Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘That will be a dolphin, nurse,’ Manno called over the throb of the engine.

  ‘A dolphin . . . could it be my dolphin? The one that saved me – Delphi?’

  ‘Who knows,’ Manno said. ‘There are many dolphins in these parts. Listen to me. You must think good thoughts and send them to the dolphins. If you are true enough, they will hear you and come.’

  He steered the boat a little closer to the cliffs. We all scanned the water as we travelled on, praying to the dolphins, hoping they would appear.

  ‘This is nonsense,’ Perkins said. ‘How can they hear our thoughts?’

  ‘I don’t know all the answers, I just know what they do,’ Manno said. ‘There is something so magnificent and powerful in nature, but we humans are not capable of understanding. Not since we turned away from these natural things, and started to worship money. Let me ask you something, my friend, of all the bodies in the water – and I am told there were plenty – how did Delphi know that Nurse Gertie was the one who should be saved? If the dolphin had not saved Nurse Gertie, then Nurse Gertie could not have saved you.’

  We were silent with his words, disbelieving, then wondering, could he be right? We were still engrossed with our thoughts when – with an exclamation of shock from us all – a dolphin leapt up behind the boat. I believe I squealed. The dolphin bobbed in and out of the water alongside us, reminding me of one of our Arthur’s skimming stones. Then I realised there were several of them, impossible to count because they were dipping up and down through the water like crotchets in a lively tune. They raced to the front of the caïque, ducking under the prow and coming up on the other side. Laughing at us with their upturned mouths and wise, round eyes. I almost cried with joy.

  I scrambled down the centre of the boat to the bow, in a most unladylike way, not caring what I looked like, only wanting to get closer to the dolphins. Josephine held her hand out and guided me to squeeze onto the bench between her and Perkins. I twisted on the seat so that I could hang over the prow.

  Goodness, they came so close! For a moment I was back in the water, descending through the detritus and carnage, following Sissy’s watch to the bottom. I had thought it was a torpedo rushing towards me, because I had seen them, hundreds of them, lined up in Sissy’s book. I had never seen a live dolphin before and had no notion they were so intelligent. I felt blessed.

  Perkins rocked back and forth, rubbing his thigh.

  ‘Are you in pain, soldier?’ I asked, reluctant to turn away from the water.

  He nodded; lips a thin line, face ashen.

  ‘Oh, please, Nurse Josephine, can we help him?’ Suddenly, my heart ached for poor Corporal Perkins.

  Josephine felt his forehead and took his pulse. ‘Too much activity all at once.’ She turned to Manno. ‘Is it much further?’

  ‘Another two hours, maybe. We are halfway. You want I make a bed with the nets so he can lay down in the bottom of the boat?’ She nodded. Yianni took the tiller and they all gripped the sides as Manno manoeuvred the mail sack to the back of the boat. He gathered the great pile of nets into the centre. Josephine’s face stiffened. She focused on her patient, and struggled to get Perkins prostrate on the fishing gear.

  ‘I’m going to give you a shot to ease your pain, Perkins,’ she said, kneeling at his side and producing a hypodermic from her medical bag. She turned to Manno who was standing firmly with his hands on his hips as if on dry land.

  ‘Can you stop the boat for a moment? I need to be accurate with the needle.’

  Manno spoke to his father, and Yianni turned off the engine. The silence was wonderful. The little boat lifted and dropped gently on the swell. Perkins groaned as Josephine injected the morphine.

  ‘You’ll feel better in a few moments, Corporal. Relax now,’ she said.

  ‘Look,’ Perkins whispered, staring at the sky. ‘Vultures, up there, waiting for the end of me.’

  We all turned our faces up. A large bird hovered above us, its body perfectly still, wings shivering so fast they appeared to hardly move.

  CHAPTER 27

  SHELLY

  Dover, present day.

  ON SHELLY’S DAY OFF, A letter came in the post; this time for Gordon. Shelly’s curiosity rose when she heard him chuckle.

  ‘Everything OK, Dad?’

  ‘Um, yes, why shouldn’t it be?’ Gordon said, squirrelling the letter back into the envelope, stuffing it into his pocket. ‘Just a race entry form. How about you?’ He nodded at her tablet.

  She stared at the email from Harry, then read through it again with her hand over her mouth. Her dad couldn’t possibly know how she felt about Harry, yet he stared at her with an all-knowing look.

  ‘There’s a dive to the Britannic, Dad. I did actually know about it, but there was no chance of getting on it. Now, a reserve diver’s not too well. If he’s not a hundred per cent in time, Harry’s going to try and get me on standby. Gosh, I’m so excited! I won’t be able to go down with the divers, you understand, but just to be there, on the dive boat, well . . .’

  ‘The Britannic?’ Gordon frowned. ‘Sounds familiar. Wasn’t that the ship Gertie was on, you know, the one she sank? Near that place we went on holday.’

  ‘Yes, you knew about it sinking, then?’ Shelly’s jaw dropped.

  He nodded at the cassette player. ‘Me and your mum listened to the tapes after she died. Gertie made them for your mum and you. Didn’t I tell you? Guess I forgot. I forget a lot, these days, Shelly. You got to the bit where she was in prison . . .? Poor kid must have been terrified.’

  ‘What?’ Shelly cried, startled by his words.

  ‘I guess not then. Well, there you go – yer don’t listen – I think yer’ve got wax, Shelly love. I told you she ’ad a rich and varied life. Now I’m goin’ up to me loft to fill this form in. Don’t be getting up to mischief.’

  Shelly blinked at him. ‘You’re getting too cheeky, Dad! Anyway, don’t be all day up there, Welsh rarebit for lunch, followed by a big fresh fruit trifle. That OK for you?’

  His eyes widened. ‘You mean proper trifle with jelly? Not that shop stuff.’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Shelly said, then realised she was giggling. Once he’d gone, she opened her tablet and read through Harry’s email again.

  How’s my favourite diver? I have some news for you, and a form to print off, fill in, sign and send back ASAP. I told you about the TV company dive, in August. Well, they asked if I could have an all-rounder on hand in case of illness, unforeseen circumstances, et cetera. Get this back to me pronto with a list of dives done, and any references you can muster. I’ll do my best for you. I miss you, hurry back here whatever happens.

  I can’t get you, or your body, out of my head. Roll on August.

  Lots of love and long, long kisses,

  Harry XXX

  Oh, Harry!

  She told herself to calm down. It was unlikely she would be part of the team, but still, there was a slight chance. Past experience would work in her favour. Despite his advice, her hopes were up about as high as they could be. She called Simon Ludgate, the proprietor of Dover Divers and explained the situation.

  Apart from Gordon, Simon was the only other person who knew of the tragedy in Shelly’s life. Close friend and dive enthusiasts, Simon and Shelly had met bi-monthly since the accident, for the past twenty years. They always discussed David, of course. It was David who’d brought Simon and Shelly together.

  ‘Happy to give you a diving reference, Shelly,’ Simon said brightly. ‘What about the Lusitania team – would you like me to have a word, what can you offer to make it worth their while?’ he continued.

  Her excitement bubbled up, even Simon realised there was a slight chance. ‘If I get on the dive, I’ll go up to their club and do a talk on the Britannic, how’s that?’

  ‘Sounds great, what about us, can we get some unique video footage for our website, or photos, if we supply the gizmo?’

  ‘You know I’ll do anything for you, Simon.’
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  ‘Can I ask, what made you choose the Britannic? I don’t remember you mentioning it before.’

  ‘It’s amazing, Simon, listen to this, my great-grandmother was on the Britannic when it went down. Well, not exactly on the ship . . . she got to a lifeboat.’

  ‘Blimey, that’s incredible!’

  ‘I found a box of cassettes where she’d recorded her life story. Honestly, I was blown away! It’s clear she blames herself for the sinking. She survived and when she was in her nineties, she recorded the whole story. I haven’t heard it all yet, in fact I’m about to play another tape. Meanwhile, thanks. I owe you, Simon. I’ll see you next month, as usual, of course.’

  *

  Once Shelly had her dive application prepared, she made travel arrangements for Kea. Peak season on such a small island could be a problem, so she would book her accommodation ASAP.

  She had learned so much, researching most evenings since her return from Greece. Now, she was eager to take another look at the contents. She slipped her hands into her pocket and stood, watching the cassette. Her fingertips touched DJ’s letter. With a sigh so heavy it seemed her heart deflated a little she pressed the off button.

  It was no good, she had to deal with the letter before she could concentrate on everything else. Besides, what harm could it do to meet DJ, just the once? He could be revengeful, might want to get things off his chest that had festered there for years. How could she know? He might have been holding a grudge since that dreadful day when she walked away from him. The awful thing was, she had to admit, although she hadn’t seen DJ for nineteen years, and here was the truth, she knew she still loved him. She knew that for sure.

  So where did that leave her and Harry? There was such a distance between them. And then there was her father.

  She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialled DJ’s number again. The moment someone picked up, her dad walked in. She dropped the receiver into its cradle, folded the letter, and slipped it back into her pocket.

  That evening, Shelly returned from an emergency. The kitchen was empty, no sign of supper. She peered out of the window. Dad had set up a deckchair at the bottom of the garden, a crate of pigeons at his side. He sat with a can of bird food in his fist. With his eyes turned up to the sky and his face full of hope, he reminded her of the sad icons that hung in Greek churches.

  ‘Come home, pigeon, make an old man happy,’ she prayed, deciding to make him a mug of sweet tea. She plugged the kettle in and pulled DJ’s letter out of her pocket.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Dad asked, coming through the doorway. ‘You look pale.’ He nodded at the letter. ‘Not bad news, I hope.’

  ‘No, no, just from someone . . . not important.’ She shoved the letter back into her pocket, but her hand stayed there, fingers curled gently around the paper.

  ‘I’m going to the club, will yer drive me, Shelly? I ’avent got time for the taxi.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Dad.’

  ‘Two hundred and thirty-five miles, at seventy miles an hour – how amazing is that?’

  ‘What? Which club are you going to, Dad?’ Shelly said, alarmed.

  ‘Not you, daft girl, the bird. She’s flown 235 miles, what a cracker!’

  Shelly laughed. ‘Yes, of course, silly me. Do you think you’ll get a prize?’

  ‘She’s clocked in already, from the chip on ’er leg, but I won’t know how the others have done until I gets to the club.’

  ‘Well, good luck, Dad.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  CHAPTER 28

  GERTIE

  Greece, 1916.

  MANNO WAS TRYING TO PACIFY Perkins. ‘No worries, my friend. Is not a vulture up there, is Eleonora’s falcon. He catches the little birds that head for the island. There are many falcons here, nesting on the cliffs.’

  The wooden fishing boat had seemed a sturdy vessel in the harbour of Kea. Now, I stared around at the vast sea and wondered how Manno knew which way to steer. As we progressed, towards Syros, my fear of what awaited us continued. Another landmass loomed on the horizon.

  Manno cried, ‘Now you see her! That is my island, the capital of all the Cyclades.’

  Our progression seemed painfully slow, but eventually we chugged close to the undulating landmass.

  ‘She is beautiful, yes?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘My family has lived on this island since before Christ!’

  Perkins opened one eye, glared at Manno, then shut it again. I hoped the morphine would keep him down a little longer.

  Manno continued. ‘The Persians, the Romans, the Franks, the malaka Turks, and even the French have tried to take her away from us, but they fail. Syros, she belongs to us, and she will always come back to us, the Greeks!’

  Silence settled over us, each sensing the other’s disappointment as our little boat chugged through gentle waves. The scenery was nothing but bushland and boulders, dull as the island of Yaros, but without the dolphins and falcons and stories of buccaneers. Manno peered at our disillusioned faces, then back at the landscape.

  ‘Ah, no worries, you must wait to see our city, she is coming now, you wait . . . We, the Greeks, we build our city so beautiful that we had to hide her away from the pirates. Still they came, so we build another city on the top of the hill over the first, and from there, we fire our big cannons at the invaders until they leave us in peace.’

  We rounded a promontory. ‘Oh, my goodness!’ I gasped as we continued towards the picturesque harbour. ‘How very beautiful.’

  A steeply sloping natural amphitheatre rose from the port giving us a unique view of all the buildings.

  ‘Here, we have the best schools, theatres and libraries in all Greece, and we trade with every one of the other islands. They all admire us.’

  Grand Venetian dwellings stood proud, dwarfing the smaller, white, flat-roofed Cyclades houses with tiny square windows. Neoclassical villas, perhaps built by rich and flamboyant sea captains at a time when Venetians ruled the country. Painted in a multitude of pastel colours, the houses appeared crisp and clean, rinsed by sunlight and staring solidly out to sea. Balconies with ornate spindles, jutted like open drawers from the smooth, plastered walls of peach, ochre, or pale blue. Elegant folding louvres and fancy fascias framed tall windows. All this, displayed below ridged, terracotta tiles on an apex pointing to heaven.

  ‘Oh, it’s so beautiful!’ I gazed at the eclectic buildings delivered from the dull topography with all the colour and excitement of a surprise gift. As we drew close, I felt myself change too. One could never be sure of what lay ahead, but the view was so uplifting, I felt hope for the first time since the sinking. Perhaps everything would turn out well in the end.

  Our boat entered the harbour. Moored at the quayside was a grey naval vessel, daunting as a prison. They’ve come for me. I had cost our country many thousands, when they needed it most. Now I must rise up and accept the consequences. If I pretended to be twenty-three, I also had to act as if I were twenty-three.

  From now on, I’d stop cowering and face the future. A noble speech to myself, yet, my insides wilted. What might happen? Would they hang me when they discovered all the facts?

  Perkins stirred. I moved to kneel at his side. ‘Could I have a little water, please, Manno?’ Our skipper half-filled an enamel beaker from a tank under his seat. I cradled Perkins head and helped him to drink, then dipped the corner of my apron into it and dabbed his forehead.

  He stared at me. ‘Tell me this is not a recurring nightmare, and that I still have at least one complete leg, nurse?’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Corporal, of course you do.’ I continued to cool his red face. ‘I must say, this scar on your forehead has healed nicely. The surgeon did an excellent job stitching you up.’

  The humour left his eyes. ‘I’d like to get hold of the person responsible for all this.’

  My heart banged. Was it really possible that he had no recollection of what happened in the ward? I turned my e
yes away and stared at the water just outside the boat, remembering the flotsam and human debris, and that terrible time in the lifeboat. Realising I was holding my breath, I exhaled slowly, my breath feeling hot in my nostrils.

  ‘I’m quite sure it was not down to one person, Corporal Perkins; and I think you realise it too.’

  ‘They must pay,’ he said, his face hard as he looked into my eyes. ‘Whoever caused the Britannic to sink – they must pay.’

  ‘I’m quite sure they will, Corporal,’ I whispered. For a moment, I wished we were alone together and I could hold him to my breast, and kiss him tenderly. His mood swings were due to his injuries, I understood that; everything would be all right because I intended to take good care of him, for always if he wanted. I was close to telling him he would always be perfect to me. Knowing those words would mean everything to him. But that was me, Gertie Smith, the hypocrite who had caused those very injuries by her own self-centred vanity in the first place. I reminded myself how much I had wanted to appear in control, superior to those poor patients in the ward.

  *

  I shifted my attention to the two-funnelled battleship that lay alongside the quay.

  ‘You see? That’s SS Athena,’ Manno said as we motored past. ‘She came in last night. She will take you away after dark.’

  ‘Where are they taking us, Manno?’ Perkins demanded.

  ‘They tell us nothing.’

  ‘So how can you know we are leaving tonight?’ Perkins scoffed.

  ‘Because yesterday, they ordered fresh meat to go on board this evening. Is logic, yes. If they were leaving tomorrow, they would order fresh meat tomorrow. Logic is a Greek word, so you see, we understand these things.’

  Perkins pulled his mouth around to one side. ‘The sooner we get back to England and civilisation, the better.’ He slid his hand up and down his thigh and narrowed his eyes. I guessed he was still in pain, though he never complained.

  Insulted, Manno stuck his chin out and glowered at Perkins. With the two of them staring at each other, I was reminded of the time my mother placed a couple of cockerels in the hen pen.