Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  People seemed to move in closer and I wondered if they were eavesdropping. Aware that my cheeks were blazing, I glanced around hurriedly, hoping nobody heard or understood whatever he was muttering.

  Josephine rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll wait for you at the top.’ She nodded at the ramp.

  Unabashed, Manno returned to speaking English and continued. ‘I am not happy that you leave me. I am even more not happy that you are leaving with the English.’ I knew he meant Corporal Perkins. ‘Give me one kiss, just one, to remember you by.’

  ‘Certainly not. How bold of you!’

  The people hovering nearby gave up pretending and gathered around. Unsure of myself, I tried to imagine what Sissy would do. Life was difficult without a role model and, in truth, I really wanted to kiss him – oh dear – I really did. But, not there on the quayside in front of all the gawping strangers.

  He grinned. ‘I made you angry? You become more beautiful when you are a crazy woman. I am in love with you, koukla mou. My nurse.’

  I glanced up into a blue sky that seemed to be twinkling with mischief. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say, Manno, stop it! People are watching us. You don’t even know me, and you’re causing me untold embarrassment.’ Yet I was thrilled to be called a woman, and a nurse. However, my future was dedicated to atoning for the deaths of my companions on the Britannic. I would tend the sick, fulfil Sissy’s dream, and save some poor mother’s son as I had cost so many theirs. I felt myself grow, right there on the quayside. Yes, Manno made my heart race. I could even convince myself that I was falling in love with him; and longed to feel his lips pressed against mine. Nevertheless, my only experience of love came from the writings of Victor Hugo and a DH Lawrence book that belonged to Sissy, which I was sworn to keep away from my parents’ eyes.

  Despite the tingling dramas that made me narrow my eyes and squeeze my knees together, I was determined not to be swept away by the fickle and flimsy chords of my heart. I had a greater calling, and by God, I would fulfil it!

  ‘Write to me? My heart is breaking, is bleeding all over the port!’ Manno cried, then he snatched a red rose out of the flower-seller’s bucket and went down on one knee. ‘Swear you’ll come back to me, koukla!’

  Aware that people had stopped whatever they were discussing in order to watch us, and one man appeared to be taking a little money from some of them, it occurred to me that the scoundrel might be taking bets! I could cheerfully have killed the mailman.

  ‘Manno. Get up! You’re making a spectacle!’

  ‘I will, but only when you promise to return. I should have given you a pigeon in Kea. Forgive me. Swear you will send me letters. Say you will come back to Syros.’

  ‘Perhaps; I’ll think about it, but who shall I write to?’

  ‘Me, of course.’

  I smiled despite my embarrassment. ‘No, I mean how shall I address the letter, if by some faint chance I do decide to write to you?’

  ‘Ah, I understand. Manno Psaras, Syros, Cycladese Islands, Greece. Psaras – it means fisherman in Greek.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a small curled seashell on a ribbon which he slipped over my head. ‘Here; is for you. Every time you press it against your heart, I will be with you. I swear to the Gods of Olympus, I will think about you every day until we meet again, koukla mou.’ He lifted my hand, kissed my palm, then curled my fingers as if I were holding the kiss.

  My breath wouldn’t come, such was my longing . . . I had a need for him. I was afraid of him in an odd sort of way, yet also fascinated . . . like a moth near a candle flame. There was danger and captivation in equal measure.

  Overwhelmed, I forgot about our audience and stood there blinking like a kohl-eyed actress on the silver screen, unable to deal with his words or our parting. Perhaps I would never see him again. At that moment I wondered if my feelings for him were love. They were different from anything I experienced with our courteous and suave Corporal Perkins. There was no rational explanation for the increase of my heartrate, or my fluttery breath, or the way I felt my body tingle, and arch towards him. My body was drawn to him as a thirsty animal is drawn to water. Inside, I was burning, pure as fire, yet at the same time my feet were rooted to the spot and I was afraid.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders, his eyes sparkling. Conscious of another new sensation that startled me, I folded my arms over my tingling nipples and wondered if that was normal. I must ask Josephine, she seemed to know everything. Manno’s face became intensely serious. ‘I have no more words for you,’ he said. ‘Just this . . .’ He lifted my chin and brushed my lips with his.

  I stepped back and gasped, shocked by his lack of manners. To behave in such a bold way, and in public too! Somebody shouted, ‘Bravo! ’ and started clapping, and I hopped it had nothing to do with me. I felt everyone’s eyes boring into me. I should slap him! Such effrontery, my parents would expect me to retaliate, defend my reputation. How dare he kiss me . . . without asking . . . and on the lips . . . this was too shocking!

  With a huff, I lifted my chin, spun on my heel, and headed for the ship.

  ‘Goodbye, koukla mou!’ he cried. ‘I love you! Until we meet again!’

  The blaze in my cheeks would have lit a bonfire. Yet still, I turned and glanced back one last time before entering the vessel that would lead me to my destiny.

  Oh, Manno!

  *

  On board the Athena, I shared a cabin with Nurse Josephine. We divided the cabin space, and set about arranging our meagre belongings. No sooner had we organised ourselves, a knock sounded on the door and an orderly presented us with instructions to report to the medical station.

  ‘Right, here we go,’ Josephine said, smoothing down her apron. ‘Let’s find out what they have in mind for us. Where are we headed?’

  We hurried along behind the orderly, a frowning man who avoided our eyes, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of women. The ship had a confining atmosphere, nothing like the spacious Britannic. Corridors were narrow and dim, and two sailors walking in the opposite direction had to flatten themselves against the wall so we could pass. The floors, walls, and even the low ceilings were metal, giving a great feeling of strength, but also noisy and oppressive. We arrived at the medical station.

  The surgeon was a tall, pale man with little hair and a neat, black moustache on a perfectly round face. Archibald Fitzgibbons reminded me of the peg dolls I made as a child. He offered Nurse Josephine and I a stiff little bow.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to know we shall arrive at the port of Mudros, which is the naval port of Lemnos, at 0500 hours, but you won’t be able to leave until 0700 hours. We have a ship full of medical supplies to disembark there and we don’t want you in the way.’

  So Manno was right, we were leaving for Lemnos, not Britain.

  Fitzgibbons continued. ‘A good night’s sleep would be in order, as it may be your last for some months. Trust me when I say the living conditions at the hospital clearing station are appalling.’ He indicated for us to sit at his desk. ‘The hospital staff are crying out for our cargo, particularly chloroform and morphine. I warn you, the medical situation on the island is grim. More than half of those who were due to be transported back to Blighty on the Britannic have perished already, or are on the brink of doing so.’

  I felt my skin shrink at the mention of this fact. More deaths due to my own incompetence.

  ‘Trench foot, gangrene, shrapnel wounds, dysentery, typhoid, and also a fresh outbreak of Spanish influenza are the main problems. On top of that, venereal diseases. Syphilis and gonorrhoea have reached epidemic proportions. The station is under-manned, short of everything, unhygienic, and most of the patients are kept under canvas. Due to the shortage of beds, the majority of the injured sleep on the ground, and as the winter rains reach their peak in February, things will only get worse. Food, like everything else, is in short supply, so eat everything you’re given; and beware of the moles.’

  Nurse Josephine and I exchan
ged a despairing glance, trying to keep the horror out of our expressions.

  ‘Moles?’ Josephine asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, moles. Disgusting flea-ridden creatures, blind, with long claws. They dig their way up into the tents at night, then run like rats over everything and everyone. Most unhygienic. Screaming nurses will not be tolerated in a town of hospital tents where too many men are dying in terrible pain. Any questions?’

  ‘Were the medical staff from the Britannic taken to Mudros?’ Josephine asked.

  ‘They were offered the statutory two weeks leave after such a sad event, but many who survived uninjured volunteered to work in local hospitals, and some went on to Lemnos and are working in Mudros now.’ He folded his arms and stared into the distance. ‘However, I believe they’ll all return to England for another inquiry the moment they can be relieved – which won’t be for some time the way things are going. The ones that returned to the UK attended an unofficial inquiry on board the flagship, Duncan, on 24 November.’

  ‘I see. Are there at least enough splints and morphine for the casualties now?’ Nurse Josephine continued.

  ‘There isn’t enough of anything. Priority is given to those with over a fifty per cent chance of survival.’

  ‘And the progression of the war? We had no news while on Kea.’

  ‘I can’t say. There is a plan, but I’m not at liberty to divulge it. You must be ready to relocate at all times.’

  ‘How many patients are at the clearing station?’

  ‘Can’t be sure. Perhaps forty thousand wounded, sick, and dying.’

  ‘And medical staff?’

  ‘The answer to that is simply nowhere near enough – perhaps a thousand.’ He paused to let the number sink in while appearing totally defeated. ‘Yes, it’s impossible, and most of the nurses have had no experience and hardly any training before arriving in Mudros, though they’re full of good intention. What greets them is shocking – beyond their, or your, imagination. Most nurses cannot cope with the horror. Hats off to each one for trying but men with their guts hanging out, or arms and legs blown off . . . screaming with pain, well, it’s not what they imagined when they signed up.’ His eyes flicked to Gertie. ‘Half of them leave in the first month. The situation is impossible; but we have a consignment of ANZACs due in from Australia and New Zealand any day now, mostly practised nurses, though I doubt any of them have experienced war wounds. We shall see.’

  Nurse Josephine was silent for a moment and the surgeon took that opportunity to terminate the conversation. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have to examine your Corporal before dinner as he’s staying on board until we return to Athens, Malta, or Alexandria. I’m awaiting orders. We sail at 0900 hours. Be on board by 0800 hours sharp.’

  CHAPTER 31

  SHELLY

  Dover, present day.

  DJ ORDERED COFFEES WHILE SHELLY dried her eyes. Sunshine bounced in from the wet pavements outside.

  ‘DJ,’ Shelly said, looking into his eyes. ‘You’ve no idea how long I prayed for this moment.’

  ‘So why didn’t you instigate it?’ he asked, and although it could have been an aggressive question, there was no animosity in his voice.

  ‘Because your father was my first and last true love. You see, I met David when I was sixteen. He chose your name, by the way. On the day I first met him, he introduced himself: “I’m David,” he said. “My father was David, my grandfather was David, and when I have a son, I’ve no doubt he’ll be a David too. Or more likely a Dave these days, it’s more modern, isn’t it?”’ Shelly sat there smiling. ‘I was crying in the town centre. He was trying to cheer me up. “I come from a long line of Davids,” he said. I ended up laughing, it sounded so ridiculous. Your father’s middle name was John, so you were named David John, DJ.’ Remembering the moment, Shelly smiled, then she filled up and placed a hand over her mouth for a moment to stop herself sobbing. ‘My mother had just been killed, you see . . . in the most tragic accident on Christmas Eve. I was depressed like you can’t imagine. Your father was incredible. The kindest, most understanding person I’d ever met. I was so alone it hurt, but when I was with him, he took all my pain away. At the most difficult time in my life, your father, David John Evans, gave me hope and determination.’

  ‘David John Evans,’ he whispered as if testing the words.

  Shelly nodded. ‘I asked the people who adopted you if they would keep your name, it was important to me, and they agreed on David John. Although I hadn’t known your father long, he really made me feel I was worth something. I passed my exams, got through university, and built myself a successful business, all because of him.’

  ‘Sounds like an amazing story. I don’t know anything about him. On my birth certificate it says, father unknown.’

  ‘That was my choice. I wanted to keep you. I wanted you to have my name. Of course, that was impossible. I had no support. My father was having a breakdown after my mother’s death. Then his sixteen-year-old daughter tells him she’s pregnant. Can you imagine? Anyway, despite my objections, he insisted you would be better off growing up with a family desperate for a child. One that could afford all the things that would give you a good life.’ Shelly sighed and sat back. ‘It was a difficult time. Did you have a good childhood?’

  ‘I did. My parents had a daughter, my sister April, quite unexpectedly when I was eight. Six months later, we emigrated to Australia. I came back to study at Cambridge and as I was here, I thought I’d try and find you.’

  ‘Cambridge! Goodness. What are you reading?’

  ‘Marine biology.’ He stared at Shelly. ‘What’s wrong, you look startled?’

  Shelly struggled. She needed more time with her son before she told him about his father. But her feelings were bubbling to the surface, she had no choice.

  ‘Your father would have wanted that. He was a recreational diver when I met him, but he planned to go on to greater things.’

  ‘Please, tell me about him. Where is he now?’

  She glanced around the café. Another couple had come in and were drinking coffee, and three giggling girls were at the counter. Shelly smiled sadly. ‘Look, it seems impossible now, but I was about their age when I fell in love with your father.’ She nodded at the laughing teenagers. ‘We went on holiday together. Me, your dad, and his friend Simon.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘There was a diving accident . . . I didn’t even know I was pregnant with you at that point.’ Shelly had to stop and calm herself, as she always did when this subject arose. ‘Sorry, but do you think we could save that for our next meeting? This is such a huge occasion for me. I don’t want to rush it, or let it overwhelm me.’ She tried to smile, but a tic caught the corner of her mouth so she covered it with her hand. He nodded but stared gloomily at the table. Shelly continued. ‘Just let me tell you this, DJ. If things had been different, your father would have loved you like no other. He was the sweetest, kindest man imaginable and, oh, how I loved him.’

  *

  By the time Shelly got home, it was almost eight o’clock.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so late, Dad. I’ve had the most amazing experience.’

  ‘What have you done to your hair?’

  ‘Oh – I’d forgotten – had a haircut. Eve talked me into it. She’s trying to glam me up before I return to Greece. It’s so expensive, though! She doesn’t realise I have commitments.’

  ‘You have commitments?’

  Shelly turned away quickly. Had he really forgotten? He seemed to be forgetting so much lately. ‘Well, you know, the business and everything. Anyway, enough of that. How’s your day been?’

  ‘Good. Bill’s daughter ran him over this afternoon and we’ve been discussing race strategy. We’ve eaten; fish pie and baked beans. Shall I ding a portion for you?’

  Shelly laughed. ‘Honestly, I’ll bet it’s delicious, but I’ve got so much to tell you, Dad, I’d rather do it over a bottle of wine as you’ve eaten already.’

  ‘You’d
better open a packet of crisps then, or you’ll be hungover tomorrow. So why are you late, Shelly love. Is everything all right?’

  She stared at him, trying to decide, and then she knew, it was time for the secrets to end. ‘Sit down a minute, Dad. I’ve got something to tell you. But first, we’re having a drink, can I get you a beer?’

  ‘That’ll do nicely. I hope it’s not bad news.’ He pulled out a chair.

  ‘No, it’s the most wonderful news. But please don’t be hard on me. It’s been a difficult day, a difficult month, to tell the truth, and I can’t describe how relieved I am now that it’s over.’

  Her father looked horrified. ‘Have I missed something? Just tell me it’s got nothing to do with your health?’

  ‘No,’ she said again, patting the back of his hand. ‘In fact, I’ve never been better.’ She passed him a beer, sat opposite him and poured herself a glass of wine. ‘You remember what happened just after Mum died, Dad?’

  He stared at her, clearly not wanting to bring up the past. ‘’Ere, Shelly, let’s not go over all that. What’s past is past.’

  ‘No, Dad, I need to say it. A year after Mum died, I had a baby.’ Her father’s face stiffened. ‘A little boy, DJ, David John. He was David’s son and I gave him up for adoption.’ Shelly nodded. ‘His father, David, was my first boyfriend. My only real boyfriend and I loved him very much. DJ was our baby. A beautiful, blue-eyed baby that I have never stopped loving. But David never saw our child, did he? DJ was born after the accident, remember.’

  Gordon stood and went over to the kitchen cupboard, pushed the sugar and flour aside and pulled out an old bottle of whisky. ‘I need a proper drink,’ he said. He poured a good measure, took it over to the window. Standing with his back to the room, he stared out at the dusk.