourd containing about a litre of very drinkable wine which was filled daily and swung from our belts. Finally we were each given a rifle !! The rifle seemed to me excessively heavy and quite unnecessary, but we were assured that the danger from wild animals was real, not just limited to Cape apes that abounded in the forest but from wild boars and occasionally a colony pf leopards. The chances of me hitting an aggressive leopard were very small, but "Le Patron" said rifles were required and so rifles were carried. We did in fact see remarkably fresh leopard tracks on several occasions.
The arrival of our truck from Casablanca was a great event as far as the little town was concerned. Quite apart from "Le Patron" who was treated with great respect, everyone else was inspected closely. Madame took charge and having sent her husband off to his office she introduced us to the local policeman and sent the others ,mostly women to their various duties. We were taken into the small sitting room which looked back down the very steep road by which we had arrived .It was a room of total relaxation containing comfortable seats from which to enjoy the feeling of being at the centre of all activity. Nothing was going to move in that great valley without it being instantly visible in that sitting room. Madame,s first action was to take my arm and lead me over to the window, push back my head and gaze into my eyes .This had been the way all the medical people had assessed my condition so it was clear that she was only too familiar with jaundice.
That first day she wanted me to get to know them and for them to learn what I would like in the way of food and occupation generally. I was already feeling very relaxed, hungry and rather sleepy, and after mutton and cous-cous stew I knew I was on the mend. The next morning after a larger than normal French breakfast at seven o'clock "Le Patron" disappeared to his office and I was told to wander round and amuse myself till eleven o'clock which would be coffee time. I explored the building, climbing up into the very pointed roof space. Here and there in the steeply pitched roofs there were small windows and ropes and rails made it possible to move around. At about five to eleven I joined my hosts by falling through the rotten floor of an ancient attic. I was received with much laughter, leaving me wondering if the damage I had achieved to the structure was exactly what they had hoped for! Apparently there was a battle going on between "Le Patron" and the authorities about paying for much-needed repairs and my efforts would assist the plan. However the episode persuaded me to give the cellars a miss
The building was not easy to understand. It was rambling in the extreme which made it easy to wander from the part occupied by the Smits to that of one of their neighbours. Nobody seemed to mind if I suddenly appeared through their door when I thought it was the one containing the loo.! Generally it was a kitchen and I became adept at observing or even joining in the unusual cooking skills being practised there. The bathrooms all contained one or more enema tubes, indicating the different approach to problems by the French medical profession. The word "fundamental" would perhaps sum it up.
My last few days with the Smits was taken up joining "Le Patron" on a visit to one of the distant areas of his administration. We started out well before daylight and he set up court after breakfast, but the light was going when he finally delivered his judgement to the assembled families. This decision was very important. It was clear that the case had been decided against the wishes of one group who were of greater strength. I got the feeling that there might have been trouble but by evening all was easy formality again and the menfolk gathered to eat the sheep that had been prepared for the evening festivities. Europeans have described these formal gatherings, the women watching from a grille high up one of the walls. There was a constant twittering of comment from the assortment of female faces.
I had to keep my wits about me because a few of the Berbers could speak quite passable English. Fortunately there was no alcohol but conversation was not easy. Once my presence had been explained I was able to sink into the background leaving the Elders to sort out the problems that were the main purpose of the gathering. To one brought up to believe that democracy is the only way for civilised groups to live, the way this mixed collection of people sorted out their differences was an education in itself The fact that nobody got into a position from which there was no easy way out was an eye-opener to one used to the rigidities of English local government. Of course, I missed a good many of the delicate points being made but I ended up impressed by Smit's power and his skill in using it. I tried to say so later over our evening drink to the evident pleasure of my hosts..
My two days with "Le Patron" and his team were an unforgettable experience, but it made very clear that I was no longer convalescent and should be returned to my unit. I was seen off in the cab of the ancient lorry. Everybody turned out with much kissing and handshaking. I was presented with a magnificent pair of socks made the previous day from the wool of the resident tame sheep who was stripped of exactly enough wool to make them a perfectly fitting size!! It left only a very small bare patch on her back and the socks lasted long after I had returned home. I shall never forget the Smits, though I fear I have long since faded from their memory!