The Girl Under the Olive Tree

by Leah Fleming

  ‘Like the Arctic,’ the man said in perfect English before replying in Greek. There was something familiar about the accent, a hint of a New Zealand twang. Penny watched the tall man in Cretan costume unravel his scarf to reveal his beard. She felt herself go cold and shrank back into the dark recess to compose herself. Oh good heavens, it was Bruce Jardine, in shepherd’s clothes! She couldn’t believe that he was still here on the island after all this time. What a shock, and what a relief that he was still free. She felt a surge of joy that he was safe, mixed with exasperation that he kept turning up at the most inconvenient moments.

  Unaware of her presence, he sat down to warm himself, winking at the two girls in the corner. ‘Maria, Eleni, my beautiful maids of the mountains.’ They rushed to find him food and wine and he tucked into it with relish. He glanced round the room, clocking faces, smiling and acknowledging each of them before he turned his attention to Penny, eyeing her with interest while two old men stood and sang a defiant mantinada about how they would take their guns and go into town to kill the enemy. It was a sad, mournful tune and the mood was sombre, but then, as if to lighten the gloom, Bruce was on his feet, urging any of them with Scots ancestry to show them some Highland dances.

  They took two shepherds crooks, placed them in a cross on the floor as one man found his mouth organ and started up a bright tune and Bruce attempted a Highland fling. There were cheers and chatter, more wine and raki as the glendi got into full swing.

  It would go on all night, for the evaders must hide out during daylight, return to their caves and huts, and hole up well out of the sight of villages. Any journeys must be made by moonlight with shepherd guides who were as sure-footed as the goats on the scree.

  No one would be going anywhere tonight in this blizzard. They were trapped. Snow left tracks to hiding places, snow brought frostbite, hardship, hunger, danger and boredom, but it mercifully kept the Germans in their barracks too.

  All Penny could think of was escaping before her cover was blown. She crept up the wooden ladder to where Martine was sleeping. Her fever had worsened and she would not be fit to leave any time soon. Their cover story was that they were searching for the relatives of orphan Elefteria Mataki, thought to be in the area. The chances of finding her relatives were slim now the weather had closed in. Soon their own travel papers would expire and questions would be asked why they were still here.

  ‘Who is this Panayotis?’ she asked Tassi, curious to know what the locals knew about Bruce.

  ‘A British officer returned from Cairo with arms and explosives, they tell us. He travels from village to village, counting the English. It is dangerous work for a man with no uniform . . . A handsome man for a foreigner, don’t you think?’ Tassi cackled. ‘He will make good sons.’

  Penny blushed, shaking her head. ‘Be careful, if you know all this so will others. There will be talk,’ she warned.

  ‘No one will talk tonight. They’ll sleep by the fire on woven blankets and sheep skins. By the time they have drained all the raki, they’ll be fit for nothing and forget what they’ve heard here. It is Christmas, time to dance and sing. No Germania will stop our festive day.’

  It was hard to be so close to Bruce, to go unrecognized, to have to remain undercover from all these English-speaking boys. Penny tossed and turned as Martine snored. He was alive, safe and still on the island. She recalled their lunch in Chania when he’d suggested she could be useful in the hills. She couldn’t forget their last angry exchange on the beach. Would he be proud to know she was doing her bit? His good opinion still mattered to her but it would be better to keep a low profile and not draw attention to herself or her secret mission. She didn’t want another lecture.

  Bruce was a link with home and with her old life in Athens. Seeing him brought such a yearning for those days when life was uncomplicated. She was so torn between wanting to know how he was and yet . . .

  Martine stirred, needing more mountain-herb tea to cool her fever. Penny crept down from the bed shelf to see if there was water left to boil on the embers of the fire. The floor was littered with snoring bodies creating an animal fug of sweat, tobacco, wine and garlic.

  She was making for the ladder to return when a voice whispered, ‘Despinis, pos sas lene?’ What is your name, miss?’

  ‘Athina,’ she whispered back without turning round, aware now of Bruce sitting in the shadows.

  ‘Why have we not seen you here before?’ he continued.

  She shook her head, wishing she’d put her scarf over her dyed hair. ‘A family friend, visiting,’ she replied, wishing he’d go away.

  ‘At this time of year, and dressed like a nun?’ She could hear suspicion in his voice. ‘You are not local.’

  ‘I’m from Chania, from the French school, here to find the relatives of an orphan with Sister Martine, who is sick. I must go to her.’

  ‘Not so fast.’ She could feel Bruce standing close now, his breath on her neck.

  ‘Nuns don’t travel so far from their convents and I’ve never come across French ones here before.’

  ‘They go where they are sent to find homes for children,’ she replied, turning her back on him. The cup shaking in her hand.

  He rattled something off in rapid French to which she could make no reply.

  ‘So, you are not even French or you’d have kicked me hard for what I just said about your mother’s ancestry . . . Who are you and why are you here among these men?’ His voice hardened. ‘Who sent you to spy on us?’ He grabbed her arm, sending the cup crashing to the ground.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done! Don’t touch me!’ she snapped as he pulled her arm roughly behind her back, making her face him.

  ‘Look at me, dammit.’

  She had no choice but to face him full on and he examined her features with a wry smile. ‘So it is you,’ he whispered. ‘I knew there was something suspicious about you from the moment I came in and you cowered in the corner. Good Lord, Penny. Thank God you are safe. We had heard you were captured and sent to Athens but I knew you’d disobey orders and escape somehow.’

  ‘Shush, I’m Athina now, a Greek nurse. I speak only Greek.’ She spat the words, flashing him a look of desperation.

  He grabbed her arm. ‘How are you?’

  Then Tassoula bustled in. ‘Heavens, you didn’t waste time.’ She looked shocked at them both.

  ‘No,’ Penny jumped back, ‘I recognized Panayotis. I was a nurse in the Red Cross clinic. He was one of our patients.’

  Bruce nodded. ‘She was very strict with us but a good nurse, and you are still in the clinic, Athina?’

  ‘In the convent with Sister Martine, nursing mothers and orphans, finding them homes,’ she said, not looking at him.

  ‘I would never believe Nurse Athina would be a nun, but they’ll take anyone these days,’ he laughed.

  Penny scurried up to the loft where Martine was half awake.

  ‘Are you feeling better? We must leave,’ she ordered. ‘It is too crowded here and dangerous.’

  Martine fell back on the rug. ‘I’m too sick to move.’

  ‘And it’s Christmas, Athina,’ said Tassi, following behind her. ‘There’s much to prepare and few ingredients to cook with, but we’ll manage. You must go to church, meet Father Gregorio, and no more making sheep’s eyes at Panayotis. Shame on you, a holy woman!’ Tassi chided, smacking her on the bottom. ‘He is for one of my daughters.’

  2001

  ‘And that’s how I came to spend my first Christmas here, or close to here,’ I said, staring round at the square and the white painted church. ‘It was the beginning of quite a story. Anyway, what shall we order . . . ?’

  Lois and Mack were staring at me as if seeing me for the first time.

  ‘This Panayotis, you never mentioned him before.’

  ‘Oh, I have but you weren’t listening. He was really my friend Bruce Jardine . . . Walter and Effy’s friend: the one who called me a mountain goat all those years ago in Scotland. Everyone h
ad cover names to protect them.’

  ‘Was he your lover?’ Lois smirked. ‘Heavens, Aunt Pen, you are a dark horse.’

  ‘Don’t be so rude.’ I smiled to indicate I was teasing. ‘A lady doesn’t ask such things and expect a truthful answer. I didn’t always have a face like a wrinkled prune. I had my moments,’ I replied, not sure how much of this part of my story I was willing to share.

  ‘Oh, do carry on, this is fascinating.’ Lois leaned forward.

  ‘Your aunt may not want strangers listening in,’ said Mack.

  ‘That’s very thoughtful, Mack.’ He’d risen in my estimations over the last couple of days, ‘But it’s time for lunch and mine’s a chilled rosé. You’ve had the start of my story, the main course will come later when I am ready and not before.’

  Later, away from the heat of the day, we sat by the cool waterfalls at Argyroupolis, the sun sparkling on the spray like diamonds, water tumbling down onto the rocks in the shade of the cool pines like the thoughts rushing through my mind.

  There are times in life too beautiful, too poignant to share, some too painful to recount to others. Yet some memories are sources of peace and you feed on them in those dark nights of the soul when sleep is elusive.

  I had such experiences here, some happy and some so tragic that I’d boxed them away all my life. Those first months of freedom and peace in the convent came to an end when I went into the mountains on that mission. Suddenly everything changed.

  December 1941

  Martine was well enough to come to the village church on Christmas Eve, where the fugitives stood crushed alongside villagers who stared at them with interest as they chatted amongst themselves until the priest told them all to shut up. For those few festive days the memory of occupation seemed to fade, food was pulled out of hiding, and chairs pushed back for dancing and singing. The wine flowed. It was as if everyone was making the most of a party, as if life was normal. The Anzac stragglers ventured in each night to join in the festival and keep warm.

  After that brief conversation with Bruce, Penny hoped there would be a time to talk more freely but Tassi kept eyeing her with concern, suspicious now for her virtue. Penny smiled wryly as she served the hungry men. If only she could trust them enough to explain the real purpose of her mission, but their tongues were loosened by wine and she’d learned that most Cretans found it hard to keep any news to themselves.

  Eventually the weather eased enough for Penny and Sister Martine to return to the convent and explain such a lengthy absence. There was no reason to stay on and the secret supplies were collected from their hiding place under cover of darkness.

  How could she get word to tell Bruce that they were leaving, escorted as they were by a bevy of matrons heading to Chania and its market on the rickety old service bus that ploughed its way back and forth on the one metalled track that passed for a highway? It was hard to leave without saying goodbye but Martine was restless to be back, anxious to explain to Mother Veronique their delay.

  Penny boarded the bus with a heavy heart. So near and yet so far. Their identity passes were checked over, the precious cargo of nuts and olives safely packed in pannier baskets. Tassi shoved the last of the Christmas biscuits and rusks for the journey in Penny’s pocket, relieved to see them on their way. What risks the brave couple ran in harbouring fugitives.

  As the old motor coughed and spluttered on its climb over the pass, Penny’s eyes kept closing with the rocking and rumbling of the engine. Suddenly she was jerked awake by the bus’s violent and abrupt braking, which threw everyone forward, sending cages, baskets and crates hurtling down from the overhead racks.

  A shepherd was flagging them down with his crook, his head covered in his heavy cloak. ‘What the hell . . . ?’ shouted the driver, spitting out oaths.

  ‘Bandits!’ a passenger screamed, crossing herself in fury. ‘We'll all be murdered . . .’

  Penny exhaled, relieved it wasn’t a German patrol demanding to search the bus, snatching all the produce on board. Not everyone here was Cretan. Like herself, one of the escapees was in disguise, dressed as a simpleton sitting with an old yiayia, carrying false papers. He would be easy enough to detect once the questioning started.

  The shepherd leaped into the front of the bus. ‘We need the nurse, the Athens nurse. There’s been an accident.’ He pointed to the rocks. ‘The nurse from Chania, she is here?’

  Penny immediately stood up. ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘A man has fallen. He needs a doctor, but you will have to do,’ explained the rough voice.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘In the cave, come quickly, Kyria.’

  There was no time to think. She quickly made her way down the bus aisle but Martine pulled her back. ‘I will come with you.’

  ‘No, just the nurse,’ insisted the shepherd.

  ‘But you can’t go without a chaperone, you’ll be alone with men.’ Martine clung onto her. ‘Please, Athina, think. It’s not right. What will I tell Mother Veronique?’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I will be protected. I have to go.’

  ‘But it won’t be fine with Mother Veronique if I say I left you alone in the hills.’ Martine was crying now. ‘And it’s my fault we were delayed.’

  ‘It was the Will of the Good Lord to bring us here,’ Penny argued, pushing her way out. ‘Now he’s found me another job to do in these mountains, who are we to question or ignore His command? He will protect me and I can return on the next bus.’

  ‘But that isn’t for another week, and if the weather is bad . . .’

  Penny didn’t listen to Martine’s tearful protests as she alighted, waved to the startled women staring out of the bus in horror, before turning to the shepherd with a smile. ‘Your accent does you credit, young man.’

  He grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Miss, orders to get you off the bus.’ She’d instantly recognized one of the Aussie escapees, his fair hair covered by his shepherd’s cloak.

  ‘It will soon be all round Chania that I’ve been abducted by bandits. What the hell’s going on?’ she blurted out in English, much to his surprise and hers. He, like all the others, assumed she was Greek.

  ‘There’s one of our blokes in the cave in a bad way. He needs help.’

  ‘I see,’ she replied slowly, recovered now, as if English was her second language.

  ‘Sorry, Miss. Orders is still orders up here. We try to keep the gang together. Not easy, and when one of us is crook . . .’

  Orders? Whose orders was he obeying in pulling her off a bus in broad daylight? Penny fell silent as he strode out in front of her, up a steep bank and down into a gully full of goat muck and melting snow. The track petered out into a gorse bush and rough scree, behind which was the entrance to a small cave, a hole in the hill covered with a makeshift screen of branches.

  Penny stumbled into the cave, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. There was a small group of men waiting there, staring up at her in silence. An oil lamp flickered dimly by a straw palliasse on which lay a soldier she hadn’t seen before. He looked up at her in surprise.

  ‘This is my mate, Bluey, he’s crook, can’t keep anything down. We want to head south and find a boat. There’s talk of subs sending boats out. We just want off this godforsaken island. What’s wrong with him?’ said the Aussie shepherd with concern.

  ‘I’m not a doctor; he needs a doctor,’ Penny said, kneeling down to examine him.

  ‘The local doctor here’s being watched and Bluey can’t walk to him.’

  ‘I need more light,’ she said. ‘How long have his eyes been yellow?’

  Two others carried him into the daylight and he cried out in pain.

  Penny felt his liver and looked at his skin. ‘I think he has severe jaundice, his liver is swollen. What has he been eating?’

  ‘Just snails and mountain greens, like the rest of us. We bring him back stuff from the taverna but he can’t keep it down.’

  ‘Give him clean water until he
recovers. He’s very sick. I can give you some mountain-herb tea, too. The locals swear by it. There’s nothing else I can do. He’ll need time to heal. How did you know I was on that bus?’

  A deep voice from the recess of the cave laughed. ‘Nothing happens that isn’t whistled across these hills faster than an eagle in full flight.’ Bruce Jardine stepped out of the shadows. For a moment Penny was surprised. Then she was determinedly unimpressed.

  ‘I wish you’d stop jumping out like this. You’re not the Red Shadow,’ she snapped, thinking of the hero from The Desert Song. ‘I can’t do anything for Bluey, as well you know.’

  ‘Sure, but he’s not the only one needing your expert eye. The doctor from Chania is far too conspicuous. Besides, I didn’t want you disappearing back to the town when you’d be far safer up here. We need to talk out of earshot.’ He pointed to the cave entrance.

  ‘This man needs a hospital. He’d be better off in a prison camp,’ Penny added, keeping up the pretence that she was Greek. The less these men knew about her the better.

  ‘Evidently the nurse hasn’t seen the state of the camps,’ Bruce replied. ‘He’d not last a week. At least here he’s got fresh mountain air and clean water.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the water that’s foul. It must be boiled for all of you. I can give him nothing but herb teas and local remedies; one of the village mothers can do as much. I ought to go back to the village right now.’

  ‘Not so fast, Penny!’ Bruce whispered as he came closer.

  ‘Athina, my name’s Athina . . .’ she hissed.

  ‘Don’t disappear. Your presence will give the men heart, knowing they’re not forgotten, and it gives me heart to know you are safe up here for a while. You and I have so much to catch up on . . .’ Bruce was giving her one of his wolfish grins. ‘I was one of her patients,’ he explained to the curious onlookers. Her bark is worse than her bite.’ He shrugged to the waiting men and ushered her out of the cave.