by Robin Wrigley
mulled wine
In
1973 I was working on the fringes of the Sahara in Algeria. We were camped less
than an hour’s drive south from the small town of Messaad, east of the main
provincial town Laghouat. It was necessary to pass through Messaad to access the
main road to either Laghouat or Algiers.
It wasn’t long before we discovered that a
group from the British charity ‘Save the Children’ were based in an old French
fort in the town and we went to visit them and say hello. The manager was a
retired army officer and the medical staff comprised of two mid-wives and a lady
doctor. We quickly established a friendship and always called in whenever we had
occasion to pass by. The staff liked to see fellow countrymen dropping in and we
became very useful to the group in being able take mail for them or help out
with supplies. For us it was a welcome watering point on journeys out of the
desert, especially if it coincided with a meal time.
******
A few weeks before Christmas that year I was
scheduled to make a two weeks break in England. On my way up to Algiers I called
in at the charity and collected their Christmas cards and wish lists to buy for
them in London. It was arranged I would make various purchases and also contact
the doctor’s sister to collect her presents to carry back.
Little did I know what I was letting
myself in for with this offer, now becoming purchaser and carrier. Most of the
items requested were from Marks and Spenser’s ladies underwear department! The
doctor’s sister’s gifts took up a quarter of my suitcase and the various
purchase items another quarter. The other half was filled with various Christmas
goodies such as mince pies, Christmas cake and pudding. Thankfully I did not
need much room for my own personal effects.
The next hurdle was the Algerian custom’s
authorities at Algiers airport. The country was still coming to terms with the
dreadful and prolonged war of independence and the treatment of foreigners was
not very friendly. Baggage searches were very thorough and nit-picking.
Magazines zealously scrutinized for any racy photos or anything likely to offend
good Moslem conduct. Advertisements for ladies underwear would result in the
page being ripped out or the magazine completely confiscated.
The large amount of ladies underwear in my
bag caused considerable concern but I lied explaining it was for members of my
family. The rest of the presents and Christmas goodies survived the
check.
*****
On
Christmas day the five of us who were left on the crew arranged a ‘service day’
and finished around midday, washed, changed into our best available clothes and
headed north to Messaad. Their manager was not present having arranged to go
home to England for the holiday but the doctor and midwives had entered into the
spirit with decorations, mince pies and mulled wine.
They had also wrapped presents for each of
us and although the gifts were simple and really no more than tokens we made a
big scene of opening each one with cries of surprise followed by much applause.
My present was a pair of M & S socks. Sad to say it was the sum total of my
Christmas presents that year.
We then retired to the dining table where
a fine seasonal feast had been laid out; what with that and the local wine we
wanted for nothing even though we were far from our homeland.
After the meal we played the usual silly
games, sang Christmas carols and generally chatted and reminisced about our
lives and our families. Later in the evening after another snacking type meal we
bade our hosts farewell and set off into a cold but clear Saharan night on our
journey back to our camp.
Our camp life continued much the same as
ever until three days before New Year I received instructions from Algiers head
office that we should strike camp and head to a new concession further south and
then east near the town of Touggourt and on to a camp site in El Oued, a date
growing area. The preparations for the move made it impossible to bid farewell
to the charity. It wasn’t until after the dust settled and the camp reorganised
that I discovered my Christmas present of the socks was missing, presumed
stolen.
Not long after this move I became
disenchanted with the new area, the company management, the flies in the date
growing oasis and life in general and I resigned and returned to
London.
*****
Since
my time in Algeria I have worked and lived in many countries worldwide but at
this time of the year I often reflect on the loss of those socks. Did the thief
enjoy them? I consoled myself with the thought that he probably needed them more
than I did.
*****
A few
weeks before Christmas in 2017 a package arrived for me from a company called
‘Bamboo’ of whom I had never heard of before. Inside the package was a very nice
pair of blue-striped socks, just my size.
This year the same thing happened again!
God really does move in mysterious ways.
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