Fancifulness and Fantasy
By the following morning, a heady mixture of sun, sea and sentimentality had all but overwhelmed my awful experience in that side street. With a substantial breakfast inside me, I readied myself for my ten o’clock appointment with the chairman. I remember clearly sliding into my interview suit ready for breakfast and sauntering along the sea front, full of optimism and enthusiasm. So what, if the foyer to my new employer’s premises was smelly and grubby? I wouldn’t be working in the foyer. Several floors up, the panoramic view of Limassol Bay should indeed be stunning.
What a sight I must have made that morning, so full of English elegance once again, yet so inappropriately dressed for a Mediterranean summer day. The foreign holidaymakers I passed – breakfasting on eggs and bacon at pavement cafés - must have thought that I was an escaped lunatic. My only concession to the extreme climate, you see, was my sun glasses. I’d bought these from England to deter the white frown marks that always resulted when I screwed up my eyes against bright sun light. The very same facial creases that always dogged my vane attempts to gain an even tan.
I was not the only representative of English culture in this brightly-lit scene though. As I dawdled, to make sure that I reached the chairman’s offices on the stroke of ten, I noticed some sprightly old British cars; classics, almost, that I’d last seen in my childhood. Familiar makes like Hillman, Austin and Morris. They were all there; chugging along Limassol’s thoroughfares. There was little rust in this hot dry climate, and I could only hope that Cyprus’ sun and warmth would similarly preserve my bodywork as I grew old.
On entering that dreadful side street for a second time in twenty-four hours, it was clear that some hero had emptied the cesspit, for the awful smell had gone. Gone too was most of the dust and litter that had accumulated in the lobby, and added to the building’s general feeling of grime. The swept floors were the work of a middle-aged woman who was now swishing litres of murky water into the gutter with the aid of a hose pipe. I mused whether the afternoon sea breeze would dry out the dust and whip it back into the foyer come nightfall, in a cycle guaranteeing the woman perpetual employment.
That bright warm Monday morning, it was now the dinginess and coolness of the lobby that struck me most. Consequently, I emerged from the lift onto the appointed floor blinking and feeling almost refreshed. As I walked through the office door there, before me, just as I’d been promised by the brochures, was an entirely different world: one of lush green pot plants, polished marble and smoked glass.
I was welcomed politely by the receptionist and made to feel comfortable on a black leather settee. As I sipped a second cup of acrid black tea, whilst waiting for the chairman to become free, I felt reassured and relaxed. This was exactly what I’d wanted to see the day before; apart from the apparent lack of people. There just didn’t seem to be enough employees to support the brochure’s claim that this was the global headquarters of a successful group of companies. They were probably on different floors, or in nearby buildings, I supposed.
I have to say that, internally, the offices of my prospective employer were well appointed. I got up to stretch my legs at one point during my wait. From my standing position, I could see for myself that the views from the immense windows that formed one wall of the floor were genuinely spectacular. By standing against these windows and craning my neck from left to right, I could see all the way from Limassol’s five star hotels to Akrotiri Point. What a panorama! Now I felt sure that the rest of the claims in the company’s literature were true.
Above Aktotiri Point, I could see the RAF’s Red Arrows practising for their summer season. With multicoloured plumes scratching the blue sky, the Hawks’ synchronised gyrations seemed to herald my arrival and bode well for the future. The display team’s salute seemed to complete the one that the two Hercules had started several weeks earlier. What other explanation could there be for something so familiar to an ex-RAF officer, happening on that particular April morning? Aerial salutes by my former military colleagues, whether real or imagined, were fast becoming a feature of my Cypriot adventure.
Watching the Red Arrows from afar caused pride to surge around my body, and my spirits to rise. For six brief years, I’d been part of the prestigious Armed Force that they represented and advertised. I could only hope that my future colleagues would offer the kind of teamwork and purpose that I’d enjoyed so much in the RAF, and on numerous occasions since leaving it.
As my wait for the chairman continued, I returned to the comfortable settee and sank into it, to indulge in another little daydream. This time, I imagined myself standing next to Akrotiri’s runway. Looking up, I could see glinting cockpits and white vortices spiralling from the Red Arrow’s wing tips, as the pilots banked pitched and yawed. The air shuddered violently as the small agile craft swept past me at low level. The roar of their engines deafened me temporarily.
During one daring manoeuvre, the one where the whole formation soars upwards together then breaks apart at the top of the climb to allow each pilot to dive earthwards on a different course, I felt a rush of elation. The delicious smell of aviation spirit mixed with coloured oil, to form the aircrafts’ chemical streamers, added to the moment. All I could do was watch with wonder and awe.
My aerobatics daydream over, I compared the military pilots’ skills to my own woeful abilities in a cockpit, at an earlier time in my life. It was a humbling experience. At the tender age of nineteen, I’d gained my Private Pilots’ Licence courtesy of the Royal Navy. I’d stayed ‘current’ for a while, until the financial hardships of university life put the cost of flying out of reach. Nonetheless, the thought did cross my mind that, if Akrotiri had a Flying Club, I might hone my flying skills again one day soon, in this very pleasant and placid climate. You see, anything seemed possible in the bright, new world that I was about to enter.
A short while later, the chairman became free. We shook hands warmly, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. During our discussion however, some of my high hopes for an ‘anything’s possible’ life in the sun were dashed. Our discussion was convivial and constructive enough, but I was alarmed to learn that the chairman hadn’t recruited the other two members of staff that he originally wanted during his time in London. Indeed, I gained the impression that my salary ‘package’ was going to absorb the entire budget that he’d set aside for all three posts, and that my job specification might be an amalgam of the original consultation, marketing and accountancy requirements.
I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable about this. Particularly if it meant that I would have to undertake the travelling abroad necessary to fulfil the marketing and consultation positions. On a more positive note though, the chairman’s willingness to change and develop his organisation seemed strong. Clearly, if I took the job, there'd be huge challenges ahead for both of us.
After my meeting with the chairman, and several follow-up discussions with potential colleagues who occupied adjacent offices, my mind turned to other matters. Chief amongst them was my family’s future regarding schooling, but that would have to wait until the morrow, since it was midday by this time and the schools would close soon. A little guiltily, I walked back to my hotel, grabbed a towel, and headed for the swimming pool.
What a sight I must have made that morning, so full of English elegance once again, yet so inappropriately dressed for a Mediterranean summer day. The foreign holidaymakers I passed – breakfasting on eggs and bacon at pavement cafés - must have thought that I was an escaped lunatic. My only concession to the extreme climate, you see, was my sun glasses. I’d bought these from England to deter the white frown marks that always resulted when I screwed up my eyes against bright sun light. The very same facial creases that always dogged my vane attempts to gain an even tan.
I was not the only representative of English culture in this brightly-lit scene though. As I dawdled, to make sure that I reached the chairman’s offices on the stroke of ten, I noticed some sprightly old British cars; classics, almost, that I’d last seen in my childhood. Familiar makes like Hillman, Austin and Morris. They were all there; chugging along Limassol’s thoroughfares. There was little rust in this hot dry climate, and I could only hope that Cyprus’ sun and warmth would similarly preserve my bodywork as I grew old.
On entering that dreadful side street for a second time in twenty-four hours, it was clear that some hero had emptied the cesspit, for the awful smell had gone. Gone too was most of the dust and litter that had accumulated in the lobby, and added to the building’s general feeling of grime. The swept floors were the work of a middle-aged woman who was now swishing litres of murky water into the gutter with the aid of a hose pipe. I mused whether the afternoon sea breeze would dry out the dust and whip it back into the foyer come nightfall, in a cycle guaranteeing the woman perpetual employment.
That bright warm Monday morning, it was now the dinginess and coolness of the lobby that struck me most. Consequently, I emerged from the lift onto the appointed floor blinking and feeling almost refreshed. As I walked through the office door there, before me, just as I’d been promised by the brochures, was an entirely different world: one of lush green pot plants, polished marble and smoked glass.
I was welcomed politely by the receptionist and made to feel comfortable on a black leather settee. As I sipped a second cup of acrid black tea, whilst waiting for the chairman to become free, I felt reassured and relaxed. This was exactly what I’d wanted to see the day before; apart from the apparent lack of people. There just didn’t seem to be enough employees to support the brochure’s claim that this was the global headquarters of a successful group of companies. They were probably on different floors, or in nearby buildings, I supposed.
I have to say that, internally, the offices of my prospective employer were well appointed. I got up to stretch my legs at one point during my wait. From my standing position, I could see for myself that the views from the immense windows that formed one wall of the floor were genuinely spectacular. By standing against these windows and craning my neck from left to right, I could see all the way from Limassol’s five star hotels to Akrotiri Point. What a panorama! Now I felt sure that the rest of the claims in the company’s literature were true.
Above Aktotiri Point, I could see the RAF’s Red Arrows practising for their summer season. With multicoloured plumes scratching the blue sky, the Hawks’ synchronised gyrations seemed to herald my arrival and bode well for the future. The display team’s salute seemed to complete the one that the two Hercules had started several weeks earlier. What other explanation could there be for something so familiar to an ex-RAF officer, happening on that particular April morning? Aerial salutes by my former military colleagues, whether real or imagined, were fast becoming a feature of my Cypriot adventure.
Watching the Red Arrows from afar caused pride to surge around my body, and my spirits to rise. For six brief years, I’d been part of the prestigious Armed Force that they represented and advertised. I could only hope that my future colleagues would offer the kind of teamwork and purpose that I’d enjoyed so much in the RAF, and on numerous occasions since leaving it.
As my wait for the chairman continued, I returned to the comfortable settee and sank into it, to indulge in another little daydream. This time, I imagined myself standing next to Akrotiri’s runway. Looking up, I could see glinting cockpits and white vortices spiralling from the Red Arrow’s wing tips, as the pilots banked pitched and yawed. The air shuddered violently as the small agile craft swept past me at low level. The roar of their engines deafened me temporarily.
During one daring manoeuvre, the one where the whole formation soars upwards together then breaks apart at the top of the climb to allow each pilot to dive earthwards on a different course, I felt a rush of elation. The delicious smell of aviation spirit mixed with coloured oil, to form the aircrafts’ chemical streamers, added to the moment. All I could do was watch with wonder and awe.
My aerobatics daydream over, I compared the military pilots’ skills to my own woeful abilities in a cockpit, at an earlier time in my life. It was a humbling experience. At the tender age of nineteen, I’d gained my Private Pilots’ Licence courtesy of the Royal Navy. I’d stayed ‘current’ for a while, until the financial hardships of university life put the cost of flying out of reach. Nonetheless, the thought did cross my mind that, if Akrotiri had a Flying Club, I might hone my flying skills again one day soon, in this very pleasant and placid climate. You see, anything seemed possible in the bright, new world that I was about to enter.
A short while later, the chairman became free. We shook hands warmly, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. During our discussion however, some of my high hopes for an ‘anything’s possible’ life in the sun were dashed. Our discussion was convivial and constructive enough, but I was alarmed to learn that the chairman hadn’t recruited the other two members of staff that he originally wanted during his time in London. Indeed, I gained the impression that my salary ‘package’ was going to absorb the entire budget that he’d set aside for all three posts, and that my job specification might be an amalgam of the original consultation, marketing and accountancy requirements.
I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable about this. Particularly if it meant that I would have to undertake the travelling abroad necessary to fulfil the marketing and consultation positions. On a more positive note though, the chairman’s willingness to change and develop his organisation seemed strong. Clearly, if I took the job, there'd be huge challenges ahead for both of us.
After my meeting with the chairman, and several follow-up discussions with potential colleagues who occupied adjacent offices, my mind turned to other matters. Chief amongst them was my family’s future regarding schooling, but that would have to wait until the morrow, since it was midday by this time and the schools would close soon. A little guiltily, I walked back to my hotel, grabbed a towel, and headed for the swimming pool.
posted by Hawkeye at 9:04 am
