Shocked into wakefulness at three in the morning by the fury of a terrific storm raging all about us. Rain was lashing down in torrents and lightning was flashing continuously. Water was pouring in through one side the side of the tent, the side where I was sleeping, surging across the tent, and out again under Allan’s bed like a swift mountain stream. Luckily I was just quick enough to grab my clothes and place them out of harm’s way. Water everywhere.
I have never seen or heard a storm like it – it was terrifying. After a while it subsided and we were able to get back to sleep.
6 am. Allan was again wakened by the tent walls flapping about his ears. They were much lower than they should have been (the tent walls I mean) because the centre pole had parted company with the upright poles. The whole tent was in danger of collapsing. We found that the guy ropes had tightened due to the rain causing the centre pole to support more weight than normal. Outside, the storm had returned with all its ferocity. Nevertheless, the ropes had to be slackened. I put on my raincoat, rolled up my pyjamas and slipped into my sandals because shoes would not have been much use in the mud. Besides, sandals were expendable! A towel wrapped around my head, I stepped out into the storm feeling like a latter day Walter Mitty.
I went round, slackening all the ropes, completing the job by banging the centre pole home with a mallet. Such was the force of the rain that it began to penetrate my raincoat. Fortunately I was nearly finished and was able to get inside fairly dry.
It was still not light but no matter, the tent was once again safe. This time we stayed awake until the storm had abated, and we were able to get some “shut-eye.” Next time you go to bed in a nice, warm house, just think how lucky you are! But I still wouldn’t have missed the experience.
11 am. No more nocturnal happenings. Woke up naturally this time. Outside, it was still very windy with heavy showers. The floor is covered in a mess of mud and water. Still, it does not interfere with the traditional cuppa! All the same, the tent resembles a miniature Flanders battlefield. But we will not be able to do anything until the weather improves – who knows when that will be! At present, we are sitting in the nearby café, reading and writing. Later, we shall have to go into town to get the puncture repaired.
In a while, the sky began to clear; a chance to clean up the tent. Sodden blankets, towels, coats and the groundsheet thick with mud. We took the groundsheet and the towels down to the sea and gave them a thorough wash. The weather is clearing very well by now but the strong wind continues to blow. My raincoat has dried very quickly in the wind.
We have now re-arranged the tent, putting rocks around the inside perimeter – something we should have done in the first place as well as dig a drainage ditch outside the tent. But who could have foreseen such a storm after the last few beautiful days?
We have just been told that fifteen thousand homes have been flooded in Athens and twenty-five people killed. Not wanting the people at home to worry about us, we hope that this news does not reach the English newspapers…
Later. The weather has cleared up very well, most of the clouds have left the scene. It is interesting to note, that from the start of the storm until now, neither of us felt the least bit depressed though we had every reason to be. I think we got through it pretty well – us and the tent! Surely to goodness we will not encounter another storm like last night’s – impossible!
Around five o’clock, we decided to dress and go into town. It was dark when we got there but of course the shops were all open. We just wandered around with the locals. Stopped for a while at a corner snack bar. The snack was the usual plate of meat balls and a beer. We sat outside, the weather being quite calm by then. Quite a pleasant evening.
11 pm. Started off back to camp. But never got there! As we were taking a bend in the road, the car skidded to the left. This stretch of the road was wet with sea water – very treacherous, and as invisible as black ice. Allan corrected the skid, but it slewed to the right even more severely. Seeing that the corrective action had not straightened us up, Allan jammed on the brakes and locked the wheel hard over.
We started turning completely around. I saw a lamp-post looming up. It looked as though the car would hit it broadside on. There was nothing I could do except wait for the impact, thinking “This is the end of the trip.” We were not scared for ourselves – I don’t think we would have been hurt. But my poor little Fiat looked as though it was going to end its days wrapped around a Greek lamp-post!
No, we missed it but the were other hazards. A row of bollards and to cap it all, a pedestrian. The pedestrian skipped neatly out of the way; we missed the bollards and ended up facing the way we had come – right off the road and unscathed. I felt a huge surge of relief. The gods must have been out in force tonight.
As for the pedestrian, he turned out to have two companions – all American GI’s about our own age. They were walking along drinking rye whiskey and dry. A swig out of a bottle of rye, followed by a swig out of a bottle of dry! They were, not surprisingly, as drunk as lords but nice fellows. We stood talking to them for a while – not that they could talk very well. Then one of them asked, “What made you guys stop and talk to us?” What a laugh!
Eventually, the three Americans insisted we accompany them to the “Blue Bird Club”, a club habitually used by GI’s. In their opinion, “These two limey’s are OK!” We offered no resistance and off we went, looking forward to what promised to be a good laugh.
“Blue Bird Club” – what a dive! Crew-cut Yanks jiving to a juke box. We were told they are officers. The GI’s traditional dislike of officers was obvious. I cannot print most of the comments here, but one, “I’m as good as they are; I put my pants on the same way – one leg after the other” sums it up. They certainly bore no resemblance to their R.A.F counterparts. Our hosts wouldn’t let us pay for anything – it was all very amusing. We got into conversation with two negro airmen who were a bit suspicious of us at first, but soon came out of their shells. One had recently been based in Turkey and spoke both Turkish and Arabic. Two very nice and intelligent fellows. My opinion of Americans began to go up.
The drinks and the hours passed by. Eventually we left at about three or four in the morning. The original Three Musketeers had now dwindled to one, the other two having long since lost the battle of the bottle! The survivor was driven home to a first class hotel, paid for courtesy of the U.S. Government until he can find an apartment.
So ended the night’s fun. We made our way back to camp having promised our new found friend that we would meet him at noon tomorrow for a look around the airbase. How I wish that Buddy Bisson could have been here. Good night again.
