Sierra Where Mum?: My African Adventure

By Keith Orton

This journal covers three and a half years spent in Africa, to be precise Sierra Leone. A time that as shaped many of the ways I live today and my attitude to life in general.
It recalls some the good times of which there were many, the not so good times of which there were enough to stay in my memory to this day.
Has the son of a serving Soldier I went wherever my father was posted, Hong Kong, Singapore and Germany to name just a few. But the posting to Sierra Leone was by far the best.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jul 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483662336

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Copyright © 2013 by Keith Orton.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 07/02/2013

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Contents

Foreword

1 Sierra Where?

2 First Flight

3 Hiya Dad

4 Settling In

5 Home Leave

6 Laughter and Tears

7 Juba (It All Happens at Juba)

8 Diamonds are Forever

9 Mercy Mission

10 The Deputy Prime Minister

11 Starry, Starry Nights

12 Homeward Bound

13 Memories May Seem Beautiful, and Yet!

Foreword

Back in January 1958, I was an eleven-year-old, white-kneed, and wet-behind-the-ears schoolboy. What was to transpire over almost the next three and a half years of my life would be largely responsible for shaping much of my future outlook on life.

So this journal recalls some of my memories, some of the good and amusing times, sometimes the bad times, and on occasions the really ugly side of life.

There were times when I saw and experienced some of the less pleasant side of life in Africa; the squalor had to be seen to understand. Today when I see the television news, it brings back memories of many of the scenes of Sierra Leone, and it seems that very little has changed when you get away from the cities and into the countryside.

I went to Africa as a boy but came home as a man, albeit a very young man but nevertheless a man.

I must acknowledge the way my parents kept my feet on the ground from time to time; without their guidance and loving care, I may not have been here to tell this story.

Over the last few years, I have been able to call on my parents to recall names that have eluded me over the last fifty plus years. Mum’s diaries have always been a constant source of information. Dad ever the old soldier can tell you tales of long ago with total recall of locations, names going back to his days in Korea; that’s assuming you let him. For now, we’ll settle for his memories about Sierra Leone.

I must acknowledge my wife, Joyce, of some forty-four years who has put up with me through many ups and downs that life as tended to throw at us from time to time, but through it all, she has stood by me through thick and thin.

My daughter, Kathleen, has given Joyce and me our two wonderful grandsons, James and Matthew, all three of whom I am immensely proud of.

I well remember as a young lad asking my granddad, ‘What did you do in the Great War, Granddad? And show us your medals.’ I was always fascinated by his tales of derring-do against the Bosh, usually whilst sitting on a riverbank somewhere, fishing.

Myself and many others of my generation can never do that with my grandchildren and future generations. (Thank the Lord!) So this is for them.

Their Granddad’s African Adventure:

Dedicated to and in memory of my daughter

Joanne Louise

1

Sierra Where?

Outward Bound

Saturday morning was always the matinee film club at the Crookes Palace; that was in the days when every district, in every town and city, had their very own local cinema. Saturdays just could not come round quick enough, although there was the odd occasion that the required sixpence (2.5p) entry was not always available, not that that was going to stop the Bowl Hills boys from getting into the pictures to see their screen heroes such as Superman and of course the serials which was either the Our Gang or Tarzan of the Jungle films.

In the absence of the required sixpence, we would pool together our odd pennies and would send in two sometimes three of the lads, then give them enough time to get in and go to the toilet. Down the side of the Palace there was an alley, leading to the fire doors which also happened to be next to the toilets. At the end of the show, they used to open the fire doors to avoid a rush to get out. We just simply reversed the procedure and opened them before the show started. I often used to wonder if the usherette with her spike and string ticket counter (real hi-tech) ever thought that there seemed to be more bums on seats than tickets on her string, as we would always manage to get at least another three or four lads that hadn’t paid into the cinema and always in time to see the whole show.

On arriving home on one particular Saturday morning after the pictures, Mum called me in for dinner. ‘Never mind fighting Superman’s battles. Get in here now,’ she said. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘Your dad’s got another posting overseas, and just after Christmas we will be joining him, so try to be on your best behaviour between now and then.’

‘Hrr, yes, OK, Mum, so where is it that Dad’s going?’

‘Sierra Leone.’

‘Sierra where, Mum?’

‘Sierra Leone. It’s in Africa.’

‘Africa! That’s were Tarzan lives.’ Oh heck!

When Dad arrived home from the football match, he went to watch Sheffield United at Leicester. Granddad went along too because we had relatives that lived in Wigston, Leicester; they all met up well before the match for a pie and a pint. Had it been at Bramall Lane I would have gone too, but I never went to any away matches in those far-off days. ‘So come on, Dad, where is this place that we are going to in Africa?’

‘Well, Son, it’s on the west coast, and that’s about all I know. I shall be going out there in November to get some quarters ready for when you, Mum, and Stewart arrive in January, subject to your medical, and if that’s all well, it will be out with the packing cases once again.’ Dad flew out in November as expected. The last thing he said to me was that I was now the man of the house. ‘So look after your mum and don’t give her any cheek.’

‘Yes, Dad. I mean no, Dad, I won’t give her any cheek.’

I had to go to the hospital for my medical on my birthday, 8 December, so Dad flew out unaware of the results that would determine whether we would or would not be joining him. Twelve months earlier, in fact two days before my birthday, I had been rushed into hospital with violent pains in my left side. Following examinations by various doctors, I found myself in the operating theatre the very next day having my left kidney and urethra removed, hence the medical. Fortunately, all was well for me to travel to Africa, although there were a few cautionary notes from the medics that conducted the medical, mainly to be certain to take the malaria tablets and be sure to get all the injections for yellow fever, typhoid, typhus, and a host of other potential illnesses as any one of them could be fatal to me if contracted due to my reduced immune system, whatever that was.

Christmas in 1957 was, to say the least, very hectic trying to cram in all the visits to the family, as it could be a long time before we would see them again. One of the main places for the family to congregate was at Uncle Frank’s and Auntie Vera’s; heaven knows how Auntie Vera used to manage, usually on Boxing Day. My cousins Peter and Joan would be there to welcome quite a few of the various aunts and uncles and an array of cousins, plus Aunt Vera’s family from Redcar—quite a gathering. The Fellbrigg, the local pub, must have loved Boxing Day lunchtime just because of the Orton family alone.

But, for all the revelry, the expectations of what we were going to find in Africa were never far from my thoughts were. Was it really like the jungle in the Tarzan films? Were there really black panthers in every tree and Indian elephants stampeding through the open plains? I might have only been eleven at the time, but I knew that panthers came from South America and small eared elephants came