Chapter 12. Touring around.
It was enormous, rows and rows of headstones. Acres of them.
There was no one there, just the graves.
(Jan's letter home May 77
WAR GRAVES
Before we left Christchurch a good friend and workmate Reg Carr, came to me and asked if we would do him a favour while we were in Libya. It transpired that his wife had had a brother killed during the New Zealand desert campaign in North Africa.
When she knew we were going to Libya she asked if we could put some flowers on his grave for her. She gave us the name of the war cemetery and the location of the grave. I of course said we would do our best though at the time we had no idea where the cemetery was or if we would be able to visit it.
When we had been in Benghazi nearly a year and were quite settled, we felt it was time we went further afield, and checked out some other parts of this vast country. To our East lay the whole Mediterranean coast continuing to the Egyptian border and beyond. It was along the hinterland of this coast that some of the major battles of the desert war took place. There are several war cemeteries in the area, one of which contained the grave of our friend's brother.
Jan and I decided that we would make an expedition to find the place and visit the grave. We also decided to go without Guy and Anna, as it looked like a long trip, with a stopover somewhere. Travel in Libya is a hit and miss affair as there is no way of booking ahead and the maps, even the latest Michelin guide, are out of date. So not altogether reluctantly, we had to leave Guy and Anna behind. Here Jan can take up the story by way of excerpts from a letter home.
Benghazi 13 May 1977
Dear Mum Dad and family.
Now 14th May.
That's the story of my life lately. I just get started on a letter and the doorbell rings, or Pete gives me a glass of his home brew which makes me sleepy enough to be in bed by 9pm.
I'd better start this saga on the 5th of May, we've had quite a week all in all so if I don’t start at the beginning I will miss something out.
Last Thursday Julia and Kristian came over after lunch to take over the house and children. Pete and I were packed up and ready to go and we got away about 3pm. It did seem so strange to be going away without Guy and Anna. They didn't mind staying behind and J and K had the Guides tent and were planning on having the day at the beach on Friday with them!
The Wadi Kuf bridge on the way to Derna.
So Thursday we took off and drove through Tocra, El Marj, Beida, to Derna. We arrived at Derna just before dusk, at about 8pm. It's a pretty town. It sits on several hills in a bay and has its own small port.
There are lots and lots of trees, shrubs, gardens, parks and squares. By far the most attractive small town that we have seen in this country. Pete by some real feat of navigation found his way through the maze to the Jebel el Akdhar (green mountain) hotel - the only good one - where we tried to get accommodation. No show. Too many oilmen etc in town for the weekend I suppose.
Anyway, they suggested we try the Medina hotel "just around the corner". Ha ha! Many corners, several kilometers, and half an hour later, we resorted to asking pedestrians.
Suddenly we had company. He hopped in the back seat and his mate hopped in beside him. Pete told me to leave it to him, thats the way to do things here.
So we did another tour of Derna. They insisted we try the Akdhar again and then they took us to the Medina and again it was no go. They were both very nice young men, but spoke very little English, we gathered one of them was an off duty policeman, he showed us his ID, and then we were off again.
Finally he found us a room in a "hotel" with no name! We went through a blue door next to a material shop, up a flight of stairs and there we were. We were pretty thankful to find beds for the night and they looked reasonably clean (for the standards here anyway).
So we gave them our passports and left our gear there. We had no worries as they are very honest here, besides, we had been brought here by a policeman hadn't we?
We went back to the Akdhar for a meal, $20 NZ dollars for Libyan soup, grilled chicken and chips. Followed by a pathetic lone little red jelly sitting in the middle of a large plate!!
Back to the no name place. Pete had to stand guard outside the bathroom for me as the door had a foot gap at bottom and top and no lock. It also only had a squat hole for a loo. Properly turned off I was. However, it actually had running water.
Settled down in bed to read for a while until I got itchy - whereupon we found the bedbugs in my bed and ticks crawling up the wall and into Pete's bed! Had a good spray out, good thing I had remembered to bring a spray can.
Finally settled down again until the family in the next door building arrived on the roof to eat there supper, accompanied by crying baby and barking dog, a few feet from our glassless and screen less window!!
Eventually everything quietened down and we drifted off to sleep. Worse was to come. There was a mosque just across the roof of next door, about 20 metres away. Just before dawn, the muezzin called. Not your pleasant call from a man on the parapet, no, this was a call from a tape feeding a high powered amplifier which in turn fed four huge PA speakers, one of which pointed right at our window.
Pete rose out of his bed in one move, at least three feet up he flew. On landing his bed collapsed under him. I hope you are laughing now, because we really had to.
Pete put the bed back together and we managed another hour of more or less sleep.
7.00 we got up and paid the rather exorbitant bill, bought some fresh bread and headed for Tobruk. I don't think I have ever driven such vast distances where there is absolutely nothing to see.
Once out of Derna we were up on a plateau and there is only a black pipeline alongside the road to watch, it is mesmerising. It runs from Derna, where fresh artesian water is available to Tobruk some hundreds of kilometres away. It now provides Tobruk with part of its water supply but originally it was for the sole use of King Idris who had a palace on the hills above the town!!
Every now and then, there was a little oasis where the pipe leaked, and as often as not a group of Libyans would be filling their plastic containers with the precious liquid.
Sometimes it goes underground for a camel crossing and half way to Tobruk it went underground and reappeared on the other side of the road and believe me, that was a real event.
We saw one donkey fight en route- in fact we had to stop because these jolly donkeys were really battling in the middle of the road..
The entrance to the Knightsbridge war cemetry.
We drove and drove - flattish monotonous country - an escarpment lifted up on our right, otherwise low scruffy brown scrub, brown sandy earth, no trees, odd little groups of huts or low buildings, one well being sunk for water and that was it.
32 kilometres this side of Tobruk we saw, etched against the escarpment, a large gleaming white cross. It marked the Knightsbridge war cemetery (Commonwealth).
We headed off down a bumpy track towards it. We arrived at the gates stopped and just stared. It was enormous, rows and rows of headstones. Acres of them. There was no one there, just the graves.
The entrance had an alcove in which there was a directory (in English) listing all the graves and their location. They were arranged by country and there were two large blocks of New Zealanders. Walking through those rows of memorials was an emotional experience.
The names, their ages. Particularly their ages. 18, 19, 20, 21, really got to us. Hundreds of young New Zealanders buried here on a dusty hillside in a totally alien country...
We found Mrs Carr's brothers grave and placed her note on it and took some photos. It's a lovely, peaceful, serene, place. There wasn't another soul around.
There were lots of well watered trees and shrubs and geraniums blooming in profusion, its so clean and spotless it's hard to believe it is in Libya. There are shady corners with seats and vines and flowers. Full marks to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission who administer these places.
Graves in the New Zealand section.
After a while Pete went back and read parts of the official war history of the area, which is with the books of names. He was pretty silent for a while I think because two of his brothers were very much involved in the battles round here, he was realising just how lucky they were to come through unscathed.
We were both pretty emotional when we left and instead of going on to Tobruk we turned back and headed for Derna. There was one further jolt to our emotions as we left the area, for on a small rise on the other side of the valley there was another large cemetery, this one the sign told us contained the graves of German soldiers. We didn't visit it, enough was enough.
I don't want to labour the point but my overriding thought was about the thousands of lives lost fighting here in this area, these men and boys buried here in this inhospitable country and the people at home who will never get to see the graves of their loved ones.
When we got back to Derna we decided to take the coast road to Appolonia. If you can call it a road, that is. Many years ago it had been sealed the exact width of one car, but now the surface was just patches of seal interspersed with patches of potholed dirt.
It winds like a mountain goat track along the coast around every little inlet and up and down the wadis etc. The few oncoming Libyan drivers challenge for the right of way, they can't bear to give way, so we spent the first 20 km getting off the road every time we saw a car approaching!
We had brought along a gas primus, food and water, so were reasonably self sufficient and eventually we found a shady spot just off the road so we had ourselves a picnic - a tin of baked beans and tiny sausages- a treat because the sausages were pork. Now and then they appeared in the markets, I think the Libyans ate them and enjoyed them without realising what they were.
Picnic on the way home.
We were not expected home until Saturday afternoon and we had planned on staying overnight at Shahat or Beida and visiting the ruins at Cyrene, but by this stage we decided that we wanted our own home - toilet and shower more then anything - besides we missed the children, it was too quiet without them. Therefore, it was straight home.
We arrived at about 8-30pm having driven 660 kilometres in a day, completely exhausted, grubby and feeling yucky, as Guy would say.
PETRIFIED FOREST.
The term petrified forest came up often in conversation and someone always said we must organise a trip there someday. Nothing ever happened as it was quite an expedition and not many people actually knew how to get there. One day it all came together and the trip was arranged for a coming Friday. Three families. The Stillmans from next door, The Flatjords, our Norwegian friends and us. The petrified forest is some 60 kilometers inland from the town of Adjedabia. Jan takes up the story.
We left at 9 am and drove South along the main road to Tripoli, heading for Adjedabia. As we cleared the Benghazi environs the countryside became quite barren looking. Very rocky, inhospitable, only low shrubs, but here and there herds of sheep and goats, and then herds of camels. Sometimes 40 or 50 or so, all colours, almost black through the browns to vari-coloured. We passed a couple of Bedouin tent camps - low lying- blending in with the bare landscape.
Adjedabia is a thriving town pop. 30 - 40000, new modern buildings popping up here there and every where. We turned off the main road and headed South East directly inland. The road we followed was very good and in earlier times was one of the main camel routes to central Africa. It now provided access to the inland village of Aguila and the desert tracks that led to the various Oasis (including Kufra) and oilfields.
Gradually the vegetation became non existent until we were in the most incredibly bare landscape I could ever have imagined. We passed through Wadi el faregh– a long wide deep depression – in the middle of which a water well stood, surrounded by Bedouin tents. Here and there we would see a figure against the horizon – a shepherd and then we would see he had a flock of sheep with him. How they ever survived I wouldn't know.
We were horrified by the carcasses on route, first you would see rubber skid marks, then a mangled camel, then the wreck of a car alongside the road. Cars travel at such speeds along these highways that a wandering camel or donkey is lethal.
There were more then just a few! The other dead bods were rubber tyres - all sizes, all along the roads - results of overloading, heat, and speed, we think. You wouldn't credit how many.
Anyway, 60 kilometers from Adjedabia we came to three conical sand dunes, sitting in the middle of nowhere, a couple of kilometers off the road. Parked, sun blocked, behatted – because it was gaspingly hot – we set off and walked to these dunes.
In the petrified forest!!
There is no doubt that a forest had once grown here, tens of thousands of years ago when the whole country was a lush savannah with lakes and rivers, certainly no sign of that now. Spent an hour or so looking around and collecting interesting specimens.
The wood, which was not wood any more, was more like a piece of glass. It was heavy and rang like a bell if you struck it. Most peculiar.
We were all becoming affected by the heat so walked back to the cars and drove on for a further 30 kilometers till we came to a huge black rock with a large overhang - offering a nice bit of shade - the only shade for 90 kilometers! So we spread ourselves out and had a picnic lunch - very relaxed and enjoyable.
Saw my first live scorpion, Andrew looked down and saw this green thing about 5cm long crawling up his trouser leg. He yelled jumped up and shook it off, unfortunately it landed on his wife, who performed similarly. When all was quiet we found the little fellow and looked at it curiously. It seemed harmless enough but its reputation made it seem very sinister, we let it go on its way.
The only shade we could find.
After that we drove home arriving very tired but pleased we had had a very good day out and seen part of the country that was quite different to the Benghazi area. We also had a few unique souvenirs in the pieces of petrified wood we brought back.
I had seen some of the real desert scorpions pickled in jars on my trips to Kufra. They were black and up to 10cm long. Their sting was apparently fearsome, not lethal to a healthy person but extremely painful and debilitating. I never saw a live black scorpion but the chance of coming across one was always in the back of my mind when working outside around the various stations.
Scorpions and snakes were common in some parts and stories abound of encounters with them. I was lucky in that though I saw a few snakes they were more interested in slithering away and finding somewhere to hide rather then causing me grief.
Next page. Chapter 13 Antiquities