Aden, for me, in the 1960s will live in my mind as a place of great joy and sadness. A joy because I would visit my parents three times a year from private school and sad because of the many friends that my family lost due to the conflict. My father had two tours of duty in the Aden Protectorate. First as battalion commander with the Aden Protectorate Levies and secondly with the renamed Federal Regular Army as brigade commander.

Many times I would visit my father in Dhala, taking a trip by convoy and experiencing the Dhala Pass with its huge drop to one side as it wound its way up the mountains, the vehicles staying well behind each other in case of brake failure (reminders of which were scattered on the ground below). This was a favourite place for ambush, as my father found out whilst driving a Land Rover; the bullet went through the bonnet and narrowly missed his legs. Other shots wounded an officer next to him and one killed a soldier sitting in the back. My father still has the bullet that narrowly missed him to this day.

Another memory I will never forget is of being a guest for a meal with a local sheikh. As we drove up to his residence, we were welcomed by fifty to sixty tribesmen and their young children, all firing their weapons into the air, each one dressed so colourfully and looking so proud. After the meal had finished I was presented by the Amir of Dhala with a jambiyah (traditional curved double-edged dagger), which I still have on my wall today. Up country, which is an apt name be it Dhala or Mukeirus, is high up in the mountains where the weather is much cooler and a nice change from the heat of Aden itself.

During a visit to Mukeirus, I asked my father if it was safe to go pigeon shooting. To my surprise he said yes, but I had to have a federal soldier to accompany me. I remember his name was Saleh and he was obviously so glad to be given the responsibility of protecting the son of the Commander of the Federal Regular Army. So off we went, me with my 12-bore and Saleh with his .303. After an hour or so of shooting (during which time I must admit we had a shot of each other’s weapons, as I had never fired a .303 nor Saleh a shotgun), we made our way back to camp via a small village. As we were walking through the narrow streets, about 15 men walked towards us- all BLUE. I was certainly nervous, but Saleh assured me to keep walking. The next thing I remember is the men checking out my skin and hair, pecking at me with their fingers like chickens pecking at corn. Then one beckoned to us to sit, offered us Yemeni tea and as soon as we drank it they went on their way. I asked my father who they were. Apparently this tribe lived high in the mountains and coloured their skin and clothes with the dye made from the plant woad.

My younger brother, Roland, recently told me about the time he was watching a film at the cinema in Steamer Point when the BBC building next door was shelled by a bazooka. Hearing the loud explosion everyone hit the floor, and luckily nobody was injured. Roland was most disappointed that he could not stay to see the end of the film, as it was his final treat before leaving for the UK and going back to school. He remembers the film- James Coburn in 'Charade'.

The Rolling Stones had just published their first LP and I was so glad to be invited to a teenage party by the daughter of a Colonel Holmes, living just a few doors from us in Khormaksar. Having had a great time, and trying to convert my friends from The Beatles to the Stones, it was time to say goodbye. As I shook hands with Colonel Holmes to thank him and his daughter, there was a loud explosion. As the cordite and dust settled, I saw that a friend of mine, Gillian Sidey, had been injured. I rushed over to her and tried to stop some bleeding from her neck. The medics arrived, but she died on her way to hospital. Shrapnel had severed her jugular vein. I believe it was her first visit to Aden and she was only sixteen. "Why throw a grenade at a teenage party" people asked. I believe it was thought that some senior British officers and civilians would be there to collect their children. They were not-they sent their drivers. I walked back home, loaded my shotgun and placed it next to my bed before going to sleep, as if there would be two grenades in one night!

Knowing that much of the trouble in Aden was backed in those days by president Nasser of Egypt and during my return journey to school in the UK after this incident, my friend Chris Johnson and I were both angry and upset at the death of our friend. Whilst in transit at Cairo Airport, we showed our feelings by shouting "Nasser mush tamaam" ("Nasser no good") to all and sundry in the airport lounge. Within minutes armed soldiers or police (I can’t remember which) made us sit down in no uncertain terms to wait for our plane. I don’t think I have ever been so quiet since.

The National Liberation Front and the Front for the Liberation of Occupied South Yemen, if not fighting each other for power, were masters of trying to frighten the British. Not only did they shoot, throw grenades, bazooka and mortar the British, they used other methods to persuade us to leave. My mother, who worked so hard with my father at that time, was a strong-minded woman. Even a phone call she received in Pidgin English to say that Ziam (Brigadier) Viner had been beheaded and that his head was displayed in the marketplace in the city of Taizz did not panic her. She immediately phoned the Federal Regular Army headquarters to find out it was not true, her husband was well and in Mukeirus.

My parent's farewell party after serving nearly five years in Aden was marred by tragedy. A very great friend of both my mother and father, Tim Goschen, a political officer, was killed when a bomb, placed in a plane he was travelling in, exploded over the desert on its way to Aden, where Tim was due to join the party.