Royal Corps
of Signals
Dud's
Army.
Chapter
14
Ladies
When the order came to pack up at Paramali and return to Cape
Gata I was a happy camper. Chess, bingo and swimming in Force 5 breezes were
not for me. But to cap everything, my work at Paramali had been so trivial it
was difficult to understand the commission. True, on the last full day at camp
I had been coerced into an experience of intense fear, possibly an Army ploy,
by having to scale a sixty-feet tower on some fool’s errand or other. What I
did while up there, other than quake and cling like a craven coward, I have
no idea. Ascending was bad enough but coming back down was a nightmare. Unlike
Jack, who must have some red Indian in him, I am afraid of heights.
Nothing
seemed to pan out that well at Paramali. They planned an out-of-doors dance,
for example, creating a floor by covering a portion of the square with wooden
platforms. But in the centre of it, by way of décor, someone placed a
paint-chipped, forty-five gallon steel drum containing a withered bush. The
whole arrangement looked like the stage set for a performance of Becket‘s
“Waiting For Godot.“ A smattering of girls, in heavy shoes and uniform,
were trucked in from Episkopi, arriving late and leaving early. I would have
but did not dance. There was contact and I did converse, entering into a lively
discussion with a charming threesome about National Service for ladies. My argument
was that what is sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, but the inversion,
which I thought to be subtle, was perceived as an arrogant perversion and that
was that; game over for dancing.
An abiding memory from that evening however was the Paramali
moon. Fat-faced and smiling, as yellow as cheddar, he filled the southern sky
with his passive enormity. I do remember thinking that in Cyprus one might plan
a celebration, send out the invitations - with due care, and know for certain,
dollars to doughnuts, that either the sun or the moon and stars could be relied
upon to show. At least the Mediterranean weather could be relied on to cooperate
Back at 280 SU I learned of Jack’s criminality, perpetrated
in my absence. He and three other Radio Relay technicians had been put up on
a charge for using bad language on air. It turned out that an eavesdropping
wife in married quarters, vicariously tuning in to our FM service frequency,
had heard, and recognised, swear words. Being a busy sort of a body she had
taken pen, paper, clock and calendar, and on a regular basis monitored and maintained
ongoing records of the cheerfully-exchanged, short-wave ribaldry, much of it
in a vile Scottish accent. Obviously morale amongst the technicians was high.
Armed with copious notes, including names, she filed a complaint.
Summoned immediately to Nicosia HQ, heavily guarded by NCOs,
Jack and his fellow miscreants were double-timed into the presence of a long-faced
major. Advised before arraignment by the sergeant, all parties pleaded guilty
as charged. The major expressed shock at their use of unmilitary, trooper-like
language and further expressed his dismay at their inflicting such words as
only Chaucer might choose on the sensibility of a lady of the regiment. Such
impropriety could not go unpunished: two weeks loss of pay, next case please.
Jack was furious, not at the loss of pay but at the lady, whose conduct he considered
dishonourable. Neither Jack nor I could claim much success in our dealings with
the ladies.
But summer was coming and with it the terrific news that a relaxation
of the General Emergency was to come into effect. Without the encumbrance of
a loaded gun and the danger of having to shoot it we were free to visit Limassol,
shimmering in the northern haze like the Emerald City.
The place was full of prostitutes. Jack and I were first accosted
while wandering down an alley. There came a sibilant whisper: “Sssst! Johnny!”
There was no-one at street level but from above we saw the lady’s dark eyes
and plump red cheeks through the iron bars of her first floor balcony railing.
She was sitting on a low stool, leering down at us and scratching her leg in
a most engaging fashion. Jack’s eyes were like saucers. He was horrified. All
he could manage was “Is that … ?” before choking up. That he should defer to
me might in more ordinary circumstances be deemed a compliment but in this case
Jack and I were equally neophytic. “Keep walking and don’t look back,” was all
I could offer, but as we stiffly continued on down the alley I distinctly felt
pins-and-needles in my legs. Once around the corner we had a good laugh, continuing
on with our walk feeling much better and singularly more sophisticated.
We did a fair bit of wandering around Limassol, partly to see
what was to be seen and partly to while away the time that shopkeepers took
for a siesta. There were no pubs in Limassol but we found bistro-type places
in which to take our ease along with a Tom Collins or two. Such places were
usually pleasantly-shaded, open courtyards with marbled, mosaic floors, vines
growing, fountains tinkling and a waiter only too happy to serve. They were
not stingy with the liquor so one needed to be circumspect. The General Emergency
had been bad for business, so there was a general air of optimism about now
the killing had been put on hold and the shopping resumed.
Limassol offered most of the delights of a port city. If one
wanted a fight or something close to the opposite it was readily available,
along with the consequences. Soldiers went into town then as they had been going
ever since there were garrisons of soldiers placed in postures of occupancy.
280 SU residents being no different reaped its share of the inevitable casualties.
The oddest occasion happened when a Cape Gata airman from North Wales, drunk
from gin and nostalgia, stood up on a park bench in Limassol and, being more
fluent in his native language than that of the conqueror’s, began to make a
speech in Welsh. He soon attracted a crowd of puzzled locals - he was as dark-complexioned
as any of them, but the younger element soon took umbrage and began heckling
in their own native tongue - Greek in this instance. The airman continued, going
at it like a chapel preacher. He was then treated to a hail of stones and forced
to retreat, bleeding here and there but mighty pleased with himself. He was
an excellent rugby player so he got away from his pursuers in short order. When
I later asked him what he was going on about in that park he only smiled at
me for an answer.
But for three of us, the most significant purchase we ever made
in Limassol was to buy ourselves each an acoustic guitar.
Chapter
15
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