World War II Chronicle: December 31, 1942
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Two days ago we discussed the men that will serve on the Joint Chiefs of Staff once it is formed after the war. The president’s top military chief of staff is Adm. William D. Leahy, and it seems Washington politicians don’t seem to want him around any more (see front page). Leahy is pitching a war cabinet featuring the top service chiefs — what becomes the Joint Chiefs… Below the fold is a mention of Whitney Straight, an American-born Royal Air Force air commodore (equivalent to brigadier general). Straight leads No. 216 Group, operating in the Middle East. He was shot down over France in July 1942 and spent the summer evading the Germans. He was eventually captured and he escaped, making his way to safety in Gibraltar.
He shoots down three enemy warplanes, shares another, and claims two probable victories. Before the war he was the most successful American driver in Grand Prix racing. After the war he becomes the chief executive officer of British Overseas Airways Corp., which merges with British European Airways Corp. in 1974 to form British Airways… Sports section begins on page 23
Roving Reporter by Ernie Pyle
WITH THE AMERICAN FORCES IN ALGERIA — The roads in North Africa are surprisingly good. They’re macadamized, with banked curves just like ours. Driving around this country, we often remark that it’s hard to realize we’re not somewhere in the United States.
This long coastal plain stretching across North Africa, between mountains and sea, is, as I’ve said before, very much like parts of our own Southwest. It’s bare of natural trees, but it’s not exactly desert. In fact, it’s very fertile and almost wholly under cultivation.
The soil resembles red clay, and is a regular gumbo after rain. The Arabs raise some oats, and I’ve seen some uncommonly long strawstacks, but most of the land is in vineyards and olive groves.
The land is slightly rolling, and you can see for long distances — 50 miles or more. The fields are quite large, and at this season most of them are freshly plowed.
Many American soldiers have had their first experience of picking olives right from the trees and eating them, for they try it only once. There follows the most violent spitting, spluttering, and face-making you ever saw. It seems that an olive has to be ripened in brine before it’s edible.
They’re black and beautiful on the trees, but they have a bitter, puckering taste that’s beyond description.
We have all been impressed by the neatness and cleanliness of the farming country, even though I can’t say the same for the cities. The fields are immaculate. There is no refuse or squandered growth or stuff lying around, as on so many American farms.
The Arabs do all their farming with horses, which seem to be in good shape. But you seldom see one of those beautiful Arab steeds that you read about in “Shiek” books. Out in the country you see many herds of goats and sheep, usually tended by little children. We’ve seen cute little shepherdesses, not more than eight years old, in hoods and nightgown-like dresses, who smile and make the “V-for-Victory” sign as you pass.
The Arabs are strange people. I don’t pretend to know anything about them yet. They are poor, and they look as tight-lipped and unfriendly as the Indians in some of the Latin countries, yet they’re friendly and happy when you get close to them. As you drive through the country, Arab farmers by hundreds wave at you along the road, and small children invariably shout their few American words — “Good-by,” or “okay” — as you pass, and either salute like soldiers or give the “V” sign with their fingers.
In half a day’s driving here I get more “V” signs than I saw the whole time I was in England.
I still haven’t got the religion question straight. Some Arab women wear white sheets and hoods that cover the face except for one eye sticking out. The soldiers call them “One-Eyed Flossies.” But they are in the minority. Most of the women show their faces.
As far as I can figure out, the ones who cover their faces are the severely religious, just as at home only a few of the Jewish people are what they call orthodox. The rest are good people, but they don’t observe the ancient customs and restrictions.
Just at sunset yesterday we passed a team and a wagon carrying a whole Arab family. The man was down on his knees and elbows at the edge of the pavement, facing east towards Mecca, but the women and children were sitting in the wagon just as usual.
One of our party wisecracked, “I guess he’s making a deal for the whole family.”
That was the only Arab I’ve seen praying.
No American soldier in this part of Africa has seen a camel. Apparently these beasts aren’t needed in this fertile region. The Sahara proper doesn’t begin until nearly 300 miles south, and I suppose you have to go there to see camels in action.
There are very few native-owned passenger cars on the roads, but quite a lot of heavy trucks. That’s because of gasoline shortage. But trucks burn alcohol, and even that is short, for the Germans turned most of the grape crop alcohol into their own motors.
As far as I know there is no such thing as interior heating of homes here in winter. This region used to get coal from France, of course, but that was cut off when France fell. We brought our own coal with us — whole shiploads for running power plants and so on.
Once in a while you see clusters of cactus, and frequently fields are fenced with hedgelike rows of what is known in Mexico as maguey, the plant from which pulque and tequila are made. Apparently the Arabs don’t keep themselves as well oiled on their native drinks as do the people in some countries. I’ve seen drunken Arabs, but they are very rare. The good ones never drink anything alcoholic. It’s against their religion.
Evening star. (Washington, D.C.), 31 December 1942. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045462/1942-12-31/ed-1/