TANGIER 1940S & 50S DAVID ARDITTI For Nina Translated and edited by Sarah Ardizzone; Design and production by Carole Courtillé, Atelier Dyakova With special thanks to Sarah Ardizzone, Carole Courtillé, Sonya Dyakova, Nina Kidron, Helen Thomas and Gemma Wain for the book, and to Ann Bone, Myriam Cherti, Katy Hepburn and Paul Thompson for the exhibition Tangier 1940s & 50s David Arditti tabletwo productions – London Drawings for Friends These drawings were originally penned as eleven graphic letters to my lifelong friend, Giorgio Segre. They were inspired by shared memories, as well as some animated conversations about our childhood in Tangier, and they were sent between 2003 and 2004. Giorgio was living in Lausanne at the time, and terminally ill. Personal as they are, my sketches also describe the colonial experience of growing up in Tangier during the two decades prior to Moroccan independ- ence. And so, in December 2008, four years after I sent them to Giorgio, the letters were included in an exhibition at the British Library, ‘Moroccan Memories in Britain’. (The exhibition was based on an oral and visual archive of three generations of Moroccans migrating to and living in Britain.) With this book I hope to share my correspondence with a wider circle of friends, as a way of carrying on the conversation. Please indulge any narra- tive shortfalls; these letters were never intended to be read in quick succession, but I trust they might communicate something of daily life in Tangier in the 1940s and 50s. So how does the book work? Well, my original French explanations are an integral part of the letters themselves. Sarah Ardizzone has translated freely from them for an English readership, producing an introduction to each drawing, which is in turn complemented by selected picture details overleaf. The story of how my family came to be in Morocco follows in a biographical section at the end. Setting the Scene In 1923, Tangier – whose identity had been shaped in part by the rivalry of colonial powers carving up the North African continent – was made an international zone by statute, and later a free port. Responsibilities were granted to a number of major European powers, effectively installing a French administration and establishing a rotating chairmanship of each of the signatories to this arrangement: Great Britain, France, Spain, and later Portugal, Belgium, Italy, Sweden and the Netherlands, with a consular representation from each country. The official languages of the administration were French, Spanish and Arabic, heard on the streets alongside the colloquial Maghrebi Arabic and Berber. The local Jewish community spoke Haketia – a version of Ladino, comprising Castilian Spanish laced with Arabic words and intonations, which had evolved amongst those who had fled Spain and the Inquisition, and moved south to Morocco. Some communities had their own post offices, schools and hospitals. There were Jewish and rabbinical courts as well as Moroccan Koranic schools and tribunals. Goods came in and out of the port without concern as to their destination. Contraband cigarettes and liquor, bound for the French coast, left at night in ex-Royal Navy fast launches. Down at the judo club, customs officials performed martial arts practice alongside crewmembers from these smuggling boats, capturing the cavalier spirit of the city as a free port. In 1940, the international statute was revoked when Spain occupied Tangier, taking over its administration. But the statute was restored at the end of the Second World War, and Tangier became a boom town. Morocco fought for and gained independence from France in 1956, and Tangier was integrated into the newly independent Morocco. The Gang (‘La Bande’) There were three in our gang: Giorgio Segre, a refugee from Mussolini’s Italy, with his dog Pilou; León Ebidia, aka ‘Bibi’, a Moroccan Jew who was older than us and wore long trousers; and me, David Arditti, from England. Our gang greeting was: ‘Hello Johnny!’ The streets where we lived defined our boyhood territory. Beyond them a landscape of sand dunes provided a vast playground, as well as forming a wasteland that was home to scarabs, lizards and lovers. Tangier itself was a place of transit for many Jewish refugees whose families moved on to Canada, Venezuela and Brazil as soon as the war was over. In 1940 the international territory of Tangier resounded with Fascist slogans: Cara al sol! Arriba España! (Facing the Sun! Long Live Spain!) The invasion was a peaceful event, announced one Sunday morning in June by the soft sound of soldiers, shod in espadrilles, marching through the city. Overnight, the peseta displaced the Moroccan franc, Spanish became the official language, and life went on as before – except for the rounding up of Spanish Republican refugees. Top l e ft Giorgo, with Pilou his dog, and a grey Frejus with derailleur gears · Me and my green Raleigh with encased chain and three-speed gear · Bibi and his single-speed black Hercules with rod brakes. Right, below the Bay of Tangier Thepaisa , a low-ranking Spanish soldier, was a symbol of the occupation by Franco’s troops. With his shaved head, gaiters and shabby espadrilles, he calls out: ‘Ep-O! Ep-Arro!’ (‘Left, Right! Left, Right!’). Middle right There were other friends in our gang: Hesi (Hans Guttman) left for the USA where he was renamed ‘Gerry’ – his father, a furrier by trade, later managed the Rex Cinema on the Grand Socco; his cousin, Leo Wieselman, had a sports shop on Rue Goya; Bondi (Andre Sipos), nicknamed ‘Cipote’ (‘Cock’), was a Hungarian refugee whose father was a painter and decorator; Kurti Reisz, Giovanni Farkas and Giovanni's younger cousin, Andrich, who was always crying; Milou Sadoul, whose mother managed the Café de la Grande Poste on the ground floor of the building in which I lived, and a beach café during the summer. Milou’s father taught us carpentry and joinery at the École Professionelle on Saturday afternoons. Bottom right In the garden of the Mendoub’s Palace was an ancient rubber tree with stooped branches. It set down roots that created a series of arches. Bottom left The map indicates where members of the gang lived and (top left) the Bazar Arditti on Rue du Statut, near Place de France, as well as some local landmarks: the post office, bank, police station, law courts, bicycle shop, schools, and the vacant lot commandeered for school sporting purposes. Though not within the area shown by the map, the Monopole du Tabac (tobacco warehouse) and the grand villas on the Charf Hill could be found to the south-west. Directly west was the road to the Puente Internacional (International Bridge), leading to Spanish Morocco via the Caves of Hercules and the Diplomatic Forest (site of family picnics, and where dignitaries used to go wild boar hunting in the previous century). Middle left A Moroccan chivvies his donkey: Arra‘ Lihoud! ’(‘Onward, Jew!’) The Beach (‘La Plage’) Tangier was peaceful but isolated during the war years. Travelling in or out was difficult and required visas. The beach was the focus of our summer holidays. We enjoyed three months before school started again in October, by which time we were blackened by the sun. Beach huts were erected for the summer months in the space between the balnéaires (cheap restaurants) and changing cubicles. They were privately owned by Europeans, and a black American who called his place Uncle Tom’s Cabin. On days of levante, when a fierce easterly wind made bathing impossible, we could still swim a few miles away, at Les Grottes d’Hercule (Caves of Hercules), diving into the Atlantic rollers. The gentle westerly breeze of theponiente was, by contrast, bliss. Top l e ft A sun-kissed Giorgio and me. Top right The stronglevante . Middle right The beach huts and cheap restaurants: Apolo, Estrella del Mar, Sultana and Corsica. The grand beach restaurant was called Le Balnéaire des Hôtels Associés. Below centre, from right to left Uncle Tom · Public showers for bathers · The beach vendor calls out in heavily accented Spanish and French: ‘Potato crisps! Once you start you just can’t stop!’ Middle left The more gentleponiente . Health Care (‘La Médecine’) If hospitals were a microcosm of the international statute of Tangier, then the medical services – including pharmacies and private doctors – were a reflection of the ways in which the different communities overlapped. The Arditti family was part of the English community, but we attended the French hospital. Our general practitioner was Dr Anderson, a Scot, although we sometimes called in Dr Decrop, a Frenchman. Dr Cappa was Italian and there were also a number of Spanish doctors. Dr Danilo Coen was an Italian Jew, and Dr Many was a Moroccan Jew who had been medical adviser to the sultan. The Institut Pasteur clinic, beneath the eucalyptus trees, was where everybody went for their smallpox vaccination or, if bitten by a dog, for the big injection in the belly against rabies. Photographs of horrible conditions (leprosy, syphilis, elephantiasis and various tropical diseases) lined the walls, and a gloomy light filtered in through the window. There was a pervasive smell of ether. Within the family, mothers resorted to traditional remedies. Aspirin was our analgesic. For open wounds, there were sulphonamides (antibiot- ics had yet to reach Tangier). Boils and carbuncles were treated with hot compresses and squeezed when ripe. Digest ive problems were tackled with enemas of warm soapy water, Dr Decrop’s motto being ‘water in, water out!’ Top l e ft Giorgio and me, in the wars. Top right A description of some of the hospitals: the British hospital, run by the Tulloch Memorial Scottish mission; the Benchimol Hospital, run by the Jewish community; the Italian hospital, established in the wing of a sultan’s palace, which also housed the Italian school – in the playground were bold fascist slogans of the Mussolini era: Vedere! Credere! Obedere! (Look! Believe! Obey!); the Spanish hospital, built later and located behind the Spanish Legation – designed like a Franciscan monastery, it was run by nuns from that order.