Letter : The Magic Carpet

Introduction

My uncle, Allan Stoddart died in 2004 leaving a widow, Jean with many happy memories and a collection of war time letters he had written, some photographs, diaries and memorabilia. Allan had wanted to tell his story and maybe he did tell some of it but it was never recorded. Jean has given me his letters and so far I have transcribed those written to my parents, Florence and Bill and a few to Allan’s mother. Using extracts from some of the letters, photographs and memorabilia and information from diaries, a small glimpse of his story is now told. Jean and I understand the site’s terms and conditions.

Allan enlisted in Dundee in January 1940 and was UK based until he sailed on the troop ship, S.S. Almanzora with the 5th Division Signals to India in March 1942. Over the next 3 years, the war took him from India to Iraq, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Egypt, Sicily (landings), Italy (including Anzio), Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Palestine, Italy, Palestine, Italy, (home leave), Belgium, Germany. The 5th Division moved about so much they were nicknamed the “Cooks Tour Mob”.

This Letter

In this letter to my parents, Allan is stationed at a French Military Barracks on the outskirts of Damascus, Syria — entries in his diary confirmed this location.

Letter

2332853
Sigmn Stoddart A
“A” Section,
No.1 Company,
5th British Div. Signals,
M.E.F.

7 March 1943

Dear Florence and Bill,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I expected that you would do a bit of guessing re my whereabouts and now you have the job of guessing all over again — have, or have had. As you know, I can’t breathe a word which would give you any indication of the place “honoured by my noble presence” to use Bill’s very flattering expression, nor at present can I expand on the appearance of the country, which I could do in the last country. However, no doubt the censorship regulations will be relaxed shortly and we will be able to deal in generalities. Bill asks me about the “Magic Carpet”. I looked around for it in vain. I wanted to take a trip to 46 and say “Hello”, but there was nothing magic for miles around. Yes, I visited Bagdad, although as Bill has already guessed (from one of his previous cards) I did not live there. Thank God, because it was an expensive place. I treated myself to a packet of chewing gum there one evening and it cost me about the equivalent of 1/4. I didn’t find a great deal to enthuse over in the town. It was definitely an “East meets West” sort of place, cosmopolitan, crowded, and not too clean. It looked funny to see an Arab in a picture-house and Bagdad was a place where I saw many instances of the incongruities caused when East jostles West. In that respect it was an interesting place, and I’ve bought one or two snaps as souvenirs.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Last night on coming off guard I went out for a quiet drink and a supper with my mate Wilf. We went into a café and there were five of the boys knocking ‘em back in a corner. They ran for another table and a couple of chairs “Join up!” We joined up. I knew what would happen. It did. About three hours later seven somewhat inebriated soldiers staggered forth, rousing the sleeping population with shouts and laughter. By the way, Bill, round the table I re-told your tale about the colonels. It went down well. So did the others, but sorry I can’t repeat them. One of the boys passed into a deep sleep before we left the café. Another appeared in difficulties about making the journey back. He was in the sleepy-eyed mumbling stage. We put him to bed. Wilf caught the bottom of one trouser-leg. I got the other. We forgot to loosen his belt and started pulling him off the bed. Then somebody remembered the belt. Wilf and I were still pulling. Result. His pants shot suddenly off and Wilf and I also shot backwards across the billet still holding on to a trouser-leg each. The chap on the bed opened his eyes, and with an expression of complete bafflement surveyed the trouser-less legs. He just couldn’t figure out where the pants had gone. Well, I went quietly enough to bed after that but this morning, my God!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Affectionately,
Allan

Previous letter > Letter : The Green Grass
Next letter > Letter : Sweet Scent of Army Socks

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.