Going home to the East! I

In February 1950, after a year in the field, we took the ARAMCO launch to Bahrain. Home leave was 90 days back then!!!!! Al Khobar was just one crusty street. The Eastern Star Hotel and the open air suq led to that street. The Green Flag Store and Abd'allah's were THE shopping locations. Just south of the shopping street was the jetty.

Some ARAMCO launches came all the way from Terminal Island in Los Angeles harbor. They had big diesel engines; on idle you could feel their power trembling through your body. I still equate sea travel with the smell of diesel exhaust. After our baggage was loaded, the pilot had the lines cast off and we turned south to find the channel. I thought this strange since Bahrain was east and Manama was on the north end of the island. The channel was marked with buoys but we proceeded slowly, particularly when the route was shallow. We leaned our heads over the gunwale and watched the bottom through the aquamarine water; sometimes colorful "angelfish" collected in the shadows cast by the floats. Once through the channel the pilot called up the power and we skimmed across the water heading north, then east.

We had a steamer trunk, a Fortnighter, and four suitcases. My mother also had a make-up case and hat box. These were checked by Bahrani customs and carried to British Government House in a donkey cart. We took a taxi.

The rooms were colonial; a ceiling contraption like a carpet swayed to and fro moving the air. It was dark, dank. We washed, ate, and napped before visiting the suq. I had my first cup of English tea. I remember receiving a Dinky Toy car from a store full of British goods that day.

The next afternoon we were launched to the Dwarka, a small British-India freighter anchored off shore. There were three other ships in the line and all the names started with the letter D (Dumra, Dara, and ?). A freshening breeze kicked up the water; a barge lashed to the ship heaved and the launch made several attempts before coming alongside. We were handled; the crew took our hands and lifted us aboard the barge one at a time. We scampered to the gangway and hurried up the steps to safety. They took our baggage on with a crane and net.

Our stateroom was small but efficient. We were just under the bridge. We had our own sun deck and we ate with the captain. His wife, Chatty, was aboard that trip; she and my mother became fast friends. They wrote letters for years after. We also visited their home in Bombay, an apartment on the Queen's necklace. They were true colonials.

The voyage to Muscat was exciting. I used soft drink bottles to cast numerous messages over the side. A young officer helped me seal them with wax. I never got an answer (but I haven't given up). The ships passed near enough to see facial expressions; we waved and I sometimes shouted greetings. When we passed through the Strait of Hormuz the ships lined up in both directions. There were tankers, freighters, and I saw my first liberty ship. It had a list; someone told me that many of these wartime vessels were built with a list. We had deck passengers, mostly Indians, Pakistanis, and Goanese. There were large tarps for shade; I watched them cook, sleep, and interact. They kept to small groups; they did not dress like the Arabs. They wore bright colors and some of the women showed their faces. They had small kerosene stoves to heat water for tea and boil rice. They were very quiet.

We were the first ARAMCO family to go home through the Far East. There were some problems getting the Company to agree to this but in the end we were allowed to proceed. My father was adventuresome. An Iowa boy, he had left his machinist job with a California construction company, and in early 1944 trained across the USA to depart Miami by military aircraft: South America, West Africa, Cairo, the Dead Sea, Basra, and Bahrain to join ARAMCO. He was carried in a B-24 Librator, A British Shakelton (a bomber, I think), and a number of British flying boats. Going home to the East was just another chapter in my father's adventure. We still had the P & O Canton and the S.S. President Wilson ahead of us, not to mention Bombay, Columbo, Penang, Singapore, Hong Kong, Kobe, Yokohama, and Honolulu. Maybe the real reason we went home to the east was to visit Uncle Jerry. He rests at Punchbowl, the National Cemetery on the Hawaiian island of Oahu. He was struck down at Hickam Field on December 7, 1941. Maybe my mother needed to say goodbye to her brother.

Rolf A. Christophersen