| By Road to Bebeidi
Because the summers were so hot at Habbaniyah a Rest Camp had been established at a place called Ser Amadiyah that was located in the mountains to the north-east of Mosul. Ser Amadiyah is rather remote so that the journey to it is often broken at Mosul and at a transit camp at Bebeidi [pictured]. As part of the preparations for disbandment the question as to whether there were any stores still at Bebeidi arose. There was no consensus on the question and so I was once again dispatched with my Rab Kamshe and a small party to settle the matter. We set off from Habbaniya in a fleet of four ageing Bedford QL 3ton trucks. Having crossed both the Euphrates and the Tigris we headed NNW to Kirkuk. The journey was not without incident since we had a 20 mph tailwind for part of the journey that meant there was very little airflow through the radiators of the Bedford trucks which kept overheating. This necessitated frequent stops to allow them to cool off and there was some anxiety about our supply of water to keep the radiators topped up. The end result was a very late arrival at Mosul. I was taken to an hotel where a room had been booked for me by the resident Levy Clerk in the Levy Pay Office.
The next day was to be a rest day as the trucks needed some attention before we went any further. That morning the Levy Clerk appeared and said he had arranged a day out for me. There was a large car outside the hotel and in it were his two teenage daughters dressed in their best and who were coming along for the ride.
The Levy Clerk [pictured] was a gentleman of Indian extraction who had lived in Iraq for many years. So far as I can recall he had come to Iraq at the beginning of the last war, as a civilian, with the Indian Army and had stayed in Iraq ever since. It was a most pleasant day. We went into the hills and had a picnic lunch at the roadside not far from where one can see the summer royal palace near Sersing. Both girls spoke good English and I think they enjoyed the trip as much as I did. I took some photographs of Kurdish villagers as well as one of the girls and their father. This is Kurdish dominated country and was close to the scene of a devastating tragedy during the Saddam Hussein regime. At the end of the day when we arrived back at the hotel I wanted to contribute to the hire of the car but it soon became clear that this was a faux pas and I held my peace. I was never sure who paid for that day out but I hope it was not that courteous old gentleman from India.
The following morning our little convoy of trucks set off for Bebeidi. We traveled by way of the town of Dohuk and were soon in the cooler hill country. Without further incident we arrived at the camp at Bebeidi. The camp was built on a hillside that had been terraced to accommodate the dozen or so huts. At the foot of the hill were the small plots divided by earth mounds that are typical of hill farming in that part of the world.
I was given a hut to myself and while I settled in the Rab Kamshe got the keys to all of the huts from the camp warden and began the search for stores. After some hours he came to report that all they could find was some coils of Dannert barbed wire. He seemed disinclined to cart them all the way back to Habbaniyah, especially as the men had not got the leather gloves which are the usual issue to troops handling barbed wire. Clearly the trip had been something of a waste of time and fuel. On the other hand barbed wire has its uses in uncertain times as well as on the battlefield and there was clearly only minimal extra fuel cost to get it back to Habbaniyah. I don’t suppose I would have been criticized for leaving it where it was, but after all it was taxpayer’s money. I told the Rab Kamshe to do his best to find some cloth or other material to protect the men’s hands and to load only as much as he could without damaging the canvas tilts (covers) of the trucks.
When the trucks had been loaded he came to report that the job was done and that I was invited to the house of the village Headman after supper and that he would take me there himself. Such invitations cannot be refused, even though one knows from the outset that one’s host is probably about to test your ability to match his hospitality glass for glass. What was the drink of that particular evening to be? No matter! I could always accept such a challenge if required in those days. It turned out that the drink of the evening was to be one whose local name I cannot remember but which is drunk the world over and is known as raki or grappa which is made by distilling fermented grape skins and pips, the waste from the wine press. The aim on such occasions is to take ones leave just before the fatal glass. I am happy to say I met the challenge with honor but did not enjoy the long ride back to Mosul the following day.
Quite apart from the competitive aspect it was a most memorable evening. In the headman’s house we sat in a circle on the ground. As is the custom, his wife and other females of the family sat rather apart but not excluded entirely. However, male guests, unless they are relatives, do not address the female members of the family.
The Headman spoke quite lot of English but most of the conversation was between my Rab Kamshe and the Headman who, although Assyrian and Kurd respectively, seemed to get on well together. Every so often, out of courtesy, they would turn to me so that I was included. Just before the fatal glass I rose to leave and my Rab Kamshe saw me to my hut. Had the visit been expected and I more prepared I would have returned the hospitality by sending a gift the following morning. Shotgun cartridges always go down well in that part of the world.
Photo; Kurdish villagers on road to Bebeidi.
 The next morning we began the return journey to Mosul. Shortly after my arrival and whilst still in my hotel room I received a message to the effect that there was someone waiting to see me in the hotel lounge. Somewhat puzzled I went to find out who my visitor was. When I got down to the lounge it was to find that I had not one visitor but four. One of them sat slightly to one side and he turned out to be the interpreter. He explained that the other three men were a delegation from Sheikh Barzani. It so happened I had been told about the influence of the Barzani family on Kurdish affairs by my boss George Page during my initial briefing. It is an influence that continues to this day. They had heard about my visit to Bebeidi and wanted to know what the Levy authorities were going to do with the large diesel generator that had been used to power the lighting at the rest camp at Ser Amadiyah. I had not been briefed about anything that might have been left at the rest camp and said so. I thought that the generator in question was probably a 22 /2 KW trailer- borne one which was a standard issue item in the RAF and quite an expensive piece of kit. But if it had been forgotten would they really want to go to the expense of retrieving it from somewhere so remote? In the circumstances I didn’t think so. However, it was hardly something I should decide at my level of authority. I decided on a compromise. Until the authorities had made a decision on the matter I suggested that if they were willing to look after the generator and maintain it properly I didn’t see why they should not have the use of it on a caretaker basis. Of course this was very close to what they had come for. I said I would make a report when I returned to Habbaniyah, which of course I did. The interview ended with a round of handshakes and smiles. I very much doubt if that generator was ever retrieved and if they did indeed look after it properly it could still be working to this day. Meddowes diesel generators, if indeed it was such, are British and well made. I can say this because later in my career I came to know them quite well.
There is little more to say about that trip to Bebeidi. The Bedford QLs got us back to Habbaniyah without overheating again and I duly made my report to my Squadron Commander. However, change was in the air. | 
then stationed at RAF Habbaniyah. Although I did not know it at the time I was destined to be the last RAF officer to be posted in to the Levies and it turned out to be the shortest tour of duty in my 25 year career in the RAF: it lasted a little under two months. It was to be a brief taste of a lifestyle that many had either enjoyed or perhaps endured over the preceding two centuries in so many parts of the Middle and Far East.
Despite the impending disbandment of the Levies there was work to be done. I was put in charge of an ammunition party transporting 20 mm ammunition by rail to Basra. This was no doubt ammunition held at Habbaniyah for possible use by the Venoms. By the time I came on the scene a Rab Kamshe and several riflemen had already supervised the loading and counting of the numerous boxes on to steel railway wagons. Slowly the train made its way from Ramadi via Baghdad, Diwaniyah and Nasiriyah to Basrah. At the tail end of the train a carriage had been attached for myself and the ammunition party. Every time the train stopped the Rab Kamshe put out sentries on both sides of the train to keep an eye on the wagons even though they were locked and sealed. Eventually we arrived and the time came for the receiving party to check and count the steel boxes. This turned out to be a lengthy process and after some hours the Rab Kamshe came to say that there appeared to be a discrepancy in the number of boxes. Like me he felt any discrepancy was more apparent than real, so heft him to it.
