In my previous stories about my service with the "Friends Ambulance Unit" during 1939-1945, I have mentioned that I, together with about twenty others, arrived at Casablanca to join the "Free French Second Armoured Division" which was being created there. I have not described the journey to North Africa which was eventful and is recorded here while I can still remember any of it.
It was during 1943 that the F.A.0 personnel to join the Free French were chosen and in the very early spring we were told to board a train in London which was to take us to Greenock. There we were directed to an American troopship to sail to Algiers. The journey from London seemed interminable. It took place at night so that as well as being very cold we were in total darkness because of the blackout. I think we were only preserved from freezing solid by the fact that the carriages were packed tight. It was only after arriving in Glasgow where the civilian passengers left the train that there was any room to move about. At Greenock the carriages were pushed onto a floating quayside and we were very pleased to see a rudimentary N.A.F.F.I. from which local ladies were dispensing hot drinks and sandwiches. Our quay overlooked the Clyde estuary which was filled with ships. We stood eating and drinking, wondering to which of the ships we should be ferried. It was not long before we were taken to a smart looking American vessel and there allocated to quite comfortable quarters where at last we were able to eat a proper meal.
My memory of the voyage to Algiers is very vague, largely I think because nothing happened. I can only recall the pleasure of the gradual change to warmer weather and the adaptation to the life and food at sea.
We had been assured that the French in Algiers were anxiously expecting us, but we should have realised that in wartime that meant nothing at all and so it turned out. Nobody had ever heard of us and clearly we were a great embarrassment. We stood about in a rather disconsolate group, our officers turning up from time to time only to say that nothing was yet decided. Finally we were told that "La Legion" would look after us. We soon learnt that this was the usual outcome of problems in Algiers. The Foreign Legion was expected to solve everything and usually did! We looked out for cars or a lorry but that is not how "La Legion" did things. We were lined up and marched to our destination - the Headquarters at the "Caserne D'Orleans". Their main headquarters were at Sidi-Bel-Abbes in Morocco, but the Caserne D'Orleans was a huge barracks in a dominating position. It was right at the top of the high ground looking down on Algiers harbour. To get there we marched uphill for about two hours through the native quarter (the sort of place one would not wish to get lost in!).Finally we arrived at the imposing gate of the Caserne where a good many of "La Legion" had turned out to inspect their unexpected guests.
It had been decided that the general standard of Legion personnel was altogether too rough to receive us so we were placed under the care of the band (musical!) who were thought to be more cultured possibly than the others. This was probably a wise decision and the bandsmen took their responsibility very seriously. They explained that it would not be very wise to ask a man what had caused him to join the Foreign Legion or to take too much interest in a legionnaire's background. In fact far more conversation was concerned with us and what on earth we were doing there! We met the usual service reaction to our explanation - "Now that IS a good way out of the war - I wish I had thought of it". The bandsmen introduced us to the Mess whether as a purely practical move or in the hope of free drinks - probably a bit of both though they did seem to understand that we were not exactly flush with money. The Mess itself was in the basement of one of the main barrack blocks, a huge room with a bar extending along the whole of one side of the building. Like all the rooms in the barracks it had a slightly unfinished appearance and was always crowded and one got the impression that before it could be finished, people had poured in so that is how it had remained ever since.
In an English bar the main drink is beer, dispensed in pint or half-pint glasses. In the main bar at the Caserne the usual drink was a litre of a distillation of banana, a singularly horrible drink though very alcoholic and very cheap. There must have been a great overproduction of bananas perhaps because the war was preventing export. I suppose in the circumstances, using the excess as a basis for a popular drink was a good way of disposing of it. I thought it was quite awful, apart from its ability to create drunkenness very quickly, I have never liked the taste of bananas. My heart used to sink when asked to join a party at the bar and dispose of a few "bananas"!! It seemed to me if the lack of culture in the Legion was to be assessed especially in a country noted for the high quality of its wines, then the drinking of "bananas" said it all. The Algerians and the Legionnaires were not cultured and why the French thought we were, I never understood - perhaps just another example of the high opinion that most of the French military people had for the English.
After a very long and eventful day we were escorted to our quarters. The Caserne consisted of four four-storey buildings of total simplicity. Each level had a row of windows at shoulder height. They were large and made the tiled floors shining bright but that was all there was. Roof, windows and floor in a space the size of a cricket pitch. The floor sloped gently and at the top end there were four very large taps. At the bottom end the wall was broken by drain holes. The loo and washing arrangements were outside the lower drain holes - everything was extremely simple! We all slept like logs but it was almost worth waking up to hear the combined bugle section of the band playing "Reveille". However before that we were shown the cleaning arrangements for the barrack-room floors. A man came through the door at the top end of the building and shouted that we had two minutes to get everything off the floor onto the window ledges. He then turned on all the taps at full strength. I was lucky in that I happened to be awake but for the others it was good training in getting up sharply. The four taps delivered a powerful rush of water, and many a sock and even a shoe or two were seen disappearing through the drain holes at the bottom of the building. Searching the nasty area outside was a bad way to start the day!
I cannot leave this account of our stay with the Legion at the Caserne D'Orleans without recalling the day we were offered what I think was probably the highest honour that the Legion was prepared to offer to a unit such as ours. We were asked to join them on a route march!! The Legion were not stupid enough to think we could manage one of their enormous three day marches across Algeria and the Atlas mountains but suggested we meet them and march back for the last day. Luckily it dawned on us that this was an enormous honour - a gesture we should not under any circumstances refuse. Having grasped this point we did manage to persuade most of the Unit to join in. It became a reality when we were all issued with small pieces of white cloth to be stitched to the back of our caps to keep the sun off our necks. A lorry was even provided to take us to the village where we were to meet the marching column. We were deposited in a village square about twenty miles from Algiers at 10 o'clock on the day of the march. We heard the Legion approaching about a mile away and they were certainly in good voice!! Fortunately we had foreseen that marching songs were likely to be a major part of the entertainment and had done some rudimentary rehearsing. It is not a thing that as a nation we can claim to be very good at, but with "Widdecombe Fair", "A walloping window blind" and "Oh Jemima", we managed to hold our own. We swung into the Caserne to the lively tune of "Clementine". The band who were marching a few paces behind us, showed their skill by picking up the tune of all our songs within minutes. The fact that I and one or two others knew the words to all our traditional songs was a great help!!
We stayed at the Caserne D'Orleans for three or four weeks which was the time it took to arrange for a train to take us to Casablanca .The line was reported to be clear the whole way but the difficulty was in finding a driver, or drivers who would embark on the journey. It was of course wartime and there were strong uprisings against the French in both Algeria and Morocco. At long last we were instructed to present ourselves at the railway station at 6.a.m. the following morning. Our train did not inspire confidence. The engine was a very small diesel used for shunting at the station, but we were told that it was very reliable and in any case it was all they had. It was to pull a very small carriage into which we just about squeezed ourselves, and four flat trucks loaded with sacks containing wheat flour and masses of couscous. This latter product seemed to be the staple diet of most of Algiers and Morocco. In fact I quite liked it, but as any spare space on the trucks was taken up by bananas it looked as if I was not going to end the journey overfed.! We were assured there was ample food for the trip and the driver would stop wherever there was a chance of buying eggs. All these plans seemed to depend on how long the journey was expected to take, a question answered by a vague wave of the hand and the suggestion that the driver was the one to ask. That seemed obvious but we could never find him. Finally about two hours later he appeared, running., leapt into the cab and we were away.
Later I got to know the driver quite well and learnt that we were , in fact, very lucky to get him at all. The reference to eggs puzzled us considerably, but we soon realised the significance of the remark. The advent of the British Eighth Army from the East and the Americans from their landing in the West had increased the population in the various countries that made up North West Africa. Hens and goats could be rapidly bred to meet requirements and this was obvious from a brief glance around. There were hens everywhere, even in the middle of a large city like Algiers. The food supply was augmented, and because of the demand the eggs were always very fresh. The Americans brought in a good deal of their own tinned and packaged food but the locals and the British had to engage in a steady activity of "egg-hunting." It also meant we didn't have to exist for weeks on a diet of couscous alone. This odd and amusing occupation nearly got our C.0.(Bill Spray) and myself into some difficulty
Our driver had parked the train in the station , or main square of a small town - at least that is what we thought it was. As he made off he called that there were eggs everywhere. Bill and I set out to supply the much needed nourishment for our gang of hungry men On such an expedition one needed to carry a fair amount of ready cash leaving one highly vulnerable. We walked down a street leading off from the square. It was walled on both sides, broken from time to time by heavy wooden doors that looked as if they were never opened, giving no clue as to what lay behind. Several streets led off from the one we were on and as we had no idea where to go, we just drifted on in a rather haphazard way, and within half an hour we were totally lost! Then to our surprise a man appeared. He said something about eggs and "follow me" but as he was carrying a large knife we made off in the opposite direction. Quite suddenly we realised that we were back in the square with the railway lines - but there was NO TRAIN. The whole square was deserted!
 "Ifs your fault Dennis", said Bill. "You ought to have brought a compass, and you don't even know the name of this place - it's the sort of thing a second-in-command is supposed to know"! We stood about hoping someone would come along, but it was getting dark and clearly we had been abandoned while our train was chugging south towards Casablanca. I asked Bill how much money he had and together it seemed we could muster about thirty pounds in French money. Could we hire a car? But we did not know where we were to start with. There was no suggestion of panic, but when our train suddenly appeared round the corner of the buildings, we both felt we were again part of the known world. It seemed that the little town we were in was about three miles south of the coast and, in passing, the train did a loop there off the mainline. At least we had succeeded in buying some eggs which were received with delight by our two cooks.
The following day we were due to arrive at Sidi-bel-Abbes, the H.Q. of the Legion. Our driver who turned out to be a retired legionnaire told us that we were going to be officially met at the station, giving our clothes a hard stare as he did so. It seemed that the communications between Algiers and the Legion Headquarters were better than we had supposed and "something" had been laid on. Bill and I put on our best uniforms and persuaded the rest to shave and generally smarten up so that we presented as tidy a squad as was possible in the circumstances. It was as well that we had been warned because the Legion were very well versed in the niceties of receiving visitors. The committee was led by a Commandant supported by a senior Captain. Both were in their early forties and had been receiving guests for many years. They were dressed for the occasion but not in too overbearing way. It was the legionnaire servants in second class uniform who made the whole occasion very formal. The Commandant and the Captain spoke fluent English, but they had evidently been told that Bill spoke fluent French although mine was not so good. The Commandant knew London well, but the Captain had toured all over England and was hoping to go back after the war. It was a relaxed and extremely well managed reception. To begin with there were (in the French style) strong drinks where the English would have offered sherry. I remember I had port but it was not too heavy a vintage. The meal that followed was, of course, couscous and mutton but with everything imaginable in addition, though it was the wines that stick in my memory.
The conversation was largely about us and it was very good to find that the F.A.U. was known about and understood by most of the committee (perhaps they had a lecture before we arrived!). It was always surprising and encouraging to find that the reputation of the old Unit established during the 1914/1918 war was still in the minds of the French and I only hope we went some way to preserving it. The evening ended with a very gracious farewell speech by the Commandant and then we were off again into the night rattling away towards Casablanca.
We were now travelling due south parallel with the coast. This was the western edge of the Sahara and very wild country. There were bridges every few miles over dried up watercourses. Each bridge was guarded by a detachment of troops and considerable negotiation was involved before we allowed to cross. There was a certain amount of agricultural production, largely dates which were packed into metal boxes or long wooden ones with which we were familiar. At the centres of habitation they were loaded onto trucks which our little train then hauled to the next town. Progress was slow and it was sometime before we approached a much larger city.
Our arrival at Casablanca was expected and this time we found vehicles waiting to take us to our final destination, the race course at Rabat where the Second Armoured Division was setting up its headquarters. The vehicles were discarded British Eighth Army two-ton trucks and one Austin Ambulance that was very near the end of its life. I was given the doubtful honour of taking charge of this elderly wreck and managed to keep it operational until our new American vehicles arrived. I wish I could remember more of the first meeting with the Division that was to be our life for the next year or more, but the characters who were to become our close comrades took time to become established as our friends. Everyone who has had dealings with an army knows that it is the NCO's who run things. As we were joining the medical battalion of the Division there were two officers at the station to greet us, both doctors, but they soon handed us over to the senior NCO who was Sergeant Larreur. His position was similar to a regimental sergeant-major in the British army. Larreur ran everything and we became just one aspect of his empire!
I have mentioned in earlier stories that Larreur had a great respect for the English especially our recent history when we stood alone against the Germans. He was determined that we should fit into his fiefdom and to that end he set about teaching us everything we needed to know about the French army and how to live and work with it. It filled the time till our ambulances and Shermans arrived and we could practise the job of dealing with casualties. A large marquee had been set up for us alongside the grandstand building where the Division's headquarters and officers were. We were supplied with comfortable camp beds, and the far end of the marquee was established as a cooking area. Larreur told us that our evening meal would be brought to us shortly, but thereafter we should be on our own. We could draw what food and stores we needed and coffee would be available from 6.30 to 7.a.m.. He then bade us goodnight with the promise of an early start the next day. We did feel that after a long journey we had at last arrived.
At this stage my personal position began to deteriorate. I caught infectious jaundice which practically crippled the British Eighth Army and spread down to us. It was a very nasty illness, especially in those circumstances because for at least a week one just seemed to be very tired and lazy, hardly appropriate!! It was Larreur who made me stand looking skywards to see if he could detect the yellow in my eyes. "You've got yellow jaundice Mr Woodcock and you will need at least a week in bed". He was right of course and there was no treatment except staying in bed feeling awful. The F.A.U. had to settle in to work with the Division without me and eventually the French sent me away to stay with a French family to recuperate, a period that will form the basis of my next story!