Open Writing

The week was ending all too soon. I had enjoyed it beyond belief and there was no doubt that they had enjoyed having me there. M. Hugnit said I must come and see them again soon. He looked at the calendar, 28 May was Whit Sunday - would I come and spend another week with them then? Oh I would, somehow, if we were still here.

But now I had to leave. M. Hugnit advised me to catch a bus to Algiers rather than bother with the train. It was a more direct route and much quicker, something I now realised.

We said our goodbyes, tearful ones from Mme Hugnit and Suzette, but in my heart I wondered when, or if, I would ever see Suzette again.

Yves and I walked up into Aumale for me to get the bus, but arrived to find that it was booked up. However, there was one in about a couple of hours, at 12.30 p.m., to the station at Bouira, so I reserved a seat on that.

Yves begged me to go back to the farm. We did so, and in the ensuing excitement, Suzette almost burnt a cake she had in the oven.

We said goodbye again and I caught the bus, an ancient vehicle that gave us almost as bone-shaking a ride as the one from Bouira to Aumale in the vegetable truck. We covered the twenty-odd miles to the station in about an hour. Then I had to wait until 3.30 p.m. for a train.

This time I had no trouble with my connection at Maison Carree, then Boufarik, and arrived back at the farm in the evening. The rest of the squadron arrived soon after from the rest camp.

I had been in heaven for a week, now it was back to earth.

Next morning we were to pack up to leave the farm for good. 15 May (Jessie's birthday): ‘ ... got all kit packed, said goodbye to Bachir, Marie and the rest of the friends I'd made. I don't like leaving a bit. What with just coming back from Aumale, and now having to leave the farm, I feel pretty fed up. Oh dear, what a depressing atmosphere. Wish I could get back to Aumale.'

Marie asked me if I would write to her and I promised to do so.

We moved to a transit camp just a few miles away. 'Told we would be here five days. The blinkin' bugle blew at 6.30 a.m. Oh I hate the bugle, and I hate this camp.'

We were under canvas. Herschel was sleeping next to me, and in the morning he said, "Jackie, I don't mind you talking in your sleep, but last night you were talking for an hour - in French! What were you talking about?"

"I don't remember - but if I did I don't think I'd tell you."

The rest of the troop wanted to know if I'd had a good time in Aumale. “Marvellous,” I said, and filled them in on most of the details. The consensus of opinion was that I'd enjoyed the week in the mountains much better than they had done at the rest camp. I knew I had.

Friday, 19 May, 1944: 'Came off guard duty at 7 a.m. Went on route march ... later going to Chebli but found we had to have a pass, so will go tomorrow. Oh I wish I could get to Aumale. Wrote to Suzette. Did some sewing and washing ...'

Next day I got a pass to go to Chebli and from there walked to 'our' farm. Marie and Bachir were surprised and delighted to see me, and I spent a few hours there before returning to the camp.

I saw Lieutenant Saunders, and he asked whether I'd enjoyed my trip to Aumale.

“Yes,” I said, “it was great. Do you think there is any chance of me getting there again?”

He said he would ask Major Hibbert.

We had a 'full marching order' parade next day. The Squadron Leader accompanied by the SSM strode down the line.

“Sergeant Major, this man's kit is untidy.”

“Yes sir.” (To the soldier, through his teeth – “Get that — kit tidied up.”)

“This man's boots are dirty.”

“Yes sir.” (“Get those **** boots cleaned.”)

The Squadron Leader stopped in front of me. I wondered what was wrong with my kit. He looked me in the eye and said, “I'll bet you wish you were in Aumale.”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, “I certainly do.”

But later, to my great disappointment, Lieutenant Saunders told me he was sorry, but because the impending move was so close, there was no chance of my being given permission to go back to Aumale.

I wrote to M. Hugnit thanking him for the marvellous week I had spent with him and his family, but regretting that I would be unable to see them on the 28th.

A few days later I had a letter from Suzette. She had been looking forward so much to Whitsuntide, now I wouldn't be there ... she missed me ... I missed her too.

I had asked the Hugnits, the Ferrandos, Bachir and my other friends to sign their names on an Algerian five franc note. It was a difficult task for Bachir, but with tongue between teeth he made it. I still have the note.

On 24 May we were up at 4.15 a.m. and after breakfast walked the three miles to Blida station carrying all our kit including a blanket: ‘... all about collapsed when we got there, on train and soon at Algiers.'

Next day we embarked on the Durban Castle and sailed for Italy.