Illness in North Africa, By Tracey Vale

I became very ill during the trip through North Africa—a stomach bug that commonly afflicted tourists through these provinces. Unfortunately, I suffered with a severe case of it, making the remainder of the tour extremely difficult although, thankfully, we were near the end. As there were no other doctors or medical facilities available to me, I had to join the sick line with the soldiers. The only thing they could give me, however, and in the mistaken belief that it was a ‘cure-all’, was a penicillin injection, administered with a frighteningly thick needle.

Suffice to say, this had no effect and my condition continued to worsen. Amazingly, I was able to get through the stage shows without incident. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head saying “The show must go on,” and could almost feel her hand on my shoulder blades as she gently pushed me toward the stage. I recalled suffering through that excruciating earache as a child, but still managing to please her as I smiled my way through the performance.

Thinking back, I don’t know how I managed to get through the remainder of the tour and yet still perform every night. It was terrible. As soon as my segment was over I’d discreetly run off the stage. The mind, I think, is a very powerful thing. It’s as if my bowel would say ‘Look, we can’t do anything right now—she’s on stage!’

The day before we were to leave for our next tour stop, a long bus trip on the edge of the desert, the military doctor prescribed a sleeping tablet. With the intention of getting a good, solid and restful night’s sleep before we were due to leave, I took the proffered tablet and had almost nodded off when Alistair appeared beside the bed. He said “I’ve got a tablet that will make you feel better.” He handed me a glass of water with the tablet and waited for me to pass the glass back. I thanked him and, before long, I was in a deep slumber.

“We’re here. Can you wake up or do you want us to carry you again?” It was Paul’s voice. I opened my eyes to see him smiling down at me. Moving my head and awkwardly getting one arm out from under me, I saw that I was lying across a narrow bus seat. As it had transpired, Alistair had given me another sleeping pill without knowing that I’d already taken one. The following morning, Alistair and Paul had bundled me onto the bus and I’d slept on—a total of 12 hours, plus I’d managed to wipe out the entire desert trip.

I was so thin when I got back to England and had to locate a toilet everywhere I went. I was admitted to hospital after seeing my doctor and spent six weeks there. After a number of tests and a trial of medicines, they couldn’t find out what I’d contracted and there was still no improvement. It had infected my large bowel and they said the bowel was ulcerated, hence the pain. After about a month in hospital, the doctor announced “We’re going to have to do a colostomy. The bowel isn’t healing and this is the only way.” He went on to explain that he had scheduled the operation for the following morning.

Later that day, Dad visited and I told him that I was to have an operation and asked if he knew what a colostomy involved. He didn’t, but said he’d find the doctor and ask. The doctor told him that my bowel would be shut off permanently and I would have a bag to collect the bile.

Once told, he said “No! You’re not doing that operation on my daughter.” The doctor explained that I wasn’t responding and the bowel wasn’t healing.

“No,” dad said again. “My daughter’s going to get better without having a bag hanging from her side.”

The doctor sighed and said, “Well, we’ll move her from the surgical ward then. I’m going on holidays tomorrow. We’ll put her into another ward.”

It turned out that this was the best thing he could have done. In his place, I had a marvelous Indian doctor who looked at alternative remedies. In the end, it was a simple solution—a change of diet and a medicine that would stay in my system while it healed. Before long, I had my strength back and was able to step out into a cold, Autumn afternoon, feeling eternally grateful and with a huge sense of freedom after what had seemed like an incarceration.

The illness would continue to dog me throughout my life but I was never again grounded by it as long as I stuck to the Indian doctor’s guidelines.

Our Second British War Office Tour, By Tracey Vale

Again we were busy with our puppet act following the Cinderella pantomime season and had just completed variety shows at the Tower Cinema. We were on our way to our second Combined Services Entertainment Tour with Summer Season booked up upon our return at Broadstairs, followed by Cinderella, to be performed at Croydon. Termed the '10,000 Miles Tour', it was to take in Malta, once again, and, where we covered parts of East Africa previously, we were now to travel through North Africa, including Libya's capital, Tripoli. Finally, we were to fly across the strait to the British Overseas Territory of Gibraltar, located on the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula and bordered, in the north, by Spain. 

Farewell Act before 10,000 Miles Tour

    'Just before leaving on a 10,000 miles tour of Malta, Tripoli, North Africa and Gibraltar to entertain the troops, well-known puppeteers, Joan and Paul Sharratt called in at the Tower Cinema, Carters Green, on Saturday morning to see their old friend, the manager, Mr. Arthur Taylor, and found time to show some of their characters to two of the children attending the matinee performance, James Houghton (12) of 10, Cygnet Road, and Gillian Sorrel (11), of 17, Albert Street.

    'Joan and Paul, who left this country by air yesterday (Thursday) will be away for seven weeks. They have just finished a run in variety at Bilston's Theatre Royal and when they return they will go to Broadstairs for the summer season. After that, they are due to appear in the pantomime "Cinderella" at Croydon.

    'In December, they returned to this country from Aden and Kenya after a 14,000 mile tour entertaining the troops with comedian, Arthur English.'  

Charles Trentham's Puppet Stage

    'Paul and Joan Sharatt left at the end of last week with their marionettes for a round of group shows in Gibraltar, Tripoli, and Cyprus. This is their second Services entertainment tour in recent months, for, only a week before they went into pantomime at the New Royal, Bournemouth, they had returned from a similar trip to East Africa, to Aden and Kenya. While spending a few days at Nairobi, the Sharratts attended a performance by the Nairobi Puppet Theatre Club of the classic melodrama 'Maria Marten' or 'Murder in the Red Barn'.'

Our first destination was Malta where we performed the first of our 'Laughter and Lovelies' tour. This time the principal comic was the very funny Stanley Baxter who had been doing on-stage impersonations since the age of seven and had seen huge popularity in his native Scotland and in the U.K., with work in variety, pantomimes and BBC television. He was to go on to achieve 'superstar' status with his own lavish weekend television shows on ITV, an accomplishment that was to award him a BAFTA, whilst successfully maintaining a very private home life. We were to be joined on stage with his wife, Moira, as well as Fay Lenore, Alistair McHarg and Tony Bones.

A clipping from Malta (unknown newspaper) 

'Artistes forming the cast of the latest Combined Services Entertainment show to come to Malta,"Laughter and Lovelies", now on its second appearance. Those taking part are Stanley Baxter, Fay Lenore, Alistair McHarg, Moira Baxter, Paul and Joan Sharratt, and Tony Bones.

'Joan Sharratt is a delightful song and dance artist. At the ivories is Tony Bones, a talented and versatile revue and concert pianist. Although in the background, he is singled out by the spotlight.'

Alistair McHarg was well versed in entertaining the troops as he had done so during World War Two. Since then, he'd been cast in variety as an accomplished pianist and singer. He also sang in Britain's first major technicolour film, London Town, in 1948, alongside such greats as Petula Clark and the comic, Sid Field.  He was the youngest of eight sons, all of whom were musical thanks to the efforts of their father, a Salvation Army Bandmaster. Alistair was the pianist on our first Combined Services Tour but had requested, for subsequent tours, that he should come out from behind the piano to sing, as he had a magnificent bass-baritone voice, and to act. 

As a result, Tony Bones accompanied us as the pianist. Tony, also known as Anthony Bowles or 'The Ant', had studied at London's Royal Academy of Music and had worked with the composer, Benjamin Britten, later becoming the pianist for a number of ballet companies including the Stuttgart Ballet. He was to become a leading composer and director and would write scores for television and films such as The Odessa File and was to compose in productions of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice musicals.


He was a very funny man and kept us entertained with anecdotes of his antics that had us in stitches. One such story was to do with one of his extra curricular money earning endeavours. It was common for actors or musicians to do promotional work in between professional gigs and he'd responded to a toothpaste company's advertisement. They had asked for anyone who owned a white mini to have a giant tube of toothpaste attached to the top so that they could drive around the island of Eros, drawing attention to and promoting their product. Anthony turns up on the designated day and ends up being the last in line to have the tube fitted to the roof--thus making him car number 20. They were each given a map of the area they were to drive around, all beginning at the nearby roundabout. When it was finally Anthony's turn to take-off, he'd made it only halfway around the roundabout when a police officer pulled him over. Winding the window down, he was greeted with the officer puffing exasperatedly, "How many times are you going to  go around this bloody roundabout?!"

So, along with the acting talents of Moira Baxter and the soubrette talents of Fay Lenore, we were, all in all, a talented bunch. Stanley Baxter was hilarious and we were to learn so much from him. Rehearsing for one of the skits, Paul and Alistair were monkeying about in ballet costumes when Stanley called them to attention.

"No, no! That's not how it's done. You're not to act as though you're idiots in a ballet, you need to pretend as though you really are seasoned ballerinas," he coached. "Don't do it silly. Do it as if you are the best ballet dancers in the world." The difference was remarkable and so much funnier! He was so talented and was always right in his advice. There are little tricks that he taught me that I have since used repeatedly in teaching my students. He had one particular line in the show that wasn't funny but, the way he said it, always got a roar from the audience. His use of 'the pause' is one of the tips I teach my students. After explaining it to one of my classes one day, I finished with "I was (pause) adopted."

"Oh! Were you really, Miss Leslie?" asked one of the children, with a look of great sympathy on his face. He's a wonderful performer who has left his mark and I'm grateful to have worked with him.

Our tour in Malta was well received and we found the island to be beautiful. We stayed in the Astra Hotel, a six-storey limestone building on a rocky, coastal edge. We toured Valetta, with its old, tall buildings--also built from the locally-quarried limestone as was characteristic of all the buildings and houses here--and narrow streets. We spent our 'off time' in outdoor seaside cafes or feeding the many pigeons in the open square.

Libya followed and was full of the most memorable moments of our second tour. Again, the British troops were grateful for our efforts and our shows were met with much applause and laughter. We took in Tobruk, a small town on the coast of northeast Libya, and Benghazi, Libya's second largest city. It was here that Alistair hoped to find closure on the death of his brother who went missing during World War Two. He was a pilot and was believed to have been shot down somewhere near Benghazi.

He hoped to find a record of him at the Benghazi cemetery, one of the largest of its type in the area. With a day off, Alistair, Paul and I set off to explore the cemetery records with him. What we discovered was a sea of white tombstones, widely spaced and seeming to stretch over miles of flat, treeless land, appearing to stretch for miles into the desert. A sergeant, who was also the live-in caretaker, opened the huge gates and we were ushered toward a tiny cottage.

Alistair explained the reason for our visit and the sergeant assured him that we could search the records. "But first," he said. "I'll just get you to sign the visitor's book."

From inside a column, he drew out the book and, opening to a well-worn page, showed us the signatures of Laurel and Hardy. "Without fail," he said. "They send money every year in memory of the fallen soldiers here." The sergeant spoke in a quiet, gentle tone and it was obvious that he cared and felt humbled and honoured at the same time.  The cemetary was specifically for the British soldiers and, just a short distance down the road, was another Benghazi War Cemetery for locals and others.

We signed our names and waited while he selected the record books. After taking down details of name and rank, he opened it to the right section. But, searching through, we discovered that there was no record of his brother. Alistair sighed heavily and accepted the Sergeant's proffered cup of tea gratefully.

Seeing that the late afternoon light was deepening, the Sergeant glanced at his watch and said, "Excuse me, I won't keep you long but there's something I have to do." With that, he stood up and walked quickly to the door and down the two steps. We followed, curious and stood at the open door. The sergeant had stopped before the first row of headstones and was silhouetted by the dipping orange of the sun.

"Goodnight boys. God bless you, one and all." It was a touching scene and an emotional moment. I said this to the sergeant after he'd turned and walked back to us.

"I wouldn't miss a morning to greet them, nor a night to wish them well. They were all so young," he said. Leaving the cemetery, Alistair felt disheartened but we all felt a sense of peace for the buried there. 

How comforting for the mothers of those sons if they knew there was someone there looking over them and who obviously cared for these boys who were buried so far from home, I thought, staring out at the vast desert landscape on the drive back to the hotel.

That night, the first of our concerts in Benghazi, we found the officers and their wives, or one in particular, to be hysterical and more than a little crazy. Before we'd begun, the Commander's wife, who was dressed to the nines in evening wear and dripping with jewels, approached us. She spoke with a thickly posh accent. "Oh, I am so-o-o looking forward to the sho-o-o-w," she drawled, making her way to the couches that formed the officer's front row.

We mixed with the officers after the show and the Commander's wife made an immediate beeline for us.

"Bloody good sho-o-o-w," she drawled again. "Lo-o-o-ved the chorus girls." 

The five of us looked at each other as she shimmied away, biting our lips so as not to laugh until she was well out of earshot. "Chorus girls?!" said Alistair, shaking his head. There were only the five of us in the show, certainly not enough people for a chorus, let alone a row of chorus girls.

Paul and I left earlier that night and were greeted the next day by a knock on the door. I opened it to see a very tired-looking Alistair standing there.

"What a night!" He said, stepping into our suite. "They had me there 'til three in the morning! I kept saying I needed to get back, when, finally, one of the officers agreed to drive me back to the hotel." He took a sip of the coffee I'd poured him and continued on. "They're a crazy lot! They've lost their heads. He says to me 'I know a shortcut--we'll cut through here'. So he takes this shiny car through one of those narrow streets, built only just wide enough for a horse and small cart, and it's scraping and grinding against the rock walls on either side! Didn't phase 'im either! He just kept going and none of the other officers in the car even seemed to notice. You should've seen the car by the end of it!"

The following night we were to mingle with the other ranks after the show and had decided to work the subject of the officers into the conversation. We asked casually what was their opinion of them and received the satisfying response. "Oh--crazy! The lot of 'em!"

Continuing our stay in Libya, we took in the sights of the ancient Roman town of Leptis Magna on the Mediterranean coast and about 100 kilometres southeast of Tripoli. Through an archway, we took in a massive circular auditorium of stone steps rising high above the enclosed arena below. The sea formed the back-drop of a tiered stage area, complete with dozens of tall columns. It was not a tourist attraction at the time of our visit and was empty apart from a handful of Arab men working there. They'd uncovered pieces of ancient mosaics, china and coins and assured us we could take whatever we wanted--an invitation we would not expect today! “Oh yes—take those...and those," they said, pressing coins and broken china into our hands.

References

http://www.televisionheaven.co.uk/stanley_baxter.htm

http://www.thestage.co.uk/features/obituaries/2005/05/alistair-mcharg/

http://www.artistswithaids.org/artforms/music/catalogue/bowles.html