Item 04: Memoirs of a Colonial Boy by Robert Joseph Stewart, ca. 1971 - Page 273
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[Page 273]
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ship at the time, and it was presumed that he had fallen overbord. At Kuwait roadstead a small ship, the "Erinpura" of the B.I. line, was brought close alongside the "Nile" in midstream, and we transhipped by clambering over the two rails. The "Erinpura" left for Basra that evening crossing the shallow water at the head of the Gulf and passing up the Shat el Arab past the huge Anglo-Persian oil refinery at Abadan, to arrive at Basra at noon.
Up until now we had proceeded from England with all expedition, but on arrival at Basra we were put into a small tended camp at Makina, adjoining the Gymkhana Club, and were held there for a fortnight, kicking our heels in impatient idleness. Though it was the beginning of Springtime the weather was scorchingly hot, and humid with it. Basra had the reputation of being one of the two hottest places on earth, Samarkand in Turkestan being the other. Apart form excursions through the noisy, narrow, crowded, malodorous native bazzars [bazaars] or trips up and down the river in "ballans" (native boats) there was nothing to save one from complete boredom most of the time, except reading, sleeping, playing Bridge and drinking. Other occasional diversions were a few hours of sword drill, or a game of tennis at the very social and well-appointed Gymkhana Club, of which we were made Honorary Members. One big event though, was a much rehearsed parade, for inspection by the General Officer Commanding the Lines of Communication, Major General McMahon.
On one unforgettable night when we had received the news that we should be delayed for another fortnight or so, we all tried to drown our sense of frustration by drinking round after round of Singapore "Stingahs", neat whisky and creme de menthe mixed. Officers who rarely drank spirits became insensible or sick when the bar closed down and we were precipitated into the cold night air outside the bar. Captain McVilly, a teetotaler and a winner of the Diamond Sculls at Henley, had the exasperating task of getting his fellow Australians to their marquee and bedding them down with a canvas water-bucket under their chins.