Page 55 of Summer in Greece

This was 1916. The world was at war and people were fighting and dying for their country. Yet here, in this little pocket of Greece, the head of the island played a board game in the street. A small pocket of normality in the chaos that was the world today. The scene gave me hope that one day all of Europe would return to normal. It reminded me what we were fighting for. The simple freedom of village life, tradition, and family values.

I introduced myself and offered my hand. He shook it so vigorously I felt my knuckles pop.

The pleasant-looking youth with bare feet and unruly dark hair spoke to the mayor, his father. The men got to their feet and stared at me with embarrassing frankness. After a moment, the mayor said, ‘Ela, come.’

We walked back to the harbour, the rest of the men, about ten, followed in a procession behind us. I noticed Manno was mooring up. ‘Nurse!’ he yelled across the quay, waving an arm. I suppressed a grin. ‘Look, I have something for you!’ he yelled, raising a pair of crutches.

I beckoned him to come over. Manno strode around the curve of the harbour and thrust the crutches at me.

‘The doctor of Syros sent these for the sailor.’ He glanced at the crowd then back to me. ‘What’s your problem?’ He stared right into my eyes which, honestly, made me tingle.

Oddly breathless, yet also embarrassed, I couldn’t speak. I turned away to break the intimate look between us and noticed our bystanders nodding and smiling at each other.

Self-conscious and confused, I pulled myself together.

‘My parents will think I was killed on the Britannic, Manno. I need to send them an urgent message to say I’m all right. You see, my brother died in battle, and my sister, a nurse, has died recently too. I’m all they have left. They’ll be dreadfully anxious and heartbroken. I must inform them that I am unharmed as soon as possible.’

‘Virgin Mary! They must be crazy with the worry. If I have to glue wings of Icarus onto my own shoulders and fly to England myself, I will make sure they get your message, koukla mou.’

I recalled the picture on Yiayá’s wall and did my best to blank out certain bits of the drawing. Manno could not fly into England in such a blatant state of undress.

What? Oh, my goodness. Was I losing my mind – thinking such ridiculous things?

Yianni came scuttling over to Manno, waving his arms at his son, and then thrusting his hands towards the boat and its fish. A heated conversation took place until Manno held a hand towards me.

Yianni’s face softened. ‘Ahhh,’ he sighed knowingly.

The onlookers grinned and nodded at each other again.

I seemed to be centre stage of a Shakespearean play that I didn’t understand, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked quietly.

‘No worries,’ Manno replied, lifting my chin and smiling into my eyes again. ‘Let’s go and prepare your message.’

I walked around to the back of the school with Manno. Although the village was a somewhat ramshackle affair – created with no apparent sense of planning, order, or even straight lines – the pigeon loft was a complete contradiction. The coop was a marvellous, symmetrical, construction on stilts. The wooden building had a red-tiled, A-frame, roof and a platform that ran around the outside with a stout wooden ladder for access.

‘What a beautiful loft, Manno,’ I said.

‘All the small islands have them.’ He stuck out his chest in such a way I almost expected him to start strutting around me, cooing and bobbing and dragging his tail feathers. The thought brought heat to my cheeks and I wished I could find a way to stop blushing.

Manno spoke to the mayor for a moment, then he turned to me. ‘We’re going to return Aphrodite to Athens. Aphrodite, she is the goddess of love; you know this?’ He bobbed his eyebrows.

The damn blush! I bit my lip and nodded.

‘Athens will send a telegraph to England, so now, we go to write your message in not many words,’ he said.

Back in the kafenion, I constructed my letter to Father. I had to reduce it to as few letters as possible, which was difficult. Eventually, I settled on: Dr Smith. White Cot. Lighthouse Ln. Dover. UK. I am unharmed. Safe in Greece. Love Gertie.

Mama would be in tears. Papa’s stern face would hide his emotion. My parents would embrace, silently, unable to voice their relief.

*

I watched as the boy wrote in tiny letters on a cigarette paper. Manno rolled the fragile note so gently with his big fisherman hands, then slid it into a small tube, and fastened it to Aphrodite’s leg. There was a sense of ceremony in the air as they released the pigeon. The sturdy bird flew in a low circle over the houses, orientating herself, then she set off, gaining height until she disappeared into the deep blue sky. For a moment, silence fell over the village as everyone’s eyes followed her.

I told Manno, ‘My father’s a doctor, but he keeps pigeons too. He used to race them, but now he works for the government.’

‘Your father works for the British government?’ He frowned and pulled in his chin.

‘Yes, his pigeons are taken overseas and return with messages for the military. Last year, one of his pigeons, Geronimo, saved the lives of fifty soldiers.’ I smiled, proud of my father and pleased to relate the story.