A couple of years ago I was saddened to hear that the dams on the outskirts of Derna in Libya had burst, causing severe flooding and much loss of life. I worked in Derna some 55 years ago, installing a TV transmitter in the town.
Marconi Communication Systems had secured a contract to install TV transmitters at eight locations in Libya along the North Africa coast, from Tripoli to Tobruk. It was not a comfortable country to work in and none of the married engineers were prepared to go out there. So four of us youngsters, in our mid-20s, went out for about eight months to pull the project together.
There were sub-contractors to build modest huts for the equipment, install diesel generators, build 400 ft masts and install the aerials. We just had to install the equipment, get each transmitter site working and get the Ministry of Information to accept them – and pay for them. We started in Tripoli and moved eastwards, commissioning the transmitter in Derna towards the end of the project.
Working conditions were not very salubrious. The country was alcohol-free and our main meal each day was usually camel steak and salad. We had two Toyota land cruisers and two VW beetles to move ourselves and the test equipment around in. There was nothing much to do except work and so we worked for seven days a week, to keep ourselves amused. We had to send occasional reports back to Chelmsford by fax and I remember one evening, as a product of modest boredom, writing a report as an alternative version of the Christmas carol ‘O little town of Bethlehem’ – hence the title of this piece.
O little town of Benghazi,
just waiting, there you lie!
Around thy deep and dreamless sleep
the donkey carts go by.
Yet in thy dark streets radiates
the picture and the sound;
the hopes and fears of engineers
on Channel Five abound.
At each site there was a group of locals who seemed to attach themselves to us, I think wanting to be paid as watchmen. The only communication we had with the outside world was the BBC World Service and I remember early into our stay that I was listening to the Remembrance Sunday service from the Cenotaph in Whitehall. I couldn’t persuade the locals to be quiet as I wished to listen to a two-minute silence on the radio!
In Benghazi our task was to install a second transmitter to double the power output and hence enlarge the area of coverage. Having completed the work, I drove about 50 miles along the coast with a signal strength meter and, at an agreed time, the two transmitters would be turned on and I would take a reading on the meter, to prove that all was well. The agreed time came – and went – and my meter didn’t record anything. I waited a further couple of hours and then drove back to Benghazi to discover that my colleagues had been put under armed arrest by the soldiers guarding the transmitter. Apparently the extra power had caused the aerial to break down and the soldiers naturally accused us of sabotage! I, of course, was arrested when I arrived.
We talked among ourselves and decided that it would be safer to get out of the way of the guns. So, in the dark, we climbed the transmitter tower and waited. Sometime later there were the sounds of activity on the ground and so we climbed back down to investigate. Someone in authority had flown down from Tripoli and we were able to explain the situation. We managed to get the transmitter working at low power and, a few days later, engineers from the Italian company that had installed the aerials arrived to effect repairs. Within a week the two transmitters were working well together.
The consul in Benghazi invited us to dinner as the contract came to an end. We had had no alcohol for many months and he kindly gave us each a can of light ale. I was amazed at the effect that a small can of ale can have when you have had no alcohol for several months!
I have no idea how the transmitters fared in the ensuing years but I have to assume that they have been superseded by more modern equipment. Anything that may still have been standing has, I guess, in Derna been washed away by the devastating floods.