The Opportunity
Over the previous thirteen years, I’d completed some pretty exciting and prestigious projects. In recognition of my achievements, my professional body had made me a Fellow at the tender age of thirty, the youngest possible. I’d also gained a Master’s Degree in my field. It wasn’t at all clear at the outset of my search what challenge might surpass these honours and awards, but there had to be something, somewhere.
My ‘gung-ho’ spirit didn’t last long though. After scouring many job advertisements over many weeks, it seemed as if I might have peaked too early in my career. None of the challenges on offer in recession-hit Britain provided a natural progression, let alone a bold leap forward, from my current position. I began to worry. Self-doubt was something I hadn’t experienced before and I had to convince myself that my career wasn’t finished yet. No, the next bold venture would present itself. I just had to be patient.
In December 1993, fate offered me the bright new challenge that I craved. The advertisement read:
‘CAREER OPPORTUNITIES ... A successful group of offshore companies serving clients in the Middle East for the past twenty five years offers dynamic growth opportunities to support its planned expansion. We wish to attract professional staff for our Limassol, Cyprus based corporate headquarters to assist management in developing new markets and to provide existing clients with an expanded range of services. (An) Attractive tax-free salary and generous benefits package (is) available.
(A) consultant (is needed) to evaluate existing … services and develop customised programmes to meet client specifications. (S/he will) Assist management in planning (and have) … a proven record of results … to support (the) expansion of services. (S/he will also have) Five to ten years experience … preferably in the Middle East.’
The same advertisement also described two other posts available, in marketing and finance. Mine (the one described above) was just about perfect, except for the words ‘assisting management’ and ‘experience … in the Middle East’. I’d been in management for many years and felt unsure about stepping down into an assistant’s role. Also, I’d never worked in the Middle East, but I had worked in Europe, and I was young, enthusiastic and very willing to learn.
I recall vividly my exhilaration on seeing the advertisement. It was so overwhelming that I had to read it many times over, just to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing some cruel trick. I wanted to wring every last subtle interpretation out of the words before me. Once my adrenaline had subsided, I launched a campaign so impelling that it would guarantee my appointment. Why was this job so perfect? Well, it seemed to offer my ultimate challenge and a chance to gain extra international experience. Much more importantly, it was based on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean Sea, in Cyprus an island I knew quite well.
My love affair with this part of the world had begun in the summer of 1975. More precisely, on the day that I set off from home as a young student, with a rucksack and an Inter-Rail pass and a strong determination to reach Greece. I’d never been abroad before and, after several days of being tossed about in various railway carriages, I eventually arrived in Athens. Having gained my bearings, I then travelled in the company of other unwashed layabouts around the Peloponese Peninsular, visiting the ancient city of Olympia on the way.
Arriving back in Athens some days later, I headed straight for the port of Piraeus and a ferry that would take me to an island called Santorini, also known as Thira. I stayed in this magical place for a week or so, before reluctantly heading home. I found Greece and its archipelago awesome. So much so that I went back there twice in succeeding summers with Allie, by then my girlfriend. Both of us became devoted sun worshippers, with insatiable tastes for olives, Ouzo and moussaka.
I made another visit to the region around this time. As an impoverished student and reservist, I’d grabbed every opportunity to serve with regular army units during my college vacations. One such detachment had taken me to Cyprus in 1976, two years after the Greek-backed coup ended with the Turkish invasion.
Despite the island’s political and cultural troubles at the time, indelibly etched on my mind were wonderful memories of glorious sunshine, easy-going people and superb sports facilities. I’ll never forget, for instance, the Sunday that I went gliding at Dhekelia. What an experience that was. The g-force generated by a powerful hoist yanking me along the runway on the end of a flimsy wire. The terror caused by the glider’s ugly pursuit of altitude. The roar of the wind as it forced its way into the open cockpit. The stomach-churning nose dip when the cable was released. Then, the blue sky and the red brown hills, and the serenity of my lingering return to earth.
I repeated many of these breath-taking thrills a few days later, in the back of a four-ton lorry whilst visiting the military base at mounts Troodos and Olympus. At six thousand feet above sea level, they were ideal locations for radar sites and outdoor pursuit facilities. Cyprus’ mountains were enchanting: so cool and crisp and pine-scented, and so much of a contrast to the muggy heat at the coast.
I also recall clearly my return to England via RAF Akrotiri, at the end of my stay in Episkopi Garrison. I remember the 34 Squadron airmen guarding the main gate, 84 Squadron’s Whirlwind helicopters and the new air terminal building. I’d previously heard of this far-flung air force station from the BBC’s Sunday lunchtime broadcasts during my childhood. During the radio shows, families and friends of airmen ‘back home’ would send messages to their loved ones in the eastern Med., between requested songs. I’d listen to them all whilst waiting for The Navy Lark or Round the Horn to begin, and my mother to serve my brothers and I with roast beef and all the trimmings.
When I left the RAF in 1986, to pursue a career in industry, I recall saying to Allie that a tour in Cyprus would have kept me in blue uniform. Such was my love for Aphrodite’s Isle that, in the spring of 1991, I persuaded her to spend our annual family holiday in the purpose-built resort at Protaras. We had a restful vacation on the East Coast of the island, in an apartment block with a spacious pool. However, I was disappointed to find that Cyprus had traded some of its hospitality and beauty, for capitalism and concrete during my fifteen-year absence. Despite the sullying of my memories, I was still very attracted to the life style there. Apparently, I said to Allie at the end of our stay that one day we’d come back permanently. I always had been a dreamer but, two years on, it seemed that this special dream might just come true.
The initial response to my job application arrived through our letterbox in mid-January 1994. The letter said that the company was still receiving applications and that short-listing would occur in due course. In the meantime, I must wait to hear if I’d been successful. By Monday 28 February, six whole weeks later, I still hadn’t received any news. Allie and I had become extremely agitated by this time and very uncertain what our future might hold. We had horrible feelings that my application had foundered, yet both of us still had our hearts set on a new life under a Cypriot sun.
I remember clearly a television series on BBC 1 during those first few months of 1994 called ‘Love Hurts.’ Adam Faith (Frank) and Zoë Wanamaker (Tessa) played a married couple setting up a winemaking business in Israel. It was ridiculous, I know, but I actually felt jealous of the characters they portrayed, for they had the life-style and climate that I so desperately wanted for my family. As the actors delivered their lines, I could feel the warm sun on their faces. I found that I could empathise with the characters’ emotions too, for our story line was suffering similar twists and turns to theirs. Having experienced the emotional high of the advertisement and our downward spiral since, it seemed that our fledgling adventure might suffer a similar disastrous fate.
Frustrated by an unfamiliar lack of control over my destiny, indeed almost panic stricken that we wouldn’t be moving to Cyprus at all, I composed an unsolicited letter to the company. To maximise its impact, I recall sitting in one of our two south-facing bedrooms one Saturday morning analysing the corporate brochure that had accompanied the initial reply. A few hours later, I’d perfected an evocative and persuasive dispatch, the aim of which was to trigger a second more positive response from the company. In it, I listed point-by-point the skills and experience I could offer my new employer in each of its markets. I felt that I could do no more.
By the time the company’s second reply flopped onto our doormat, a bitter mixture of hope and concern had made Allie and I nauseous. We’d done little else over the past few months but speculate on what might happen regarding my job application, and our reaction to every conceivable outcome. In some ways therefore, we’d diluted our aspirations since the dizzy days after seeing the advertisement, in a vein attempt to retain our sanity.
On opening the letter, which we delayed for some minutes fearful of what it might contain, we found that I was on the short-list! The job was mine – well, almost! Feelings of immense relief and elation resulted. We felt intoxicated by the prospect of a bright ‘new start’. Looking back now, we were either blissfully ignorant of the major risks that we’d be taking from then on, or wonderfully brave, or incredibly stupid. It must have been the former though, because I don’t recall worrying about losing touch with our close friends, or squandering our material wealth. No, on reflection, I’m sure that we weren’t heroes or dullards.
Restlessness, a thirst for adventure and fate had all conspired to send us on an exhilarating and mysterious journey, and we were intrigued to find out where they might take us. The trouble was, events were about to gain a significant momentum of their own; one that would make them difficult to halt, let alone reverse, without serious damage. Unknowingly, we had already begun to cut the invisible tethers that we’d tied so carefully to relationships and objects over the years; tethers that, until now, had ensured our long-term security as a family.
In the lead-up to my interview, I spent many hours preparing an impressive career portfolio, and rehearsing the answers to every predictable question with Allie. I also spent a long time under my sun lamp and at the gym, to give the impression of being well travelled and fit. I was determined to overwhelm my prospective employer at our first meeting by using all the means at my disposal. By the time my interview was over, he was going to think me indispensable to his company’s future.
This outlook and resolve were so typical of me at the time: I was a competitive, assertive, go-getter; one of life’s winners. I was an intellectual of sorts, with the practicality and emotional stability to make things happen. I felt confident and important, and that my views on most issues mattered. The money in our bank account gave me the independence and the freedom to think expansively. At work, I was a successful and reliable employee; colleagues respected me, apparently. I enjoyed my own company and the company of others. I had status in society whilst, at home, I was the ‘man of the house’: a proper husband, caring father and attentive son.
To ensure the irresistible first impression that I desired, Allie and I decided to invest some of our savings in a new lightweight suit, as well as a matching shirt, tie and shoes. When I had dressed in them, she said that I definitely looked like an international high-flier. With a day to go, I was more than ready to overwhelm my prospective employer and leave all the other candidates in my wake.
The first time slot allocated to ‘potential consultants’ on Thursday 7 April was mine, and I wasn’t at all sure whether that was a good sign. I’d decided not to travel by car to the plush Knightsbridge hotel set aside for the interviews. The traffic would be too heavy and finding a parking space nearby almost impossible. The train service to London from my hometown was good, so it was easy for me to opt for the more passive journey. If nothing else, a seat in First Class would give me additional time to reflect and prepare.
I recall being dumbfounded as the train arrived at the platform that morning, by the antics of two RAF Hercules aircraft. They were below the cloud-base and about three miles away, adopting a low-level course parallel to the one that I was about to take. Call me crazy if you like, but the pilots seemed to be condoning my intended move south, first to my interview in London and later towards RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus with my family.
The aircraft certainly boosted my spirits. They seemed to be a blessing from my former life as an RAF officer, a life that I still held very dear. You see, if I hadn’t left the RAF in 1986, my next posting would have been to the Hercules Operational Conversion Unit. I lost sight of the military aircraft on entering the train. Their salute complete, they’d peeled south west, heading for Wiltshire perhaps.
I arrived at St. Pancras railway station an hour later. It was raining heavily by this time. ‘Just my luck,’ I recall thinking, ‘All the effort I’ve put into my appearance will soon count for nothing. As soon as I leave the Tube, I’ll transform instantly into a drowned rat.’
On leaving the Underground at South Kensington therefore, I only had one thing on my mind: to purchase an umbrella. Fortunately, Marks and Spencer came to my rescue and I was able to arrive at the hotel looking damp but not drenched. As I entered the interview room, I felt self-assured and prepared. Not one bit nervous.
My ‘gung-ho’ spirit didn’t last long though. After scouring many job advertisements over many weeks, it seemed as if I might have peaked too early in my career. None of the challenges on offer in recession-hit Britain provided a natural progression, let alone a bold leap forward, from my current position. I began to worry. Self-doubt was something I hadn’t experienced before and I had to convince myself that my career wasn’t finished yet. No, the next bold venture would present itself. I just had to be patient.
In December 1993, fate offered me the bright new challenge that I craved. The advertisement read:
‘CAREER OPPORTUNITIES ... A successful group of offshore companies serving clients in the Middle East for the past twenty five years offers dynamic growth opportunities to support its planned expansion. We wish to attract professional staff for our Limassol, Cyprus based corporate headquarters to assist management in developing new markets and to provide existing clients with an expanded range of services. (An) Attractive tax-free salary and generous benefits package (is) available.
(A) consultant (is needed) to evaluate existing … services and develop customised programmes to meet client specifications. (S/he will) Assist management in planning (and have) … a proven record of results … to support (the) expansion of services. (S/he will also have) Five to ten years experience … preferably in the Middle East.’
The same advertisement also described two other posts available, in marketing and finance. Mine (the one described above) was just about perfect, except for the words ‘assisting management’ and ‘experience … in the Middle East’. I’d been in management for many years and felt unsure about stepping down into an assistant’s role. Also, I’d never worked in the Middle East, but I had worked in Europe, and I was young, enthusiastic and very willing to learn.
I recall vividly my exhilaration on seeing the advertisement. It was so overwhelming that I had to read it many times over, just to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing some cruel trick. I wanted to wring every last subtle interpretation out of the words before me. Once my adrenaline had subsided, I launched a campaign so impelling that it would guarantee my appointment. Why was this job so perfect? Well, it seemed to offer my ultimate challenge and a chance to gain extra international experience. Much more importantly, it was based on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean Sea, in Cyprus an island I knew quite well.
My love affair with this part of the world had begun in the summer of 1975. More precisely, on the day that I set off from home as a young student, with a rucksack and an Inter-Rail pass and a strong determination to reach Greece. I’d never been abroad before and, after several days of being tossed about in various railway carriages, I eventually arrived in Athens. Having gained my bearings, I then travelled in the company of other unwashed layabouts around the Peloponese Peninsular, visiting the ancient city of Olympia on the way.
Arriving back in Athens some days later, I headed straight for the port of Piraeus and a ferry that would take me to an island called Santorini, also known as Thira. I stayed in this magical place for a week or so, before reluctantly heading home. I found Greece and its archipelago awesome. So much so that I went back there twice in succeeding summers with Allie, by then my girlfriend. Both of us became devoted sun worshippers, with insatiable tastes for olives, Ouzo and moussaka.
I made another visit to the region around this time. As an impoverished student and reservist, I’d grabbed every opportunity to serve with regular army units during my college vacations. One such detachment had taken me to Cyprus in 1976, two years after the Greek-backed coup ended with the Turkish invasion.
Despite the island’s political and cultural troubles at the time, indelibly etched on my mind were wonderful memories of glorious sunshine, easy-going people and superb sports facilities. I’ll never forget, for instance, the Sunday that I went gliding at Dhekelia. What an experience that was. The g-force generated by a powerful hoist yanking me along the runway on the end of a flimsy wire. The terror caused by the glider’s ugly pursuit of altitude. The roar of the wind as it forced its way into the open cockpit. The stomach-churning nose dip when the cable was released. Then, the blue sky and the red brown hills, and the serenity of my lingering return to earth.
I repeated many of these breath-taking thrills a few days later, in the back of a four-ton lorry whilst visiting the military base at mounts Troodos and Olympus. At six thousand feet above sea level, they were ideal locations for radar sites and outdoor pursuit facilities. Cyprus’ mountains were enchanting: so cool and crisp and pine-scented, and so much of a contrast to the muggy heat at the coast.
I also recall clearly my return to England via RAF Akrotiri, at the end of my stay in Episkopi Garrison. I remember the 34 Squadron airmen guarding the main gate, 84 Squadron’s Whirlwind helicopters and the new air terminal building. I’d previously heard of this far-flung air force station from the BBC’s Sunday lunchtime broadcasts during my childhood. During the radio shows, families and friends of airmen ‘back home’ would send messages to their loved ones in the eastern Med., between requested songs. I’d listen to them all whilst waiting for The Navy Lark or Round the Horn to begin, and my mother to serve my brothers and I with roast beef and all the trimmings.
When I left the RAF in 1986, to pursue a career in industry, I recall saying to Allie that a tour in Cyprus would have kept me in blue uniform. Such was my love for Aphrodite’s Isle that, in the spring of 1991, I persuaded her to spend our annual family holiday in the purpose-built resort at Protaras. We had a restful vacation on the East Coast of the island, in an apartment block with a spacious pool. However, I was disappointed to find that Cyprus had traded some of its hospitality and beauty, for capitalism and concrete during my fifteen-year absence. Despite the sullying of my memories, I was still very attracted to the life style there. Apparently, I said to Allie at the end of our stay that one day we’d come back permanently. I always had been a dreamer but, two years on, it seemed that this special dream might just come true.
The initial response to my job application arrived through our letterbox in mid-January 1994. The letter said that the company was still receiving applications and that short-listing would occur in due course. In the meantime, I must wait to hear if I’d been successful. By Monday 28 February, six whole weeks later, I still hadn’t received any news. Allie and I had become extremely agitated by this time and very uncertain what our future might hold. We had horrible feelings that my application had foundered, yet both of us still had our hearts set on a new life under a Cypriot sun.
I remember clearly a television series on BBC 1 during those first few months of 1994 called ‘Love Hurts.’ Adam Faith (Frank) and Zoë Wanamaker (Tessa) played a married couple setting up a winemaking business in Israel. It was ridiculous, I know, but I actually felt jealous of the characters they portrayed, for they had the life-style and climate that I so desperately wanted for my family. As the actors delivered their lines, I could feel the warm sun on their faces. I found that I could empathise with the characters’ emotions too, for our story line was suffering similar twists and turns to theirs. Having experienced the emotional high of the advertisement and our downward spiral since, it seemed that our fledgling adventure might suffer a similar disastrous fate.
Frustrated by an unfamiliar lack of control over my destiny, indeed almost panic stricken that we wouldn’t be moving to Cyprus at all, I composed an unsolicited letter to the company. To maximise its impact, I recall sitting in one of our two south-facing bedrooms one Saturday morning analysing the corporate brochure that had accompanied the initial reply. A few hours later, I’d perfected an evocative and persuasive dispatch, the aim of which was to trigger a second more positive response from the company. In it, I listed point-by-point the skills and experience I could offer my new employer in each of its markets. I felt that I could do no more.
By the time the company’s second reply flopped onto our doormat, a bitter mixture of hope and concern had made Allie and I nauseous. We’d done little else over the past few months but speculate on what might happen regarding my job application, and our reaction to every conceivable outcome. In some ways therefore, we’d diluted our aspirations since the dizzy days after seeing the advertisement, in a vein attempt to retain our sanity.
On opening the letter, which we delayed for some minutes fearful of what it might contain, we found that I was on the short-list! The job was mine – well, almost! Feelings of immense relief and elation resulted. We felt intoxicated by the prospect of a bright ‘new start’. Looking back now, we were either blissfully ignorant of the major risks that we’d be taking from then on, or wonderfully brave, or incredibly stupid. It must have been the former though, because I don’t recall worrying about losing touch with our close friends, or squandering our material wealth. No, on reflection, I’m sure that we weren’t heroes or dullards.
Restlessness, a thirst for adventure and fate had all conspired to send us on an exhilarating and mysterious journey, and we were intrigued to find out where they might take us. The trouble was, events were about to gain a significant momentum of their own; one that would make them difficult to halt, let alone reverse, without serious damage. Unknowingly, we had already begun to cut the invisible tethers that we’d tied so carefully to relationships and objects over the years; tethers that, until now, had ensured our long-term security as a family.
In the lead-up to my interview, I spent many hours preparing an impressive career portfolio, and rehearsing the answers to every predictable question with Allie. I also spent a long time under my sun lamp and at the gym, to give the impression of being well travelled and fit. I was determined to overwhelm my prospective employer at our first meeting by using all the means at my disposal. By the time my interview was over, he was going to think me indispensable to his company’s future.
This outlook and resolve were so typical of me at the time: I was a competitive, assertive, go-getter; one of life’s winners. I was an intellectual of sorts, with the practicality and emotional stability to make things happen. I felt confident and important, and that my views on most issues mattered. The money in our bank account gave me the independence and the freedom to think expansively. At work, I was a successful and reliable employee; colleagues respected me, apparently. I enjoyed my own company and the company of others. I had status in society whilst, at home, I was the ‘man of the house’: a proper husband, caring father and attentive son.
To ensure the irresistible first impression that I desired, Allie and I decided to invest some of our savings in a new lightweight suit, as well as a matching shirt, tie and shoes. When I had dressed in them, she said that I definitely looked like an international high-flier. With a day to go, I was more than ready to overwhelm my prospective employer and leave all the other candidates in my wake.
The first time slot allocated to ‘potential consultants’ on Thursday 7 April was mine, and I wasn’t at all sure whether that was a good sign. I’d decided not to travel by car to the plush Knightsbridge hotel set aside for the interviews. The traffic would be too heavy and finding a parking space nearby almost impossible. The train service to London from my hometown was good, so it was easy for me to opt for the more passive journey. If nothing else, a seat in First Class would give me additional time to reflect and prepare.
I recall being dumbfounded as the train arrived at the platform that morning, by the antics of two RAF Hercules aircraft. They were below the cloud-base and about three miles away, adopting a low-level course parallel to the one that I was about to take. Call me crazy if you like, but the pilots seemed to be condoning my intended move south, first to my interview in London and later towards RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus with my family.
The aircraft certainly boosted my spirits. They seemed to be a blessing from my former life as an RAF officer, a life that I still held very dear. You see, if I hadn’t left the RAF in 1986, my next posting would have been to the Hercules Operational Conversion Unit. I lost sight of the military aircraft on entering the train. Their salute complete, they’d peeled south west, heading for Wiltshire perhaps.
I arrived at St. Pancras railway station an hour later. It was raining heavily by this time. ‘Just my luck,’ I recall thinking, ‘All the effort I’ve put into my appearance will soon count for nothing. As soon as I leave the Tube, I’ll transform instantly into a drowned rat.’
On leaving the Underground at South Kensington therefore, I only had one thing on my mind: to purchase an umbrella. Fortunately, Marks and Spencer came to my rescue and I was able to arrive at the hotel looking damp but not drenched. As I entered the interview room, I felt self-assured and prepared. Not one bit nervous.
posted by Hawkeye at 6:27 am
