FOOTBALL FARCE
At Alexandria the Caronia football team met the junior side of a fourth rate local club. (Note:
They were only fourth rate because there was no fifth). The “British Lions”, were togged-out in
emerald green and came on to the green amid loud hand claps. They left amid loud hand-claps,
which, but for the courtesy of the Egyptians, would have been slow ones.
We won the toss, but there was nothing emblematical about that; it was all we won. The ball was
thrown in, in brilliant sunshine and the game was on. The other side settled down to score while
we settled down in the stands to watch them.
“This stadium is the gear!” observed one surprised spectator, marvelling that the
ancestors of those who built the pyramids could manage the stadium. A bread-vendor went past
selling rock-like doughnuts. “How do they manage to eat them?” asked one of our crew.
“With their mouths, idiot!” answered another.
“Mark your man!” shouted Bill Beattie the Football Manager; but he might as well have
been King Canute commanding the waves to be still. Charley, a veteran of two world wars told me
indignantly that the Egyptians were “giving our lads the razz” - whatever that was.
Another old-timer bad-temperedly stamped his Cunard feet and mumbled every time a goal was scored
against us. We grew tired of listening to him stamp and mumble. The other side were building up
a substantial, concrete lead. The “Lions” were becoming noticeably tame. The Egyptian goal-keeper
had gone to sleep against the post.
Our goal-keeper might as well have done so too. He had a reverie or lapse of memory, and seems
to have imagined he was back in the army. He stood stiffly to attention and saluted each ball
as it went past.
We had at least one movement to remember. One of our “players”, who spent most of his time
entertaining the Egyptians with handsprings, suddenly got possession of the ball. With speed
and precision he dashed the entire length of the pitch with the ball at his feet. The movement
was stunning to say the least.
The Egyptian players stood with mouths agape! They had never seen anything like it before. They
didn't try to intervene, there was no need to. He was heading towards his own goal! Perhaps the
poor chap had taken some “no-sense-of-direction” pills.
Dobson, Beattie, Conroy and Jones played well, but four swallows make no impression on a barrel
of beer. The final score was twelve (12) goals (2 were disallowed) to Nil in favour of the hosts.
After the match we met General Mahoud Ali, who seemed to have expected officers of a higher calibre
than are my colleagues and I. Anyway, we did our best to try and improve the all-too-strained
Anglo-Egyptian relationships. “Your English crew are very good losers”, ventured the
General, trying hard to find something on the credit side. That they are good losers is true,
but then practice makes perfect.
The Egyptians were very ethical, courteous and hospitable. They brought us to their club and gave
us a splendid repast. There was a lovely lay-out in a spacious hall, with the ubiquitous pictures
of Nasser smiling approvingly down.
The food was excellent! We particularly enjoyed the tea with camel's milk. (An Arab told me
that if the camels are fed on dried salt-water fish, the milk has a rare flavour.) We have very
little doubt that it has a very rare flavour!
Speech followed speech in the conventional manner. Mr. Bill Beattie's few well-chosen words
impressed our Egyptian friends very much. We had claps for everyone, both British and Egyptian.
After being presented with a pennant, we left with a high regard for our hosts.
