Chapter Nine

(NOMADS?)

Our stay here at Safi had been eventful to some degree. Now, mid-June we were concerned being busy, discussing our stay in this little burgh. We were from a seafaring nation, now defeated and occupied, denied our trade or craft. We were out of harms way, but that was starting to wear too.

Even so we were surprised one morning as the days’ chores were slowly getting starting. A small detachment of French Navy Officers and men appeared on the breakwater. A small launch pulled up to the companion ladder bringing the French onboard. Ringulv was being requisitioned by France; -"be ready to disembark at noon" was the order. "You will be quartered in hotels ashore for the time being", was as far as the foreboding order went. The crew couldn’t understand why the Tana, a more modern and efficient motorship, was not taken. The Ringulv was an old coal burner. Perhaps the French did not have available engine crew for diesel ships.

When the Polish 3000 ton diesel motor ship had been taken just a few days earlier we remembered how much trouble the French seemed to have getting her out. Even with the Polish Chief Engineer onboard they had to drop anchor twice to prevent the ship from being taken up on the beach by the roiling sea as her engine apparently stopped just as she was turning out into the sea outside the breakwater, and they seemingly could not get the motor re-started. But after dropping both anchors they were able to restart and get under way out to sea. The Ringulv and Tana crews wondered if the Polish engineer could be involved, somehow. An outburst: "That’s all one can expect from the French", even if true, did not seem to help the situation any. And even as the Polish ship had been taken, as our turn now came it seemed a surprise, -"this old tub?". It made some sense why the modern Polish ship was taken...

Uncertainty and anger hung over our crew like a pall... I was reprimanded by one of the older sailors for dumping a couple of the hatch cover sections, about 112 by 5 feet, into the hold, getting some satisfaction hearing the covers clanging down into the bottom of the hold: "We, don’t act like that"!.. He advised me to finish packing my belongings.

There were only 6 or 7 rooms in one hotel, with a restaurant on the first floor. My early rising habit got me clear to the only bathroom, at least. With over 40 people to accommodate it became like boom time for the hotels. Room and board was on the French, it seemed. I was asked to accompany the old Steward back onboard to pick up some mosquito netting and sundry items for the Captain. The ship, as yet, only had a couple of guards onboard and we were able to get what we came for without any problem. The young messboy I had switched with seemed unable to cope and I might be needed for my French. The Captain would be using me quite often as an interpreter, of sorts, whenever the French either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak English.

Returning to the hotel restaurant one afternoon we found the oiler, who was "rolled" at Casablanca, engaged in a heated quarrel with the pretty daughter of the lady proprietor. Much to my surprise he had been squiring her around for a while. Don’t know if it could be called a lovers’ quarrel, as such. She was younger than he and her mother had generally decided when and where they were together. But, now, they were breaking up. His knowledge of French was limited, he had not been taking lessons with us. She fierily tossed her blondish head, -"Va t’en, va t’en", (go away, go away, familial first person, instead of formal ‘Allez vous en’.)

My French was stretched in order to understand the feeling that had existed between these two, now erupting into enmity. His English was also ‘self-learned’. The outcome of the young ‘lovers’ quarrel, almost comical, was that the girls mother asked us, his friends, to intervene. She seemed relieved the connection between the two was over.

I had admired his ability to establish friendship, or whatever, with this pretty girl. When I asked him how they got along, language wise, he had just smiled, -"was I envious?", and, probably I was. He was a likable fellow; with his replaced suit, from the incident at Casablanca, he likely was quite different from the young French sailors normally visiting the bar. So, notwithstanding the snide remarks from the Second Engineer about our dress habits, it seemed it was appreciated otherwise to our advantage.

It was evident our stay was to be short-lived. We would still meet with the crews from the Tana and the Danish ship, Elise. It seems we got together after their work a couple of occasions, they were wondering about their future. Not having to turn to in the mornings seemed to please some of our crew. It was a bad omen for others; like being kicked out of one’s home. one would rather pick his own spot, were it to be vacation. And it was as if we were both to think about the possibility of being sent back to Norway, even as this would be against international law covering combatants in a neutral country. The Captain and the Officers faced sure imprisonment and the rest of the crews likely would have to sail Norwegian ships for the Germans...

Odd and I would rue that we had not made a real attempt to sneak away from Casablanca onboard one of the ships taking phosphate to Portugal. I remember trying to push the thoughts away, but dreams would remind me at dawn that I was worried. At 21 years of age, it likely did not cause any wrinkles. Always the optimist ready for each new day because I could go back to work, this forced type in port leisure became a drag... I was vaguely aware of having left Norway for the same reason, too much leisure. Studying 3-4 hours after work was satisfying, although I likely could not have expressed that in words at that time. Now, a little more than a year later, wintertime approaching, leisure a problem once more, in a foreign country among Arabs, in a one-horse town... Depression was not yet a known ‘entity’.

Being part of a mixed group, the crew, worked both ways. The older Officers were having a tough time, being more occupied with possible problems ahead. Life onboard a ship was practically the only life they had known for a longer time than I had been alive...

One of the last weekends we were in Safi a little carnival came to town. I just happened to have the borrowed camera with me. Most of the show or exhibitions were of interest to Arabs, as such. But a little carousel caught my eye. It seemed to have seats only for eight children but it was powered by a teenager just pushing it around. His legs in the Arab pantaloons caught my eye too because, at first, I could not understand what he was really doing walking around on a little platform around the carousel, above and inside the chairs for the children.

The billiard table at the hotel was in use from dawn until way into the night. And, it was a relief almost, when news came we were to be bussed to Casablanca. Whatever other news the Captain had received was kept from the crew. The sailors on the two other ships got the news, as if by telegraph, and came to say their so longs. Condolences were more like it, I thought. But they probably were wondering about their future too...

Sailors on Ships no more:

The two busses were running on regular gas so the trip to Casablanca was direct and uneventful. We were deposited, so to speak, directly to the railroad station. The Captain and Officers were responsible for the rest of the crew and words came down that they were to take the train "eastward". Third class for all. Some food was supplied, cantina-wise, but no one was in a mood to taste much of it.

It was not easy to maintain the aura of adventure Odd and I had tried up to now; somberly, we could not imagine this was a precursor to a new life. -Probably didn’t even know the word, precursor that is, now that it was to lead to a camp-life, for some time to come; a nomadic experience near the Sahara?

The train proceeded east through Rabat, Meknes, and Fes with stops at each city and with refreshments at Fes. I had vague recollection about this area from travelogues, that the RIF mountains of Spanish Morocco were somewhere north of Fes. The reason for remembering this region was that I had read about customs relating to ‘Spanish Arab daughters. If a young girl wished to get married and her father could not provide her with a dowry, her only way to obtain a dowry was to "serve" some time in a bordello, to earn the money to obtain a necessary dowry. Also reading, or seeing a movie of, Pearl Buck’s "The Good Earth" pointed to a similar, yet different, attitude towards baby girls born in China. To some degree these stories became part of education about different cultures, although not entirely; there was still a certain shock value meeting one strange custom area, almost face to face.

A closer ‘contact’ with this custom came about at a camp on the edge of the Sahara desert, several months later. A former Danish Foreign Legionnaire was to expand on this custom in this strange land. This Dane had been in the Foreign Legion since the early thirties. He was properly reluctant to expand on the reason for his time as a legionnaire; it seemed convenient now for the French to let him join the crews of a couple of expropriated Danish ships.

He related that when a foreign Legion battalion had marched to a new oasis area and set up camp, as they were trying to "civilize" the Bedouin population, the Legionaries would buy an Arab girl to keep their tent in order, to wash and cook. As they would brake camp to move on to take over another area the young girl only had one place to go, which was the nearest bordello. Education: it is a tough world!. The Legionnaire also stated that the French did not have much success taking over the desert area ‘till the advent of the airplane allowing moving supplies faster than the Bedouins. (A later experience proved the custom as to young girls still prevailed). But, back to our train...

Meeting Reality?...

The trip on the train was just that. There was little interest in the landscape. Trying to get some sleep we wondered if it was feasible to climb up into the rope netting baggage rack bending over the steel supports; it was not very successful. We had been told we were to change train at a border town called Oujda. As daylight came we noticed that we were into a mountain area, because to our surprise, there was SNOW on the ground. In Africa? Some of the kids were running around barefoot! So, we learned that this was a part of the Atlas mountains; (probably 30 years later I was to learn about ski resorts in these mountains).

We were deposited, actually just advised -this is as far as you go, at the railroad station at Oujda, near the border to Algiers. I recall I had some thoughts, trying to figure out, this ‘border’ between Morocco and Algiers since they were both ‘under’ France. Perhaps my geography lessons were deficient, or I was deficient in geography even after the lesson.

Some official came by and stated that we were to be trans-shipped through to Norway! -"TO NORWAY!"; -Stunned disbelief, would have been a mild reaction. We instinctively gathered around our Captain as he adamantly proceeded to state to the official: "Only in irons!; we may not be shipped out of this country except to another neutral country!". The official was at loss for words and said he would return.

The situation was both critical and comical; at some railroad station in a place we did not know existed up to now, even as we were being threatened to be sent back to Norway and an uncertain fate. The Captain, and probably the Officers, in that case likely would be jailed by the Germans. Quisling, the German puppet, had issued orders to all the Norwegian ships to return to Norway or to a neutral port, where presumably they could attempt to exercise control, which order all ships ignored.

While the Captain and Officers were discussing our somewhat precarious condition, Odd and I, and some of the others, were sort of drifting away from the station. This was part of the comical aspect of the situation: we were somewhere in North Africa, so far as we were concerned, just ambling along to see if there was anything to see... ;-we might as well have coffee. My French was put to the test as the waiter, likely at the urging of the proprietor, was trying to find out who we were, these different looking young people chattering in an unintelligible tongue. Sleeping in our clothes overnight on the train likely left some us not in our best decor’.

Civilians this far inland, speaking a foreign tongue at that, likely was an unaccustomed happening. It was still some adventure as we sort of nosed around the town, aimlessly like.

Walking into a stationary store to buy some postcards and writing paper the proprietor, after finding out who we were, wished to show us he knew about Norway by bringing forth writing paper made in Norway. We should have known, which we tried to show, anyway, that we of course were aware that Norway had a paper industry...

Sometime in the afternoon a different official came and advised that we were to travel south to a place called Berguent, an oasis outpost in the desert. The Captain advised us we were to find out more, later. Seamen, because sailors usually belong to a Navy, on the way southward, into a desert? After being threatened to be sent to Norway I told Odd it sounded almost romantic; -no answer. But we were still all together, relieved that no one was on the way to Norway. We did not consider ourselves refugees. I had just reached 21, wondering about places we were yet to encounter, excitement and education, ( hard knocks ?), aspects uncertain... (Later, some French official would attach "political prisoners" to our group, apparently for lack of a legal condition).

That we were to be shipped further south towards the desert seemed to be sort of a penalty for having refused to acquiesce in being shipped to Norway; they were showing us who we were, they being in charge...

First Camp:

We arrived at Berguent. It was the end of the railroad. An oasis outpost. If the expression hinted at an aura of any romanticism, this place was just some buildings, a cantina, some trees, and lots of sand. We were quartered in tents with a detachment of Army people under a French colonel. Undoubtedly, moral was at a low point; the idea of adventure was on the back burner. But, I was only 21.

Our Captain was allowed to stay at the cantina, where they had some rooms, for the time being. But this was rough sledding for the older Officers. We were advised to keep track of our belongings, to leave someone in attendance...

An incident occurred which showed the haphazard situation we now found ourselves in, although it was not evident at the time. The whole ship’s crew was sort of passed through a documentation center, in a tent. No reason was given for this except that it was routine, the Captain’s protestation seemingly ignored. The two men doing the documentation were German yeomen, (Foreign Legion). We were not told why.

Each crew member had to give his history and family connections, for the Norwegians, of course back in Norway. I tried my German, perhaps to show off, but in the back of my mind perhaps thinking I thereby could glean some information. But the two ‘documentors’ preferred to speak English....

The line of questioning confirmed a very different life style the Nazis seemingly had brought to the Germans. We had read about this life style of the ‘Third Reich", likely around 1937-38. In fact, some periodicals had included pictures of rest and relaxation, (R and R?), areas for the men in uniform with young, volunteer, women proudly ‘serving’ the Fatherland... And, of course, there was some talk ‘among us guys’ about this aspect of that new German ‘order’.

(The same line of questioning was repeated another time, at another camp, therefore stuck in my mind, so to speak.) The interrogation, which one felt it was. started with family connections in Norway, and if I was married. Answering in the negative I was surprised to be asked next if I had any children. Blurting out: -"but I just told you I am not married!", to which the young German matter-of-factly answered that one does not have to be married to have children. And he just seemed to shrug his shoulders at my protestations that this condition of fatherhood was the exception where I came from.

I was ready to explain about the exception, that sure enough, I was quite aware of conditions ending in early marriages, some that didn’t; the meeting, however, seemed to be over. Vaguely, in the back of my young mind, was the recollection of the girl who wished to become engaged and the thought that early entanglement almost appeared as some kind of confinement. One was aware of protection but conditions happened just the same.

The casual, almost, attitude of this German yeoman in Morocco, edge of the Sahara Desert of all places, about mores was puzzling even so. The talk among us younger guys after this questioning was like a mere something to accept as nothing one could do much about at this time and place; we might have other problems ahead...

State of Loose Ends, and Ignorance?

About a week later seven or eight of the crew, the old cook among them and a couple who were sick, were loaded on an Army truck and taken farther south, to Bou-Arfa, a disciplinary camp setting. We wondered if this were a precursor of the future... Indeed, some of us were unaware that the rest of us were supposed to walk there, a distance of about 40 miles, to work on roads.

Our Captain, apparently, had been able to contact the American consulate at Casablanca. This action by the Captain must have taken place while some of us were sightseeing in the town of Oujda. There seemed no possibility for him to have made the contact from the oasis Berguent. The memory, mine, is still hazy about an purported subsequent intervention from Washington through to the Vichy government in France, which I learned about much later. I have no clear recollection about a general discussions bout this activity among the crew at that time. But the 40 mile walk, through the desert in the hot sun, did not take place.

After 2 weeks the people trucked to Bou-Arfa came back with stories about a desert life, borne out by their appearance. They told of having had to do hard work from early to late, with meager food supplies, in desert surroundings.

Making do:

Always busy trying to find out what could be going on I became acquainted with a few of the young Germans. I found a barber and received what the German called a "sturmhaarkurzschneide". Amused, I thought typically German: "stormhairshortcut". It was just a flat-top hair cut, but what a name; propaganda?.

One of the young Germans was a watchmaker. I fetched an Omega tank-type wrist watch, purchased at Le Havre, which since had stopped. (I had bought it because it was a Longines and my friend Finn back in Odda had a Longines pocket watch. (a sort of reminder of home.... ?) No watchmaker at Casablanca could repair it because they could not open it.

The young German said it probably would have to go back to the factory and struck a deal with me for another wrist watch. I had a suspicion that my watch was worth far more than the German allowed because I had bought it during the last days we were at Le Havre when the shopkeepers sold anything just to get some money in hand before the Germans arrived, as noted before.

Berguent, all of it, seemed just to comprise an area ‘a stone’s throw in any direction; we had the freedom of the place. We could not go very far. We could frequent the small cantina, but money being short this was not much of a temptation. The romance of an oasis here consisted of a couple of pipes, capturing the spring, arranged to let the water fall from about 12 feet, forming a little pool, from which the water was led away some place watering whatever along. The Army people would congregate here for showers usually in the nude; we seemed not to be that liberal. Parading around in the nude was not a habit. The colonel came by for a daily shower, properly attired in bathing trunks and robe, with an orderly carrying his towel. He seemed amused over the Soldiers cavorting in the nude to some amusement also, seemingly anyway, for some young Arab boys and girls tending cattle brought in for watering; we never found out from where.

The tents were mostly open since rain was not a problem, ever, apparently. We were admonished to watch over our belongings. one major event, sort of to attempt to illustrate, was the routine of playing of taps at night. The bugler playing the taps every night must have been a real musician because he could hold the last stanza ‘till everyone within hearing range, was out of breath, just listening, the most beautifully played trumpet tones. Everyone joined in applause and bravos, and -encores!, ending with the colonel finally hollering -"silence, silence". But it did not seem very threatening. The portly Chief Engineer obtained another blanket which made it easier to sleep on the bare ground. (He had been one of the men shipped to Bou-Arfa). Fortunately it was not cold, even at night. There was absolutely nothing to be occupied with, except each other’s company. The Soldiers lent a hand with tent problems. We ate with the Soldiers. There is no real recollection about fare...