Fillets of Plaice

2 The Birthday Party

IT had been a very long, hot summer even by Corfu standards. For several months no rain had fallen and from sunrise to sunset the sun glowered down upon the island out of a madonna-blue sky. Everything was parched and desiccated and the heat was intense. It had been rather an exhausting summer from our point of view. Larry, with characteristic generosity, had invited a large number of his artistic friends to stay. They came, in fact, in such droves that Mother was forced to employ two extra maids and she spent most of her time in our vast, gloomy, subterranean kitchen rushing from stove to stove to cook enough food to keep this army of playwrights, poets, authors and artists well fed and happy. Now we had just seen the last of them off and the family were relaxing on the balcony, sipping iced tea and looking out over the still, blue sea.

“Well, thank goodness that’s over,” said Mother, sipping her tea and straightening her glasses. “Really, Larry dear, I do wish you wouldn’t invite all these people. It’s been terribly exhausting.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been exhausting if you’d organised it properly,” said Larry. “After all, they all wanted to help.”

Mother glared at him.

“Can you imagine that crowd down in my kitchen helping?” she asked. “It was bad enough at mealtimes, let alone having them under my feet in the kitchen. No, I want to have a peaceful time for the rest of the summer. I don’t feel I want to do anything. I feel absolutely exhausted.”

“Well, nobody’s asking you to do anything,” said Larry.

Are you sure you haven’t invited anybody else?” asked Mother.

“Not that I can think of,” said Larry carelessly.

“Well, if they come, they can just jolly well stay in hotels,” said Mother. “I’ve had enough.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting so belligerent about,” said Larry in a pained tone of voice. “I thought they were an awfully nice crowd.”

“You didn’t have to cook for them,” said Mother. “I feel I just don’t want to see that kitchen again. I just feel I’d like to go somewhere and get away from it all.”

“That’s a jolly good idea,” said Larry.

“What?” Mother inquired.

“Getting away from it all.”

“Getting away where?” asked Mother suspiciously.

“Well, how about a boat trip to the mainland?” Larry suggested.

“By Jove, that’s an idea!” said Leslie.

“What a good idea!” said Margo. “Do let’s do that, Mother. Ooh, I know! We could go over there to celebrate your birthday.”

“Well,” said Mother uncertainly, “I don’t know about that. Whereabouts on the mainland?”

“Oh, we just hire a benzina,” said Larry airily, “and sort of float down the coast, stopping where we want to. We can take enough food for two or three days and just loll about, have fun, relax.”

“Well, it sounds very nice,” said Mother. “I suppose Spiro could arrange a boat?”

“Oh, yes,” said Leslie, “Spiro will do all that.”

“Well,” said Mother, “I must say it would make a change, wouldn’t it?”

“There’s nothing like sea air when you’re feeling a bit jaded,” said Larry. “Bucks you up no end. And we could perhaps take a few people along to sort of stimulate us, liven us up a bit.”

“Now, not more people,” said Mother.

“Well, I didn’t mean more people,” Larry explained. “I meant Theodore, for example.”

“Theodore wouldn’t come,” said Margo. “You know he’s prone to seasickness.”

“Well, he might,” said Larry. “And then there’s Donald and Max.”

Mother wavered. She was very fond of Donald and Max. “Well, I... I suppose they could come,” she said.

“And Sven should be back by then,” said Larry. “He’d like to come, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I don’t mind Sven,” said Mother. “I like Sven.”

“And I could invite Mactavish,” said Leslie.

“Oh God, not that awful man,” Larry said disdainfully.

“I don’t see why you call him an awful man,” said Leslie belligerently. “We have to put up with your awful friends. Why shouldn’t you put up with mine?”

“Now, now, dears,” said Mother peaceably, “don’t argue. I suppose we could ask Mactavish, if you want to have him. But I don’t really understand what you see in him, Leslie.”

“He’s a jolly good pistol shot,” said Leslie, as if this was sufficient explanation.

“And I could invite Leonora,” said Margo excitedly.

“Now look! Stop it, all of you,” said Mother. “By the time you’re finished you’ll have the boat sinking with people. I thought the whole idea was to go away and have a rest from people.”

“But these aren’t people,” said Larry, “these are friends. All the difference in the world.”

“Well, just let’s leave it at that number then,” said Mother. “If I have to cook enough food for three days, that’s quite sufficient.”

“I’ll see Spiro, when he comes, about the boat,” said Leslie.

“What about taking the ice-box?” said Larry.

Mother put on her spectacles again and looked at him. “Taking the ice-box?” she asked. “Are you joking?”

“No, of course I’m not joking,” said Larry. “We want iced drinks and butter and things like that.”

“But, Larry dear,” said Mother, “don’t be ridiculous. You know what a major operation it was to get it into the house at all. We can’t move it.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Larry. “It’s perfectly possible if we put our minds to it.”

“Which generally means,” said Leslie, “that you give orders and let everybody else do the work.”

“Nonsense,” said Larry, “it’s perfectly simple. After all, if it was got into the house, it must be possible to get it out again.”

The ice-box they were referring to was Mother’s pride and joy. In those days in Corfu none of the outlying villas could boast of electricity, and if such a thing as a kerosene refrigerator had been invented, it certainly hadn’t reached Corfu. Mother, having decided that it was unhygienic to live without a refrigerator, had drawn a rather shaky plan of an ice-box similar to the ones that she had used in India when she was a girl. She had given the sketch to Spiro and asked him whether he could have something similar made.

Spiro had scowled over it and then said, “Leaves its to mes, Mrs Durrells,” and waddled off into town.

Two weeks had passed and then one morning a large cart drawn by four horses, with six men sitting on the front, appeared up the drive. On the back of the cart was a monstrous ice-box. It was fully six feet long and four feet wide and four feet high. It was built out of inch-thick plank and had been lined with zinc and then sawdust had been padded down between the zinc and the wood. It took the six men, brawny though they were, the entire morning to get it into the larder. In the end we had to take the french windows off the drawing-room and carry it in that way. Once installed it dwarfed everything. Periodically, Spiro would bring great, long, dripping blocks of ice from town in his car and we would stock the thing up with it. In this way we could keep butter and milk and eggs fresh for a considerable length of time.

“No,” said Mother firmly, “I’m not having the ice-box moved. Apart from anything else, you might ruin its mechanism.”

“It hasn’t got any mechanism,” Larry pointed out.

“Well, it might get damaged,” said Mother. “No, I’ve quite made up my mind, We’re not having it moved. We can take enough ice with us. If we wrap it up in sacks and things it should last.”

Larry said nothing, but I saw the gleam m his eye.

As it was Mother’s birthday that we were going to celebrate while, as it were, on the ocean, we all were busy working out our presents for her. After some thought, I had decided to give her a butterfly net since she evinced such a great interest in my butterfly collection. Margo bought her a dress length of material which she rather wanted herself. Larry bought her a book which he wanted to read, and Leslie bought her a small pearl-handled revolver. As he explained to me, it would make her feel safe when we left her alone in the house. As his room was already a bristling armoury of guns of various shapes and sizes, none of which Mother knew how to use, I felt this was a curious choice for a present, but I said nothing.

The plans for our great venture went forward. Food was ordered and cooked. Sven, Donald and Max, Leonora and Mactavish were alerted. Theodore at first, as we had expected, said that he wouldn’t come as he was so prone to seasickness, but as we told him that there were a number of interesting ponds and little streams that we could stop at on the coastline, he wavered. Ardent freshwater biologist as he was, he felt it might be worth risking seasickness in order to investigate these, so he decided to come after all.

We had arranged that the benzina would come to the villa and there we would load it up. Then it would go back into the town, we would follow in the car, pick up all the other members of our party, and set off from there.

The morning that the benzina was supposed to arrive Mother and Margo had gone into town to do some last-minute shopping with Spiro. I was upstairs, putting a dead snake into spirits, when I heard strange thumping and banging noises downstairs. Wondering what on earth was afoot, I sped down. The noise seemed to be coming from the larder. I went in there and found six stalwart young village lads, being directed by Leslie and Larry, trying to move the monstrous ice-box. They had managed to shift it some considerable way, having knocked half the plaster off one wall, and Yani had dropped one end on his toe and was hobbling around with a bloodstained handkerchief tied around his foot.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked. “You know Mother doesn’t want that moved.”

“Now, you shut up and don’t interfere,” said Leslie. “We’ve got everything under control.”

“Just go away,” said Larry. “Go away and don’t get in the way. Why don’t you go down to the jetty and see whether the benzina’s come?”

I left them sweating and heaving on the giant ice-box and made my way down the hillside, across the road and onto our jetty. Standing at the end of it, I peered hopefully out towards the town of Corfu and there, sure enough, heading along the coast, came a benzina. I watched it as it drew closer and closer and wondered why it didn’t come in to shore towards the jetty. It was quite obvious that it was going to go straight past. Spiro, I thought, couldn’t have given the right instructions. I jumped up and down on the end of the jetty and waved my arms and shouted, and eventually I attracted the attention of the man in the boat.

In a leisurely fashion he turned the benzina’s nose in and brought it up to the jetty, flung his anchor over the back and let the nose of the boat bump gently against the woodwork.

“Good morning,” I said, “are you Taki?”

He was a little, fat, brown man, with pale, golden chrysanthemum-coloured eyes. He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I’m Taki’s cousin.”

“Oh,” I said, “oh, well, that’s alright. They won’t be a minute. They’re just bringing the ice-box down.”

“The ice-box?” he asked.

“Yes, the ice-box. It’s rather large but,” I said, “I think it’ll go there.”

“Alright,” he said resignedly.

At that moment, at the top of the hillside, appeared the sweating, panting, arguing group of peasant lads carrying in their midst the ice-box, with Larry and Leslie dancing around them. They looked like a group of drunken dung beetles with a monstrous great ball of dung. Slowly, slipping and sliding and almost falling, and at one point almost dropping the ice-box so it rolled down the hill, they made their way down to the road, paused for a rest, and then got on to the jetty.

The jetty was constructed out of weather-beaten planks and the upright struts were of cypress wood. It was a strong enough jetty in its way, but it had been in existence for some considerable time. It had not, however, been designed to carry ice-boxes of the calibre of this one, and so as the panting, sweating crowd of peasants got to the middle of it there was a roaring crash and they and the ice-box fell into the sea.

“Bloody fools!” shouted Larry; “Bloody fools! Why didn’t you look where you were going!

“It’s not their fault. The planks have given way,” said Leslie. Yani had fallen so that both his feet were under the ice-box, but fortunately the bottom of the sea was very sandy at this point, so instead of his legs being crushed they were just pressed into the soft base.

With considerable effort and much shouting and altercation they managed to get the ice-box onto the jetty again. And then, using the round cypress poles from the broken part of the jetty as rollers, they rolled it down and, with much heaving and panting, got it on board the benzina.

“There,” said Larry, “quite simple. I told you it would be. Well now, you hang on here, Gerry, and we’ll go back to the villa and fetch the rest of the things.”

Laughing and triumphant, the peasant boys went up the hillside with Larry and Leslie to fetch the rest of our equipment. I was watching them go and so wasn’t taking much notice of the benzina. Suddenly I heard a rattle. I turned round and found that the men had pulled the boat well out from the jetty and was just hauling his anchor on board.

“Hoy!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

“Pulling in my anchor,” he said. He seemed to be a fairly literal sort of bloke.

“But where are you going?” I asked.

“Gouvia,” he said, and started the engine.

“But you can’t go to Gouvia,” I shouted. “You can’t. You’re supposed to take us to the mainland. And you’ve got our icebox!”

But the noise of the engine was too loud and, in any case, even if he heard me he ignored me. He turned the bow of the benzina seawards and chug-chug-chugged off along the coast. I watched him with dismay. What on earth could we do now?

I ran back along the jetty, jumped over the broken part, and scampered up on to the road. I felt I must get up to the villa as soon as possible and tell Larry what had happened. Just at that moment they appeared at the top of the hill, carrying picnic baskets and various other things. And almost at the same moment Spiro’s car drove up along the road with Mother and Margo in the back.

Larry and Leslie and their peasant helpers arrived at the road simultaneously with the car.

“What are you doing, dear?” said Mother, getting out of the car.

“We’re just bringing the things down to put them in the benzina,” said Larry. And then he glanced at the jetty.

“Where the hell is it?” he asked.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” I said. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” said Leslie. “How could he have gone?”

“Well, he has,” I said. “Look, there he is.”

They peered and saw the benzina disappearing down the coast.

“But where’s he gone to?” asked Larry.

“He said he was going to Gouvia.”

“Well, what’s he going to Gouvia for?” He’s supposed to take us to the mainland.”

“That’s what I told him but he wouldn’t take any notice of me.”

“But he’s got the ice-box,” said Leslie.

“He’s got the what?” asked Mother.

“The ice-box,” said Larry irritably. “We put the bloody ice-box on board and he’s got that.”

“I told you not to touch that icebox,” said Mother. “I told you not to move it. Really, Larry, you do make me angry.”

“Oh, Mother, do stop fussing,” said Larry. “The thing is to get the damn’ thing back again now. What do you think this fool is up to, Spiro? You employed him.”

“That’s not Taki’s benzinas,” said Spiro scowling thoughtfully.

“No, it wasn’t Taki,” I said. “It was his cousin.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” asked Mother, distraught.

“We’ll have to go after him,” said Larry.

“I’ll takes your mothers up to the house,” said Spiro, “and then I’ll goes to Gouvia.”

“But you can’t bring the ice-box back in a car,” said Larry. Just at that moment the sound of another benzina engine made itself heard and, looking round, we saw a second boat approaching from the town.

“Ah,” said Spiro, “that’s Taki’s benzinas.”

“Well, let him give chase,” said Larry. “Let him give chase. As soon as he gets here, tell him to give chase and get that bloody ice-box back. I don’t know what that fool was playing at, taking it away like that.”

“Didn’t he show any surprise,” asked Leslie of me, “when you asked him to put the ice-box on board?”

“No,” I said, “he just looked blank.”

“As well he might,” said Mother. “I would look blank, too, in similar circumstances.”

When Taki’s boat eventually made the jetty we explained the predicament to him. He was a nice, wiry little man and grinned amicably, showing large quantities of gold teeth.

“Here, these boys had better go with him,” said Larry. “Otherwise we’ll never get the ice-box from one benzina to the other.”

The six peasant boys, delighted at the idea of a sea trip, clambered on board chattering and laughing excitedly.

“Leslie, you’d better go with them,” said Larry. “Airight,” said Leslie, “I suppose I’d better.” He got on board the boat and it chugged off in pursuit of the first one.

“I simply can’t understand it,” said Mother. “What did the man think he was doing?”

“Oh, Mother,” said Margo, “you know what it’s like in Corfu. Everybody’s mad.”

“Yes, but not that mad,” said Mother. “You don’t bring a benzina in and pick up a complete stranger’s ice-box and go off with it, just like that.”

“Maybes he’s comes from Zante,” said Spiro, as if this explained everything.

“Well, I don’t know. Really!” said Mother. “What a start to the whole thing! You children do make me angry.”

“Now, I think that’s unfair, Mother,” said Margo. “After all, Larry and Leslie weren’t to know they’d put it on the wrong benzina.”

“They should have asked,” said Mother. “We might never get it back.”

“Don’ts yous worrys, Mrs Durrells,” said Spiro, scowling, “I’ll gets its backs. Yous comes ups to the house.”

So we all went up to the house and waited there. After about three and a half hours Mother’s nerves were in shreds.

“I’m sure they’ve dropped it into the sea,” she said. “Really, I shall never forgive you, Larry. And I explicitly told you not to move the ice-box.”

At that moment we heard dimly, far away, the put-put-put of a benzina. I ran out with the field glasses and peered out across the sea. Sure enough, there was Taki’s benzina coming towards the jetty, with the ice-box carefully installed on it. I ran back with the news to Mother.

“Well,” she said, “that’s something, I suppose. Now perhaps we can get off Really, I feel as though I’ve aged another year even though I haven’t had my birthday.”

So we carried all our things once more down to the jetty and packed them on board the benzina. Then we piled into the car and drove into town.

In town we found our friends gathered together having a drink under the cool shade of the columns on the Esplanade. There was Sven, who looked like a great, moon-faced baby with his almost bald head and his tattered wispy fringe of grey hair, clasping his precious accordion — an instrument without which he never travelled. There was Theodore, immaculately clad in a suit, with a Panama hat, his beard and moustache twinkling golden in the sun. Beside his chair he had his cane with a little net on the end of it and his box containing his precious test tubes and bottles for collecting. There was Donald, who looked pale and aristocratic; Max, tall and gangling, with curly hair and a brown moustache perched like a butterfly on his upper lip; Leonora, blonde, nubile and very beautiful; and Mactavish, a stocky man with a brown, lined face and thinning grey hair.

We apologised for being late, which nobody seemed to have noticed, had a drink while Spiro collected some of the more perishable goods, and made our way down to where the benzina awaited us.

We climbed on board, the final parcels of foodstuff were packed away in the ice-box, the engine was started and we cruised out across the placid water.

“I’ve bought some, um..., you know..., seasick pills,” said Theodore gravely, casting a suspicious glance at the water, which looked as though it had been painted. “I thought perhaps there might be a little motion, you know, and as I’m such a bad sailor I thought I’d take the precaution.”

“Well, if there’s any motion, you can give me one,” said Mother. “I’m a very bad sailor, too.”

“Muzzer von’t get seasick,” said Max, patting her on the shoulder. “I von’t let Muzzer get seasick.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to stop it,” said Mother.

“Garlic,” said Max, “garlic. It’s an old Austrian remedy. It is excellent.”

“What do you mean, raw garlic?” said Margo. “How disgusting.”

“No, no, Margo dear, it is not disgusting,” said Max. “It is very good for you, very good indeed.”

“I can’t stand men who smell of garlic,” said Margo. “They simply blow you to pieces.”

“But if you took de garlic too,” said Max, “den you could blow dem to pieces.”

“Danmed bad form, eating garlic,” said Donald. “Damned bad form. Only Continentals do it.”

“It’s supposed to be, um..., exceedingly good for one,” said Theodore, “according to medical evidence.”

“Well, I always put it in the food when I’m cooking,” said Mother. “I think it adds to the flavour.”

“But it’s such a terribly dreary smell,” said Leonora, draping herself like a Persian cat on the deck. “I travelled on a bus out to Perema the other day and, my dear, I nearly suffocated, Everybody was chewing the most enormous cloves of garlic and breathing it all back at me. I felt quite faint by the time we got there.”

Sven unhitched his accordion and hung it round his waist.

“My dear Mrs Durrell, what would you like me to play?” he inquired.

“Oh, er..., I don’t mind, Sven,” said Mother. “Something gay.”

“How about ‘There is a Tavern in the Town’?” suggested Theodore. This was the one tune that he could hear incessantly with great pleasure.

“Very well,” said Sven, and started playing.

Leslie and Mactavish were up in the bows. Periodically Mactavish would do a few knee-bends or press-ups. He was a health fiend, among other things. He had been in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police at one time during his career and very seldom let you forget it. He always endeavoured to be the life and soul of the party, and the thing that he was proudest of was the fact that he was in tip-top physical condition. He would slap his stomach and say, “Look at that, look at that! Not bad for a man of forty-five, eh?”

So the benzina chugged its way across the channel that separated Corfu from the mainland, with Theodore vigorously singing “There is a Tavern in the Town”.

The trip over seemed extraordinarily short for me. There was so much to watch for — flying fish, seagulls — and I was constantly having to drag Theodore away from the adult company to ask his erudite advice on bits of seaweed and similar things of interest that were passing the boat.

Then, eventually we reached the extraordinary brown and eroded coast between Albania and Corfu which spread on into Greece, and as we drew closer and closer to the coast we passed towering pinnacles of rock like the carunculated, melted remains of a million multicoloured candles. Eventually, as night was falling, we discovered a bay that looked as though it had been bitten out of the hard rock by some gigantic sea monster. It was a perfect half moon, and here we thought we would make landfall. The sand was white, the cliffs tall and somehow protective, and so gently the benzina was brought in, the anchor was thrown over the side, and we came to a halt.

This was the moment when the ice-box came into its own. Out of it Mother and Spiro unpacked an incredible assortment of foodstuffs: legs of lamb stuffed with garlic, lobsters, and various extraordinary things that Mother had made which she called curry puffs. Some of them were in fact curry puffs but others were stuffed with different delicacies. And so we lay around on the deck and gorged ourselves.

In the forequarters of the boat we had a great pile of watermelons that looked like an array of pudgy footballs, green with whitish stripes on them. Periodically, one of these would be popped into the ice-box and then brought out so that we could cut it open. The pink and beautiful inside was as crisp as any ice cream that you could ever wish for. I got a certain amount of pleasure out of spitting the black pips from the watermelons over the side of the boat and watching all the small fish rush madly towards them, and then they would mouth them and reject them. There were some bigger ones, however, who, to my astonishment, came up like Hoovers and absorbed them.

After that we all bathed, with the exception of Mother, Theodore and Sven, who had a very esoteric conversation on the subject of witchcraft, haunted houses and vampires, while Spiro and Taki did the washing up.

It was fantastic to dive from the side of the boat into the dark waters, for as you hit them they burst into a firework display of greeny-gold phosphorescence so that you felt as though you were diving into a fire. Swimming under water, people left trails of phosphorescence behind them like a million tiny stars and when finally Leonora, who was the last one to come aboard, hauled herself up, her whole body for a brief moment looked as though it was encased in gold.

“My God, she’s lovely,” said Larry admiringly, “but I’m sure she’s a Lesbian. She resists all my advances.”

“Larry dear,” said Mother, “you shouldn’t say things like that about people.”

“She’s certainly very lovely,” said Sven, “so beautiful, in fact, that it almost makes me wish I weren’t a homosexual However, there are advantages to being homosexual.”

“I think to be bisexual is best,” said Larry, “then you’ve got the best of both worlds, as it were.”

“Larry dear,” said Mother, “you may find this conversation fascinating, but I don’t and I do wish you wouldn’t talk about it in front of Gerry.”

Mactavish was doing a series of complicated keep-fit exercises in the front of the boat.

“God, that man does irritate me,” said Larry, pouring out some more wine. “What’s he keep fit for? He never appears to do anything.”

“Really, dear,” said Mother, “I do wish you would stop making comments about people like this. It’s very embarrassing on a small boat like this. He might hear you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if he kept fit in order to go around raping all the girls in Corfu,” said Larry, “but he never does anything.”

While doing his exercises, Mactavish was, for about the eighty-fourth time, telling Leslie, who was lounging near him, of his experiences as a Mountie. All of them were very thrilling and inevitably ended up with Mactavish getting his man.

“Ooooooh!” screeched Margo suddenly, with such vehemence that we all jumped and Larry upset his glass of wine.

“I do wish you wouldn’t make those sudden seagull-like cries,” he said irritably.

“But I just remembered,” said Margo, “it’s Mother’s birthday to-morrow.”

“Muzzer has a birzday to-morrow?” said Max. “But vy didn’t you tell us?”

“Well, that’s why we came over here — to celebrate Mother’s birthday, to give her a holiday,” said Margo.

“But if Muzzer has a birzday, ye have no present to give her,” said Max.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Mother, “I really shouldn’t be having birthdays at my age.”

“Damned bad form to come to a birthday party without bringing a present,” said Donald. “Damned bad form.”

“Oh, now, do stop fussing,” said Mother, “you make me quite embarrassed.”

“I shall play to you endlessly throughout the day, my dear Mrs Durrell,” said Sven. “I shall give you a birthday gift of music.”

Although Sven could play such things as “There is a Tavern in the Town”, his real favourite was Bach, and I could see Mother wince visibly at the thought of a whole day spent with Sven playing Bach to her.

“No, no,” she said hurriedly, “you mustn’t make a fuss.”

“Vell, ye vill have a tremendous celebration tomorrow,” said Max. “Ve vill find a special place and ye vill celebrate Muzzer’s birzday in true Continental style.”

Presently the mattresses that we had brought with us were unrolled and gradually we all drifted into sleep as a moon as red as a robin’s breast edged its way up over the mountains above us and gradually turned to lemon yellow and then silver.

The following morning at dawn we were all startled — and, in consequence, irritated — by Sven waking us playing “Happy Birthday to You” on his accordion. He was crouched on his knees, gazing raptly into Mother’s face to see the effect it would have. Mother, not being used to having an accordion played six inches away from her ear, woke with a squeak of alarm.

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter? Are we sinking?” she gasped.

“Sven, for God’s sake,” said Larry, “it’s five o’clock.”

“Ah,” said Max drowsily, “but it’s Muzzer’s birzday. Ve must now start to celebrate, Now, come, ye all sing togezzer.”

He leapt to his feet, banged his head on the mast, and then waved his long arms and said,

“Now, Sven, play it again. All togezzer now.”

Sleepily, reluctantly, we all had to sing “Happy Birthday to You” while Mother sat there making desperate attempts not to fall asleep again.

“Shalls I makes some teas, Mrs Durrells?” said Spiro.

“I think that would be a very good idea,” said Mother. Our various presents were brought out and given to her, and she expressed delight at each one, including the pearl-handled revolver, though she did say that she felt that Leslie ought to keep it in his room as it would be safer there. If, as he had suggested, she kept it under her pillow, it might suddenly go off in the night and do her a serious injury.

The application of tea and a quick swim revived us all. The sun was now coming up and the night mist was being drawn up from the water in pale skeins. It was as though the sea were a great blue sheep that the sun was delicately shearing. After a breakfast consisting mainly of fruit and hard-boiled eggs, the engine was started and we chugged off down the coast.

“Ve must find de most superb spot for Muzzer’s lunch,” said Max. “It must be a Garden of Eden.”

“By Jove, yes,” said Donald, “we must find a really superb spot.”

“Then I can play to you, my dear Mrs Durrell,” said Sven. Presently we chugged our way round a headland that looked as though it had been constructed out of immense bricks of red, gold and white rock, with a huge umbrella pine perched on top of it, clinging precariously to the edge and leaning dangerously seaward. As we rounded it, we saw that it guarded a small bay where there was a tiny village, and on the slopes of the mountain behind the village were the remains of an old Venetian fort.

“That looks interesting,” said Larry. “Let’s pop in here and have a look at it.”

“I wouldn’ts goes theres, Master Larrys,” said Spiro, scowling.

“Why ever not?” asked Larry. “It looks a charming little village and that fort looks interesting.”

“They’s practically Turks,” said Spiro.

“What d’you mean, ‘practically’?” said Larry. “Either you’re a Turk or you’re not a Turk.”

“Wells, theys acts like Turks,” said Spiro, “not likes Greeks, so reallys they’s Turks.”

Everybody was a bit confused by this piece of logic.

“But even if they are Turks,” said Larry, “what does it matter?”

“Some of these, um..., um..., remoter villages have a very strong Turkish influence since the Turkish invasion of Greece,” said Theodore knowledgeably. They have adopted many of the Turkish customs and so in some of these out-of-the-way places, as Spiro quite rightly points out, they are really more Turkish than Greek.”

“But what the hell does it matter?” said Larry in exasperation.

“They sometimes don’t particularly care for foreigners,” said Theodore.

“Well, they can’t object to our stopping and looking at the fort,” said Larry, “and in any case, the village is so small I should think we outnumber them by about three to one. Besides, if they look belligerent we can always send Mother ahead with her pearl-handled revolver. That’s bound to quell them.”

“Yous really wants to goes?” asked Spiro.

“Yes,” said Larry. “Are you afraid of a few Turks?”

Spiro’s face became suffused with blood to a point where I thought he was liable to have a stroke.

“You shouldn’ts says things like thats, Master Larrys,” he said. “I’m not afraids of any son-of-a-bitch Turks.”

He turned and stomped off to the end of the boat and gave Taki instructions to head for the little jetty.

“Larry dear, you shouldn’t say things like that,” said Mother. “You’ve hurt his feelings. You know how strongly they feel about the Turks.”

“But they’re not bloody Turks,” said Larry, “they’re Greeks.”

“Technically speaking, I suppose you could call them Greeks,” said Theodore, “but in these remoter places they have become so like Turks as to be almost indistinguishable. It’s a curious amalgam, as it were.”

As we nosed our way in to the jetty a small boy who had been sitting there fishing picked up his rod and line and ran off into the village.

“You don’t think that he’s gone to alert them, do you?” asked Leonora nervously. “I mean, so that they can come out with guns and things?”

“Oh, don’t be so damned silly,” said Larry.

“Let me go first,” said Mactavish. “I’m used to this sort of situation. Frequently met it among the outlying Indian tribes in Canada while I was tracking a man down. I have a knack for getting on with primitive people.”

Larry groaned and was about to make a sarcastic remark but was quelled by a vicious look from Mother.

“Now,” said Mactavish, taking charge of operations, “the best thing to do is to get onto the jetty and stroll about a bit admiring things as though, er..., as though..., er...”

“As though we were tourists?” Larry suggested innocently.

“I was about to say,” said Mactavish, “as though we had no evil intentions.”

“Dear God,” said Larry, “one would think this were Darkest Africa.”

“Larry dear, do be quiet,” said Mother. “I’m sure Mr Mactavish knows best. After all, it is my birthday.”

So we all trooped out onto the jetty and stood for some moments pointing in different directions and carrying on ridiculous conversations with each other.

“Now,” said Mactavish, “forward into the village.”

Leaving Spiro and Taki in charge of the boat, we trooped off The village consisted of some thirty or forty houses, all tiny, all whitewashed and gleaming, some of them with trellises of green vine, some shrouded in great cloaks of purple bougainvillea.

With a brisk, military walk Mactavish led the way, looking like an intrepid member of the French Foreign Legion about to take over an unruly Arab settlement, and we all ambled after him.

There was only one main street in the village, if it could be dignified with that term, and off it ran several tiny alleyways, between the houses. As we passed one of these alleyways, a woman wearing a yashmak rushed out of a house, gave us a horrified glance and disappeared down one of the alleyways at a hurried pace. I had never seen a yashmak before so I was vastly intrigued.

“What was she wearing on her face?” I inquired. “Is she bandaged up for some reason?”

“No, no,” said Theodore, “she’s wearing a yashmak. If they are very Turkish in this village you will find that most of the women wear them to cover their faces.”

“I always thought it was a bloody silly idea,” said Larry. “If a woman’s got a pretty face, she should show it. The only thing I would advocate is a gag if she talked too much.”

The street led inevitably to what was the hub of any village — a tiny square dominated by an enormous and very beautiful umbrella pine, and in its shade a series of tables and chairs. Here was the tiny cafe which, as in an English village, acts as the local pub, dispensing not only foodstuffs but wine and gossip and slander in equal quantities. It was very curious to me that as our cavalcade had passed through the village we had seen not a living soul except the woman. If it had been one of the remoter villages of Corfu, we would have been surrounded by now by a vociferous and fascinated crowd of inhabitants. However, when we came to the village square we saw — or at least we thought we saw — the reason, for most of the little tables under the pine tree were occupied by men, nearly all of whom were elderly, with impressive long white beards, wearing baggy pants, tattered shirts and charukias, the curious shoes with upturned toes made of bright red leather with the toes decorated with highly coloured pompons. They greeted the arrival our group in the square with complete silence. They just sat and looked at us.

“Aha!” said Mactavish in a loud and cheerful voice. “Kalimera, kalimera, kalimera!”

If it had been a Greek village there would have been an immediate response to his cry of “good morning”. Some would have said, “We are glad you have come”, others, “herete ”, which means “be happy”, and others have responded with “kalimera ”. Instead, there was no reaction except that one or two of the older men bowed their heads gravely in our direction.

“Well, now,” said Mactavish, “let’s get a few tables together, have a few drinks, and once they get used to us I’m sure they’ll rally round.”

“I don’t think I really like it,” said Mother nervously. “Don’t you think that Margo, Leonora and I ought to go back to the boat? I mean, it’s all men and no women.”

“Oh, nonsense, Mother. Stop fussing,” said Larry.

“I think,” said Theodore glancing up lovingly at the huge umbrella pine above us, “I think that’s why that small boy ran into the village. In some of these remoter villages, you know, the women have to stay in the houses. And so he went, you know, to warn them. Also the sight of, um... um... er... er..., the er... ladies of the party must be er..., you know, um..., unusual to them.”

As Mother, Margo and Leonora were not wearing yashmaks and Margo and Leonora were wearing rather dashing cotton dresses which left a considerable portion of their anatomy visible, this was not altogether surprising.

We joined several tables together, placed chairs around them and sat down. The groups of men who, contrary to Larry’s expectations, outnumbered us by about five to one, continued to sit there silently, gazing at us as impassively as lizards. After waiting for some considerable time, making rather haphazard conversation, an elderly man shuffled out of the cafe and came with obvious reluctance to our table. By now thoroughly unnerved, we all said kalimera in unison with various degrees of nervous enthusiasm. To our infinite relief, he said kalimera back.

“Now,” said Mactavish, who rather prided himself on his command of the Greek language, “we’ll have a little drink and some meze.”

It should have been unnecessary for him to add the request for meze, for this includes things like olives, nuts, hard-boiled eggs, cucumber, cheese, and similar little plates which, if you ordered a drink in Greece, were automatically served. But it seemed in the circumstances that even an ex-Mountie was beginning to become slightly rattled.

“Yes,” said the cafe owner gravely. “What drink would you require?”

Mactavish took orders for our drinks, which ranged from ginger beer through ouzo to brandy and retsina. He translated all this to the cafe owner.

“I have only red wine,” said the cafe owner.

An exasperated look spread across Mactavish’s face.

“Well then, bring us red wine and meze,” he said.

The cafe owner gave a little nod of his head and shuffled back to the interior of his gloomy little shop.

“Now why,” asked Mactavish, “should he ask me what we wanted to drink when he knew perfectly well he’d only got red wine?”

Mactavish loved the Greeks dearly and had taken the trouble to speak their language quite fluently, but he could never quite come to terms with their logic.

“It’s perfectly obvious,” said Larry exasperatedly. “He wanted to find out what you wanted to drink and if you had wanted red wine he would have gone and got it for you.”

“Yes, but why not just say he’s got red wine in the first place and nothing else?”

“But that doesn’t happen in Greece,” Larry explained patiently. “It’s too logical.”

We sat at our table with all those inimical eyes fastened on us, feeling rather like a group of actors on a stage who had all simultaneously forgotten their lines. Presently the old man shuffled out, carrying a battered tin tray which bore upon it, for some obscure reason, a portrait of Queen Victoria. He placed on the table some little plates of small black olives and chunks of white goat cheese, two flagons of wine and a series of glasses that, although clean, were so chipped and worn with use that they looked as though they could give you any one of a number of interesting diseases.

“They do not seem very happy in dis village,” observed Max.

“What do you expect?” said Donald. “ Lot of damned foreigners. Now, if this were England it would be different.”

“Yes,” said Larry sarcastically, “we’d be doing Morris dancing with them in next to no time.”

Although the concentrated stare our male audience had not really changed, it had now in our nervous state begun to look positively malevolent.

“Music,” said Sven, “it soothes the savage beast. I will play you a tune.”

“Well, for God’s sake, play something cheerful,” said Larry. “If you start playing Bach to them I can see them all going and getting their muzzle-loaders.”

Sven hitched his accordion into position and played a very charming little polka which should have softened any Greek’s heart. But our audience remained unmoved though it seemed as though there was a slight lessening of tension in the air.

“I really do think that Margo, Leonora and I ought to go back to the boat,” said Mother.

“No, no, my dear Mrs Durrell,” said Mactavish, “I assure you I know this situation so well. It takes time for these primitive people to adapt themselves to you. And now, since Sven’s music has had no effect, I think the tune has come for magic.”

“Magic?” said Theodore, leaning forward and gazing at Mactavish intensely, deeply interested. “How do you mean, magic?”

“Conjuring,” said Mactavish. “In my spare time I’m a bit of a conjuror.”

“Dear God,” groaned Larry. “why not give them strings of beads?”

“Oh, do shut up, Larry,” hissed Margo. “Mactavish knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” said Larry.

Mactavish strode off purposefully into the cafe and reappeared with a plate on which were four eggs. He placed these carefully on the table and stood back so the silent audience of villagers could observe.

“Now,” he said, gesticulating in a professional conjurer’s manner, “my first trick is the egg trick. May I borrow some sort of receptacle from one of you?”

“A handkerchief?” inquired Donald.

“No,” said Mactavish, giving a glance at his audience of villagers. “I think something a little more spectacular. Mrs Durrell, would you be kind enough to lend me your hat?”

Mother, during the summer months, used to wear a large straw hat that, in view of her minuteness, made her look somewhat like an animated mushroom.

“I don’t want egg all over it,” she said.

“No, no, I assure you,” said Mactavish, “there’s no danger.”

Reluctantly, Mother removed her straw hat and handed it to Mactavish. With a great flourish he placed it on the table in front of him, glanced up to make sure the villagers were watching, took an egg and placed it carefully in the hat. Then he squeezed the brim together and gave it a resounding blow on the side of the table.

“If we save all the bits,” said Larry, “I suppose we could have an omelette.”

Mactavish, however, unfurled the hat and displayed it to us in such a way that the villagers could see that it was completely empty and egg-less. He then took a second egg and did precisely the same thing and again the hat was empty and egg-less. As he did the same again with the third egg I saw animation starting to creep into the eyes of our village audience, and after the fourth egg one or two of the men were actually exchanging whispered remarks. Then, with great flamboyance, Mactavish showed us all the completely empty and egg-less hat and showed it also to the villagers. He then placed it on the table and folded up the brim once more, then opened it and with perfect timing took out four absolutely intact eggs and placed them on the plate.

Even Larry was impressed. Of course, it was a simple job of what conjurers call palming; that is to say, you appear to put a thing into something, whereas in actual fact it is in your hand and you conceal it on some part of your anatomy. I had seen it done with watches and other objects but I had never seen it done quite so skilfully with four eggs, which are, after all difficult to conceal and are the easiest things to break during such a trick, thus spoiling the whole effect.

Mactavish bowed to our solemn clapping and, to our great astonishment, there were even a few desultory claps from the villagers. Some of the older men, in fact, who had slightly defective eyesight switched tables with the younger ones so that they were closer to us.

“You see what I mean?” said Mactavish proudly. “Little bit of magic works wonders.”

He then produced from his pocket a pack of cards and proceeded to go through the normal routine that conjurers use with cards, flourishing them up in the air so that they landed on his hand and spread out along his arm without a single card failing. The villagers were now really excited and from sitting on the opposite side of the square from us, they had now converged on us. The old men with defective eyesight had in fact become so intrigued that they had moved their chairs forward until they were almost sitting at our table.

It was obvious that Mactavish was enjoying himself immensely. He put an egg into his mouth, scrunched it up and then opened his mouth wide to show that there was no egg there and produced it from his shirt pocket. Now there came a hearty round of applause from the villagers.

“Isn’t he clever!” said Margo.

“I told you he was alright,” said Leslie, “and he’s a damned good pistol shot, too.”

“I must ask him how he does these, um..., illusions,” said Theodore.

“I wonder if he knows how to saw a woman in half,” said Larry thoughtfully, “I mean, so that you could get the half that functions but doesn’t talk.”

“Larry dear,” said Mother, “I do wish you wouldn’t say things like that in front of Gerry.”

Now came Mactavish’s big moment. The front row of the village audience consisted entirely of old men with long white beards, and the younger men were standing in the background craning their necks to watch his tricks. Mactavish strode forward to the oldest of the old men, who must surely have been the mayor of the village since we had noticed he had been given a special place of honour so that he could see the tricks more clearly. Mactavish stood there for a moment with his hands up, fingers spread wide, and said in Greek,

“I will now show you another trick.”

Swiftly, he reached down and produced from the old man’s beard a drachma and threw the silver-coloured coin on the ground. There was a gasp of astonishment from the assembled company. Then, having raised his arms and spread his fingers wide once more, he reached into the other side of the old man’s beard and produced a five-drachma piece, which he again, with a flourish, threw on the ground.

“Now,” said Mactavish in Greek, holding up his hands once more, you ye seen how I have produced by magic this money from the mayor’s beard...”

“Can you produce more?” inquired the mayor in a quavering voice.

“Yes, yes,” came a chorus of villagers, “can you produce more?”

“I will see what my magic can do,” said Mactavish, by now completely carried away.

In rapid succession he produced from the mayor’s beard a whole series of ten-drachma coins, which he threw on the mounting pile on the ground. In those days Greece was so poverty stricken that the shower of silver Mactavish was producing out of the mayor’s beard represented a small fortune.

It was at that point that Mactavish over-reached himself He produced from the mayor’s beard a fifty-drachma note. The “ah’s” of excitement were almost deafening. Encouraged by this, Mactavish produced four more fifty-drachma notes. The mayor sat there entranced. Periodically he would whisper a blessing to one or another of the many saints who he felt were producing this miracle.

“I think, you know,” said Theodore in a tentative tone of voice, “it would be perhaps advisable not to produce any more.”

But Mactavish was too flushed with enthusiasm to realise the danger. He produced several one hundred-drachma notes from the mayor’s beard and the applause was deafening.

“Now,” he said, “for my final trick,” and he held up his hands once more to show that they were empty. He bent down and plucked from the mayor’s beard a bunch of 500-drachma notes.

The amount of money that was now lying at the mayor’s feet represented something like ten or fifteen pounds which, to the average peasant anywhere in Greece, was a fortune beyond the dreams of avarice.

“There,” said Mactavish, turning and smiling at us proudly, “it never fails.”

“You certainly have got them in a very good mood,” said Mother, who was by now completely relaxed.

“I told you not to worry, Mrs Durrell,” said Mactavish.

Then he made his fatal mistake. He bent down, picked up all the money lying on the ground and put it in his pocket.

Immediate uproar broke out.

“I, um..., I had a sort of feeling this might happen,” said Theodore.

The mayor had risen shakily to his feet and was shaking his fist in Mactavish’s face. Everybody else was shouting as indignantly as a disturbed rookery.

“But what’s the matter?” asked Mactavish.

“You’re stealing my money,” said the mayor.

“I think,” said Larry to Mother, “that now is the time for you, Leonora and Margo to get back to the boat.”

They left the table with alacrity and disappeared down the main street at a dignified trot.

“But what do you mean, your money?” Mactavish was saying earnestly to the mayor, “It was my money.”

“How could it be your money if you found it in my beard?” asked the mayor.

Once again, Mactavish was defeated by the illogicality of the Greeks.

“But don’t you see,” he said painfully, “it was only magic? It was really my money.”

“NO!” came a chorus from the entire village, “If you found the money in his beard it’s his money.”

“But can’t you see,” said Mactavish desperately, “that I was doing tricks? It’s all tricks.”

“Yes, and the trick is to steal my money!” said the mayor.

“YES!” came a rumbled agreement from the assembled population.

“Do you know,” said Mactavish, turning desperately to Larry, “I think this old boy’s senile. He can’t see the point,”

“You really are a bloody fool, you know,” said Larry. “Obviously, he thinks that if you got the money out of his beard it’s his money.”

“But it’s not,” said Mactavish obtusely. “It’s my money. I palmed it.”

“We know that, you fool, but they don’t.”

We were now surrounded by a throng of wild-looking and extremely indignant members of the community who were determined to see that justice was done to their mayor.

“Give him back his money,” they all shouted, “or we’ll stop your benzina from leaving!”

“We’ll send to Athens for the police!” shouted one man.

As it would have taken several weeks to communicate with Athens and several weeks for a policeman to come back and investigate the thing — if, indeed, one was ever sent — the whole situation was taking on alarming proportions.

“I think, um...,” said Theodore, “the best thing would be for you to give him the money.”

“That’s what I have always said about foreigners,” said Donald. “Excitable. Rapacious, too. Just like Max here who is always borrowing money from me and never paying it back.”

“Now do not let us start to quarrel too,” said Max. “Dere is enough quarrel here for everybody.”

“Really,” said Larry, “Theodore’s is the best suggestion. You must give it back to him, Mactavish.”

“But it’s almost fifteen pounds!” said Mactavish. “And after all, it was only a trick.”

“Well, if you don’t give it back to him,” said Larry, “I think you’ve a very slim chance of getting out of here without being beaten up.”

Mactavish drew himself up to his full height.

“I’m not afraid of a fight,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” said Larry in a weary tone of voice. “If all these stalwart young males go for you at once, you’ll be torn to pieces.”

“Well, we’ll compromise,” said Mactavish.

He took all the drachma pieces out of his pocket and handed them to the mayor.

“There,” he said in Greek, “it was a trick and the money was not yours, but nevertheless, in order that you shall buy yourself some wine, I am giving you half of what I got from your beard.”

“NO!” roared the villagers in unison. “You’ll give him everything!”

Mother, having got Leonora and Margo safely onto the boat, had come back to rescue me and was horrified at the sight of us surrounded by this threatening mob.

“Larry, Larry!” she shouted. “Save Gerry!”

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Larry shouted back. “He’s the only one of us who’s not going to get beaten up.”

This was perfectly true because in such a situation only accidentally would any Greek hurt a child.

“I suppose we could all get into a corner and face it out,” said Donald. “It seems a bit much backing down to a lot of foreigners. I used to be quite good at boxing when I was at Eton.”

“Um..., have you, um..., er..., noticed that most of them arc wearing knives?” inquired Theodore, as though he were discussing some museum specimen.

“Ah, I know how to fight wiz a knife,” said Max.

“But you haven’t got one,” said Donald.

“True,” said Max thoughtfully, “but if you knock one of dem down, I could get his knife off him and den we could fight dem.”

“I don’t think that would be a very wise thing to do,” said Theodore.

During this, the uproar was still going on and Mactavish was still trying to persuade the mayor that they should split the proceeds of his beard fifty-fifty.

“Are you saving Gerry?” shouted Mother from the back of the crowd.

“Oh, shut up, Mother,” yelled Larry, “you’re only making things worse. Gerry’s perfectly alright.”

“I think, you know, judging from their tone of voice and the things that some of them are saying,” said Theodore, “that we really will have to persuade Mactavish to give the money to the mayor. Otherwise we’ll find ourselves in a rather unpleasant predicament.”

“Are you saving Gerry?” shouted Mother again from behind the crowd.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” said Larry.

He strode forward, seized Mactavish, delved into his pocket, produced the notes, and handed them to the mayor.

“Here! But I say! That’s my money!” said Mactavish.

“Yes, and it’s my life that you’re mucking about with,” said Larry.

He turned to the mayor,

“Now,” he said in Greek, “that is the money that this kyrios by his magic found in your beard.”

He turned to Mactavish, seized him by the shoulders, looked him straight in the eye and said,

“You are to nod your head hard to whatever I say to you, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” said Mactavish, startled by this sudden display of belligerence on the part of Larry.

“Well,” said Larry. He paused and placed his hand carefully over the part of Mactavish’s anatomy that presumably concealed his heart.

“Twas brillig and the slithy toves,

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All minisy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe. ”

Mactavish, not only startled by Larry’s sudden masterly command of the situation but also by the fact that he didn’t understand since he had never heard the poem before, nodded his head vehemently at the end of every line. Larry turned to the mayor.

“The kyrios,” he said, placing his hand once more upon Mactavish’s heart, “because he has a great heart, has agreed that you should have all the money, but on one condition. You all know how there are certain people that can find water in the ground.”

There was an “ah” of affirmation from the crowd. “These people are paid for their work,” said Larry. There was much nodding and “yes, yes, yes”. “But when they find the water,” Larry continued, “the water must belong to everyone.”

Now he was speaking a language they understood, for water and bread were the two life-giving things of any community.

“Sometimes the people who search for water find it and sometimes they don’t,” said Larry. “This kyrios sometimes finds money in people’s beards and sometimes does not. He was lucky that you have a good mayor here and that he found money. He found nearly nine thousand drachmas. Now, because he is a good man and a kind man, he has agreed not to charge his normal fee.”

There was an “ah” of pleasure, mixed with incomprehension at such generosity, from the crowd.

“But there is one thing he would ask you as a favour,” said Larry; “that the mayor spends this money for the good of the whole village.”

This was the point where the mayor looked extremely glum and the crowd applauded.

“Because,” said Larry oratorically, having consumed vast quantities of wine, and getting into stride, “when you find money, as when you find water, it should belong to everyone.”

The applause was so great that the few words the mayor mumbled were completely lost in it.

“I think, you know, perhaps now is the time to go,” said Theedore, “on a high note, as it were.”

We marched down the village street with the entire crowd following us, all of them jostling to pat Mactavish on the back or shake his hand. And so by the time we reached the jetty Mactavish was beginning to feel that he was the Mountie to end all Mounties and it had been well worth the loss of fifteen pounds to have this adulation. In fact, our take-off was delayed for some minutes because the mayor insisted on kissing him on both checks and embracing him, whereupon all the other elders of the village had to do the same.

At last he joined us on board, flushed with success.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he said, “it’s just a matter of knowing how to deal with primitive people.”

“Well, that’s the last village on this coast that I’m going to visit, and as it’s my birthday I feel that somebody ought to take my wishes into consideration,” said Mother.

“But of course, Muzzer dear,” said Max. “We vill now find you a nice place to eat.”

The anchor was pulled in, the engine was started, and above the reverberating chug-chug-chug of the engine we could hear the villagers shouting good wishes and clapping as we headed on our way down the coast.

At lunch time we found an enchanting long beach of soft white sand and as Taki, the previous evening, had put his lines out and caught some kefalia, Spiro built a charcoal fire on the beach and grilled these delicious fish.

Sven, Donald and Max, still worried by the fact that they had nothing concrete to give Mother for her birthday, concocted a sort of entertainment for her. Sven, who was a sculptor, constructed an enormous nude woman out of damp sand, which Mother was forced to admire, and he then played his accordion for her, fortunately not choosing Bach but playing quite gay and sprightly tunes.

Donald and Max went into a huddle and presently they consulted in a secretive manner with Sven, who nodded his head vigorously.

“We’re now,” said Donald to Mother, “going to dance an old Austrian dance for you.”

This, from the incredibly British and normally introvert Donald, came as such a surprise that even Larry was speechless. Sven crashed into an exceedingly vivid piece of music which was not unlike a mazurka, and the tall and gangling Max and the medium-sized, pale-faced Donald solemnly bowed to each other and then, holding hands, proceeded to dance. To our astonishment they did it remarkably well, prancing and twirling on the sand, with complicated moments where they had to slap each other’s knees and hands and then leap in the air and slap their legs, and other intricate manoeuvres of this sort. They reminded me irresistably of the Gryphon and the Mock Turtle dancing the Lobster Quadrille in Alice in Wonderland. When they came to the end of their dance, so good was it that we all spontaneously burst out clapping, whereupon, beaming and perspiring profusely, they gave us an encore with a different tune.

After our corps de ballet had had a swim to cool off, we all lay on the sand and ate delicious, succulent fish with the lovely smoky, charcoaly flavour on their charred skins, and rounded off the meal with a variety of fruits.

“Well, that really was a lovely birthday lunch,” said Mother. “I did enjoy it. And Sven’s playing and Donald and Max’s dancing made it absolutely complete.”

“Ve’ll have a birzday dinner,” said Max. “Let’s go on to anozzer beach and have a birzday dinner.”

So once again we got ourselves on the boat and headed off down the coast. The sun was just setting and the sky was beautifully smeared with red and green and gold when we came to what seemed to be the ideal spot. It was a tiny, rounded bay with a small beach surrounded by towering cliffs which glowed almost tangerine orange in the setting sun’s light.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” said Mother.

“Here ve’ll have de birzday dinner,” said Max.

It really was a breathtakingly beautiful spot in the dying rays of the sun.

Spiro had told Taki that we would make this our landfall for the night. It was unfortunate, however, that it was a bay that Taki had never been into before and so he did not realise that across one part of it was a sand bar. He nosed the benzina into the bay at a fair speed and so was upon the sand bar before he realised it. We came to a sudden and shuddering halt. At that precise moment Mother was standing in the stern admiring the sunset and so the boat’s sudden halt threw her off balance and she fell overboard. Now, although she did occasionally deign to lie in shallow water in very hot weather, she could not swim. This everybody, with the exception of Taki, knew. So in unison the entire company leapt overboard to rescue her — including Spiro, who simply adored Mother but who couldn’t swim either. The result was complete and utter chaos.

Donald and Max dived on top of each other and banged their heads together. Leonora, in diving, caught her foot on the side of the boat and gave it a nasty gash. Margo, under the impression that Mother was under the water instead of on top of it, dived deep and searched frantically for her body until her breath ran out and she was forced to surface. It was Leslie and Mactavish who seized Mother, for Larry had suddenly realised that Spiro could not swim and he was going down for the third time when Larry rescued him. But all the time he was sinking and rising in the water, Spiro was shouting, “Don’ts you worry; Mrs Durrells, don’ts you worrys!” in between spitting out great mouthfuls of seawater.

Leslie and Mactavish towed the panting, spluttering Mother to the shallow water of the sand bar where she could sit and cough up the seawater she had imbibed so freely, and Larry towed Spiro there so that he could do the same. Then, when they had recovered sufficiently, we got them back on board and had to give Mother a stiff brandy to recover from the shock and to give Spiro a stiff brandy for him to recover from the shock of seeing Mother falling into the water.

“Gollys, Mrs Durrells,” he said, “I thoughts you’d be drowns.”

“I thought exactly the same thing,” said Mother. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in such deep water in my life.”

“Neithers have I,” said Spiro seriously.

With the united efforts of us all pushing from the sand bar and Taki putting the engine into reverse, we got the benzina free and Taki, having examined the lay of the land, turned it slightly and we got into the bay without any further difficulty.

We lit a fire on the beach and ate octopus and tiny cuttlefish that had been ensconced in the ice-box and followed this up with cold chicken and fruit.

“You see what a good idea it was,” said Larry, stuffing a great tentacle of octopus into his mouth, “to bring the ice-box.”

“Yes, dear,” said Mother, “I didn’t think it was a good idea at the time, but it has turned out to be very successful, although of course the ice is melting much more quickly on board the boat than it would do in the villa.”

“Oh, it’s bound to,” said Larry. “Still, it’ll see us out.”

That night the moon was so beautiful that we all lay in the shallow warm water and drank and talked. It couldn’t have been more peaceful when, suddenly, the air reverberated and the cliffs echoed with a series of pistol shots.

Unbeknownst to us, Leslie and Mactavish had taken Mother’s pearl-handled revolver to the farther end of the bay, where Mactavish was showing Leslie how rapidly you learned to fire when you were in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

“God almighty!” said Larry. “What the hell do they think they’re doing? Turning the bay into a rifle range at Bisley?”

“Gollys,” said Spiro, “I thoughts it was thems son-of-a-bitch Turks.”

“Leslie dear,” shouted Mother, “do please stop doing that.”

“We’re only practising,” Leslie shouted back.

“Yes, but you’ve no idea how much noise it’s making here,” said Mother. “It’s echoing back from these cliffs and giving me a headache.”

“Oh, alright,” said Leslie, disgruntled.

“That’s the trouble with Leslie,” said Larry. “He’s not aesthetic. Here’s a beautiful, warm sea and nice wine and a full moon, and what does he do? He rushes around firing off revolvers.”

“Well, you do things that annoy us,” said Margo indignantly.

“What have I done to annoy you?” asked Larry. “Nothing at all. I’m by far and away the sanest member of this family.”

“You’re about as sane as a..., as a lunatic,” said Margo.

“Now, now, dears, don’t quarrel,” said Mother; “you know it’s my birthday.”

“I will play for you,” said Sven, and he played a series of melodies which were soft and beautiful, even coming from an accordion, and they fitted the mood and the setting very well.

Presently we brought our mattresses ashore, spread them along the beach and, one by one, dropped off to sleep.

After breakfast the next morning we had a quick swim and got on board the boat. The anchor was pulled up and Taki started the engine. It coughed into life, we moved some six inches and then the engine died.

“Oh, God, don’t tell me we’re going to have engine trouble,” said Larry.

Spiro, scowling, went to consult with Taki. We heard them muttering together and then suddenly Spiro’s voice, like the roar of a bull, raised in anger, heaping obscenities upon Taki’s head.

“What the hell’s the matter?” said Larry.

“This stupids bastards,” said Spiro, red with rage, pointing a stubby, quivering finger at Taki. “This stupids bastards — if you will excuses this words, Mrs Durrells — forgot to gets any more petrols.”

“Why did he forget?” we all asked in unison.

“He says he meants to, but he forgot when he hads to go and gets the ice-boxes.”

“There you are!” said Mother. “I knew it! I knew you shouldn’t have moved that ice-box!”

“Now don’t start on that again,” said Larry. “Where’s the next place we can get petrol from?”

“Taki says it’s Metaloura,” said Spiro.

“Well, that’s simple enough,” said Mactavish. “We can row there in the dinghy.”

“I don’t know whether it’s escaped your notice or not,” said Donald, “but we have no dinghy.”

It was very curious that none of us had noticed this, for most benzinas, especially when doing a trip of this sort, trailed a small boat behind them.

“Well,” said Mactavish, flexing his muscles, “I’m as fit as a fiddle. I can swim there and get help.”

“No, Mr Mactavish,” said Spiro glumly, “it’s ten kilometres.”

“Well, you can land on beaches and things and have a rest,” said Mactavish. “Easily do it by nightfall. Be back in the morning.”

Spiro scowled thoughtfully and then turned to Taki and translated Mactavish’s idea to him. But Taki was vehement. As from this bay to the next bay where petrol could be obtained it was practically all sheer cliffs, there would be nowhere one could go ashore for a rest.

“Oh dear,” said Mother, “what are we going to do?”

“Well, just sit here,” said Larry. “It’s quite simple.”

“What do you mean, it’s quite simple?” asked Mother.

“Well, we just sit here and when a boat passes we signal it, and it will then go down the coast and bring us some petrol. I don’t know what you’re all getting so fussed about.”

“Master Larry’s rights, Mrs Durrells,” said Spiro dismally. “We can’ts do anythings else.”

“Anyway, it’s a delightful spot,” said Larry; “I mean, if we had to break down we couldn’t have chosen a better place.”

So we all got off the boat and sat about on the beach, leaving Taki sitting cross-legged in the bows of our immobilised craft, keeping a careful eye on the mouth of the bay for any fishing boat that could come to our rescue.

The day passed pleasantly enough but no fishing boat passed. and by nightfall Mother was getting increasingly agitated.

“I do wish you’d stop fussing, Mother,” said Larry, “there’s sure to be one to-morrow, and we’ve got plenty of supplies.”

“That’s just the point,” said Mother, “we haven’t got plenty of supplies. I didn’t bring enough to allow for a break-down, and in any case the ice is melting so fast that if we don’t get a boat to-morrow half the food will go bad.”

This was an aspect of our predicament which had not until then struck us. The little bay, with its towering cliffs, provided none of the amenities that Robinson Crusoe had found on his island. There was nothing but a tiny spring of fresh water that trickled down the face of the cliff and formed a stagnant pool in which Theodore had discovered so many forms of life that none of us felt it would be suitable for drinking should our supply of liquid run out.

“Muzzer is not to worry,” said Max, throwing his arms around her protectively. “If necessary ye vill all get behind de boat and push her back to Corfu.”

“Danmed silly suggestion,” said Donald. “Just the sort of suggestion a Continental would make. God knows how many tons she weighs. Couldn’t possibly push her.”

“I’m afraid Donald’s quite right,” said Mactavish. “Fit though I am for my age, I feel that even united as we are, we couldn’t get her very far.”

“I do wish you’d all stop carrying on like this,” said Larry irritably; “after all, this whole coast is littered with fishing boats. There’s bound to be one along sometime to-morrow.”

“Well, I hope you’re right,” said Mother, “otherwise I’m going to have to ration the food.”

“Also, I know it’s only a minor point, but some of these specimens I’ve got are quite rare,” said Theodore, “and unless I can get them back to Corfu fairly soon, I’m afraid..., you know..., because they are so fragile, they are..., you know..., going to disintegrate.”

We all went to bed in an uneasy frame of mind and Taki and Spiro took it in turns to sit in the bows of the benzina watching in case one of the night fishermen passed who they could spot by his carbon light. But dawn came and still there was no sign of rescue. To add to our plight, the ice — having decided to melt — was melting at an alarming rate and we had to dig a hole in the sand and bury quite a lot of the more delicate and perishable foodstuffs that Mother had brought. We had a very meagre lunch.

“Oh dear,” said Mother, “I do wish we hadn’t come.”

“Do not worry, Muzzer,” said Max, “help is on de way. I feel it in my bones.”

“I think Larry’s right,” said Donald. “Lots of fishing boats along this stretch of coast. One’s bound to come along sooner or later.”

“Well, it had better be sooner than later,” said Mother, “otherwise we’re all going to starve to death.”

“It’s all Larry’s fault,” said Leslie belligerently, for he was feeling hungry. “He suggested the trip.”

“Now, don’t turn on me,” said Larry angrily. “You were just as much in favour of it as I was. If the damned thing had been organised properly we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“I agree with Leslie,” said Margo. “It was Larry’s suggestion.”

“I didn’t suggest we ran out of petrol in a remote bay surrounded by unclimbable cliffs ten kilometres away from the nearest source of supplies,” said Larry.

“Now, now, dears,” said Mother, “don’t quarrel. I’m sure Donald’s right. There’ll be a fishing boat along soon.”

“In the meantime,” said Sven, “I will play to you, my dear Mrs Durrell, to soothe you.”

It was unfortunate that he chose Bach since, as it apparently soothed him, he was under the impression it soothed everybody else.

But the day passed and no fishing boat appeared. The ice was melting away with great rapidity as, indeed, were our food supplies. Our meal that night would have prompted any Oliver Twist to ask for more.

“Bloody silly,” said Larry. “All these damned fishing boats dashing up and down the coast. Why the hell don’t they fish in this area?”

“Maybe there’ll be a night fisherman tonight,” said Mactavish.

Though Spiro and Taki kept watch, nothing passed the mouth of the bay. For breakfast we had a rather soggy peach each. Lunch consisted entirely of watermelons and bread.

“What do our supplies consist of now?” asked Larry when we had consumed this repast.

“It’s rather fortunate that I am a small eater,” said Theodore, adding hastily, “I mean, fortunate for me, that is.”

“If this goes on I don’t know what we’re going to do,” said Mother, who by now had worked herself into a sort of near panic in spite of everything everybody was trying to do to reassure her.

“Resort to cannibalism,” said Larry.

“Larry dear, don’t joke like that,” said Mother. “It’s not funny.”

“In any case, ha ha,” said Mactavish, “you’d find me rather tough.”

“Oh, we’d start on you,” said Larry, fixing him with a baleful stare. “We’d have you as a rather indigestible hors d’oeuvre. But Leonora, cooked slowly in the sand as they do it in Polynesia would, I feel, be absolutely delicious. Toes, buttocks and breast.”

“Larry, don’t be disgusting,” said Margo. “I couldn’t possibly eat a human being.”

“Damned bad form,” said Donald, “Only wogs eat each other.”

“It’s surprising, though, what you can do when you have to,” said Theodore. “I think it was in Bosnia where several villages were snowed up for an unprecedented number of months and, er..., quite a few of the villagers took to cannibalism.”

“Now, will you all stop talking about cannibalism,” said Mother. “You’ll only make matters worse.”

“Well, you still haven’t answered my question,” said Larry. “What are our supplies at the moment?”

“Watermelons,” said Mother, “three green peppers and two loaves of bread. Taki is trying to catch some fish but he says it isn’t a very good bay for fish.”

“But surely there were a couple of legs of lamb left,” said Larry.

“Yes, dear,” said Mother, “but the ice has melted now to such an extent that they’ve gone off and so I had to bury them.”

“Dear God,” said Larry, “it’ll have to be cannibalism.”

The day passed and still no boat appeared. That evening we had very dried-up bread, slightly shrivelled green peppers and watermelon.

Taki and Spiro took up their watch in the bows of the benzina and we all went to bed feeling extremely hungry.

The following morning no boat had been sighted during the night. Our situation, from being slightly comic, was now becoming quite serious. We were all aboard the benzina holding a council of war. My suggestion that we could exist for another couple of days by eating limpets was immediately crushed underfoot.

“My specimens, you know, are deteriorating quite fast,” said Theodore in a worried tone of voice.

“Oh, damn your bloody specimens,” said Larry. “If only you’d collect something more substantial than microscopic life it would help keep us alive now.”

“I really don’t know what we’re going to do,” said Mother.

We had one minute portion of bread each for breakfast and that was the end of our supplies.

“I suppose we’ll all just die here,” she went on, “and it’s not the sort of place that I would choose to be buried in.”

“Muzzer vill not die,” said Max affectionately. “If necessary, I vill commit suicide and you can eat me.”

Mother was rather taken aback by this lavish offer.

“It’s awfully kind of you, Max,” she said, “but I do hope that won’t be necessary.”

Just at that precise moment Spiro, who had been standing in the bows of the boat, uttered one of his bull roars that made the cliffs echo and bounce.

“Here! Here!”

He was shouting and waving his arms and we saw a small boat with a tiny, rather decrepit engine attached to it passing across the mouth of the bay.

“Here! Here!” shouted Spiro again in Greek. “Come here!” So rich and deep was Spiro’s voice and such tremendous lung power lay in his stocky frame that, aided by the echo chamber of the cliffs that surrounded us, the man in the boat actually heard him and turned and looked in our direction. We all rushed to the bows of the boat and made wild gestures beckoning him to come to us. He switched off his engine and Spiro bellowed once more,

“Come here! Come here!”

“Who, me?” said the man in the fishing boat.

“But of course YOU,” said Spiro, “who else?”

“You want me to come to you?” asked the man in the boat, getting things quite clear in his mind.

Spiro called upon Saint Spiridion and several other local saints.

“But of course you!” he roared. “Who else is there?”

The man looked around him carefully. “Nobody,” he called back.

“Well, it’s YOU that I want then,” shouted Spiro.

“What do you want?” inquired the man interestedly.

“If you come closer I can tell you,” yelled Spiro, muttering to himself, “idiot!”

“Alright,” said the man.

He switched on his engine and came zig-zagging towards us.

“Thank God,” said Mother in a trembling voice, “oh, thank God.”

I must say that at that juncture we all shared her feelings.

The little boat, some twelve feet long, came nosing up to us and the man switched his engine off and bumped gently against our side. He was as brown as a hazel nut, with enormous bluey-black eyes and a curly mop of hair, and it was quite obvious from the very beginning that if he wasn’t an idiot he was very close to being one.

He grinned up at the assembled company ingratiatingly.

“Kalimera,” he said.

With infinite relief in our voices we all said kalimera back.

“Now, listen,” said Spiro, taking charge of the situation, “we have...”

“You are Greek?” asked the fisherman, looking at Spiro with interest.

“Of course I’m Greek,” shouted Spiro, “but the thing is that...”

“Are all of you Greek?” inquired the fisherman.

“No, no,” said Spiro impatiently, “they’re foreigners. But the point is that...”

“Oh, foreigners,” said the fisherman, “I like foreigners.”

He delicately shifted off his foot a dead octopus which had somehow bounced on to it when he had come alongside.

“Would they like to buy fish?” he inquired.

“We don’t want to buy fish,” roared Spiro.

“But foreigners like fish,” the fisherman pointed out.

“Fool!” roared Spiro, tried beyond endurance. “We don’t want fish. We want petrol.”

“Petrol?” said the fisherman in surprise. “But what do you want petrol for?”

“For this boat,” roared Spiro.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got enough for that,” said the fisherman, glancing at his tiny petrol tin in the bows of his boat. “Tell me, where do they come from?”

“They’re English,” said Spiro, “but now listen. What I want...”

“The English are a good people,” said the fisherman. “There was one only the other day... bought two kilos of fish off me and I charged him double and he didn’t notice.”

“Look!” said Spiro, “what we want is petrol and what I want you to do...”

“Is it a family?” the fisherman inquired.

“No, it’s not a family,” said Spiro, “but what I want you to do...”

“It looks like a family,” said the fisherman.

“Well, it’s not,” said Spiro.

“But he and she look like the mama and the papa,” said the fisherman, pointing at Sven and Mother, “and the rest look just like their children. The one with the beard, I suppose, must be the grandfather. What part of England do they come from?”

It was quite obvious that if this went on much longer Spiro would seize an empty wine bottle and bash the fisherman over the head with it.

“Do you think perhaps I ought to have a few words with him?” said Mactavish.

“No,” said Larry. “Here, Spiro, let me deal with him.” He leaned over the side of the benzina and in his most mellifluous voice said in Greek,

“Listen, my soul, we are an English family.”

“Welcome,” said the fisherman, smiling broadly.

“We have come here in this boat,” said Larry slowly and clearly, “and we have run out of petrol. Also we have run out of food.”

“Run out of petrol?” said the fisherman. “But you can’t move if you haven’t got petrol.”

“That is exactly the point,” said Larry. “So would you be kind enough to let us hire your boat so that we may go down to Metaloura, get some petrol and bring it back here?”

The fisherman absorbed this information, wiggling his brown toes in the pile of red mullet, squid and octopus that was lying in the bottom of his boat.

“You will pay me?” he inquired anxiously.

“We will pay you fifty drachmas to take one of us to Metaloura and another fifty drachmas to bring that person back.”

Briefly the man’s eyes widened with astonishment at this lavish offer.

“You wouldn’t give me fifty-five drachmas, would you?” he inquired, but without much hope in his voice, for he realised that the price was a very large sum of money for such a simple task.

“Oh, now, my soul,” said Larry, “my golden one, you know I’m offering you a fair price and that I will not cheat you. Would you have it said that you would try and cheat us? You, a Greek, to strangers in your country?”

“Never!” said the fisherman, his eyes flashing, having forgotten the story of the Englishman he had cheated. “A Greek never cheats a foreigner in his country.”

“Now, here,” said Larry, extracting two fifty-drachnia notes, “is the money. I am giving it to this man who is a Greek like yourself and he will carry it with him, and when you come back with the petrol I will make sure that he gives it to you without cheating you.”

So touched was the fisherman by this that he agreed instantly and Larry carefully placed the two fifty-drachma notes in the pocket of Spiro’s shirt.

“Now, for God’s sake, Spiro,” he said in English, “get into that bloody boat and go and get us some petrol.”

With something of an effort, for he was a portly man, Spiro lowered himself gingerly over the side of the benzina and got into the fisherman’s boat, which sank several inches farther into the water with the addition of his weight.

“Do you want me to go now or this evening?” inquired the fisherman, looking up at Larry.

“Now!” said all the Greek-speaking members of the party in unison.

The fisherman started his engine and they headed out into the bay, Spiro sitting like a massive, scowling gargoyle in the bows.

“Oh, I say!” said Donald, as the little boat disappeared round the headland. “How frightfully remiss of us!”

“What’s the matter now?” inquired Larry.

“Well, if we had bought all his octopus and fish and things we could have had some lunch,” said Donald plaintively.

“By God, you’re right,” said Larry. “Why didn’t you think of it, Mother?”

“I don’t see why I should be expected to think of everything, dear,” she pretested. “I thought he was going to tow us down the coast.”

“Well, we can always have limpets for lunch,” I said.

“If you mention those disgusting things once more, I shall be sick,” said Margo.

“Yes, shut up,” said Leonora. “We’ve got enough problems on our hands without you interfering.”

So we tried to distract our minds from our empty stomachs. Mactavish gave Leslie lessons in how to draw the pearl-handled revolver rapidly from his hip. Leonora and Margo alternately sun bathed and swam. Larry, Sven, Donald and Max argued in a desultory fashion about art and literature. Mother completed some complicated piece of knitting, dropping more than the regulation number of stitches. Theodore, having remarked to everybody’s irritation once again that it was a good thing that he was a small eater, pottered off to collect some more specimens in the stagnant pool at the bottom of the cliffs. I took my penknife round to the rocks and fed ravenously on limpets.

Having nothing to eat, we all got rather drunk on the large supply of wine which we still had left, so towards evening Donald and Max were dancing another complicated middle-European dance while Larry was endeavouring to teach Sven to play “The Eton Boating Song” on his accordion. Mother, now secure in her mind at the idea of rescue, had slept peacefully throughout this raucous party, but it got later and later and all of us, although we didn’t say anything, had the same thought in mind. Had Spiro, in fact, accompanied by the mad fisherman, reached his destination or were they marooned as we were in some remote bay? For the fisherman had looked as though his knowledge of navigation was practically nil. As the light was fading even the effects of the wine did not make us convivial and we sat in a morose bunch, exchanging only an occasional and generally acrimonious remark. It was like the tail end of a good party when everybody wishes everybody would go home. It was the dying embers of pleasure, and the approach of night was putting ash on them to kill them. Even the sky, which had decided that night to be like burnished copper streaked with gold, elicited no response.

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, the little fishing boat slid round on the gold-blue water into the bay. There in the stem sat our mad fisherman and there in the bows, like a massive bulldog, sat Spiro. Immediately all the complicated and beautiful patterning the sunset had made upon the sea and the sky became twice as vivid. Here was rescue. They had returned!

We gathered in an anxious bunch at the end of the beach as the little boat drew nearer and nearer. Then the fisherman switched off his engine and the boat, under its own impetus, headed towards us.

Immediately the sound of the engine and its echo died away, Spiro shouted in his Minotaurian voice,

“Don’ts you worrys, Mrs Durrells, I’ve fixed it.”

Simultaneously we heaved a sigh of relief, for when Spiro said that he had fixed something we knew it was fixed. The boat came drifting in, nosed and scrunched its way gently onto the sand and we saw that lying between the fisherman and Spiro was a whole roasted sheep on a spit and beside it a great basket containing all the fruits of the season.

Spiro scrambled clumsily out of the boat and waded massively ashore like some strange sea monster.

“I broughts us foods,” he said, “but they hadn’t gots any petrols.”

“To hell with the petrol,” said Larry, “let’s get that food ashore and eat!”

“No, no, Master Larrys, it doesn’t matters abouts the petrols,” said Spiro.

“But if we haven’t got any petrol we’re never going to get away from here,” said Mother. “And that sheep won’t last for long in this heat now that all the ice has melted in the ice-box.”

“Don’ts you worrys, Mrs Durrells,” said Spiro, “I tells you I’d fix it and I fixed it. I gots all the fishermens to come down and fetch us.”

“What fishermen?” asked Larry. “The only one we’ve seen is this fugitive from a lunatic asylum.”

“No, no, Master Larrys,” said Spiro, “I mean the fishermens from Corfus. The ones that comes out at nights.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Larry.

“I know,” I said, eager to display my superior knowledge. “It’s a whole fleet of benzinas that come out to fish at night with lights. They fish with nets and lights and I got some of my best specimens from them.”

“Did you get those extraordinary Argonauta argus from them?” inquired Theodore with interest.

“Yes,” I said, “and I also got a Duck’s Foot Starfish.”

“Well, I hope to God they’re reliable,” said Larry.

“I fixed it, Master Larrys,” said Spiro in a faintly indignant tone of voice. “They says that they’ll be heres at about twos o’clocks.

“After they’ve finished their fishing, though?” inquired Theodore.

“Yes,” said Spiro.

“They might have procured some interesting specimens,” said Theodore.

“That’s exactly what I thought,” I said.

“For God’s sake, stop talking about specimens and let’s get the food out,” said Larry. “I don’t know about anybody else but I’m ravenous.”

Carefully we extracted the sheep’s carcass, burnt and polished by the flames like fumed oak, and the basket of fruit. We transported it to our benzina so that not one morsel of it should be touched with sand, and there we had the most glorious meal.

Now it was night and the moon striped the water orange, yellow and white. We were replete with food and had drunk far too much wine. Sven played his accordion incessantly while the rest of us all endeavoured to do polkas and waltzes and complicated Austrian dances suggested by Max. So vigorously did we dance that Leonora fell over the side in a glorious chrysanthemum burst of phosphorescence.

Then at two o’clock the fishing fleet arrived and stationed itself, lights gleaming like a string of white pearls across the mouth of our bay. Then one benzina detached itself and came chugging in and, after the normal amount of Greek altercation, which made the cliffs echo and tremble, we were hitched up to it, towed away and then joined on to the main fleet.

Then the fleet started heading for Corfu and, with their lights burning, it seemed to me that we were like the tail end of a comet shooting across the dark waters of space.

As our pilot boat nosed us in gently to the jetty beneath the old fort, Mother said with infinite feeling,

“Well, it has been enjoyable in a way, but I’m so glad it’s over.”

At that precise moment about sixteen drunken fishermen who had entered into the spirit of the whole affair as only Greeks can do, were, under Spiro’s instructions, moving the ice-box from our benzina onto the jetty. Owing to the fact that they could not move it one way, after some discussion they all turned round and moved it the other way, with the result that half the fishermen and the ice-box dropped into about two fathoms of water.

“You see!” said Mother. “It’s the last straw! I knew we shouldn’t have brought that ice-box.”

“Nonsense,” said Larry, “to-morrow morning we can get it out of there as easily as anything.”

“But without the ice-box what am I going to do?” exclaimed Mother. “I’ll have to reorganise all the food for at least three or four days.”

“Oh, do stop fussing,” said Larry. “Really, one would think it was a major catastrophe. Spiro can bring the food up to us.”

“Well, it may not be a major catastrophe as far as you’re concerned,” said Mother frigidly, “but it is as far as I am concerned.”

Having embraced and said farewell to the rest of the party, we got into Spiro’s car and he drove us out to the villa. Although Larry hummed merrily and although Leslie showed Mother the beauty and intricacies of the pearl-handled revolver, although Margo tried to persuade her that the dress length would be absolutely ideal for her, and although even I tried to lighten her spirits by telling her about a rare butterfly that I had managed to catch with her birthday butterfly net, Mother maintained a frigid silence until we reached the villa. Obviously the loss of her precious ice-box had wounded her very deeply.

When we got in she poured herself a very stiff brandy and sat on the sofa, obviously trying to work out menus that one could cope with without an ice-box until it was retrieved from the depths of the sea, as we all — including Spiro — assured her it would be.

Larry had found some mail waiting for him. Filling a glass with wine, he started to open the letters with interest.

“Oh good!” he exclaimed, when he got to the second letter, “The Grubcnsteins are coming... and they’re bringing Gertrude with them.”

Mother came out of her gastronomic trance.

“Grubensteins?” she said. “You don’t mean that awful greasy little man who looks as though he hasn’t washed for about six weeks and that gipsy-like wife of his?”

“Great talent,” said Larry. “He’s going to make a fine poet. She paints awfully well. Gertrude’s very interesting, too. You’ll like her.”

“The less I see of them,” said Mother with dignity, “the better I’ll be pleased. I don’t know about this Gertrude woman, but the Grubensteins left a great deal to be desired.”

“What d’you mean, the less you see of them?” said Larry with surprise. “They’re coming to stay here.”

“You haven’t invited them here!” Mother said, startled.

“Of course I have,” said Larry, as though it was the most natural thing in the world; “they’ve got no money to stay anywhere else.”

Mother took a large gulp of brandy, put on her spectacles and what she considered to be her most fierce expression.

“Now look here, Larry,” she said in a firm tone of voice, “this has got to stop. I will not have you inviting all these people, at least not without letting me know. When are they supposed to be arriving?”

“The day after to-morrow,” said Larry.

“Well, it’s got to stop,” said Mother, “my nerves won’t stand it.”

“I don’t see what you’re carping about,” said Larry irritably; “they’re a very nice trio. And anyway, you’ve just had a nice holiday, haven’t you?”