Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘Ah, you are tired, no worries. I go home now. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow?’

  I heard the question in his voice. ‘Where’s home? Do you live here in the town?’

  He sat beside me and stared out to sea. ‘No, we live on another island over the horizon, Syros. My father and me, we are the mail boat. We trawl for fish from here to there, sell the catch on the quayside, deliver the mail, and sleep a few hours. Then we return, fish until we arrive here, sell the fish, deliver the mail, and start back again. We were just on our way to Syros when your ship sank. What’s your name?’

  ‘Gertie, Gertie Smith. Mrs Yiayá calls me Tee.’

  He laughed, confusing me.

  ‘Tee means “what?” in Greek,’ he explained, ‘and, Yiayá means grandmother.’

  I blinked at him, still trying to make sense of things. ‘It’s been a terrible day,’ I said. ‘Thank you for rescuing us.’

  Manno shrugged. ‘Nothing. I will see you tomorrow, Gertie-Gertie, yes?’

  ‘No, it’s just one Gertie. My name is Gertie Smith.’

  ‘Why you tell me two?’

  I shrugged. ‘My mistake, sorry.’ Then I dared another glance into his brown eyes. ‘Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘I will walk you back to Yiayá,’ he said.

  ‘Really, there’s no need.’

  ‘But there is, I must protect the flowers . . .’

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ I cried, holding my belly and laughing.

  At the cottage, he entered with me, and Yiayá exchanged a knowing smile with him, then said something that I didn’t understand.

  Manno turned to me and said, ‘My grandmother says you must take all your clothes off immediately so she can dry them, or else you will become very sick. I will help you.’

  ‘What?’ I spluttered.

  Although I was very sure Yiayá didn’t understand English, she seemed to know exactly what Manno had said. She snatched her knobbly walking stick and started swiping at him and poking him with all the force she could muster. She yelled at him in her high squeaky voice something that sounded like, ‘Fidget! Fidget!’

  Manno backed towards the door with his arms curled over his head. Yiayá gave him a hefty poke in the stomach that winded him and as he brought his arms down, she walloped him over the head. He backed out, but lost his balance and ended up on his bottom in the dirt, outside.

  Still yelling at him, Yiayá closed both door partitions and bolted them. As she turned towards me, all the anger left her face. She made a firm nod: that showed him not to mess with me, then she grinned with merriment.

  The dear lady gave me a nightgown and indicated I should remove my damp clothes and hang them on a clothes maiden that she zig-zagged before the wood-burner. She clucked and huffed and shook her head when she saw the purple bruise that spread across my middle. After leading me to the bed, she indicated I should lay down. The next thing I knew, dawn light filtered through the window. The old woman was snoring softly in the only armchair.

  *

  I dressed quickly, delved in my pillow-bag for a letter, wanting a connection with home, then I slipped outside.

  The sun pierced the horizon, sending golden shafts of light across the firmament, I stood on the shore, which connected with the curve of the port, and thought about my parents. I must put my name on the list, so they learn that I survived. So much had happened, I must write to them and tell them about being saved by the dolphin. I pressed below my ribs, feeling the heavy ache of my bruised abdomen. Perhaps I had a cracked rib. The creature had hit me with such force.

  My flashbacks were gaining strength. Split seconds would ticker-tape through my brain. I must have glimpsed the dolphin’s eye because later, I recalled being drawn into that mysterious sphere of innocence and extreme intelligence. An instant of understanding had flashed between us. A contact of minds chorused by rapid clicking, reminiscent of swallows on a telegraph wire in autumn. Then I noticed there were no telegraph wires in Kea.

  The water, flat and golden as honey, mirrored the surrounding harbour, houses, and hills. The scene so lovely after all that had happened, for a moment I wanted to weep. My soul was torn by the loss of life, and the loss of that great ship that would have saved the lives of so many of our boys. The tragedy would follow me through life, silently, like a shadow. A nightmare to endure for the rest of my life.

  CHAPTER 19

  SHELLY

  Greece, present day.

  SHELLY AND HARRY ENJOYED THE perfect setting. A balmy Mediterranean night, a jasmine-scented balcony, two compatible adults attracted to each other, and a view over the prettiest little Greek island. Were they in each other’s arms, whispering words of love? No. They were debating the First World War with great excitement.

  Harry rested his chin on his fists and peered into her eyes.

  Shelly shook her head, trying to unravel the facts. ‘Tell me again, Harry. I want to make sure I’ve got this straight.’

  ‘The facts are: the Germans had a substantial submarine fleet, twenty-three different classes, commissioned for mine laying. The U73 submarine laid Minefield 23, down there.’ He nodded into the darkness.

  ‘A mile or two out from St Nicholas lighthouse?’

  ‘Exactly, only days before the SS Burdigala sank, and then the Britannic sank, of course.’

  ‘So why did the Britannic sail straight into that same minefield? As it’s such a busy sea lane, why didn’t a minesweeper pass through first?

  ‘Because the skipper of the Burdigala was certain his ship had been struck by a torpedo. Several of the men had seen the periscope and the missile trail quite clearly. Fifteen rounds were fired before they abandoned ship, but no evidence of a submarine wreck has ever been found. Also, those waters were deemed too deep to mine.’

  She realised her hand was in his. ‘I’m so enjoying this!’

  ‘Me too.’ He grinned. ‘Take into account the maximum length of mooring rope used with UC-47 mines was a hundred metres. The Britannic sank in a hundred and twenty-one metres, but the explosion happened where the Kia Channel is much deeper.’

  ‘Oh wow! So how could it have been a mine? That’s the bottom line, isn’t it?’

  ‘But more interestingly, why would people want to claim it was?’

  ‘Can we calculate how far Captain Bartlett managed to bring the Britannic towards the shore after the hit? Has anyone discovered the depth of the Kea Channel on the ship’s route? And is there a map of the minefield in the German war records? It all sounds a bit fishy to me.’

  Harry grinned, his eyes shining brightly. ‘You’re not just a pretty face then.’ He reached over the table and took her other hand. ‘I feel as though I’ve known you all my life. May I ask you a personal question?’

  She blinked at him. ‘You can, but I can’t promise to answer it.’

  ‘What’s such a beautiful and intelligent woman like you doing here all on her own?’

  ‘That’s a simple one. I’m getting away from it all.’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘No. Only my elderly father. You?’

  ‘Two boys. You saw them at the dive centre.’

  ‘Nobody else?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m divorced. My ex returned to Norway after the legalities, ten years ago.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Sorry to be blunt. Just, best to know . . . you know?’ she said.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Not at all. I did fall in love a long time ago.’ She hesitated. ‘I was very young, sixteen. It broke my heart. I promised myself I’d never go through that pain again.’

  ‘And now, do you still feel the same way?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’ Something seemed to have changed. She wanted to be honest, but couldn’t find the right words.

  Harry drove her back to the port. ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in, I don’t know, twenty years,’ she said.

  ‘I would invite you for a nightcap, but with your bi
rthday dive tomorrow morning, it wouldn’t be sensible. So, I’ll walk you to your room, and leave you to get a good night’s sleep.’

  Outside her room, he asked, ‘You do have your key?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, lifting it from her pocket.

  ‘Then I will kiss you goodnight, if I may.’

  With her back against the door, she tilted her face up and closed her eyes. She felt vulnerable, yet at the same time, totally safe in his embrace. His lips brushed hers, lightly at first, then she felt his hands slide behind her back, and he gently pulled her closer as he kissed her again. As passion gathered, their chemistry strengthened and melded to become an ever-brighter flame. A fiery spark ignited a blaze of passion and suddenly she longed for him to stay the night, and she understood that was his desire too.

  ‘I want you to stay,’ she whispered.

  ‘You know I want to. With all my heart, I want you.’ He kissed her again and his body hardened against her. ‘But the dive, we need to conserve our energy and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is the only chance you’ll get and I know you’ll regret missing it. So, let’s make a date for tomorrow evening, shall we?’

  She melted against him, ached for his body. His lips came down on hers once more. She wanted him so badly she was almost trembling.

  ‘If I stay another moment, I won’t have the strength or will power to leave,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the mouth. He turned and started walking away and she willed herself from calling him back. She let herself into the room, went straight to the balcony, and watched him drive away.

  *

  At the ferry port, two other divers waited, all grins and testosterone, in an open RIB dive-boat. Harry introduced his sons, Elias, in charge of the boat, and Petros who would set a diveline to the Burdigala. Two good-looking boys, although their personalities appeared quite opposite. Petros, the fun-loving younger brother, was clearly having a good time. Elias, wearing a constant frown, didn’t hide the fact that he disapproved of his father bringing her aboard. Her own fault, she thought, after all, she had put him in his place the first time they met. Perhaps he held a grudge. The two guys moved to the bow while Harry guided Shelly to a seat beside the wheel at the stern and handed her a life jacket. After motoring respectfully out of the harbour, he opened the throttle. They crashed up and over the waves, sending spray rocketing into the air. It’s a guy thing, she thought. What’s the point of a speedboat if not speed? She clung on and clenched her jaw, not wanting a chipped tooth as a holiday memento. The three men grinned as they hurtled towards the dive site.

  Kitting up and testing gear was the only tedious part of diving, but as Shelly confidently went through her mental list, anticipation thrilled her. Harry went off the side first and waited while she finished her methodical preparation. Finally, she sat on the tyre, smeared a little demister in her mask and wet her face. Ready, she pulled on the mask and stuck the regulator in her mouth. Holding them both in place, she rolled back into the water.

  On surfacing, she gave him the OK sign and let a little air into her BCD, which she always thought looked more like a life jacket than a buoyancy control device. She descended beside him. The water, glass clear, and the magic of her surroundings, that feeling of flying, thrilled her as they started to descend seventy metres to the wreck; intoxicated by the freedom of being able to move in any direction, or simply hang, motionless and weightless in surroundings as blue as the sky above. Even birds could not do that. Using a rebreather, instead of an open-circuit breathing system, meant there were no air bubbles to break the silence and frighten the fish.

  The deliciously warm water cooled as they descended making her grateful for the dry suit that seemed unnecessary up top. The freshness cooled her second skin, but it was more autumn than winter, and quite welcome, calming her excitement and slowing her down. She glanced up; the glow of the surface dimmed as it became more distant. She could stay all day in this endless, sapphire space, this weightless world restricted only by oxygen reserves.

  The gentle shape of the ship crept towards her from the darker blue below. The image came into focus the way a dream starts, from nothing to an epic, yet without beginning or end. The Burdigala revealed herself and Shelly introduced her spirit to the ship in an intimate moment that she would never be able to describe to another. Intoxicated by the silence of this other world, she drank in the beauty of it all.

  She tried to control her excitement, once again concentrating on breathing calmly, slowing her heartrate, saving oxygen. Although it was darker now, and everything turned a deeper blue, some sunlight still filtered down thanks to the clear water. She relied on her headlamp to see into the depths of the wreck as she approached.

  The Burdigala sat on her keel, like a sleeping fish on the bottom, upright, ready to sail away at its first disturbance. Then she saw why it couldn’t. The hull was cleanly cut into two, almost exactly across the centre.

  The similarities between the Burdigala and the Britannic fascinated her. By studying this wreck, would some vital piece of information come to light as to why these two magnificent ships were destroyed? Harry had dived the Britannic and the Burdigala several times, was he looking for information too? Something didn’t add up, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  She took a few seconds to enjoy the thrill of the moment; her body, weightless and free. What really caused the Burdigala to sink? She glanced across to Harry, three metres to her right. Did he know? Was it in his best interest to keep the mystery alive? He made the OK sign with his thumb and forefinger, which she mirrored. Her only regret was that she had not had the opportunity to read about the ship before this visit. She knew almost nothing, but she consoled herself; she would be back.

  The place was a wonderland festooned with delicate vegetation and coral-like structures that rose to resemble gothic, yet lacy architecture. Fat hats of sulphur-yellow sponges, barnacles, anemones and crustaceans in every shade of pink and orange, all spread before her. Saddle oysters, like pale blue discs of delicate flaky pastry, nestled between fan-like vegetation. Rigging turned into furred pipe cleaners by microscopic organisms that grew on the ropes. Fifty metres of fishing net hung like swags and drapes in a curtain shop window. Shelly had to remind herself the Burdigala went down in 1916. The ship had slept in the very same spot on the seabed for over a hundred years, yet it seemed so fresh, so alive!

  Gliding over the top deck beside Harry, she was careful to use her fins as little as possible so as not to kick up silt and reduce visibility. He headed towards the bow. The wooden decking had long gone, but the iron framework remained in place like a giant waffle iron covered in a multitude of crustaceans that made the ship’s skeleton a classic wreck reef, teeming with wildlife.

  She aimed her lamp through the structure, to the lower deck. The light bleached away colour at the centre of the beam, changing the pink icing-sugar formations into delicate antique lace. She longed to venture inside and turned to look for Harry. He investigated an enormous cannon that seemed perfectly preserved on the foredeck. She was tempted to venture inside the ship alone, but common sense stopped her. Somehow Shelly knew she would come again.

  Harry turned, peered through his mask, searching for her, his lamp shining through the fishnet, her headlamp catching his face, blinding him. She caught his squint, the spotlight giving his face a ghoulish appearance. In one horrendous moment, her twenty-year-old nightmare returned with stark reality. Her scream, dulled by the rubber of her breathing tube, was hardly audible to Harry, yet it exploded in her chest as the past roared up before her.

  Suddenly, she was sixteen again. She’d never snorkelled before. The young man she adored was teaching her . . . but things went wrong, so terribly wrong.

  ‘My mother’s bracelet,’ she had pleaded. ‘Please, please, try and find it. Dad will go crazy if I lose it.’

  Then she was floating on her back, shaking, screaming, screaming, ‘Help! Help me!’

  An age before anyone reached h
er. Splashes as men jumped into the sea. Shouting. People pulling her away. Ambulance sirens. The smell of bleach. Doctors, nurses, policewomen, foreign language, forms. Newspapermen with their cameras. Look this way! Flash! Medication that made her drowsy, numb. Days of battling with a fogged mind, tears, questions. Asking for forgiveness. Her father’s arrival in Greece, his anger because she’d lied to him about a school trip. Going home to England. Her father furious, impossible to talk to.

  She felt the shaking of her shoulder and in an instant, she was back in the present with Harry beside her, his eyes questioning. He held out a hand, wiggled and tilted it from side to side, asking if something was wrong. Shelly shook her head, then nodded, made the OK sign, and realised she was holding her breath. She made a conscious effort to calm herself and concentrate on her breathing.

  God, oh, God! Would it ever go away? The past . . . the nightmare.

  Suddenly, she didn’t want to see DJ. To explain why she’d left him was too much to live through once again. She had almost buried her awful history. Every year, every dive, the nightmare faded a little more. Now DJ would want her to dig it all up again, and re-live the pain, just when she felt ready to move on.

  She could still feel Harry’s eyes on her. He tapped his watch. Time to ascend. She felt the tightness of sobs trapped in her chest, tears stinging, steaming her mask. Then her lamp caught the drape of fishnet again. The fabric of her nightmares. It jerked and shivered as if alive in their perfectly still surroundings. She nodded towards the vast curtain of yellow nylon. He followed her gaze, then they moved together towards it, to investigate.

  CHAPTER 20

  GERTIE

  Greece, 1916.

  ‘AH, THERE YOU ARE, MISS Smith,’ Matron said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to voice my pride in you. Very commendable action in the boat, you certainly saved the young soldier’s life with your transfusion of blood.’ She had a way of rolling her shoulders and pulling in her chin before she gave an order, as if rising to her own authority. ‘As you know, there are a hundred and fifty of us, here on the island. Everyone else was taken to the port of Piraeus. We’ll be collected shortly but that Corporal you helped to save needs immediate medical attention. I want you to observe the amputation of his lower leg this afternoon.’