Elizabeth Stanton (AP 69) - Naval Cruise Book

Page 36 text:

Q fan There was a saying aboard the ship once that Oran was our home port. That was when we had been in the Mediterranean so long that New York, our real home port, seemed as distant and dreamlike as a golden city of heaven. But Oran was here now; it was the reality. No one aboard ship liked it. We complained of its crowds, its filth, its heat, and its smell. But when we had just hit invasion beaches and were coming back: when in the bright morn- ing sunlight we saw the shrine of Santa Cruz high on the hillside and the city sprawled around the bay like a fistful of white stones flung by a giant . . . then we felt oddly that we were coming home. This was something we knew. The heavy, pungent smell of the city came out to sea to meet us and we would look at one another grimacing and say. ■ Yep, that ' s Oran. Actually, the ship seldom moored in Oran itself. Usually we went alongside the protective mole at Mers-el-Kebir, a harbor- village around the mountain from Oran. There we did our routine work; there we loaded our cargo and troops. At the beginning of the mole was a rocky beach where we swam. Eight kilometers along a breath-taking clifl road was Ain-El-Turck Oran from Sania Cruz. Home Port. Mattress Covers? Rue de Clemenceau. 32

Page 35 text:

orm Pri ricci North Africa was the destination of the Lizzie on her first long voyage as a Navy ship. And subsequently, its seaports, Oran, Casablanca, and Algiers, became better known to the Lizzie ' s crew than were most American ports except New York. Africa was not the way we had imag- ined it. Instead of thick jungles we found modern cities, cultivated fields, and large stretches of bare, rugged land. And in the Algiers Casbah, instead of Hedy Lamarr we saw only non- descript Arab women in sleazy-looking veils. Casal)lanca was perhaps the most Europeanized of the North African cities, with Algiers a close second. Both of these cities were clean and had large business sections, fine parks, and some Ijeautiful buildings which were a not-too-bizarre comliination of African and French architecture. But European civilization clung to the coastline. A short jeep-ride inland revealed large farms, grazing herds of sheep tended by Arab shepherds, miles of vineyards from whose mild-looking grapes tlie mule kick vino was made. Dotted over the mountainsides and valleys were dirty little Arab villages. Most of us at one time or another visited the headquarters town of the French Foreign Legion, Sidi-bel-Abbis. The feeling there was one of isolation and loneliness. The relics and Ijarracks of the Legionnaires . . . the Legionnaires themselves with their hard-bitten faces and stiff military smartness all seemed like a page of past history suddenly come alive in an age of mechanized warfare. It was a little like bumping casually into . . . say, Nero buying a can of Spam at the corner A P. But the lasting impression of Africa is one of bright-hot monotonous days and of ever- lastingly standing by roadsides to thumb a ride as the jeeps, command cars, and trucks sped by, leaving clouds of dust that would not settle until the black African night fell and war motors were hushed, and only the land was left in its ancient brooding wakefulness. 31

Page 37 text:

with its gay-colored villas and broad white beaches . . . finer, more beautiful beaches than we were later to see on the French Riviera. Oran itself had much to offer. There were some beautiful shaded parks. For beer drinkers there was Joe ' s Joint bv the Continental Hotel and Al ' s I ' lace around the corner and up the street. There was the American Bar with its friendly barmaids, and the Maison du Colon with its good ice cream. There was the long shopping district along the Rue d Arzew where souvenir hunters often picked up good things. And permeating all was the rich, varied sound of Oran ' s streets: the cries of Arab peddlers and beggars and shoe-shine boys, the jumbled accents of French and Arabs and British and Americans, the hee-haw braying of donkeys, the pound and boom and rattle of war vehicles along the boulevards, and the monotone song of occasional planes overhead. Oran was no longer a French city; it was an Allied city. At every sunset there was a reaffirma- tion of this when the flags of three nations were drawn slowly down their staffs, and men and women of many nations stood at attention listening to the Marseillaise, to God Save the King, and to The Star Spangled Banner. 1. Mers-el-Kebir, the Mole. 2. Road to Sidi-bel-Abbes. 3. Continental Hotel 4. Market Place. 33