by Tom Newton
Noyes was a great admirer of the painter El Greco. The elongated figures appealed to him. It seemed an opportunity not worth missing. He always kept his eyes open for culture in the places the war took him. It was a way to affirm life amidst all the horror. Purvis was game. He had nothing else planned, so they took their maps and set out from Mrs. Zombanakis’ house.
Fifteen miles did not sound far but once they had left the town the road worsened and when they reached the mountains it became impassable. Fifteen miles might just as well have been one hundred and fifty. They got out of the Jeep and Noyes spread out the map on the bonnet. As they were searching for a way to Fodele on foot, three men appeared leading a donkey. The men were very friendly when they realised they had come upon British officers. One of them spoke English and Noyes asked him for directions.
That’s where we are headed. Come along with us. You can take turns riding the donkey.
It was an arduous trek through harshly beautiful country and conversation soon dwindled to an occasional curse at the beast. The scent of pine was strong as they followed paths down towards the sea. There was no sign of modernity and the journey had the effect of a hypnotic timelessness. Noyes was astride the donkey as they finally arrived in Fodele. It felt like Palm Sunday and he hoped the outcome would not be the same. He swung a leg and slipped off the animal’s back. A crowd was gathering. A girl stepped forward and offered them segments of orange from a tray. Soon after, a man appeared with a bottle and a glass.
Welcome to our village. Let’s drink to King George.
He poured the glass full and handed it to Noyes, who emptied it in one draught. It had a fiery, acrid taste, pleasantly unpleasant. His eyes watered and he suppressed a cough. He returned the glass and Purvis was next, followed by the man with the bottle and then everyone else. More flasks were brought and the whole process was repeated several times. They were invited to eat at someone’s house and were seated at a table outside with ten others. There were oranges again, along with a plate of hard boiled eggs and a little cheese. There was one fork to share among the twelve. It was passed around and they took turns to eat morsels. There were frequent toasts from a single glass.
Both Purvis and Noyes felt uneasy at consuming this food, as their hosts obviously had so little and yet were so willing to share. It was an honour they could not refuse without insult, so they ate sparingly. Noyes checked his watch often, the afternoon was floating by. When it became apparent that the meal was over, they thought they would be on their way but they were led to another house and the whole scenario was re-enacted.
The owner of this house was the mayor of the village and the food was more plentiful. This time it included a plate of grilled chicken. There was bread and a coarse wine to drink, still from a shared glass. Their host was an older man who had spent his youth in America, where he had owned a restaurant. He had retired to his home country with a sizeable amount of money which the war had whittled away. He spoke fluent American English. The conversation flowed through him, as he translated for the others, between mouthfuls. After a lengthy stream of praise for the King, Lloyd George, Mr. Churchill and themselves, Noyes was able to broach the subject of El Greco. Their host was pleased.
You mean Domenikos Theotokópoulos. Yes, he was born here in this village and painted here until he left for Venice. This land was owned by Venice in those days. It’s always owned by someone other than its own people.
There was much laughter and more drinking. Noyes was fully aware of El Greco’s biography but he did not interrupt. He listened with a rapt expression, taking a bite from the fork when it came his way.
We are proud of Domenikos here. He was the only son of our village to amount to anything and that was four hundred years ago.
Noyes emitted a shallow cough and asked if the village was in possession of any artefacts from the great man.
Sure we are. They are in the church. You must go and see the priest. He’ll show you.
It was arranged that when they had finished their feast, a local boy would take them up and introduce them to the priest. Purvis and Noyes were silently relieved. They were both a little tipsy. The thought of a third meal as honoured guests was not appealing. Acting as emissaries of H.M. Government and of all the Allied Powers was becoming a burden. A quick visit to the church would be the perfect exit. It was certainly much easier to arrive in this village than to leave it. Eventually a boy was summoned and the chairs pushed back. Within ten minutes they were knocking on the church door. Purvis had the impression that the priest had been informed of their visit in advance. As an intelligence officer with a CSDIC rating, he had a nose for such things.
Welcome friends.
The priest was also an Anglophone.
Come in please.
We gather you have some things of interest regarding El Greco.
I do. In the church. Feel free to look.
The paintings were displayed on the interior walls and soon revealed themselves to be poorly executed copies of the master’s work. Nothing of interest here. All that remained was for Purvis and Noyes to politely extricate themselves and be on their way. They proffered their thanks and their excuses. On the point of departure Purvis sensed that the priest had something he wanted to tell them. He gave him the opportunity.
Is there anything else, Father?
Well actually, yes, there is one thing. It’s a sensitive matter.
How may we be of help?
You see, I’m holding a German prisoner and I think he might be better off in your hands. He might be killed if he stays here much longer.
And how did you come by this prisoner?
He was forced upon me by the partisans.
Let’s have a look then.
The priest led them down a narrow staircase. His robe rustled amongst their footsteps. He pulled out a key and unlocked a door at the bottom. It took a moment for their eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. A man was lying on the floor.
Aufstehen Sie!
The man got up unsteadily and they led him back up the stairs. He blinked in the half light as they resurfaced. He looked to be in bad shape – emaciated, filthy, with an ugly head wound.
Doesn’t look like you’ve been feeding this chap.
I’ve done my best but food is scarce for all of us.
They did not admonish him further. There was nothing to be gained by it.
As they left the building, a man was waiting for them outside. He was armed and obviously a partisan. The priest introduced him.
This is Alexis. He’s a communist. He will guide you back to your vehicle.
They thanked the priest and followed as Alexis led them down from the church. He turned to avoid the village.
It’s a good thing you’re taking this spy. He’ll be more use to you than to us. Seeing as we are allies, we are giving him to you.
Noyes did not answer. He was busy supporting the stumbling prisoner. Besides, he did not like communists. It was a dislike that went beyond politics. It was visceral. To him they represented an upstart threat to the rightful order of things. They implied chaos. It was something that frightened him and which he had witnessed far too much. He hated this war and longed to return to what he imagined was the tranquillity of the Edwardian era. It was an idea that veered towards utopia. Alexis kept talking.
This war will be over soon. You’ll go back to your soft beds in England but here the fighting will continue and I wonder what side you English will take then. We may not be friends much longer.
Noyes never engaged in political discussions while on duty, which was all the time these days, especially not with the natives. As far as he could discern, the majority of Cretans were Venezelist in their political opinion, which was not surprising since Crete was the birthplace of this great statesman. Though they were a threat and a nuisance, he did not believe the communists would amount to much. Alexis shut his mouth when he saw that the British would not speak to him and led them on a circuitous route back to their ca
r. At least he had solved his problem with the German. On arrival, Purvis presented him with a photograph of Mr. Churchill, which he threw away as soon as he was absorbed back into the landscape.
They found their Jeep exactly as they had left it, nothing was missing. Finally alone, Noyes and Purvis tried to sober up before the drive back, drinking water from a metal canteen. They gave the prisoner a swig too and helped him into the vehicle. Although their quest for El Greco had been disappointing, the day had turned out successfully after all.
36
SECRET and PERSONAL Party ’A’
M.A.A.F. Field Intelligence Unit
c/o 12th Air Force (rear)
APO 650, U.S. Army.
8th April 1945
Dear Daniel,
Thank you for your letter of 2nd April from Crete. I am sorry you had to make so many fruitless journeys; Group Captain Stringfellow referred to the fact that M.E. Had made a cock of the arrangements. However, you seem to have been able to achieve some of your other objects satisfactorily.
As you will see I have not left for the U.K. as we are told that the B.F. Operation is to be considered on until definitely cancelled – I may hear some more pretty soon.
We have not had any personal mail for you recently. Some was sent down from M.A.A.F. again from Florence about a week ago as one of them was marked “Please forward as soon as possible”. Since then we have only had official mail and a parcel containing a book from England. I received the books you sent from Cairo.
The only other news in the Section is that Swann is going home apparently on compassionate grounds and at the moment nothing is known about a replacement. The school begins at the end of this week.
If this letter catches you while still at A.H.Q. Greece Kingsley would like you to enquire whether there is any mail for him or Davies or if any of their kit has been received after the “troubles”. S/L Wicks (Org.) may know.
Davies has been down at Bari coping with the 15th Air Force’s loot, and is arranging for its despatch to England.
Yours,
Shilltowe
S/L. D. Noyes,
c/o Intelligence Section,
R.A.F., A.H.Q. Greece.
37
TOP SECRET
S/Ldr. D. Noyes
M.A.A.F. Field Intelligence Unit
Crete, 18th April , 1945.
Dear Shilltowe,
Thank you for your letter of April 8th. It was forwarded to me. As we had anticipated, the investigation we carried out on Crete was not productive for the parts visited had been evacuated some six months earlier and the combined effects of the weather and looting by the local inhabitants over the intervening period considerably reduced the initially small total of available intelligence. We found less than fifty aircraft on the island, mostly Ju 88s, of which about half were on the four airfields in allied hands, Iraklion, Rethimnon, Castelli and Timbakion, and the remainder in a scrap dump on the docks at Iraklion. The smaller landing strips had been ploughed up for cultivation or had become overgrown and were devoid of aircraft remains. The seven radar sites at Akr. Khersonisos, Ziros, Ierapetra, Eleounda, Akr. Trahili, Palaiokhora and Mouros had been carefully evacuated and nothing was found beyond occasional traces of coast-watcher and Wassermann L installations.
If from the above description our visit may seem to have been ineffective, it must be remembered that the people of many of the more outlying villages had seen no allied troops since the recapture of Crete after the abandonment of the eastern, central and southern parts by the Germans last September. To them the visit had great propaganda value and I feel that much good was accomplished by the direct liaison in the civilian population which was not so much a matter of choice as of necessity. The approaches to the radar sites were invariably through the remotest and wildest parts of the country where first-hand knowledge of the conditions of life on this rugged island were inevitably forced upon one.
On Sunday last, we were engaged in such a propaganda/liaison mission in the village of Fodele. We were treated to great hospitality by the local people who were found to be very enthusiastic about the King, Mr. Churchill and indeed the entire British nation. These people, as in the other villages that were visited, have had to lead a self-supporting existence over the last few years. Cut off from all imports of wheat, rice, sugar, coal and timber from the outside world and very often with only the most slender means of communication between themselves, the standard of living has sunk to a dreadfully low level rendered even worse by the wholesale theft of food on the part of the German and Italian troops. Although originally any supplies taken by the army of occupation were to be replaced in kind, this arrangement appears to have lapsed, inflicting great hardship on the peasant people who had thus a double burden to bear.
In Fodele we discovered a German P/W being held in a lightless hypogeum beneath the local church. The man had apparently been captured by the partisans in the area. The prisoner was handed into our care by the village priest and was found to be wounded and in a state of malnourishment. He has not yet been put through the normal channels and is currently being held at our billet for the exigencies of interrogation.
An initial interview, conducted by F/Lt Purvis yielded no fruitful intelligence. Although it is safe to say that the man cannot be considered an air prisoner. He claims to be a civilian but how he came to be on the island and what he was doing there has yet to be discovered. Incidentally, he speaks fluent English.
However, a very curious object was found on his person, for which he is unable or unwilling to provide an explanation. I have examined it and must confess that I have never before come across anything like it. Without definitive knowledge, I suspect that it is a very technically advanced electronic component the likes of which we have not seen or even knew existed. I believe that this object, no larger than one’s thumbnail, may contain vast amounts of circuitry. If I am correct and this technology has been acquired by the enemy, then we have a very serious problem on our hands indeed. It is therefore essential that it be shipped to the War Office in England as soon as possible. Please advise.
Hollis was here on a brief stop-over and delivered two watches from Gilbert for me and Hugh. Seeing as I don’t know Hugh’s whereabouts these days I was wondering if you might forward his to him. Many thanks. I hear that Goldie has finally returned to Cairo. What can one say about that?
Sincerely
DN
Squadron Leader
Wing Commander Shilltowe
Party ’A’
M.A.A.F. Field Intelligence Unit
c/o 12th Air Force (rear)
APO 650, U.S. Army.
38
Franz had been locked in the attic room of Mrs. Zombanakis’ house. The building was not exactly secure but there was no egress to the roof, so if he attempted escape he would have to pass Noyes’ and Purvis’ rooms and then get by Mrs Zombanakis herself who was always home and had no great love for Germans. Purvis had dressed his wound on the night they had returned a little shakily from Fodele. The next morning they had woken him and given him a British Flight Lieutenant’s uniform to wear. It was their custom when treating with English-speaking prisoners – a subtle ploy to erode their sense of identity. They had discovered the package he was carrying when they had forced him to strip. Purvis had begun the interrogation by asking the usual preliminary questions - name, number, rank, unit and so forth. When he told them that he was not in the military, things took a menacing turn for him.
If you are not a member of the armed forces you are not eligible for prisoner of war status and I would have to consider you a spy. In that case you would have the option of telling us what you know and working with us or facing the hangman’s noose. Your choice.
All this time they had kept Franz standing in the centre of the room while Purvis paced around nonchalantly, smoking a cigarette and sometimes asking questions from behind him. Franz never knew where he was going to be next and constantly found himself re-buttoning his fly, whic
h kept coming undone as he stood there. This was another of Purvis’ erosive techniques. He had enlarged the button holes for that purpose and he was pleased to see it was having some effect. Franz vehemently denied that he was a spy. He was a film technician, no more than that.
Then tell me your business on the island of Crete.
I have no business here. I didn’t know this was Crete.
Purvis allowed random time intervals between questions. He drew on his cigarette and gazed out of the window. It was a bright day and harsh shadows striped the room. They dappled Noyes, who sat at a desk taking notes with his fountain pen on any scrap of paper that came to hand. Paper was hard to come by and he saved the good sheets for his typewritten reports.
So why don’t you know where you are?
That was a difficult question. He had always known where he was.
I’m not sure. Something seems to have happened to time and space. I can’t think of any other explanation.
Then tell me how you arrived at this place that you claim not to know.
I was driving into France and I found myself here.
France? A bit off target, don’t you think? I suppose you drove across water.
The problem was that he had one foot in two different worlds and they had two feet firmly placed in one. How was he to explain that and be believed?
I can’t say.
From where were you driving?
From Berlin.
And when was this?
The summer of 1940. It seems like a long time ago.
Almost five years, to be precise.
Purvis was annoyed. This interrogation was turning into an absurdist play. Either this man was adroitly feigning mental incapacity or he was truly incapacitated. He could not tell yet. The puzzle was intriguing but he felt he was beginning to lose his grasp of the situation.
You say you are a film technician.
Yes.
For whom are you working?
Back in Germany I was working for UFA. It was a company taken over by the state in 1937 I think.