Chapter Ten

After about four weeks at this place orders came to be ready to get back on the train. The Captain demanded to know to where, and why. He was assured by a letter to the colonel that we were to be shipped back through Casablanca to a camp somewhere no too far from that city. My French had progressed to a point where I would be the unofficial interpreter, when the powers in charge did not, more likely, chose not, to speak English.

So, back on the train, west-ward after changing train again at Oujda but no stop this time. Spirits were up some and we wondered if other ships had been taken over and what could have happened to their crews. We held ourselves lucky in the sense that we were riding regular railroad cars, not mixed with other passengers. We passed through Fes, Meknes, and Rabat not being particularly bothered by an overnight trip again. No one was particularly interested in getting off at the various stops. The trip to Berguent sort of tied us together; perhaps a herd instinct would be used today; bonding even?. Some foods and refreshments were provided before finally reaching good, old, Casablanca. We were not really aware of any security as we were being transferred to two busses.

The Officers advised we were to keep together. Our destination was to be a new type of camp, a camp for "Travalleurs Etrangers", i.e. -foreign workers, as if the French were indicating this was for not accepting to be shipped back to Norway.

The threat of being shipped to Norway, even if it sounded illegal, seemed still to hang over us. It was our Captain and our Officers who, in that case, might have been in real trouble. We didn’t talk about it; generally, we were all in the same fix. It were still unknown to many of us that the Captain had been able to effect a change in our precarious condition. The fact that we were on our way to a working camp seemed to indicate that we were still very much under someone’s control.

Conditional behavior?:

The loss of our ship, the transportation through Morocco, 4 weeks in a tent camp, threats of disciplinary camp road work, seemed to indicate we were a docile, disparate, group of Seamen excepting the stand at Oujda. Yet, what could we have done different?

Years later, in the U.S., a question arose about inaction of the Norwegian populace, during the initial days of the German occupation in 1940. My defensive answer was in two parts, based on our experience during this particular time. Revolt against an invasion force is a romantic notion largely based on observations from a safe distance, uninvolved. And just to revolt, facing reality without any promise of practical results, seems to equal futility.

Right now we were just a bunch of Seamen, from an occupied country, being shuttled to and fro; this "fro" the railroad station at Casablanca, again. We were to board a couple of buses...

Settat, Camp two:

The busses drove off the main road just past the town of Settat. We were met by a welcoming committee of a French Army Captain and an uncertain retinue of "Tavalleurs Etrangers", -Foreign Workers’ control group. I tried to tell Odd this looked like some more adventure, more trying to cheer myself up, but Odd just winked, meaning they would manage somehow, as always. A civilian official explained the conditions we were to adhere to and introduced us to the French Army Captain in charge.

The group was asked to follow up a small hill to a gathering of tents and a few adobe type buildings, roughly 12x8 ft. An uncertain number of people, travalleurs strangers we supposed we were to become a part of, were watching our arrival.

Our Captain immediately told me to follow him asking to see the French Captain in his quarters. But as soon as our Captain found out that the French Captain was willing to speak English, I was dismissed.

The next day our Captain was able to leave to live at Casablanca, apparently as arranged through the Norwegian Ship-Chandler there. It may be noted here that as the other ships were taken over their Captains would live at Casablanca for reasons of administrative work. No one really minded, it likely was work that had to be taken care of because the crews were still paid from London through the aforementioned Ship-Chandlers.

The adobe-type building allotted to us was too small to accommodate the crew; solution?, -we all slept outside on straw-type mats. There was no particular grumbling as we were told we were going to be occupied building a road. Apparently the trip to Oujda, being threatened to be sent to Norway, and the sojourn at Berguent showed us we were at the mercy of the French... We could imagine being in a more negative fix, hence a tacit rather than docile acceptance.

We had been warned to be on guard against scorpions, especially as we started digging to build and broaden a road from the main road to the camp. More than once in the morning one could find a scorpion under the mat, apparently crawled under there for the body heat. No one in our crew was stung by these critters; there usually was an outcry whenever anyone dug up a nest so one could be warned they were around.

This time of the year made it no problem to sleep under the stars; I, at least, had not yet learned about the supposed romance from the Hollywood movies. Our adobe building was used to store our mats, blankets, and private belongings. All the suitcases and sea bags showed signs of having been around, as the saying goes. Whenever we were away from the area one of our members would stay near as a guard. Several of the foreign workers would ask to be able to store their belongings there. They knew, they said, that the Norwegians were honest.

Food was prepared in a make-shift kitchen, like a stationary field kitchen. We had become accustomed to the type food served at Berguent. A terse statement about the food may be that for me it resulted almost in a steady case of diarrhea. once a week everybody in the camp lined up near the ‘kitchen to peel potatoes, or "pomme de terre" as a special dish. This for a group of Seamen who had been used to having potatoes with every meal; for them it was no meal without potatoes, but one adapts...

The latrines deserves special mention. That was also part of one’s adaptation; -four or five trenches, about one foot wide, about twelve foot long and about four foot deep. one tried to get there early in the morning so that one could be first in line.... New trenches were dug about every week or so since there were about 100 people in the camp.

The name, "Foreign Workers", derived from the fact that that’s just who comprised the group at this camp. Many of them had fled from Spain and entered the Foreign Legion after Franco defeated the republican forces. They were from the group of people Hemingway wrote about in "For Whom The Bells Toll", the volunteers fighting for a cause, looking rag tag now. I felt rather insignificant in the presence of someone offering his life in that manner. Feelings generally were with the republican forces, as being a duly elected government.

But as the Germans started to have some say, after the fall of France, most of these former fighters, many apparently communists, were separated from the Legion and gathered into these ‘Foreign Worker camps where the crew of Ringulv now found themselves. It is also possible this was a convenient way for the Legion to weed out Soldiers not longer fit for the rigors of that renowned outfit.

We were called quite early. There was a type of military discipline. Some of the people there apparently were under some type penalty. At about six we received coffee, a piece of bread and at times a sardine. Lunchtime seemed to be just more bread and water.

The road building work was by no means a chain gang affair. No one was counting progress. It seemed mainly that we should be occupied. Time was not a factor in this camp life. Don’t recall that the road, as such, was anything but a path carved out in the dirt. Whenever some of the older men, ours, met with some hard dirt us younger guys would shift over and see the job through. We did work under the somewhat hot summer sun but I don’t recall any severity, as such.

Some of the crew were set to break rock in a rock quarry, then to carry the broken rock some distance. There was a set-to with the guards in the quarry not being satisfied with the progress. This was backbreaking work. Officers on horseback ordered them to carry larger loads of rock for the road.

First Escape:

The story of this facet of our working conditions was told to me later. Somehow I was unaware of any direct inspection where I was working. Three of the Seamen who were working in the quarry supposedly were threatened ‘with’ Bou-Arfa, the story went, because of sabotage, i. e. not working hard enough. The threat was delivered in French during the morning call to work. It likely was a misunderstanding. I was in an infirmary in town. A subsequent move of our group to a relatively open civilian camp seems to bear this out.

Taking the threat seriously, though, two of them disappeared during the night. Olav returned to the camp the next evening, having forgotten his passport. And he was there in the morning, under his blanket, when our Chief asked that Olav’s effects be packed; he disappeared again that night. It was learned later they received moneys from our Captain at Casblanca. Meeting two others who had fled from the camp the four made a successful flight in a stolen boat from Rabat, apparently after a precarious first try in a leaking boat. Successful in the sense they got away from French Morocco.

But after three days they were unable to get across the Strait to Gibraltar, because of a broken oar, and landed in Spanish Morocco. They were met by some Spanish Soldiers and spent about three months in jail, at Tetuan, before being released through the efforts of the English consul at Tangiers and were able finally to get to their goal, Gibraltar.

The problems encountered at this camp by Olav and the three others is but a vague memory. It likely was not discussed in any detail among Odd, Elias and I, the two I generally hung out with. Perhaps there was a condition of don’t shake the boat, not necessarily from a docile attitude. May be the threat of being shipped back to German occupied Norway was too recent, and, the certain fate of the Captain and the Officers. As if a loyalty owed them....

The escape happened when I had been sent to stay at an infirmary in town, on a boiled milk diet, because of a severe diarrhea condition. The room was rather big, windows on two walls. Time passed by trying to read old newspapers. A French nurse would see me occasionally. But I received the undivided attention of a couple of younger Arab cleaning girls who appeared to be fascinated by this young, blond, foreigner who spoke broken French. The floor would be cleaned 2-3 times a day, the girl always closing the door, as if she wanted privacy....

Peculiarly enough, I was able to make forays into the town where I soon learned about a local swimming pool. I became acquainted with some youngsters playing water-polo and they were just in need of a goal keeper.- I was berated by a youngster because I came too far away from the goal, thus allowing the other team to score. After six or seven days my water-polo playing came to a screeching halt as one of the nurses informed the doctor I apparently was well enough to return to the camp. One added reason likely was that I had been observed at the local market tasting fresh figs, which fruit heretofore I had only known or seen dried in packages at Christmas time. I had noticed, too, the nurse was unfriendly to anyone resembling the English, professional nevertheless. (Years later I was diagnosed apparently always having had a spastic colon condition, fresh fruit unfriendly).

After the road was finished the order came to prepare to walk to an area some distance away to dig holes for tree planting. It almost sounded like a joke but it was quite a bit harder, although nothing we couldn’t handle. The group was advised to leave one of their members behind to guard their private possessions. We were working near a small forest planted some time earlier, we were told, which also was the only way to establish a forest. There was considerable pride about their forest.

We walked back to camp for lunch. Counting the time walking it seemed we were still occupied "working" about eight, nine hours. The ground was a type of shale; it required some effort in order to dig an about 9 cubic foot hole, three foot square, three foot deep, with pick-ax and shovel. But nobody really was there to push the effort or keep track of how many holes were dug, as long as digging was going on. Can’t recall any inspection conditions as was reported at the quarry where the escapees had worked.

Our crew stayed together, more or less. Odd and I, and a couple of the other young guys, would stay with Lars and Erik and give them a hand whenever they reached some extra hard soil. Both Lars and Erik easily were in their mid fifties; Lars was somewhat unsteady on foot. To some of us they were old... The holes dug were then to be filled with dirt for each tree, one pr hole. The Officers, having faced possible problems if transported to Norway, seemed to take it in stride as if to show the way...

The area where we were digging was covered with foot-high dried grass. Calamity arose one day, I was told later, as Erik was lighting a cigarette and apparently carelessly dropped the match. (I was on sick leave at the camp due to an infection described later). Before anyone knew what happened the whole area was on fire with a fire-wall, an expression I learned years later, running rapidly in several directions.

As soon as I noticed the fire I ran to the area, concerned about Erik and Lars. Everyone was trying to fight the fire but a shifting wind would come up, changing the direction of the fire-wall and one would to run for one’s life to escape. Changing wind directions also allowed us to get away.

The fire finally burned itself out but the damage was considerable; some 40,000 trees were reported to have been destroyed. Erik had to appear in court at Casablanca for a hearing about possible willful destruction of their forest. A defense layer was provided by our Captain and the shipchandler. Fortunately, a judge agreed that no willful intent had been contemplated; it was deemed an accident. There were some mutterings from some of the other foreign people that perhaps the Norwegians had been acting under some type of nationalistic fervor. We just laughed this off and advised them that the scope of the fire was contrary to Norwegian mores.

Among the people in the camp were some Germans who had been fighting against Franco in Spain, part of a "People’s Brigade", (communists, we knew), from Germany. Apparently they fled to Morocco to join the Foreign Legion when Franco won that war. With the Nazi Germans in present control they were no longer welcome in the Foreign Legion; a former haven now denied. I found use for my High School German and the Germans would engage me in talks about the war etc. Asking if they were not concerned about their future under the present circumstances they just shrugged their shoulders.

A peculiar incident came to my attention which created some stilted feelings. The Germans liked to keep near the Norwegian Seamen because they had no use for, nor trusted the others, as they said. They seemed to try to indicate: "we’re the same kind of people". It was not different from already held perceptions about the Germans, that they considered themselves das Herrenvolk. Hitler had tried to persuade the Norwegian in the same manner during the occupation, I learned later; he allowed we, the Norwegians, were accepted as Aryans. (Long after the war films, depicting Field Marshal Rommel’s operation in North Africa, would tend to show Germans generally would hold the Italian forces in low esteem).

It was an eye opener to me, in that camp, discovering that even as they could not go back to the present Germany, ostensibly because they had been supporting the ‘republican’ forces where Hitler of course had been supporting Franco, these Germans would discuss and seem to be proud of the German advances in the war, according to available news. They, these political ideologues, emphasized that Germany was alone against the others. My counter argument was to remind them this was not a true statement in as much as that the Germans were the only country prepared for war. The fact that they had been able to hide their rearming is another matter. It was a learning experience.

Everyone in the camp was to receive injections because of some epidemic. An orderly was to do the job. I developed an abscess in the injected area, on the left upper arm, apparently from a dirty needle; ( I still have a scar on the upper left arm). Excused from work while the orderly tried to repair the damage he had caused gave me some time to get acquainted with some regular camp crew. But they were as if on guard mostly because they were supposed to be working; it seemed they were not accustomed to discuss freely, even as they acknowledged general fairness of the Scandinavians.

We had a daily ration of one or two pills, every morning, but we were unsure what for. Everyone in the camp lined up. Elias, my school mate, always managed to keep the pills under his tongue then spit them out at a convenient time. Asking him why he took the chance, Elias only shrugged his shoulders saying he didn’t trust they would do anything for him. It made me wonder if I was just too malleable. At the same time I reasoned the pills wouldn’t do any harm, and just might be for something. But we managed to turn this incident into a source of merriment just the same.

We were advised, after inquiry, that one of these pills also was against possible malaria. At a later time one of our number came down with malaria-type symptoms at one of the camps. Whether it was related to the taking or not taking of pills at Settat is of course problematic, as the saying goes.

Digression 2:

Describing deepwater sailors on Ringulv at Safi, brought on memories about the life of my Uncle Louie. At this writing about Elias not swallowing the pills at Settat brings back memories of my first visit back to Norway, in --71. I learned then that Elias had married and settled in England after the war. I remembered that Elias had been engaged to one of the girls in our class when we left Norway. My sister-in-law informed me that the girl, Tora, had married. During one of my later trips to Norway I learned that Elias had passed away in England. This may have been in -91, when I also learned that another of my schoolmates, Ola had passed away. This first visit is described in an appendix.

-back to Settat...

I was unable to find out much about the little town of Settat, what made the town tick so to speak; (It was a surprise to learn later Settat was only about 60 miles from Casablanca!). The town seemed to be more of a market place and railroad stop. Information from our Captain at Casablanca was scant. But we did receive our pocket money, drawing against our wages. (This fact, at least made us feel we still belonged, though unsure of where). Some of the other workers, the ones from the Foreign Legion apparently were allowed to visit the town. Don’t recall any of our group being interested, but if the other groups had any news they kept it to themselves.

It always seemed that the French Army encampments contained a little regimental area around the camp flag pole which generally would include the regimental insignia. At Settat this area was adorned with a polished stone block, about one and one half cubic foot, with "La France" in six inch high letters chiseled in and painted in gold. one evening, just after dark as the Germans returned from town, apparently after some wine, one of them said: "Lessen uns La France anpissen", (translation seems unnecessary-), which they proceeded to do. I noted a Frenchman doing some cleaning and washing at the area next morning. Nothing more came of it.

I was surprised at their action. They had been in the Foreign Legion where such lack of discipline would have been severely dealt with. We felt this was in line with German behavior/demeanor generally and that we ought to keep our distance; they were Germans after all, as in ‘blood is thicker than water, learned many years later...