Ardnish Was Home Page 16

  Chapter 11

  WAR

  As Louise sleeps fitfully, I sit and fret. I hear movement in the undergrowth and freeze.

  ‘It’s only me.’ Prissie drops down beside us. ‘I’ve found a doctor. He’s really old. I think we can trust him. Have you been giving her plenty of water?’

  She fusses around Louise. ‘Are you feeling any better, darling?’ She helps Louise into a sitting position and pours more water from the gourd into her mouth. Louise drinks obediently. ‘I’m to go to him very early tomorrow,’ Prissie continues. ‘He knows what Louise’s symptoms are and he’s trying to find some medicine.’

  ‘How on earth did you find a doctor?’ I ask.

  ‘I just said the word “doctor” to the woman in the shop. She looked at me very intently, then she spoke to me and when I smiled and raised my hands, she knew I couldn’t understand her. But she was friendly and she took me down the street and knocked on a door. It was as easy as that.’

  Prissie settles back and continues her story. ‘I feel quite comfortable wandering around by myself. There are so few people around, and those who are seem to be old women. There’s hardly any cover, though. It’s the flattest land you’ve ever seen. I’m not sure how we can get both of you into the port, but there’s no rush. Let’s see what the doctor says.’

  I feel around the bag. ‘No food left, Prissie. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I’ll go and see what I can find tomorrow. It seems to be a farming area. There must be some food somewhere. Let’s get a fire going, DP. We’re well hidden here.’

  I tell Prissie how wonderful she is, being the scout, the provider and the nurse. I’m almost in tears with relief.

  It’s a terrible night, though. Louise is getting weaker and Prissie is seriously worried. ‘She’s not keeping the water in her, and she’s really dehydrated. I’m going to fill the gourd up in the village and then wait for the doctor. I want to be there early.’

  Louise lies with her head on my chest and I caress her hair. ‘You’ll be all right,’ I say, not quite believing my own words. ‘A doctor is on the way’. We talk about her family for a spell, of the expectation of failure and a hard life, but speaking of her mother leaves her listless and depressed, and so I change the conversation.

  ‘In our family it’s the opposite,’ I admit. ‘We see opportunity, fun and goodness. It was my mother who brought this spirit to the family, and it’s been good for the whole of Peanmeanach – not just for us.’

  When Prissie returns with the doctor he seems surprised to see me. He was no doubt expecting only a sick woman, but he is polite to me. He has salt tablets for Louise.

  ‘Perfect,’ Prissie beams. ‘These will allow you to keep the water in you.’

  Prissie talks to the doctor in English, though he doesn’t seem to understand a word. She acts out everything, like a game. Words like ‘English’, ‘Gallipoli’ and ‘soldier’ he grasps. He sees we have no food. And he seems to understand that we want to get to Alexandroupolis. Prissie is pleased when he uses the Greek pronunciation; she thinks it’s a good sign.

  The doctor gets up to go and shakes our hands firmly. He takes Prissie with him, to get food. My job is to get Louise to drink a bit of water, every hour at least, and to give her the salt tablets. By the evening, I think she is getting a little stronger. She wants to sit up rather than lie on the ground.

  Prissie returns with an armful of wonderful-smelling fresh bread, some honey and eggs. She also has a knife and a small pan to boil water and make coffee.

  I cross myself and thank God.

  Louise manages to eat a scrap of bread, and Prissie is overjoyed. ‘Oh sweetheart, I was beginning to get seriously worried about you. Another couple of days in that condition and we might have lost you.’

  The next morning, the doctor appears again, accompanied by a friendly little plump woman. They have brought us blankets and some more bread. The woman wants us to come with her to a place where we can shelter; they think there’s going to be heavy rain.

  We gather our kit together and follow the woman to a well-hidden bothy by the marsh, possibly a fishing hut. Prissie and the woman help Louise there. Much better, we all agree, than camping out in the open air. The woman points at herself and says, ‘Eleni’. We introduce ourselves, too, and there are lots of smiles. We feel a bit more relaxed now. We trust this couple.

  Prissie looks around and grins. ‘My dad had a shed to get away from Mum, too,’ she says.

  ‘My friend Sandy would have loved this place,’ I say. ‘We would have enough fish by now to feed us for the next week.’ I remember how much I enjoyed fishing with him and my father. Peaceful times. I wonder if I’ll ever fish again.

  If my shoulder was better I could guddle a fish or two. I’d seen Sandy do it many times; he would lie on his front on the bank with one hand in the water. The fish would come up to see what was going on and he would gently caress its belly with his finger. It would become a bit lethargic, and then with a flick he would have it on the bank. I’ll bet that would impress Louise.

  *

  The doctor insists that we rest here until Louise’s strength returns. And so the days pass: cold and wet some days, sunny on others, plenty of wood for a fire, and Eleni coming down with food every day.

  We itch to be off. The attractions of the little bothy have long worn off, and it feels more like a prison. Sensing our frustration one evening, the doctor says in clear English, ‘Tomorrow.’

  True to his word, he returns the following morning. This time, he is accompanied by a different woman. She speaks fluent English, which is wonderful.

  ‘You’re British!’ I exclaim excitedly.

  ‘No, I’m Greek,’ she replies, ‘but I have lived in London. Please call me Maria. It’s not my real name, but we need to protect the doctor. I’m here to help you get back to safety, but I won’t tell him what’s going to happen.’

  With a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she tells us her plan. ‘On Saturdays, there is a market in Dedeagach . . .’

  ‘Alexandroupolis,’ interjects the helpful doctor.

  ‘There will be donkeys and carts coming from all over the country with things to sell. I’ll come here to fetch you, and we’ll be met on the outskirts of Ferres on Friday night. You’ll go separately into the port, and at the market I’ll meet you again. You’ll then be reunited at a safe house and await further instructions. You are lucky to have met the doctor here. He is Greek, a good man. Now, I must go. See you on Friday.’

  We love speculating about her. ‘She must be here to spy on the Bulgars, to report back to Britain,’ Louise suggests. ‘Do you think there are lots of people like her? What a dangerous job! How boring we are being nurses, Prissie, when we could be like her!’

  Louise and Prissie are clearly in awe of Maria; as am I, if the truth be told.

  That night, I ask Prissie if she has ever really loved a man.

  She shifts uncomfortably, and I immediately regret asking.

  ‘No, not really,’ she tells me. ‘There was a boy I fancied like mad at school, but he didn’t even look at me, and then it was straight into nursing training. I love being with you two, though, proper little lovebirds. You couldn’t get a cigarette paper between you both since you arrived at the clearing station.’

  ‘Well,’ Louise pipes up, ‘DP is the first and last for me. I’m keeping him.’

  I sit with a happy smile on my face and lean across to take Louise’s hand. ‘I’m lucky to be alive and I’m lucky to have you,’ I reply. ‘Both of you, in fact.’

  *

  Come Friday morning, we clear up and prepare for departure, not wanting anyone to know the place has been occupied.

  Maria turns up on schedule and tells us the rules. ‘Don’t talk at all, and never look me. Don’t look at each other, either. If the army catches you, you’ll have to go it alone, I’m afraid. We can’t jeopardise the plan.’

  I flush. What a thought! After all we have come th
rough, would I be able to keep quiet if I saw Louise arrested in front of me? I decide to make sure I am arrested, too. But I nod obediently without catching Louise’s eye.

  ‘When we get to the market I’ll come past you. If I have a bag on my shoulder, then you can follow me. If not, I’ll come around again. If the coast is clear and the bag’s on my shoulder, follow me. It all depends on whether or not we are being watched. DP, I’ll collect Louise first. She will take you by the hand and lead you in case you stumble. Are you all right with that?’

  I sense this is a joke at my expense, so laughingly I agree.

  ‘We need to get the bandage off your eye. It will attract too much attention and people will remember it. I’ve brought you some glasses. We have about an hour to walk, but it’s easy going.’

  Maria and Prissie go on ahead to make sure we don’t bump into anyone, and Louise and I follow, hand in hand. It is raining hard and my glasses steam up. I can barely see a thing, but Louise guides me.

  ‘The rain is good,’ says Maria. ‘It will keep the army off the road. Less conspicuous, too, walking in pairs than four of us walking together.’

  We arrive safely at the outskirts of Ferres and take shelter under a tree. I am the first to go. An old man and woman with a mule and a cart full of baskets stop beside the road.

  Louise embraces me and tearfully wishes me luck.

  No introductions are made, and only Maria speaks. ‘You’ll be uncomfortable, DP, I’m afraid. You have about ten hours in there.’

  I crawl into a pile of blankets on the cart and arrange myself comfortably, with my bag as a pillow. The baskets are rearranged around me, and off we go. Within a short time, I am in severe pain; every stone we jolt over causes me to wince. I am glad I am lying on my good shoulder, but I can’t turn over.

  As we trundle along the track, I can hear murmuring from the couple up front and an occasional greeting from passers by. I am so stiff and sore I decide to think of something else, something good. I shut my eyes and imagine a year from now, heading home with Louise.

  *

  We’ll get off the train at Lochailort. My parents won’t know we’re coming. It’ll be spring, with flowers and young birds and animals everywhere. We’ll walk hand in hand down the path, and I’ll point out the lochs where Angus and I fished and swam, an eagle gliding on the skyline. I’ll tell Louise again the stories that she already knows by heart. We’ll sit at the highest point of the peninsula and I’ll point out Inverailort Castle, Roshven and Arisaig House. We will slowly meander down towards the village, wanting to take as long as we can, and yet at the same time dying to hurry. I’ll be desperate to show off Louise to my parents and everyone in Peanmeanach.

  The dogs will see us first and bark, bringing people to the back door to see what has interested them. ‘A man, it looks like DP! But who’s the girl?’ The excitement, the tears. Yes, we’re engaged.

  *

  I smile to myself. Louise would love the place, and adore the people, and I know they would love her, too. It feels so remote from this cart, this landscape, this situation; I feel a tear trickle down my face.

  I lapse into semi-consciousness, which is a blessing for a while. But after a time, I am woken with a start. The cart has pulled up, and I can hear raised voices. Men are questioning the old couple. I lie there, afraid to breathe, sweating despite the chill and terrified of feeling the baskets being pulled off me.

  But luckily the men don’t search us. Maybe the task is too arduous at this early hour, or the elderly couple too innocent-looking. And so the cart slowly begins to rattle along again.

  We arrive at the marketplace before dawn. I can hear the sounds of people setting up their stalls and laying out their produce for the day. I emerge stiffly out of my hellhole to find myself in an alleyway. I am directed to a wall in the square by the old man who has brought me here. My blood begins to flow and my aches and pains subside a little. There is so much bustle and noise as the town centre fills up with traders and customers. Soon a hot cup of coffee is thrust into my hand and I begin to feel more human again.

  I can smell the sea, the cheeses and meats. I wonder where Louise and Prissie are, and how they are faring.

  The winter sun is pleasant on my face as I sit enjoying the busy activity. And then I feel her beside me. What a relief! I desperately want to embrace her. Louise takes my hand, squeezes it and leads me off, with not even a chance to thank the couple who have ferried me here. Within minutes we are up some stairs and in someone’s home. Maria is there and so is Prissie.

  ‘It’s so good to see you both,’ I say. ‘We were stopped, but luckily they didn’t search the cart. I was shaking like a leaf.’

  ‘Is everyone all right?’ Maria asks.

  ‘Exhausted,’ says Prissie. ‘I had to carry a load of vegetables on my back all the way here, while you were lying in luxury in your carriage, DP!’

  ‘You can share your stories later,’ says Maria. ‘I need to tell you what’s happening next. This property is owned by a successful engineer who has gone missing. He was against the Bulgars and made it obvious, so they took him and his wife off. They’ve ransacked the place once, and we don’t think they’ll be back. No one can see into it, and it’s got a lock, so you should be safe. But no lights or fires please. Girls, you can go out, but not together and maybe only once a day. Act with a sense of purpose, as if you’re going somewhere. DP, not you I’m afraid. There are no young men in this town. They’ve all been conscripted, so you would be too obvious. I’ll get you some food and come back before midday.’

  At lunch we eat the best food in months: salami, cheeses, dates and raisins washed down with ouzo. Everyone smokes. We sit at a proper table, and use a knife and fork. It is such a pleasure.

  Maria won’t tell us her plan. ‘You’ll know when the time comes. You’ll have to stay here for several days while I get everything organised. There are packs of cards and a chess-board to keep you entertained for a while. We’re also expecting another guest – a pilot who was shot down. I don’t know when he’ll come. Please leave a bed for him.’

  ‘Could we have a bath, Maria?’ Louise asks. ‘We’ve been travelling for two months now and we need to wash our clothes. We’re filthy, and my hair is horrid.’

  ‘Tonight,’ says Maria. ‘Stay up very late, say around one in the morning, then light a fire. Let’s hope no one sees the smoke. You can have a night of cleaning and scrubbing, no need to get up in the morning. No candles, though. You’ll have to do everything in the kitchen by firelight. And remember to hang your clothes inside the house to dry, not outside.’

  Louise and I are sharing a big bed. ‘Let’s not get into it until we’re clean,’ she whispers. ‘It’s a special moment for us.’

  We lie slumped in the living area until we are woken by Prissie. ‘Your turn, lovebirds,’ she trills as she heads off to her room, giggling. Filling the tub with water heated by the blazing fire, what excitement it is for me to give Louise a bath. The room smells of scented lavender soap, and we have a proper towel – what a luxury. While we had moments of intimacy during the trip, it tended to be an embrace on the cold hard ground or in an attic with Prissie sleeping alongside us.

  The night passes quickly with our lovemaking, alternating between passion and tenderness. Louise is so sweet and gentle, my heart bursts with love for her.

  *

  Prissie is excited about the pilot arriving, but it is another three days before he does.

  In the middle of the night we are woken by soft, insistent taps on the front door. Louise tiptoes to open it, terrified it will be the Bulgars, but the English voice on the other side whispers, ‘Let me in.’

  The pilot is there by himself, his guide having vanished before the door was opened. He is tall and good-looking. His name is Charlie. Prissie fell for him immediately, she later confesses. We sit around him as he drinks coffee and tells us what happened to him.

  He was in a Sopwith Pup doing recce flights above Gallipoli and wa
s shot at and hit. The plane lost power, its engine intermittent. He managed to fly it for a few miles north and away from the Turkish lines, but it became clear that he was going to have to crash-land into trees. He managed to parachute out, but his gunner didn’t make it. He saw the plane hit the ground and burst into flames.

  We quiz him about the evacuation. He tells us the allied forces got out before Christmas. Everyone. No casualties. ‘Typical,’ he says. ‘The only thing our generals have done well in this war is organise a retreat. The troops from Gallipoli are moving back to Egypt and the Western Front. There will be a big push on in Thessaloniki, too, I believe.’

  ‘The Lovat Scouts will be there then,’ I volunteer.

  He has been trying to find out where the Turkish army is heading – back to Constantinople, or here to Bulgaria and then Thessaloniki.

  Charlie was rescued by a Sarakatsani farming family, who hid him for a week. Then, like us, partisans retrieved him and here he is. He is terribly posh and terribly charming, and Prissie flirts outrageously with him. He says ‘splendid’ and ‘jolly’ and words we would never use, and she keeps telling him how brave he is and shouting, ‘Oh, well done you.’

  Louise just shakes her head and tells me that it’s all a bit unseemly, but I can’t agree with her. ‘It’s the war, Louise,’ I say, ‘people seize the moment.’

  Chapter 12

  With the candles flickering in the corner and a bottle of ouzo on the table, Charlie laments the fact that there is no whisky.

  ‘We need a good malt, DP,’ he complains, ‘not this filthy stuff.’ He raises his glass and contemplates the clear liquid.

  Louise pipes up. ‘DP knows how to make whisky. He lived with his uncle on an island distilling it and keeping clear of the police. Tell us about it.’

  ‘It might take a while,’ I say . . .

  HOME

  I had finished school and wanted to get away from the village for a spell. We talked about Glasgow and Inverness, maybe going to see Sheena in Canada, although there was no money for the fare.