Ahoy for Joy (3 page)

Derek didn't look convinced. He viewed everyone with suspicion, a caution his life experience had taught him and one that he rarely ignored.

“As long as they don't come nicking our stuff while we're away. Fred says he saw one of them up at the black hole last night. Seems he'd been having a shit in one of our latrines,” he went on. “Bloody nerve. Claimed it was OK. Said he had brought his own toilet paper! Hey Fred,” he called out towards the next tent, “What's with the hippy types down the bottom of the field?”

Fred walked over nonchalantly. “Foreign” he said.

“What do you mean by
foreign
?”

“Just foreign. They talk funny.”

“Funny, like not
English
funny?”

“Yes, like not English funny, like European or something. They don't speak English that well.”

“So, you talked to them then?” enquired Derek further.

“Yeah, I saw one of them in the bog, like I told you. Then again, two of them were coming through the gate last night.” He nodded towards the main entrance to the field. “Looked like they had a carry out or something. They, nodded and said;
we have de fiss en chips.
Guess they'd been to that chippy down the road. Bloody hell! Fish and chips. I'd love that, instead of the crap Miriam serves up here.”

Two of the mini busses started up and pulled over next to the marquee. “If you're playing in the football team against the Blackpool squad, get in the bus,” barked the adjutant.

While the days were crammed with sports, visits and competitions, the evenings were largely kept free. The boys were allowed to go into the nearby town of Morecambe where the main attraction was the fun fair with its roller coasters and slot machines. There was of course a curfew, but other than that the only real rule was that the groups should stay together. It was on the third day, when money was running a little short and the officers hadn't yet released the second half of the children's spending money from the makeshift ‘bank' they operated, that the group of boys Michael had tagged along with, returned to camp early. The flashing lights of the fair had lost some of their lustre, now that they were mainly observers rather than participants in the fun. Michael had been lost in his thoughts all day and had gone along as much out of habit as for want of anything better to do, rather tailing on the end of the group and moving from one activity to another according to the others' wishes.

As usual, they approached the camp through the outer field, but tonight some people had built a small fire and were patiently cooking sausages speared on the ends of long sticks. They sweated with oil and sizzled enthusiastically releasing a familiar aroma that wafted around the field, stimulating the taste buds and enticing the boys' interest. Fred immediately recognised them as being the foreign people who had pitched their small camp in the far corner of the BB field. One of them called over to Fred,

“Farmer said we could light a fire here. Not in the big field, but OK here he said.” Most of the BB group headed on back to camp, but Fred, Michael and Lorrie, another boy of similar age remained, chatting politely, if a little awkwardly, with their new acquaintances. They seemed friendly enough and spoke in a kind of accented, broken English, punctuated with pauses, nonsense and mispronunciations. While conversation didn't exactly flow, communication was successful. There were six of them in all, perhaps a little older than Michael. It turned out they were from Holland or the Netherlands as they tended to say, alternating between the two terms perhaps intending to maximise the chances of being understood but this mostly just left the BB boys wondering if it was the same country or not. They had clearly spent some time earlier in the day gathering up sticks and branches from around the field and adjoining meadows as a considerable pile of wood still remained to one side of the fire which raged enthusiastically in the warm, early evening air, flickering a homely light on the faces of the bystanders.

Generously, as they had surely not been expecting company, they shared the sizzling sausages, wrapping them in soft baps and covering them with copious amounts of mustard squirted from a large plastic bottle, before handing them around to their new friends. Fred sniffed the mustard cautiously and inspected the bottle, which bore an unfamiliar brand name and indecipherable text before scraping the yellow sauce off and dropping it on the grass. He then crammed most of the snack into his mouth in one go, scoffing it down eagerly. Michael on the other hand, chewed gratefully, nodding and smiling approval as he ate. Some of the older boys drank beer, which they offered to Fred, Michael and Lorrie, who politely declined – the consumption of alcohol being among the most severe offences that could be committed while on BB camp. In the end, they talked for some time, laughing and joking.

The Dutch boys were particularly amused by the BB camp, with the uniforms, inspections and bugle calls as well as the hymns and praise, all of which they had been observing from afar. One of them, an older boy or young man really with fair hair and a brisk face of unkempt whiskers, introduced himself as Geert. He jovially complained about being awoken at 7.00am to bugle calls as the camp came to life in the morning. This was a point Michael timidly admitted responsibility for, before rather shamefully undertaking to blow his bugle
quieter
the next morning. This caused a few laughs among the now assembled international group and even through his awkwardness, Michael felt the sides of his lips jerk upward slightly into a nervous grin few had seen before.

There were five more besides Geert whose name with a soft ‘G' at the beginning required a throat clearing exercise for proper pronunciation. The BB boys struggled to say it without spitting, much to the amusement of their new friends. There were also two brothers, Alex and Stan, who were both a little younger and still at school. They described the school as HAVO which provided for both academic development and vocational preparation. Alex hoped to become an electrician and Stan wanted to study nursing, an occupational choice the Irish boys found rather bizarre, though they nodded approval politely.

Michael was interested in the education system and rather out of character, found himself asking questions. It seemed the Dutch had a selective system divided into three categories according to the child's interests as well as, of course, their intellectual potential. The HAVO school most of the boys attended, offered a wide range of academic instruction including; Maths, Dutch, History and the sciences as well as English, of course, but there was also a more vocational school with advanced education in practical skills such as wood and metal working, art, design and craft. For the more academically minded, there was also a school specialising in what Michael concluded as being a more classical education, including subjects like Latin and Greek, like what might be found in a Grammar school similar to the one he attended. This, they referred to as a
Gymnasium
, an amusing term in the context, more associated with sport and exercise in the English language. It seemed Geert's sister, Anna and her friend Grietje, whose name they also couldn't pronounce, attended such a school and were also with them in the camp.

On this news, the Irish boys, in a slightly comic synchronisation, looked around the small field, as if bemused that they hadn't noticed the female attendance. This caused Alex to laugh out loud, explaining that they were back at the tents, reading or something. Michael liked the new boys friendly, foreign – their strange accents, eccentric clothes and casual mannerisms amused him and they seemed to be able to have long hair without looking like thugs. One of them, called Hans, wore a kind of necklace that would surely be considered effeminate back at home and another, perhaps the oldest and de facto leader of the group, called Loek wore a red bandana around his head like a cross between the tennis start Björn Borg and a Cuban guerrilla.

For conversation, football seemed to be the most successful subject and with the World Cup Championship taking place later in the summer, hope and expectation was high. Holland had been in the final in 1974 and the lads seemed to think they had a chance again this time. Northern Ireland, like England, had failed to qualify, but was not as invisible on the international stage as they might have imagined as everyone knew George Best, whose talent and antics were almost as newsworthy in Holland as they were in the English press or back in his Belfast homeland. Scotland, while a rank outsider, was however enthusiastically supported, but the Dutch boys reckoned that with Johan Cruyff and company, they had a serious chance.

Eventually, the fire died down and the evening could easily have finished there with the BB boys returning to their camp and their new friends returning to theirs. But Alex suggested they might like to see the Dutch set up and with the tantalising prospect of some female company, Fred and Lorrie, who it turned out had noticed the girls before from a distance, were keen for an introduction. Michael saw no reason to retire and followed on behind, an unfamiliar motivation beating its way to consciousness in his mind.

The tents were of a more modern style made from thin, lightweight, blue nylon fabric and were fairly large for this more domestic style of tent, each being capable of sleeping at least three or even four in reasonable comfort. There were three tents in all, pitched such that the front entrances were facing each other with an open space to allow the campers to come and go. This provided some privacy as well as creating a natural communal outdoor space. A folding table and a few chairs had been set up in this area where there were also the remains of carry out food packs and soft drink cans as well as some other rubbish awaiting disposal.

They were introduced to the two girls, who were a little younger than the boys. The first, and older looking of the two, was Grietje. She had long, reddish brown hair and engaging hazel eyes that flickered teasingly as she shook the hands of the Irish boys. The second introduced herself as Anna and smiled bashfully as the boys jockeyed for attention. She had curly blond hair, not long, but voluminous that sat untidily, dishevelled even with side locks that dangled across her face, that she habitually pushed away from time to time. Her deep blue eyes, soft pale skin and freckly face made her look more childlike than beautiful. Michael gazed warmly at her. She wore a checked shirt, a little too large for her slender frame and skin tight trousers, perhaps of cotton with an eccentric multi-coloured pattern of an eastern looking design and no socks on her feet. Michael liked her at once.

It turned out, Anna was Geert's sister and the other girl, Grietje was her friend who had clearly come along as company. From what Michael could tell, it looked like Geert taking his younger sister on holiday had been a condition the parents had stipulated on granting permission for him to go. However, Michael, perhaps more sensitive to such things, had seen a warm affection between the two siblings as he was introduced and he quickly discovered the benefit Anna offered as despite being the youngest in the group, her English was rather better than any of the others. What did seem strange to him though, was that they all seemed awfully young to be there, abroad, in a foreign country with a foreign language, unsupervised and far from home. What amazed Michael more was the casual attitude the older boys had towards the two girls. None of them seemed in any way protective towards them, or mistrustful of their new friends who clearly found the girls very engaging company.

In time the Dutch boys elected to go off to the pub and while the invitation was extended to Michael and his friends, it was politely declined, leaving the three of them following the girls into one of the tents. Inside they scrambled for position. Michael, without any particular agenda, but perhaps by reverse intention or maybe even Anna's design, found himself directly opposite her, sitting cross legged in the cramped surroundings. Around them were strewn sleeping bags, pillows, clothes, toiletries and the various other paraphernalia required to make life in a tent as comfortable as possible. Michael stared at her intently, absorbing her image in his mind, this being perhaps physically the closest he had ever been to a female of his peer group. In time, all were more properly introduced. The girls seemed to find Fred's name amusing, which they pronounced ‘Freet' with the long vowel sound their accent afforded and the hard ‘d' at the end.

“It means
chips
in our language” giggled Anna, referring to the Patat Frites, smothered in mayonnaise, she would buy occasionally when out with friends at home. Michael could have looked at her forever and never become tired. She smiled openly, engaging him with her eyes. “Anna” he mused, not
Anne
, but Anna.
Close though
, he thought.
Maybe this was his Anne Garland after all
, but what struck him most was that unusually, quite unusually, she seemed interested in him. Normally, he would always hold back while the other more gregarious lads would make all the running, preferring or at least feeling his place was on the side lines, in the background. Now, tonight, suddenly it was he who seemed to be the centre of the conversation. And, indeed it was, for Grietje hardly spoke and in any case her English was fairly limited, but she laughed openly at the humour and more so at the confusion and misunderstandings that often ensued.

To the bemusement of his BB friends, and even his own surprise, instead of reverting to his usual disinterested silence, Michael found himself working hard to keep the conversation going, adding to her comments and politely correcting her English, something the other boys would not perhaps have had the interest or knowledge to do. Soon, Michael asked to learn some of her language and the little group laughed and joked as his poor efforts became the centre of attention. Her English was better than any of the others including the older boys and Michael took to watching her intently. She would listen to what he said; a question or comment, then look away, shyly towards the ground or towards an irrelevant object at the side of the tent. Then she would bite her lip once more, before her gaze shone on him again and the properly constructed sentence would be stated with carefully studied accent and diction. He soon realised that the long pauses were for thought and admired how wonderfully she had mastered her skill. Of course, she had a strong accent, which made him laugh and her giggle when her speech went wrong and Michael would interject, apologising and smiling at the same time, as he detailed the correct sentence construction or pronunciation of the words.

“English is so awkward” she said smiling. “
Though, rough, bough
. How can they all be spelled the same, but pronounced so different?”

Michael hadn't especially thought about it, but yes, he could see the problem.

“Isn't it like that in your language, in Dutch?” He had asked, but no, it seemed, despite the well-known English euphemism of Double Dutch for a complicated language, everything was very uniform.

“If you can read it, you can say it,” replied Anna.

Michael was elated. She didn't want to talk about football all night. Not only was she beautiful, she was charming, interesting and he was sure, if he dared be sure, she liked him! How could she ever like him? No one had ever liked him before. Suddenly he clutched urgently for reason, for a stability of thought, a datum point in his mind to relate to. Quickly he knew he was floating in an unfamiliar current of warm air over which he had no control. Was he imagining it? Was it real? Could it be real? He glanced over at the others. They seemed quite bored, just sitting there while he and Anna traded comments and ditties of fact across the language and cultural boundaries that offered a world in which he felt able to comment.