The Girl Under the Olive Tree (42 page)

‘You are a Jew then?’

‘No, I am Athina Papadopouli. As you see, my papers are in order. I am Red Cross.’

‘You are not in uniform.’

‘Look, here is my badge. There was no time for uniform in the rush,’ Penny protested, seeing the guard even more confused now. He pulled her to one side.

She could only watch as the civilians were off-loaded, herded out into a courtyard inside the prison, crushed in a tight space and guarded over by soldiers with guns and dogs. Her papers were taken to a superior, and the soldiers kept looking at her, over and over again. Penny sensed danger and found herself escorted away from the others and pushed into a stinking cell where about twenty women were sitting, crushed together. The door was slammed behind her.

The women eyed her with interest. ‘Another lamb for the slaughter,’ said a girl in a torn dress held together with strands of rope. ‘Welcome to hell,’ she added.

Penny was bombarded with questions. ‘Where are you from? Do you know what happened to . . . ? When will we be leaving?’

She couldn’t help them much. She was in the company of other
andartissas
, partisan Resistance fighters, captured for bringing food to their groups, betrayed by villagers and now sentenced to deportation to labour camps. They looked as if they had been beaten, stripped, abused or worse, and now lay exhausted on the filthy straw.

She told them what she had seen in Chania and how the Jews were separated, how she feared for the babies and children in the heat and dust of the compound. How she wanted to be a witness to their treatment but now she was unable to do anything.

‘Better get yourself released so you can warn the Red Cross what is going on here,’ one woman recommended. ‘We hear terrible noises in the night. It is no place for children.’

Penny lost count of the days she stayed cooped up in the crowded cell. No one came to release her, no one knew she was here in the heat and flea-bitten straw, allowed out only briefly for exercise in the yard. It was a filthy hovel, unnerving with the screams in the night, the footsteps down the stone, the sound of gun shots. She felt sick with fear. How had she got into this place? What was happening to Solomon and Sara? Had they picked up Yolanda too in the raids in the outlying districts?

Days without proper food and foul water played havoc with them all – how would the old couple survive such treatment?

There wasn’t enough room for them all to lie down except in turns. Maria, Rosa, Angeliki – all had tales to tell of their exploits, of their menfolk, each taking courage from each other. She, in turn, told them about nursing on the Albanian front and the hospital trains, and the bravery of the Cretan 5th Division. A camaraderie of suffering grew quickly between them, forced together by the intimacy of sharing a bucket as a convenience. The fleas bit and the sores scratched. Maria began to bleed and they had nothing but straw to soak up her flow. Soon they would all be ill in these conditions, but they were far better off than those poor people outside. Nothing had prepared Penny for this captivity and the boredom of being cooped up in the heat of the day and the chill of the night. How could they work if they were so weakened?

Then came the day when they were roused, given a bucket to wash in and told to prepare to leave, lined up, one after the other like children.

Penny demanded to see an officer in charge. ‘I came of my own free will to help old people. I demand to be allowed back to Chania.’

‘
Demand?
’ the guard laughed. ‘No one demands here. Get in line!’

‘But this is outrageous. I’ve not been on trial. You have nothing against me. Why am I being kept?’

The guard hit her with his rifle butt. ‘Shut up, whore, Jew lover . . .’ Penny staggered back, blinded by the force on her cheek. ‘Out, out now, move!’ the guard yelled as Maria helped her stumble her way. Penny knew she was lumped with these women for deportation. There was no escaping this fate. She was no different from them in what she had done for the Resistance, a strange sort of justice indeed.

There was a line of cargo trucks waiting for them in procession, and through her bruised eyes she tried to see what was happening further up: more herding and shouting, but the crowd of frightened civilians were quiet. Now they were curtained off, none of them able to see out as the convoy rattled through Chania and out eastward towards Heraklion, a slow, winding, bumpy ride, guarded by soldiers at the entrance, sullen men staring out at the road behind them, unable to look anyone in the eye.

Sometimes, in the pauses and over the sound of the engine, they heard singing, freedom songs, which lifted the spirits with courage and defiance, irritating the guards until they fired shots in the air. The first night was spent camped in a Turkish fortress close to Rethymnon, high up, and cool at first lying on the stone floor. They were woken early and back onto the trucks again next morning. It was a painful, exhausting journey and they were still young. God help those poor souls who were frail. How many of them were dumped by the wayside, thrown out of the trucks as they died?

Penny scoured her brain to think of ways to make sense of this forced ride. Perhaps she should try to explain again her mission, but without uniform or proof, even her British name wouldn’t help. She’d kept up the pretence for so long, who would remember Penelope George or even care? She had no passport, lost long ago, nothing now to verify even her British status.

She watched the faces of her new-found friends staring out for the last time at their beloved island. There would be only Bruce and Yolanda to mourn her going. Even Bruce seemed like a ghost to her now. It had been months since that last embrace but she trusted he was out there giving the enemy hell. That was the hope to cling onto in all this. You step out of line and end up here, she mused, feeling a strange defiant pride.

I tried to do what I was trained to do and I will go on doing it, no matter what. It will give me the courage to stick this out, give me purpose, some dignity in these terrible times. I am Red Cross, and if I get out of this alive, I will dedicate the rest of my life to making sure no one else suffers like this again.

Rainer took leave of his fellow officers and men with a sense of urgency now that the second front was underway in France. They had known it was coming. With the might of American troops behind the Allies, France would fall. No one spoke much about the news, but there was a look of resignation on faces. He was ordered to deliver documents to HQ at the Villa Ariadne, and take the first ship out from Heraklion to Piraeus.

Now he was leaving he tried to find some regret in his decision but found none. He would be needed more than ever now. His resignation was no coward’s way out. In his eyes it would be cowardly to stay here in comfort and sit out to the end.

Yet in the midst of all this he thought about the cave nurse. He knew the convoys had left from the gaol. He wanted nothing more to do with that business, and yet there was a saying that for evil to happen, good men stood back and did nothing. How sad it was to know how hardened and uncaring he’d become out here. Civilians didn’t count, only the safety of his men, and now he was deserting them.

There were hints of creating a ring of steel round Chania, retreating behind it and ruling from there, should the worst happen. No, he was glad to be leaving, no matter what the cost.

He was driven under escort of armed guards. It was no longer safe to drive alone. Better to have sailed from Souda Bay but there’d been a spate of ships sunk in the outer bay by submarines. The journey east was without incident. He was given a bed and lodgings in the taverna close to the villa, spent a night of hard drinking with officers who told him of courts martial and demotions after the capture of Kreipe. The politics at HQ no longer interested him, he just wanted that special brotherhood of combat soldiers intent on doing their duty. The ship he’d been booked on had not made it through the straits, due to Allied attacks, so he was to be put on a steam ship called the
Tanais
, an overnight crossing to reduce risk of being spotted, escorted by an armed sailing ship.

‘There’s a special cargo on board, all hush-hush,’ said his drinking companion.

Rainer looked up, wondering what looted items he’d be escorting.

‘Jews, thousands of them, heading for Auschwitz,’ he sneered.

‘There’s barely a few hundred on the island,’ Rainer replied, his heart sinking at the news.

‘One’s too many,’ laughed the man slurping into his beer.

Rainer didn’t reply. There was no point. Fate had caught up with him. He was not going to be let off the island lightly. Why did he fear the fate of these Jews was somehow caught up with his own?

Rainer sat in the square on a bench close to the cathedral opposite the museum. He’d walked around the archaeological displays, wondering at such magnificent pottery and statues, trying to forget the memories of those final days on Crete. This was the future now, where all nations could marvel at these ancient civilizations, learn from their designs and techniques. He watched a party of school children, earnestly wanting to draw and touch everything for themselves. They looked so well-dressed, plump and enthusiastic to be let out of school for the day, so different from the cheeky urchins who begged around them with their hands open, young old faces shrunk with hunger. Those children got little schooling.

The flags were flying high on the harbour for the Battle of Crete week and the ceremony on Saturday evening in the war cemetery by Souda Bay. It would be good to see this; old men now, like himself. Old age is not for cowards but it comes to everyone nonetheless, he smiled. He was curious. Someone there might know what became of his cave nurse.

Another night, another prison cell floor, crushed together in conditions no rat would endure. The stench of unwashed bodies, the sweat of fear – Penny felt all her resolve weakening as each day dragged out, confined, starving, and with snarling dogs waiting to pounce on anyone falling out of line. The old Turkish fortress had even more prisoners waiting to be deported, prisoners of war, more partisans. It was going to need a big ship to transport them all.

The guards were efficient, separating them off into groups away from the Jewish crowd. She caught only brief glimpses of the Jews, helpless to do anything now. Her brief stand had been for nothing, only a bashed eye. Then down the lines of the waiting captives came a whisper of a rumour, a trickle that grew into a flood. The Allies had landed in France, the liberation of Europe was beginning, and there was something in the telling from secret wireless reports that rang true. Could it possibly be that the end of the war was in sight?

Then came the trucks again, and by the afternoon they were jostling in a slow convoy down to the port, to be greeted by the sight of a huge expanse of sea filled with ships. The smell of water filled Penny’s nostrils with hope until she saw the ship waiting for them. It was small, too small for all these people, a rust bucket of a vessel, moored up, belching smoke from its one funnel. Around the harbour were signs of recent bombing, the charred remains of buildings, wrecked ships and burning fuel.

There was no time to take stock of these bearings as they were pulled out in line, counted again, and the gangplank was down. Queues of men, women and children were being pushed into the ship’s hold, names ticked off, constant counting out. It was like no embarkation she had ever been on before and it didn’t bode well. She looked up to see soldiers peering down at them from the top deck. ‘
Courage, mon brave
,’ she muttered. Just one more night and by tomorrow morning she would see Athens again. But where after that?

Rainer stood on the deck of the
Tanais
. He was not impressed with the size or state of the old vessel. It sat low in the water with a single funnel rising up mid-ship. It was a battered troop carrier, with a couple of boiler engines, a crew of about ten and only a couple of armed sailing ships for escort. It was a miracle this was still afloat after the heavy bombing overnight, but it had survived, stinking of oil and fumes. Just two lifeboats were on view, which didn’t inspire confidence should the worst happen, but it would get him to Athens in the morning.

As he stood on deck watching the procession of men, women and children boarding, he noticed they’d added Italian POWs and civilians in ragged groups, a sorry bunch being put down into the hold. It would be hell for those three or four hundred prisoners, crushed in those cargo spaces. It was no place for children. There was a group of women going up the gangplank together. One looked up and, to his horror, he recognized his cave nurse: unmistakable, taller than the rest, with fair hair in a plait like a thick rope down her back. He could not turn away.

These unwilling passengers were just numbers to him, nameless, until he saw her. Here was the proud English nurse who had fooled him: Penelope Georgiou. He’d seen her act of kindness in the square and her condemnation. Why on earth was she embarking with prisoners?

Keep calm, Penny prayed, it will only be for a few more hours. They were crushed together, hardly able to move, and she pitied the others even more confined. Her heart went out to the Markos family, wherever they were holed up, and those small children clinging to parents, not understanding why they were squeezed in a dark place with no air, no conveniences. It was unforgivable to treat human beings in this way, she raged. Soldiers would cope with confinement, but not babies and their mothers trying to protect them.

Maria was finding it hard not to panic. Angeliki held her up, trying to edge towards the door. The heat was overpowering. It was going to be a long night standing upright as the ship chugged its way out of the harbour.

How dare they be treated like cattle and animals? Penny tried to calm her rising fear by pretending she was back at Ike’s villa under her favourite olive tree, seeing the majestic rise of the snow-capped mountains, hearing the buzz of the honeybees in the meadows. She thought of Blair Atholl and her first crack shots on target, the smell of heather and gorse, the freedom to roam high like a stag. If she could cling onto these images, she might escape this hell.