When Storm Clouds Brew
No doubt, many Little Aden veterans will remember some of this happening.
Rain was a very infrequent phenomenon in Aden, but when it came, it really came with a vengeance. There is much truth in the old biblical saying about a house built on sand not standing much chance of longevity -- and most of our bungalows were built on sand at that time. It was probably why they were classified as 'temporary' accommodation. One day, it poured down for a whole week, as my Irish friend put it, and few of us escaped it's effects.I had been on the night shift and had got home looking a bit like a drowned rat after struggling for hours with my crew to keep my oil distillation plant running. The "Mem" had a hot mustard bath ready for me, as I was a firm believer in it's ability to ward off chills with their subsequent repercussions for me in the form of mouth ulcers, sore throats and coughs.I hadn't been in bed more than twenty minutes or so before she woke me up again. "There's a manager on the phone recruiting "off duty" personnel to go to the assistance of some of the families, as their homes are flooded. He wants to know if he can put you down as assisting in our street. Shall I tell him you're on your way, darling?" "Yep." I mumbled in a daze, and rising, climbed into my clothes. The rain was absolutely sheeting down, and as I progressed along our street, up to my ankles in mud, it was obvious that the four or five hundred yards of sand between our homes and the low mountain range behind us was quite incapable of absorbing the vast quantities of water flowing off it towards us. The torrent had cut a huge gully between some houses and washed away a part of a lower road before releasing the brown water in a great cascade into our football field some twenty feet below the road level. This looked more like a vast muddy lake and would remain in this condition for many weeks after the rain had stopped. Nearer the gully, I could see water pouring out from under the doors and French windows of some bungalows, and making a quick check on one where I knew the occupants had just gone on leave, I could see several crates in a bedroom floating gently in about eight inches of filthy water. (People went on vacation for two months, and were required to crate their personal belongings in one room so that the company could house another family on holiday from the U.K. in the bungalow whilst they were away. This was a useful system known as "The Married Bride Accommodation Scheme" for husbands who did not have enough service points to be allocated a home of their own, and went a long way to ensuring that there was no great loss of talent from the company.)"Oh dear!" I thought. "The residents will be pleased when they get back. I'm very sorry for anyone who gets allocated their place whilst they're away, too." There were folks in the bungalow next door, a husband with trousers rolled up to his knees, his wife with the bottom of her skirt sodden and two young children, all frantically 'squeegeeing' the water flowing under their kitchen door. They seemed to be winning, but as I passed through the front door to help, their servant, for some unaccountable reason, opened the back door. He was instantly surrounded by a wall of very fluid mud up to his knees. It spread quickly through the house and covered their lovely Wilton carpets, bringing a wail of anguish and a flood of tears from the family who had worked so hard to try to save their belongings.As there was nothing more to be done at this point, I moved on and had more success elsewhere so that my morning wasn't entirely wasted. At midday, I went home completely 'wacked' and certain that I'd had enough water poured on me to wash at least half my sins away!
A day or two later, the "Mem" and I attempted to go to town. When we got to Wadi Hiswa, we found that the road, which normally ran down in a shallow slope to the broad wadi bottom and out the other side, had disappeared. Instead, we were confronted with a fast flowing river, several hundred feet wide, rushing headlong to the sea a quarter of a mile away. Bits of timber, dead goats and bushes floated passed from time to time, indicative of the hiding they had received in the storms further up country a few days earlier. The Hiswa villagers, always ready to make a quick 'buck' out of this annual catastrophe, had hired lorries with which to carry cars across. Many arabs tried to drive their cars over in an attempt to save money, but lacking the skill or patience to handle vehicles under these conditions, they more often than not stalled in deep water and had to be towed out -- which was very expensive. Even then, their engines wouldn't start, and in desperation to get mobile again (they dare not abandon their vehicles,) they often fell for a con trick that a wily villager had evolved. This chap had realised that vehicles which travelled a reasonable distance would have very hot engines, and, in no more than 15 to 20 minutes, they were quite likely to start again without much bother, the water having dried from their distributors, leads and plugs. He was careful to ensure too, that the owners did not flatten their batteries for his ruse to work. He would tell the gullible drivers that there was no need to send to town for mechanics. (People were making money doing this as well, not counting the exorbitant fares being charged by taxi drivers.)"Oh dear, no!" he would say. "We have a man right here in our village who is endowed with extra-terrestrial powers. All he has to do is recite a special piece of poetry and most engines will start without difficulty. You will have to pay him by the verse, and the job will cost twenty East African Shillings per verse per cylinder -- very much cheaper than sending all the way to town for a mechanic, and certainly much quicker! He would then summon up his cousin who would proceed to recite lengthy parts of the'The Rubiats of Omer Khayyam” in French with suitable gestures over the vehicle bonnets..The trick almost invariably worked, and the cousin soon acquired a reputation that the cynics found almost impossible to shake. The pair also got rich quick with very little effort. I was an old hand at this sort of problem, having learned all about getting trucks and cars out of water and sand during my military service with the Royal Army Service Corps in Egypt and Frimley Green. Casual onlookers however, thought I was crazy as I paused on one bank to remove my fan belt (to stop the fan from turning and splashing water everywhere,) but, driving at a snail's pace thus, I would negotiate the wadi without trouble, passing several abandoned vehicles on the way. As I was about to be 'fleeced' in the shops of Steamer Point - there being two Castle Line ships full of tourists in the harbour - I wasn't going to shell out to the sharks of Wadi Hiswa as well if I could help it!
On one rainy occasion, the storm water had cut another wide channel in the earth as it ran into the luckless football field, undercutting the living quarters of some of our senior unmarried personnel who were housed in a long, single storied prefabricated building at the time. Well into the night, two of the occupants had simultaneous emergency calls from the refinery, and hurriedly dressing, dashed to their cars outside. On these buildings, the doors at either end of the corridors opened outwards, and the first man to reach one of them pushed it open and stepped out. He disappeared with a yell into the rushing water some eight feet below to be washed away into the huge lake of filthy water. The second chap just managed to save himself from the same fate and dashed back into the building to warn the others. Being half asleep, these only managed to take in half the story and this resulted in two more disappearing through the door to join their companion. We were very fortunate not to lose anyone. Luckily, they could all swim, and managed to find their way to shallow water by the light of the refinery flare.
I had gone to work one perfectly calm night with not the slightest indication that trouble was brewing. Around about one o'clock, with very little warning, all hell broke loose in the form of a whirlwind which rushed in from the sea. When you work on a plant, you become well attuned to it's particular sound, and any alteration to that sound which has not been occasioned by the operator deliberately changing conditions, immediately alerts one to possible trouble. That's precisely what happened that night when some of my crew who were working outside the control room heard a strange whining noise which got steadily louder. Knowing that I had no scheduled changes to make, they called me by radio and I joined them as they endeavoured to identify it. Suddenly, one of the men pointed to a hill about half a mile away, atop of which was our hospital. To my amazement, I could see huge quantities of sand from a very old sand dune being sucked hundreds of feet into the air. It was the first real whirlwind I had seen. It moved inexorably towards the hospital and in a minute or so, I could see parts of the roof being pulled heavenwards as well. Then it started to rain with typical tropical ferocity and we only just managed to gain the protection of the control building before being hit by the wildest wind and rain storm any of us had ever witnessed. The control room bay windows were hinged at the top and could swivel open and inwards, and such was the wind pressure on them that the locks securing two of them broke. The windows swung open and every piece of paper in the room became airborne. Worse, the almost horizontal rain came in as well and I only managed to get them shut again by allocating two men to each to hold them closed with broom and mop handles -- and keeping them there for the next six hours! Sloping from these windows was a desk containing much of the electronic control equipment of the plant. The rain played havoc with it resulting in a number of plant upsets through the night. By dawn, and the arrival of the day shift, though our products were miles of specification and we were on total recycle, our battered plant was still running, thus saving many, many hours of start-up procedures with all the attendant risks for exhausted men. A scaffolding tower had blown down in the most inconvenient of places, right across the control room door, which like all other oil and gas plant doors could only open outwards. As I went home, I counted my blessings having noticed that it had struck a number of oil and steam lines as it had toppled over, and, whilst bending a few of them, had not fractured any. We had managed to keep many of our electronic controllers operational by the simple expedient of continually mopping up the water with toilet paper and paper towelling as it ran down the control board despite the valiant efforts of the chaps on the broom handles. At about 4 a.m., however, the situation turned critical. We ran out of these requisites and were down to a Sunday Express and two copies of the South Wales Evening Post when the phone rang. I picked it up and heard the General Manager faintly on the other end. He wanted to know my situation and I gave him a quick briefing. He informed me that three other plants had shut down after a fashion and that things were serious both inside and outside the refinery. He'd organised emergency crews to assess the damage and help people, and enquired whether there was any hope of our keeping going. It says much for the quality of the man that, apart from a slight pause, he never queried it when I said I thought we could if he could arrange to get a sackful of paper towelling or bog rolls to me in the next fifteen minutes! Right on the dot, there was a loud banging on a window at the rear of the building and a plastic bag full of my requirements was hastily thrust through by an appiration in a sou'wester and oilskins who yelled 'good luck' and disappeared again into the fiendish storm. For years afterwards, I wondered what that sou’wester and oilskins were doing in Arabia and I eventually discovered that our saviour had been one of our off duty ‘tuggies!” At 6 o'clock, calm came to us once more, the storm abating almost as suddenly as it had started, and as my weary crew and I went home, the full extent of the damage unfolded, and explained why so few of our colleagues had managed to relieve us. Part of the roof was off the hospital as I had surmised. The laboratory and fire station were also topless, and in the arab 'c' class housing area, an estate of 'no fines' houses for low grade workers and their families, not a roof remained intact, even the clothing and bedding having been sucked out and deposited all over the mountain range behind us. Indeed, most properties in our small community had suffered in one way or another. Dozens of other mini dramas had been enacted throughout the night besides those already mentioned and one of the few amusing ones had involved my wife and our neighbours Keith and Betty Cox. Everyone was up, of course. It had been quite impossible to sleep, and many watched fearfully through their windows when the sky lit up in the storm as some of the plants shut down, releasing tonnes of their combustible gas inventory to the burning flare. Though well known to be a safety feature by all associated with the refinery, the sight was so spectacular in the rain and swirling sand as to approximate to the opening of the gates of hell according to another neighbour who the "Mem" disliked so much that she was prompted to comment that he aught to know, as he'd probably been on a course there! Our neighbours, Keith and Betty knew I was on the night shift, and accordingly, were very concerned in case the "Mem" got frightened. They tried several times to get her on the phone but there was no reply, not surprising as she had encamped in the toilet with the dog and the canary of a friend on leave, there being no windows in this inner sanctum to heighten the tension. Eventually, when things seemed to be dying down a little, she ventured forth to the lounge and Betty spotted her. "Oh. Look Keith darling ! There she is! Yoo-hoo, dear. We can see you." she shouted to the petrified "Mem" who couldn't understand a thing she was saying but waved in recognition. Keith was waving just as energetically when realisation hit him with a bang. "Hey, Bet! How on earth can we see her? I mean, we've never been able to see her before! Good heavens! Our ruddy garages have disappeared" -- and indeed they had -- picked up bodily from between the two bungalows and deposited like matchwood in a garden two streets up from us. Keith's car and my motor-cycle were still where they had been parked the evening before -- untouched!! Verily, the ways of nature defy understanding.
I J Simms.