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?”
3
A Transport of Terrapins
TOWARDS the end of 1939, when it looked as though war was inevitable, my family uprooted itself from Corfu and came back to England. We settled for a time in a flat in London while my mother made repeated forays into different parts of the English countryside in search of a house. And while she was doing this I was free to explore London. Although I have never been a lover of big cities I found London, at that time, fascinating. After all, the biggest metropolis I was used to was the town of Corfu, which was about the size of a small English market town, and so the great sprawling mass of London had hundreds of exciting secrets for me to discover. There was, of course, the Natural History Museum, and the inevitable visits to the Zoo, where I got on quite intimate terms with some of the keepers. This only strengthened my belief that working in a zoo was the only real vocation for anyone, and confirmed me in my desire to possess a zoo of my own.
Quite close to the flat where we were staying was a shop which always had my undivided attention. It was a place called “The Aquarium”, and its window was full of great tanks full of brightly coloured fish and, what was even more interesting, rows of glass-fronted boxes that contained grass snakes, pine snakes, great green lizards and bulbous-eyed toads. I used to gaze longingly in the window at these beautiful creatures and I had a great desire to possess them. But as I already had a whole host of birds, two magpies and a marmoset in the flat, I felt that the introduction of any other livestock of any shape or form would bring down the wrath of the family upon me, and so I could only gaze longingly at these lovely reptiles.
Then, one morning, when I happened to pass the shop, my attention was riveted by a notice that was leaning up against an aquarium. It said, “Wanted: Young, reliable assistant”. I went back to the flat and thought about it for some time.
“They’ve got a job going in that pet shop down the road,” I said to my mother.
“Have they, dear?” she said, not really taking any notice.
“Yes. They say they want a young, reliable assistant. I... I thought of applying for it,” I said carelessly.
“What a good idea,” said Larry. “Then, perhaps, you could take all your animals there.”
“I don’t think they’d let him do that, dear,” said my mother.
“How much do you think they’d pay for a job like that?” I asked.
“Not very much, I shouldn’t think,” said Larry. “I doubt that you are what they mean by reliable.”
“Anyway, they’d have to pay me something, wouldn’t they?” I said.
“Are you old enough to be employed?” inquired Larry.
“Well, I’m almost sixteen,” I said.
“Well, go and have a shot at it,” he suggested.
So the following morning I went down to the pet shop and opened the door and went in. A short, slender, dark man with very large horn-rimmed spectacles danced across the floor towards me.
“Good morning! Good morning! Good morning, sir!” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“You, um..., you want an assistant...,” I said.
He cocked his head on one side and his eyes grew large behind his spectacles.
“An assistant,” he said. “Do you mean to say you want the job?”
“Er..., yes,” I said.
“Have you had any experience?” he inquired doubtfully.
“Oh, I’ve had plenty of experience,” I said. “I’ve always kept reptiles and fish and things like that. I’ve got a whole flatful of things now.”
The little man looked at me.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Sixteen... nearly seventeen,” I lied.
“Well,” he said, “we can’t afford to pay very much, you know. The overheads on this shop are something extraordinary. But I could start you off at one pound ten.”