Just before we left Sarona I received a notice that a package was awaiting me in the main Post office in Tel-Aviv. I had been advised many weeks previously that a parcel of goodies was on its way. I received permission to pick up my package on condition I could get four volunteers to act as escort. This was no problem. Notwithstanding our food was excellent, the thought of plum pudding and other delights I had told my friends we could expect, was enough to motivate more than enough volunteers.

This was a period of extremely high security, so we armed ourselves with Thompson Machine guns, requisitioned a truck and we were on our way to the start of a gourmet delight.

As required, for security reasons, as soon as we reached the Post office we all got off the truck, one Policeman moved to a doorway a few yards away, where he could guard the truck, another to the door of the Post Office where he could see inside and outside, a third moved to the center of the office and the fourth accompanied me to the window, being careful to keep his back to my back. It could be called a classic by the book operation. The people in the Post Office, if they were concerned did not, in a typical Jewish fashion, show it. I gave the notice to the official, wondering lf I should offer to help him carry it as he was an older man. I need not have worried, he soon appeared with a box measuring three by two inches.

I was stunned. Carefully concealing the package in my uniform, I made a quick retreat, followed in the appropriate order by the others until we were back on the truck again. A text-book maneuver.

Then I had to produce the tiny package under their disbelieving gaze. I opened it and exposed a withered piece of shamrock thoughtfully sent for St. Patrick's Day that had arrived almost a month late.

For obvious reasons my now ex-friends were not amused and only the promise of plenty of treats at the canteen when we got back ensured my safety. It was a long time before I lived this one down.