大象传媒

My father worked for intelligence during the war alongside his civilian job as a telephone engineer seconded to the Palestinian Post and Telegraph service.
In March 1943, after the eighth army had routed the Germans in North Africa, the British Home Office sent him on a mission to Vice Marshal Smuts, the South African premier. I can honestly say that I do not know its purpose; it was all very hush-hush. To provide cover the government paid for my mother and us three children, aged ten, eight and five, to accompany him. I was the oldest.
Although the government happily sent us to South Africa, it was not so willing to free valued shipping space for my mother and us children to return with my father. We remained stranded in South Africa.
My mother sent us children to a hostel in Zululand while she taught in Inanda, a boarding school for African girls in Phoenix, outside Durban and embarked on the Herculean task of getting us back to Palestine.
Eventually she realised that, due to wartime shipping secrecy, her efforts would be futile so long as we children were not in Durban, ready to board as soon as tickets became available. She wrote telling to take a train to Durban where she booked us a room in a 鈥榟otel鈥�, which she was too innocent to know was really a brothel serving white-skinned servicemen on shore leave. Before returning to teaching my mother revealed our role in her plans.
鈥淧eggy, I am leaving here all our luggage here with you. On Fridays, you are to pack all your things except your play clothes and straight after breakfast on Saturdays, you will take the luggage and join the queue outside Thomas Cooks. I will meet you there when I can get away.鈥�
She handed me a piece of paper giving the name of the local elementary school and told me to enrol ourselves on Monday.
The hotel owner, a huge ginger-haired lady, was not amused when she found my mother gone. We sat cowering on the bed-bug infested mattress, while she thudded round the wrap-around veranda bellowing that she would throw us onto the street. I couldn鈥檛 think what to do if she fulfilled the promise.
Eventually the landlady flung open the door of our room and proceeded to lay down her rules.
* "You will come straight to the dining room for your tea when school finishes.
* You will never wander round the building.
* After tea you will either keep to your room or stay out until bedtime.
Most times, we opted for staying out.
While the weather continued warm, we took our swimming costumes to the beach and when it grew dark, dressed and moved onto the streets.
I learned many things as we wandered round at night, but even more from my fellow pupils in the D stream of Standard 4, where, because I was judged a refugee, and probably because of my address, the headmaster had seen fit to place me.
These girls, older than me because they had regularly been kept down at the end of a school year, may have been academic failures but their wartime street knowledge would have filled an encyclopaedia.
Their widest area of expertise lay in the art of picking up sailors - Yanks by preference but Aussies were also popular. They had standards, my classmates. They wouldn't do 'it' for less than a whole packet of cigarettes or a large box of Maltesers.
This concept of sex as a service industry was new to me. My mother had led me to believe that sex was something husbands forced on wives who had to suffer in silence to make up for Eve having disobeyed God.
Now, I discovered, men could do 'it' to any one, but they had to agree to pay beforehand. If they refused one could get rid of them with a quick kick to the groin.
I kept aloof from this lucrative occupation. Not through righteousness, nor because Beryl and Hugh accompanied me everywhere. (After all my classmates did not allow their often more onerous responsibilities for younger siblings to cramp their style) I knew instinctively that this particular activity, while acceptable to 鈥榩oor whites鈥�, was not 'quite the thing鈥� for us British and I also knew that the British were never 'poor whites,' however little money they possessed.
My classmates also taught me much about the supernatural. They related first hand instances of disasters occurring after they had made such elementary mistakes as walking under a ladder or spilling salt. They knew everything about unlucky days and numbers. The most deadly combination was Friday 13th.
Although I enjoyed this regime of new experiences and unsupervised independence, I still looked forward to Saturdays and the semblance of 鈥榥ormal鈥� family life, although I hated first having to drag hefty suitcases to Thomas Cook's, while nagging Beryl to keep up with a single suitcase and persuading Hugh not to drop my mother鈥檚 hatbox.
By mid-morning, our section of the queue had usually reached the shop鈥檚 interior and our mother had joined us. When we arrived at the counter though, we would receive only a sad headshake and had to trudge with our cases back to the 鈥榟otel鈥�.
The pattern changed on April 7th, the first Saturday of the autumn term. At the counter the travel agent handed my mother a sealed envelope. A porter snatched up our luggage and whisked it through a side door.
My mother waited until we were sitting on the beach before slitting open the envelope, but even then, not until she had checked no one else was near enough to read it.
"We're to report at the docks Thursday morning,鈥� She whispered, "I'm catching the next train back to sort things out at school. I'll be back Wednesday evening. Here's money for fish and chips today. Go to school as usual on Monday but remember, tell no one that we鈥檙e sailing. You never know who鈥檚 spying for the Germans."
On Monday the headmaster sent Beryl and me home for being out of uniform. In case he was a German spy, I didn鈥檛 tell him that our uniforms were in the luggage being taken to our ship. We daren鈥檛 return to the hotel in case we had to answer questions from the hotel keeper who also might be a German spy.
"We鈥檒l pick up our packed lunches, tomorrow and Wednesday,鈥� I told Beryl as we sat in Durban鈥檚 museum, 鈥減ut our swimming costumes on under our dresses, take Hugh to school, then go to the beach."
On Tuesday the sun shone, we swam and played on the sand all day. I almost felt sorry to be leaving South Africa, although I wanted so much to see my father again.
Wednesday, a cold mist swept over the beach. To keep warm I put my dress on top of my costume but Beryl didn鈥檛 want to get hers dirty. We watched a ship zigzagging across the bay. Some ships did this for days before suddenly heading for the horizon, all part of the navy's cunning plan to confuse spies. I wondered if our ship would do the same.
After we had eaten our sandwiches, Beryl huddled in her damp towel, her back pressed against the concrete breakwater. I warmed myself with a run along the sand. Beryl was still shivering when I returned. I let her lean against me for warmth until it was time to collect Hugh and meet our mother at the 鈥榟otel鈥�.
"I hope your father brings some money with him to Suez," our mother said after settling the hotel bill. 鈥淭he five pounds left in my purse is all we have."
At the docks next day, my mother was horrified when she saw our boat, a flat bottomed river steamer. I was more horrified when I read No. 13 on our cabin door.
The interior of the tiny evil smelling cabin contained a pair of three tier bunks as well as a crib with a wailing baby.
Two ladies occupied the bottom bunks. One was beautiful with a Deana Durbin hairstyle and lots of make-up, but the mother of the crying baby had a lined face and her dress hung like a petticoat. My mother and Hugh had to stand in the corridor until Beryl and I had climbed onto the top bunks. Lying flat on my tummy, I peered at the luggage labels on the bottom beds.
'Miss Eliopoulos', 鈥楳rs Saroyan'. I knew from my time in Haifa that Saroyan was an Armenian name.
With nothing else to grab my attention, I asked 鈥淢ay I go on deck to wave goodbye to South Africa?"
Miss Eliopoulos, the beautiful one, laughed. "We will not sail today, child. They make passengers board early to fool spies. Maybe we go tomorrow."
Mrs. Saroyan looked up. "But if we cannot sail today we must wait until Saturday."
"Why?" my mother asked.
"Because tomorrow, it is Friday 13th," Mrs. Saroyan explained.
"Agaia Maria!鈥� Miss Eliopoulos shot up and knocked her head on the bunk above, "I did not think of this, Friday 13th and we are in Cabin 13. We must pray that we shall sail today after all."
"No, we must pray that the Lord's will be done," my mother snapped sliding her bible out of her handbag.
I slid down, opened the cabin door. "Just going on deck,鈥� I muttered.
"Take the other two with you ," my mother replied before turning to face the elegant Miss Eliopoulos, open bible at the ready. I didn't fancy my mother鈥檚 chances there. Miss Eliopoulos looked more than capable of winning any argument.
From the deck I saw no sign that we were about to leave. The dinner gong sounded and despite the war the we had a magnificent four course meal. Beryl howeveer, refused to eat anything.
After dinner Beryl asked if she could lie down. I slipped back on deck hoping to see the ship casting off but by bedtime nothing had happened.
The narrow space between the mattress of my bunk and the ceiling reminded me of a grave. The baby in the cot below cried, not loudly, but continuously.
Much later Miss Eliopoulos appeared, "There's something very wrong with that baby of yours." she snapped, "I will call the ship's doctor."
"N-no, please," Mrs. Saroyan stammered but Miss Eliopoulos had already bounced out of the cabin. She returned with a doddery man who shone a torch into the baby's cot, and poked it. When he stretched up I could smell alcohol on his breath.
" Madam Saroyan, please, a word outside?鈥� The doctor talked so softly in the corridor, I couldn't hear him but Mrs. Saroyan shouted "No-no-no." She came back into the cabin crying and packed her things. Just before leaving with her baby she yelled at Miss Eliopoulos," I hope this boat sinks and you drown with it."
"What's the time?" I asked.
"Long past midnight," my mother hissed, "Time we were all asleep."
Friday 13th and disaster had already hit two people in our cabin!
I woke to a dull thud, thud, a rocking boat and grey daylight outside the porthole. A bout of nausea engulfed me. I slithered off my bunk and only just in time, reached the lavatory.
My mother raised her eyebrows. 鈥淪ea-sick already? The water's quite calm. Goodness knows what you鈥檒l be like in a storm.鈥�
Hugh pulled off his pyjamas, tugged on his trousers. "Is it breakfast time?"
鈥淨uiet,Hugh,鈥� my mother whispered 鈥淵ou'll wake the Greek woman.
"Come on, Beryl," she added"Time to get up and go to breakfast."
"I don't want any," Beryl whispered.
鈥淣or do I,鈥� I said.
All right,鈥� my mother said 鈥�"I'll just take Hugh."
Soon after they had left, Beryl started moaning. Her face was white, her forehead sweating. I could see she felt worse than me and I was in a state where I couldn't care if the Germans torpedoed our boat. Miss Eliopoulos sat up and dressed in an elegant suit. Beryl leaned over the bunk and vomited onto the floor.
Miss Eliopoulos pulled a disgusted face and left.
My mother returned and put a hand on Beryl's forehead. "I am going to get the doctor," she declared "Peggy, mop up, then take Hugh on deck."
I only just succeeded in cleaning the floor without adding to the mess. On deck I leant over the side leaving Hugh to his own devices. I hoped the ship would capsize and put an end to my misery.
A passenger exclaimed, "That boat! It will collide with us."
A tug was racing towards us. My mother came up on deck, pale and distant. She clung to the deck rail. The captain came out from behind his barrier and said something to her in French. My mother, who spoke French well, just stared at him. Sailors swivelled a crane overhead and suspended a hooked rope over the deck. Two more sailors came up carrying a canvass wrapped bundle. Beryl's head poked out of one end, her eyes closed her face even whiter than it had been in the cabin. Lines from a poem I had learnt at school flashed through my mind.
"Drake is in his hammock and a thousand miles away.
Captain, art thou sleeping there below?"
So they'd wrapped Beryl in a hammock to bury her at sea. I could feel nothing, not even sadness. Then Beryl opened her eyes. She was not dead after all. I could feel again. I smiled at her, but had to turn back to the rails quickly, as my stomach rebelled again.
The tug slowed, turned and slid alongside.
A sailor threw down a rope. Another sailor attached the dangling hook to Beryl's hammock.
"What's happening?" I asked.
My mother who was hugging Hugh, said, 鈥淏eryl has appendicitis. We're going back to Durban."
Slowly they winched Beryl up, lifted her over the railing, and lowered her, swaying like a pendulum. A sailor on the tug unhooked her and attached a canvas chair to the rope. The rope came up again. My mother let go of Hugh and handed him to me. "Look after your brother, Peggy, until I see you again."
She walked over to the canvas chair and sat there, knuckles white round the ropes, her eyes squeezed shut.
The crane lowered her onto the tug. I struggled to hold Hugh back as he fought to climb the rails. My mother waved. The tug gave a hoot and raced back to Durban.
I couldn't think what to do. Hugh and I had no money, no passports. I wondered if the Egyptians would let us off the boat at Suez, what would my father say when I told him Beryl and my mother were still in South Africa.
A sailor beckoned me to follow him. He led Hugh and me back to cabin No. 13. Miss Eliopoulos was there packing.
鈥淲here are you going?鈥� I asked.
鈥淚 cannot stay here." She flicked her hand round. "I told this to the captain just now -This is an unlucky cabin. He understood and offered me to sleep in his own cabin."
I sat Hugh on his bunk and gave him his toy fire engine. The sailor said something to Miss Eliopoulos in French.
"He says to tell you to start packing too," she translated.
鈥淲ill we all fit into the captain's cabin?" I asked.
Miss Eliopoulos laughed. "I do not think so.鈥� She picked up her things and left. Hugh sat quite quietly while I packed, just rolling his fire engine about.
A long time later the boat stopped rolling although the engines went on thudding. I led Hugh back on deck and found our ship in the harbour.
Two sailors brought up our luggage and carried them onto the quayside when the boat docked. The captain took two bars of chocolate from his pocket and gave Hugh and I one each. He pointed to the gangplank. As soon as we were on land dock workers scuttled around untying mooring ropes.
I looked round the empty quayside. Hugh and I had no passports. I couldn't carry all our suitcases ourselves. I didn't know which hospital my mother would be waiting at while Beryl had her operation I had no money to make phone calls.
I told Hugh to guard the luggage and spoke to a soldier guard the entrance.
"You are to wait on the quay here until your mother collects you," he said.
"But she doesn't know we are here."
He shrugged.
We waited six hours. I couldn't believe it when my mother came at last. Hugh ran to her and started crying. My mother picked him up and hugged him but she looked red-eyed and old. I asked the question, dreading the answer, 鈥淗ow's Beryl?鈥� "She has double pneumonia not appendicitis. The doctors are confident she stands a good chance of pulling through. Thank goodness I got her away from that drunken fool on the boat before he operated.鈥�
"I didn't think you knew about us being here," I ventured.
"But I told you," my mother paused, "Didn't I?" she asked uncertainly, "I'm sorry you had to wait so long. I鈥檝e had so much to do. I've had to see about borrowing yet more money. Goodness knows what your father will say when he finds out how much we owe. I鈥檝e also been looking for work and I鈥檝e booked us back into the hotel.鈥�

Beryl came off the danger list two days later.
We heard long afterwards that the river boat was torpedoed on its voyage to Egypt just a few days before Germany surrendered. I have often wondered whether Miss Eliopoulos survived.

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