Jubilation, Relaxation

Mercifully, Allie’s letter to the head teacher at Akrotiri Primary School had the desired effect, and she received an invitation by post to attend an informal discussion.

At last then, we had a second chance to find Allie some meaningful employment abroad. We had no option therefore but to invest yet more of our precious savings, this time in a weekend break to Cyprus for Allie, between Thursday 23 and Sunday 26 June. Even if her conversation with the head resulted in more commiseration rather than celebration, we could still justify the cost of Allie’s trip. For example, she’d be able to export a few more of our precious possessions. I’d also be able to tell her about our new life first-hand, and she’d be able to tell me all about our old one. I was keen to hear how our affairs were winding up.

However, Allie’s second short holiday in Cyprus during 1994 nearly didn’t happen at all. You see, the head’s invitation caught us by surprise somewhat, a few days before Allie’s distinguished old blue passport was due to expire. Thankfully, the Passport Office at Peterborough issued a new, and much less distinguished, red one in just a few days.

On this matter, I must acknowledge the role played by another special friend. I won’t name most of these friends by the way, they know who they are. You see, Allie hated driving anywhere outside a fifteen-mile radius of our home, particularly to destinations she didn’t know well. When I was undergoing officer training at RAF Cranwell in Lincolnshire, Allie said that she’d come to collect me one weekend. All went well on her journey until she reached the A1 dual carriageway, where she turned south rather than north. As I sat waiting for her in the Officers’ Mess, I received a telephone call saying that she’d be a little late, as she was somewhere in the outskirts of London, not Lincoln!

To reach Peterborough and her new Euro passport, Allie had to negotiate the deceptive A1 for a second time in her life. Without the emotional support of our friend on the day of collection, another excursion via Edgware or Hendon was highly probable.

Allie’s discussion with the head at Akrotiri was on Friday 24 June, and I recall walking back to my room a second time that year, desperate to know how she’d fared in the job market. I was praying quietly to myself that we hadn’t wasted even more money on yet another fool’s errand, when I literally bumped into someone that I knew from the rooms. It was he therefore, rather than Allie, who broke the news. Yes, she stood a reasonable chance of securing the job, although her appointment was still subject to a formal interview later in the summer, when she was resident on the island. When I found Allie in our favourite café, and saw the broad smile on her face, I knew that she felt confident of success.

The sudden sense of relief, at this hugely worrying time in our adventure, sparked a second display of my limited dancing abilities that year, this time in public. Rob and Anne’s embarrassment would have been total, had they been there to see their father’s dismal display. I couldn’t help myself: with Allie in a teaching job, we should be able to survive the impending money crisis in September, even though her salary as an Locally Employed Teacher would be low by UK standards.

This said, Allie had learnt during her visit to the school that there were moves afoot to reward teachers in SCEA schools on an equal basis, irrespective of their place of hiring. As far as we were concerned, this equalisation wouldn’t come a moment too soon. For now though, we were more than content with the knowledge that, God willing, Allie would be working in a British teaching environment from Thursday 1 September.

Once the first wave of rapture had swept over us, we celebrated further with an ice cold coffee frappé, or two. During our drinks, Allie said that the school was superb and that she was looking forward very much to the Autumn Term. Of course, we’d have to apply for a work permit, as mine only authorised Allie to stay on the island as my dependant. However, that should be simple, we’d been told. Clearly, the way things now stood, it made sense for Anne to attend Akrotiri Primary School with Allie in September. Rob, on the other hand, would have to travel to the secondary school at Episkopi every day.

An hour or so later, Allie and I took time-out to enjoy a short siesta before dinner. Such a special day warranted more than a cheap meal of Afelia, or Lounza and Halloumi, at our favourite pavement café nearby. It called instead for a grand mezé, at the fish tavern some twenty minutes distant. This tavern overlooked Limassol’s Old Port and, in the distance, we could see vertical lines of small red dots indicating the aerial farm just outside Akrotiri. RAF Akrotiri, subject of the radio programmes in my youth, port of entry and exit for a young soldier a few years later, now temporary host to the Red Arrows, home to the corporal and his wife, and the family that had kindly offered me a lift. RAF Akrotiri, soon to be my wife’s place of work, with a little more luck.

The tavern setting was very romantic and so appropriate for that particular evening. The offshore breeze was warm, the stars sparkled against an inky blue backdrop, and a fingernail moon sat at a jaunty angle. Sitting on the veranda constructed two or three metres above sea level, the lights from the boats at anchor nearby made sparkling lines on the water. Beneath us, we could hear the sound of waves lapping gently against the pillars of our platform. All round us, was the sound of happy people laughing, joking and enjoying the setting. How could I forget the aroma of freshly caught fish sizzling on the barbecue?

Course after course arrived at our table: red mullet, snapper, white bait, cuttlefish, octopus and squid. The waiter grinned knowingly on presenting each dish, repeating confidently that we wouldn’t finish them all. We did though, with the help of some feral cats lurking under our table. In a timely way, they reminded me of what I had done to Tiger and Snowy, of the sacrifices that they and I had made in securing the new life I desired. Consequently, their wretchedness caused titbits to fall from our table, whenever the waiters weren’t looking.

The evening was special partly because we weren't used to eating in restaurants: cheap taverns and pavement cafés were about our limit at the time. Indeed, we weren’t really used to eating out at all. In our previous lives, any snacks we ate outside our home were generally sandwiches and cans of soft drink, bought from chain stores and consumed al fresco. A sit-down meal of pizza or fish and chips inside a building would have been a treat. It wasn’t that we couldn’t afford to eat out, it just wasn’t part of our normal routine. I could only hope that my performance bonuses and Allie’s pay rise would allow us to eat meals out regularly come the New Year.

An hour or so after our arrival at the restaurant, we paid the bill and headed back to the rooms, dodging yet more potholes and lunatic drivers. The cats were sad to see us go. I felt full and content, feelings that I hadn't experienced for almost a month. Unusually for me, I’d been picking at my food of late.

The bright idea of a night cap led us to another café near my room, which was always frequented for the second half of each day, I’d noticed, by beautiful young women and middle-aged men. I sometimes went there for breakfast and the patrons, knowing of our good fortune by this time, were eager to help us celebrate. Clearly, news spread fast in this tightly knit community. Later that evening, over Ouzo and pistachio nuts, the café owner told us about a new block of bed-sit apartments that would become vacant at the end of July. He thought that they might provide us with suitable family accommodation, because one or two of the apartments would have kitchen areas.

The next day, Allie and I toured the block under the proprietor’s guidance. We’d bought enough new houses in our time to see beyond the rickety scaffolding, scattered timber and rough walls, and visualise what the bedsits would look like when they were finished. Clearly, the accommodation would be bright, clean and conveniently located for work. It seemed so swish in fact, that we reserved two apartments on the first floor there and then: a double-bedded unit with a kitchenette for us, and a twin-bedded one across the corridor for Rob and Anne.

Although the children’s new surroundings would be nothing like the spacious splendour that they enjoyed in England, we felt confident that they would be happy there. The bedsits would be short-term holiday lodgings, similar to those we’d all enjoyed in Protraras three years earlier. They’d be acceptable stopgap accommodation, until we could find a nice flat or house to rent on a long-term basis.

As the picture of our immediate future became clearer still, Allie made ready for a semi-triumphal return home. There was no thought of turning back now, or of cancelling our venture as a way of resolving my uncertainty. We were beyond the point of return now. There was no option but to go forward.

When the time came for Allie’s flight, yet another emotional parting upset both of us. Allie knew that a lot of hard work still lay ahead of her, before she could board the plane in a month’s time with a clear conscience, two children and sixty kilos of excess baggage. From my point of view, I knew that I was going to miss my best friend, mentor and confidant, particularly during my forthcoming business trip. The moment I saw the rear bumper of her taxi round the corner and disappear from sight, I knew that she was gone and I was alone again. For some odd reason, I suddenly felt empty, insecure and vulnerable.

Perhaps part of my feeling was due to my concern about Allie’s late night trip to Larnaca Airport, this time with a taxi driver that I didn’t know. However, I needn’t have been worried about her safety. Crime against people as well as property was rare in Cyprus, except amongst hardened gangsters and some foreigners. In 1994, lone women could walk the streets of Limassol, Paphos and Nicosia safely at night, without fearing attacks by strangers. This seemed so different to the late night circumstances in my hometown in England.

Limassol even had a blind lottery-ticket seller, plying his trade by day and night, in offices and bars. I admired his courage so much that I sometimes invested a few cents with him, in the hope of curing our financial difficulties at a stroke. It didn’t work. Perhaps, I’d just about exhausted my supply of luck that year.