Searching for Sofia, page 31
Suddenly, Georgios, George and Michael burst into the room, smiling broadly at the sight of the new arrivals and hugging them with delight. The men from Astakis, along with the youngsters, had arrived at Preveli two days earlier, their journey made easier by accessing a more direct track to the village than the one Jack, Leo and Danny had been forced to use. As they sat discussing their journey, a number of the monks joined them, and for an hour they shared raki, dates, cheese and stories of the events that had taken place on Crete over the past year. Their mood was victorious; rescue missions to remove allied soldiers off the island were complex, and each one a cause for celebration. Jack was amazed to hear how the monks had played an integral role in facilitating the return to safety of hundreds of the allied soldiers before winter, and now with the summer months upon them, would recommence their activities. Jack wondered if any others of their original fifteen—Roger and Saunders and Greaves and the others—had made it off the island. When Danny marvelled at the commitment of the monks, they replied with a shrug of nonchalance, and the abbot explained how for centuries the monks of Preveli’s primary task had been to work with resistance movements during episodes when Crete’s independence had been threatened. Whilst there had been numerous times where the monks had paid with their lives and the monastery had been destroyed, this had never stopped the monks of Preveli from fighting for freedom; they would rather die than submit to an enemy.
A smiling monk who sat between Jack and Abbot Agathagelos spoke up;
“Saint John, there’s a little dust in your courtyard, go in and out and clean it!” He smiled and explained.
‘This is our prayer for whatever enemy or problem comes along; get busy and fix it! This is what we do, and Saint John smiles at us, as he watches over us.’
The timing of their arrival was perfect, the Abbot was pleased to tell Jack, Leo and Danny. Any day now, he expected to hear the final details of a trawler that was being sent by the British Special Executive Operations unit; in three nights, a full moon would provide the perfect opportunity for the escape. Jack, Leo and Danny would board the trawler under the cover of darkness, along with over seventy men, who were now presently hidden in the outlying villages.
Jack avoided the eyes of Leo and Danny as they absorbed the news, for he was certain that like himself, theirs would be moist with emotion. It was almost impossible to take in, that finally, after almost eighteen months on Crete, they were leaving the island that very week!
At nine, the Abbot rose, and noticing the bloody stain on Jack’s shoulder and his faltering energy, he led him to a small room, a monks cell, Jack imagined, where his wound was cleaned and redressed by a kindly man, who expressed concern at the mangled raw flesh which was now inflamed and shrouded in a purulent discharge. As he offered Jack a dose of Laudanum and a sip of Ouzo to help relieve the pain, he sternly insisted that Jack must seek medical advice immediately on arrival at Alexandria, before leaving him to rest.
The following morning, with mixed emotions, they farewelled Giorgo, George, Michael and the youngsters who’d escorted them to the monastery. It was an emotional farewell, for how could they ever repay not only Marita and the villagers who’d cared for them for almost a year, but also these men who’d crossed Crete on an impossible journey to lead them to safety. Jack hoped that their return trip might be made easier by road, hopefully even aboard a vehicle.
* * *
And so it was that three nights later, Jack, Danny and Leo sat on the stony beach of Prevali waiting for the Hedgehog, the trawler coming to rescue them, alongside dozens of men, who like themselves had been living in caves supported by villagers all across Crete, waiting for the day when they would finally leave the island. Although the men tried to be quiet, a nervous excitement filled the air, for as close as they were to being rescued, there remained a fear that German soldiers might pour onto the shore with guns poised at any moment. Danny was beside himself with excitement for being reunited with some of the men from the 2/7th, and weepy with nostalgia for the time he’d spent living out the last eighteen months with Leo and Jack. Jack searched the men’s faces, but didn’t recognise anyone from the 2/5th. He was pleased to see Saunders; he’d always been sure that the Aboriginal man would have survived, although he didn't have good news of Roger and Cecil, who’d been captured by the Germans soon after the original fifteen soldiers had separated for fear of being caught.
At around eleven, the men went silent as the chugging of the trawler sent to rescue them could be heard closing in to the shore. Before they could climb aboard, there was work to be done to transport its full load of supplies that were being delivered to the monastery. The injury to Jack’s shoulder prevented him from assisting, and for over an hour he watched as the men formed a human chain, lifting boxes and handing them along until they reached the beach, from where they were loaded onto donkeys and carted up the steep tracks by moonlight. Rations, clothing and rifles that would be distributed to the underground units on the island and gold sovereigns were given to the abbot, which he would distribute as compensation to the various agents who’d cared for the soldiers. Jack hoped that Michael and George would receive some coins to take back to Marita, for their support for himself, Danny and Leo over the last year.
Finally, they boarded the Hedgehog, and just after midnight, its engines thudded to life and started its journey southward. Looking back at the island, Jack watched as the mountains—their silhouette clearly visible by the light of the moon—receded into the distance. He was quite sure that if he never saw another mountain again, it wouldn’t be too soon.
Onboard the Hedgehog, he was grateful to receive a change of clothing—the first clean clothes he’d had in months. Fruit and rum were quickly distributed; and together the rescued Allies sat, trying to muffle their laughter as they ate, drank and shared stories of how they'd survived the German occupation on Crete.
Despite his excitement at finally being rescued, within an hour, Jack felt the familiar throbbing in his shoulder accompanied by a flush of warmth, which radiated down his arm. He balled his left hand into a fist, and squeezed it a number of times, knowing that his hands too, were swollen. Taking a final deep swig of rum, he sought the welcome escape of sleep.
Chapter 30
‘Mate, we’d better take a look at that wound, don’t you think?’
It was the next day, and the sun was high in the sky, its heat causing a lather of perspiration to form on Jack’s forehead.
He heard the voice as though from a distance, and found the rocking motion of the boat comforting. Only when Jack felt the pull against his shirt did he realise it was to himself that the words had been directed.
Opening his eyes, he glanced towards the hands now tugging at the bandage on his shoulder.
‘Roll over, mate.’
He noticed Leo sitting beside him—a frown of concern on his face, and looking down, he watched as the shirt which he’d been issued was pulled clear and the once white, then grey and now blackened bandage that he’d been wearing for the last few days was removed, exposing his shoulder. He crammed his head to see the wound; a mass of glistening flesh, red and white and raw, looking nothing like his normally smooth skinned shoulder. A tell-tale trickle of a greenish fluid seeped down his arm. At the sight of the wound, along with its rancid odour, Jack knew a serious infection had taken hold.
‘Frank, can you get the medical kit?’ the voice called, and Jack felt movement around him as the man studied the filthy dressing, before throwing it overboard.
‘Shush... this is nasty. Hold still, now, while I get some iodine into it... Get ready for the sting.’
Jack jumped at the touch of the cold fluid against his skin and braced himself as the diligent officer probed his shoulder. As he pushed down on the wound, a thick green discharge emerged.
‘My... it’s a deep one! I’m no medic, but I reckon that you’ve got an abscess brewing here. The smell is enough to knock me out! I’ll clean it up as best I can; the doctors at Alexandria will have to sort it out.’
The doctors? What about the nurses? What about Sofia? She’ll be waiting in Alexandria, and she’ll get me better.
Jack slumped back onto the deck, glad for the cool breeze wafting over him, while the man pushed, prodded, cleansed, dressed and bandaged his wound. As he encouraged Jack to lean forward so that he could place a sling around his neck to hold his arm firm, Jack started to shiver uncontrollably.
‘Mate, we can’t leave you here. Come on. We’ll find a hammock below. We’ve got a couple more days before we get to Alexandria. You’ll be more comfortable in a bed. Over here, private, we need to move this one—he’s pretty ill.’
Jack felt himself being stood upright, and did his best to support himself as they half-dragged, half-carried him down a dark stairwell.
* * *
For the next two days, the officer fastidiously tended to Jack’s arm, washing the bandage and hanging it off a rail to dry, administering iodine to the wound, water to his forehead and whisky to his lips. Little helped to lower Jack’s temperature, and when the Hedgehog finally arrived at Port Said, he was barely conscious as they loaded him onto a stretcher, placed him in an ambulance and transferred him to the hospital.
Chapter 31
Three things assaulted Jack’s senses as he drifted into wakefulness. The first was a feeling of coolness against his skin. No, not coolness, but bareness, softness,... tenderness, even. He was clean! Clean in a way that he hadn’t felt in months. Perhaps years, even. Not only his body was clean, but so were the cotton pyjamas he was clad in, and the sheets that were draped over him. Then there was the odours. Jack felt as if he’d been immersed into a bath of antiseptic, and the pungent aroma of Lysol was almost overpowering. Finally, as he opened his eyes fully, Jack was conscious of the vividness of his surroundings. Crystal-clear, as though he were looking through a highly magnified lens. The predominant whites were brilliant, contrasted with a surgical green—deep and important looking—and the black curves of his iron bed frame gleamed; the glow that emitted from the lamp dangling from the ceiling was warm. It was an absence of dust, he realised, that had sharpened the details of the world. The lack of gravel and grit offered a cleanliness that felt utterly unfamiliar to him after months of living in caves and wandering the dry tracks of Crete, where the cleansing of body and clothing occurred in mountain pools and creeks, or leaning over a bucket of water beside an iron tank, as had been the case in Astikas.
He tried to lift himself, but his left shoulder was heavily bandaged and movement near impossible.
‘Whoa, there, soldier. Here, let me help you. Where are you trying to go, exactly?’ The voice was female, with a strong accent.
‘I just need to move,’ Jack said, his voice echoing in the large room as if it, too, had transformed into something utterly unfamiliar to him.
‘Okay. We need to take this slowly, though. You have been very ill, you know, and your left side is out of action, what with the way that arm has been bandaged. How about we sit you up on the side of the bed for a couple of minutes? That might just do you for now.’
Jack nodded, already tired again. Sitting on the side of the bed suddenly seemed like a monumental effort. He slumped back.
‘Perhaps I might just rest here for a bit....’
Later that afternoon he stirred again, and this time when he opened his eyes, his surroundings made more sense. The strong smell of disinfectant was offset by other odours: the rancid smell of infection, the fetid odour of a bowel movement—surely not his own, he hoped with alarm. And then there was an inviting smell of roasted potatoes and the sweetness of apples and custard. The latter, he realised, wafted from a covered plate set on the table next to his bed. He studied the row of beds along the wall opposite, each draped in white linen and containing a man in varying positions. One lay so still, Jack wondered if he were breathing; another, leaning up on his elbow, was shovelling food into his mouth hungrily with a fork. Another, sitting on the side of his bed, heaved heavily into a large silver dish. Jack recognised that he was in hospital.
‘You awake, love?’ The nurse was pretty, with a friendly smile. ‘Hungry?’
Jack nodded.
‘Of course you are. A silly question. You haven’t eaten for three days—you must be famished. We’d better start with just a few mouthfuls lest you bring it all up again. Sometimes that happens, you know.’
Jack nodded, his mind trying to come to terms with his changed circumstances. The last things he remembered were the hours of hanging on to a rope and wading through salty water, emptying the trawler that was their rescue boat, of its supplies, before boarding it for the journey to Alexandria, he’d presumed. He’d been so pleased to be leaving the island. Pleased and tired, and he recalled slumping onto the deck, where he’d listened to the chattering of men even as he’d succumbed to sleep.
He recalled the kindly face of a private who offered sips of whisky and bandaged the wound on his shoulder.
Jack groped, his right hand reaching for his left shoulder. He could feel nothing other than a bulky dressing. Looking down, he saw the fingers of his left hand protruding high on the right side of his shoulder—held in place by a tightly bound sling.
‘Don’t try to move yourself,’ the nurse said to him. ‘I will get someone to help me. It’s best we have someone on each side of you, lest you fall flat on your face.’
‘Sofia?’
‘No, I am Betty,’ the nurse said.
‘No, not you. Is Sofia here? Can I see her?’
‘What do you mean? There is no one called Sofia on staff.’
‘She is. I was told that I would find her here.’
‘Where do you think you are, Jack?’
‘Alexandria. That’s where I was told that we were going.’
‘Well, yes, you’ve got that right. We are in Alexandria. But there are no Sofias here that I’ve ever heard mentioned.’
‘She’s got to be... Please, can you go and check?’ Jack could hear the warble in his voice and tried to control it. Here he was, finally in Alexandria, desperate to see Sofia, and this nurse was telling him that she’d never even heard of her!
‘Look, Jack, let’s get a few spoonfuls of this into you whilst it’s warm, settle you back into bed, and then we can talk some more. I just need to find someone to help me.’
* * *
Half an hour later, the nurse sat beside Jack, a notepad in her hand.
‘Tell me about Sofia, Jack. What was she doing here in Alexandria?’
‘Nursing, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Well, I was told that she was here.’
‘And she is your sister...? Fiancé...?’
‘No, no. My wife.’
‘Your wife? Are you sure, Jack?’
‘Yes, she’s my wife. Of course I’m sure.’
‘No, I meant, are you sure that she was here? Not many married women come out into the field hospitals.’
‘I was told she is here. That everyone knows her. That she helps lots of men get better.’ Jack could hear a shrillness enter his voice and took a deep breath.
‘Who told you that, Jack?’
‘Well, it was when we arrived at Crete. In those first few weeks. A young British private who’d almost lost his eye. She saved it. He told me so. He said it was Sofia, and she was asking after me.’
‘What, you are one of the men who was taken off Crete last week! We heard that a few evacuations had taken place. Gosh. It’s unbelievable. We thought you were all dead. Or that the Germans had taken you prisoner.’
‘Not all of us,’ Jack replied.
‘True. Every so often we get a soldier from Crete admitted. No one for ages now, though.’
Later that evening, Betty was excited to report to Jack that not only had the AIF deemed him missing, but he had in fact officially been recorded as dead six months earlier.
Again, Jack could barely believe that he’d been in Crete for over twelve months. Certainly, it had been the beginning of summer when he’d arrived, and he had certainly experienced the cold of winter.
‘So where is Sofia?’ he asked yet again.
‘Jack, the medical units here are constantly changing. Just because Sofia was here in 1941, it doesn’t mean that she’s here now. Which unit was she with?’
‘I'm not sure,’ Jack answered, convinced that the nurse was judging him for not knowing the whereabouts of his wife. Not to mention because his wife was on the frontline of a war zone, nursing out of canvas tents and inefficient makeshift wards in old buildings, rather than in the safety of a house with solid walls and a warm fire.
‘So, she’s with an Australian unit?’
‘I just don’t know,’ Jack replied disconsolately. 'Perhaps French? Maybe British? She was travelling through Europe when war broke out.’
‘Well, we have the Australian nurses, the London girls, even some from Ireland.’
‘She’d be with the London girls, I suppose.’ Jack heard the uncertainty in his own voice. Sofia was Spanish, and more recently, Australian. The thought of her now numbered amongst the British was difficult enough, without beginning to imagine that she’d gone beyond London.
‘You aren’t sure? Didn’t you say that she was your wife?’
Jack groaned and rolled over.
* * *
Later in the evening, he spoke to the charge sister, who seemed more informed about the war hospitals.
