Metzer 1980

Bananas

The working day started at 6:00am and finished at midday, with a break for breakfast. Bananas was physically quite hard, especially if you were struggling with a hangover, it was easy to trip and fall over while carrying a bunch and that wasn’t good for the back. We had arrived on the kibbutz in a group of about ten volunteers, mostly Australians. Shane, pictured, really took to Bananas, a vocation for him. Years later we would bump into him in a London tube station, sometimes it’s a small world.

Store Factory

Irrigation pipes that slowly leaked water, one of the main products of the Kibbutz. After a hard night, it was not unknown to turn up late for work. Nachoom would insist that you had a sit down and had a leisurely coffee before you started, this I found very civilised after working for Midland Bank. Driving the forklift was one of the perks of this particular job, unfortunately only one of us was able to master the art of driving it safely.

Pots

Working on ‘Pots’ for two weeks in the Dining Room turned out to be a blessing, my Mum was forever grateful for this, as it transformed me into someone who could actually wash dishes at speed. I remember being introduced to a woman in the kitchen who had one of the ‘camp’ number tattoos. After 2 weeks in the Kitchen my injured foot was healed enough for me to go back on Bananas and join the real men.

Whose boots are these?

We were given work clothes, blue trousers and shirts and green army jackets, pictured. Some people, not me, brought the army jackets home, there was an abundance of these jackets and they were deemed to be cool. Those with an eye for fashion would compliment the army jacket with an Arab scarf also known as Keffiyeh. The kibbutz didn’t supply ‘Keffiyehs’ so you had to buy your own. For fashionistas only.

Boots were essential in the mud and allocated according to shoe size. Some days I would leave the room early and in my rush to get to work, pick up the first pair of boots to hand, only later wondering why my feet we’re hurting. After a while I could no longer recognize my own boots. That was the kibbutz ideology, what’s mine is yours.

Much later on I was to come across a pair of canvas boots that fitted me so well I fell in love with them. No more random boots for me I thought, I’m keeping these for life. Then one fateful evening in the dining room somebody noticed an awful smell, that was the end of the boots, they disintegrated in the wash. The first few months, though I was never quite away whose boots I was wearing.

Dome of the Rock Jerusalem

Steen, Danish volunteer, cutting a dash in army jacket and Keffiyeh

Hadera

We would go to Hadera, the nearest town, some afternoons, sit outside in a cafe and drink the afternoons away. One time we were sitting there and one of the kibbutzniks from bananas walked past, he was a short man with enormous forearms, hard as nails. He beamed at us, it was the first, and last time I ever saw him smile.

Newly arrived pale faced volunteers

We were all pale when we arrived, it was, after all December, so how would we have had tans? Within a short space of time we did became tanned although without noticing it. Some time later a new group of Dutch volunteers arrived, we thought they must all be suffering from some form of anaemia. Turns out they were healthy, very healthy, but not tanned.

Not quite such a pale face

Before the Dutch volunteers arrived, the main grouping of volunteers were Scandinavian, mostly Swedish, they had been on the Kibbutz longer than us and most of them were in relationships. Mystifyingly they seems immune to the charms of the Brits, the Swedes certainly spoke better English than we did, regarding us as having limited vocabularies composed mostly of swear words. Swedish girls did like the younger male Kibbutzniks, who were mostly tanned, bearded and incredibly fit from army training. Our 500metre training runs on Longsands did not help us compare well with guys who thought nothing of doing one armed push ups. Fortunately the Dutch female volunteers were more appreciative of our unique British gifts for drinking, satire and humour. We in return were prepared to overlook the fact that they looked anaemic.

Purim

Purim was an important celebratory Jewish festival that we were invited to share with other members of the Kibbutz. Arthur, sought to epitomis the English talents for satire, humour and drinking all in one as Jake the Peg with the extra leg. Shane in true anipodean style sought to display his impressive physique and Monica the Swiss her passion for Neutrality. This was the night that Arthur and Andy managed to commandeer dozens of bottles of their favourite beer ‘Goldstar’.

Working out in the Bomb Shelter

For reasons that must be fairly obvious, Israel has lots of bomb shelters, some of them doubled as volunteers bars, this one in the picture was a Gym. It was here that I used to go most afternoons, sometimes with Josh, an American volunteer with an enviable build. One time whilst bench pressing, on my own, I got stuck underneath the barbell, not a good situation. Mostly though I just plugged away and tried to build an enviable physique, listening to cassettes I’d been sent from home. This was the era of the cassette. One day a new volunteer, Finbogi, arrived from Iceland carrying on his shoulder a giant ghetto blaster. He explained he had to buy it because “it cost nothing”.

Communication with home

One of the lifelines we had was letters from home. To get letters you had to write letters, so we spent an unprecedented amount of time writing them, an art sadly lost today. Incoming aerogrammes were delivered in the Dining Room at lunchtime. On a good day you got an aerogramme from home, on a bad day you didn’t, it was that important to keep in touch with home. There were no mobile phones and long distance calling was for emergencies only, thankfully there weren’t too many emergencies and those that there were didn’t require any phone calls.

Accomodation

Fairly basic rooms, two three or four single beds, one in each corner, with no heating. In the winter we were given paraffin heaters which in our youthful enthusiasm or ignorance we would leave burning overnight. One night I woke up unable to breathe, the room was full of paraffin fumes, to avoid asphyxiation I dragged the heater out of the room. It may have been someone else, but I like to think it was me. That was one of my nine lives gone. Another one occurred on Bananas when a blade from a machete severed and went flying through the air. They used to cut or chop down the trees after they had been picked. Apart from that and getting run over by a forklift we couldn’t have been safer.

Culture and Education

Christian, standing between two Swedish girls was the best disco dancer I ever saw. Friday night there would be a disco in the bar and Christian would let rip. Usually the night ended with tearful Swedes (most of whom were called Bjorn) singing and dancing to ‘Dancing Queen’, and they thought the British were culturally bankrupt!

Somewhere though there is a regulation that all Kibbutz Volunteers must be given a ‘cultural’ trip every three months as compensation for all their hard work

Cultural Trip

On these cultural trips Kibbutzniks were keen to show you the length and breadth of Israel. This wasn’t difficult, the 67 border ran through the Kibbutz. In 1980 Sinai was part of Israel and there were no plans to give it back, the trip included not just Sinai but Masada, the Dead Sea and Jerusalem. Kibbutz volunteer leaders were compelled by law to carry weapons when escorting volunteers. Wandering into an Arab cafe in Old City Jerusalem with two heavily armed guards was not well received, but what could they do? Leave the weapons lying on the bus?

Sinai

In 1980 the Sinai was a magical place, there was all that dramatic mountainous scenery, a few huts made from reeds, a few bedouin, blue coral sea and not a lot else. Today’s Egyptian Sinai looks more like Torremolinos, a concrete jungle. In 1981 we would hitch-hike through Torremolinos on our way to Morocco and wonder if it could possibly be the same place that James Mitchener wrote about in The Drifters. Just goes to show what 20 years can do to a place. The pasty coloured guy in the middle of the shot is Arthur working on his tan. Also pictured two(Bjorn)s.

Independent Travel

After a few months on the Kibbutz, including cultural trips, we had built up enough time to go on some independent travel of our own. Pictured in Ein Gedi with Dutch volunteer Karin, picture taken by Finbogi who is balancing the camera on his Ghetto Blaster. I seem to be carrying more luggage than anyone else, something I would have to get used to on later trips with Arthur.

The Voice of Peace

Another cultural trip the kibbutz organised was to Hadera to see the newly released movie ‘The Deer Hunter’. There were roars of approval during the ‘Russian roulette’ scenes.

Occasionally there would be a movie in the dining room, one time a Japanese movie, with Hebrew subtitles.

Most of our entertainment came from the Radio, specifically the English language ‘Voice of Peace’. I can remember whole nights spent listening to Michael Jackson Off the Wall, interspersed with pleas for a peaceful resolution to the Middle East crisis, usually in the company of a lucky female volunteer.

Things you get from other Volunteers

Nick the Austrian wanted to give me his Afghan coat, which weighed half a ton, and which he had come to regret buying in Kabul. Nick saw things none of us could see, some of them were true, some conspiracies. I declined, it was too much.

There was a Dutch volunteer called Mario, he used to tell us nightly blood curdling tales from his six month road trip to South America., many involving insects on parts of his anatomy which should have been sacrosanct. One time he got a lift from a truck, a tanker carrying petrol. The driver would only let him ride on the roof, after six hours non stop, Mario said his arms were nearly dropping off. Not sure which is worse your arms dropping off or your private parts?

Mario left me a tape, music was a precious scarce commodity in those days. On one side was some Dutch music, which I never played, on the other side ‘Darkness on the Edge of Town, this became my favourite album. Over the years I’ve been to see Bruce more times than I care to remember.

Eilat

You reach a point where it’s time to leave. Earlier on in our stay, Nick from Australia and Graham from Blaydon (of all places) had left for Beirut and Naama Bay, and come back with great tales. Arthur left before me and went to Eilat. Coral, 30+ Degrees, what was not to like? The longer you stayed the cheaper it got. Once you leave the kibbutz it’s difficult for a whole host of reasons to come back. That said if you were a good worker and they liked you then the kibbutz could flexible about accomodating returning volunteers. In the end we both left Israel within a days of each other, flights to Athens and magic bus home