*****
*****
 |
| The New Queen: June 2, 1953 |
Elizabeth – the
popular young queen of England – had assumed the throne after her father’s
death the year Lucky arrived in Cyprus. A war-time princess, she and her sister
had remained in England during the German bombings, making public appearances
and speaking on the radio to help steel the public against the depredations.
The
international press doted on her ever after, telling breathless tales of her
betrothal, then marriage, to a Greek prince. Filing voluminous reports on her
children, Prince Charles and Princess Anne. The Media wept with her upon her
father’s death and wondered in world-wide broadcasts if the young Queen was
strong enough to shoulder such a heavy burden.
They quickly
answered their own questions with a resounding “Yes” that played out daily on
millions of radios and tens of thousands of television sets. During special
broadcasts whole neighborhoods packed the homes of the fortunate few proud
owners of those flickering black and white sets.
Lucky’s
grandmother in Philadelphia – who possessed such a device – wrote to say that
she didn’t mind all the neighbors coming over, but it was getting to be a
bother cleaning up after them. And then, as if interest wasn’t keen enough, New
Zealand adventurer Edmund Hillary, became the first man to conquer Mt. Everest
and he dedicated his feat to his new sovereign.
Some said this
would herald in a new era for Britain, there was even talk of a second
Elizabethan “Golden age.”
In Cyprus, where
the subject of Enosis and Cypriot independence from Britain was growing more
heated by the day, people were just as excited as everywhere else. Never mind
the shouts of “down with British rule!” Elizabeth was their queen, too,
by God, and they all admired her.
Lucky learned
that the Cypriots didn’t blame the Queen – who, after all, was married to Greek
royalty - for the transgressions of their imperious British masters.
In the local
taverna, Lucky heard people say, “If She only knew She would end this
injustice.”
The ever-cynical
CIA guy Joe Davis said that throughout history it had always been so. “People
don’t blame the crown,” he said at a weekly chess meeting. “Never did - from
old King Nebakanezer on. They figure it’s the fault of the nobles and
bureaucrats who’re so crooked they screw their socks on in the morning when
they get up. The peasants think if only they could spill the beans to the king
he’d set things straight. That’s why the Russians peasants shot all the
Romanoffs. They finally found out it was a lie all the way to the top.”
Whatever the
reason, as the coronation of Queen Elizabeth approached, all of Cyprus was
agog. Every merchant filled his shelves with coronation memorabilia. There were
tea pots with pictures of the Queen and her family; framed Madonna-like
portraits of Elizabeth and scarves and blouses decorated with royal scenes and
symbols and even butter molds that displayed the royal seal.
That was just
the imported memorabilia – some of which came all the way from India, a country
which had only recently won its independence but had gone as “Liz crazy” as
every other colony or former colony in the realm.
Cypriot
craftsmen went all out, carving wooden statues and icons, casting tableware of
pewter and silver. Lucky’s blacksmith friend was making a handsome profit using
his new electric torch to braze the Queen’s face on metal plates. Mr. Zenos,
the carpenter, was commissioned to construct an enormous dining room set for a
rich Turk. The table chairs featured lions’ claws and when the table was drawn
out to its full length, Elizabeth’s engraved image appeared.
Not just the
BBC, but local radio broadcasts were obsessed with the coming coronation and it
seemed that every program, be it music, news casts, even Greek soap operas,
dwelt on the subject.
Oddly enough,
the Russians took a break from their jamming activities and Lucky’s father
laughed at reports that Moscow appeared to be as royalty mad as the rest of the
world. “Nikita Khrushchev gave a speech the other day,” he said,
“congratulating the Queen and reminding everybody that the Romanoffs were first
cousins to the British royal family.”
Countless
parties were staged all over the island with the grandest soirees being planned
for June 2 – the day of the official crowning. From the poorest taverna to the
most glittering mansion, people readied mountains of food and rivers of drink
to celebrate the young queen’s ascension to the throne. Since the great day
fell on a Tuesday, a four-day island-wide holiday was declared, with most
people getting a good head start the week before, if the number of inebriates
at the local Pallouriotissa taverna was any indication. The police station down
the street from Lucky’s house was decorated with Union Jacks and patriotic
banners and the police chief and his men played music on their radio all day,
while swigging from clay jugs.
The grandest
soiree of all was the Governor General’s Tattoo, which was being staged at the
same amphitheater Lucky and Donna had visited when they saw the “Medea.” Hosted
by the British Governor General, the festival would include marching bands,
displays of martial excellence, singers and dancers famed throughout the empire
and a fireworks exhibit that was being prepared by the former fireworks master
of the richest rajah in India.
Invitations to
the tattoo were restricted and as sought after as any inaugural in the island’s
long history of royal events. Security was extremely tight because of the
growing unrest over Enosis. It was well known that Khrushchev and Malenkov,
Stalin’s successor, – the new leaders of the Soviet Union – were casting eyes
on Cyprus and had gone so far as to cite old treaties with the Ottoman Turks
that allegedly promised certain rights to Cypriot ports.
Jim, as a
prominent member of the young men’s business association, had won an invite to
sit in the mayor’s box with other Nicosia city officials. He told a humorous
story about the British agents who came to visit him – sweltering in long leather
coats in the late May heat – to quiz him about his contacts with “certain
undesirables.”
“They meant
Yorgo,” Jim laughed. “The greatest capitalist communist in all of Cyprus.”
Lucky didn’t
think it was funny, but he forced a smile. “What did you say?” he asked, trying
to hide his anxiety.
He’d been
worried about Yorgo since the trouble over Athena. They’d been able to see each
other – but only for a few minutes at a time – during “chance” encounters. She
said her father had been acting oddly since Stalin’s death. Drinking heavily
and subject to sudden emotional outbursts that ranged from angry shouting to
drunken tears.
Jim shrugged.
“There was nothing to say. Yorgo’s politics may be strange, but he does own the
largest lumber company in Nicosia and is an important builder.”
Lucky doubted
this explanation would satisfy the British investigators. “Did you tell them
you’re my teacher?” He asked cautiously.
“Why, yes, I
did,” Jim said. “I didn’t tell them immediately – what would be the point of
that? But when they left I had definite feeling that they weren’t going to
approve my invitation. But they rang back later and asked about my business
with you and your father and mother.”
Lucky nodded.
“So, now it’s okay, right?”
“Right,” Jim
said. He gave Lucky an odd look. “But what does my job teaching you have to do
with it?”
“Oh, probably
because my folks and I are attending,” Lucky said. “All the American embassy
families have invitations. So they probably put it together, right? When
checking out my family to make sure we’re okay?”
Jim hesitated,
then nodded. “I suppose so,” he said. But he didn’t seem entirely convinced.
Lucky asked a
question about his math assignment and soon steered him off the subject.
*****
The weekend
before the coronation, Lucky and his mother were interrupted at lunch by a
honking horn, pounding on the front door and cheery male voices calling his
name.
It was his
hospital chums, Harry, Brian and Kenneth and at first he thought they’d come to
spirit him away on another adventure. He peeked outside and with some
disappointment saw there were only two girls in the car – both nurses from the
hospital.
“Sorry to bother
you, Mrs. Cole,” they said to his mother.
She urged them
to come in for refreshments, “Invite your friends,” she said.
“Yeah, come on
in,” Lucky said, pulling the door wider.
Harry rubbed
Lucky’s head affectionately. “Thanks all the same but we promised to get the
girls back for their four o’clock shift,” he said.
Brian came
forward, which was unusual, because as a major, Harry usually spoke for the
group. “It’s like this, Mrs. Cole,” he said. “The coronation is coming up and…
well… my presence has been commandeered by the powers that be and I wanted all
my mates around so I don’t make too big of an ass of myself – begging your
pardon.”
“You mean the
Governor’s tattoo?” Lucky’s mother asked.
“The very one,”
Brian said.
“But Lucky is
already going to attend, Brian,” Helen said. “In fact, the whole family has an
invitation.”
Brian squirmed
with discomfort. “Sure, I… uh… reckoned you would be… but, uh… Well, I just
thought I’d ask.”
Harry smoothly
broke in. “Brian’s been invited to open the festivities, Mrs. Cole,” he said.
“He’ll be in the Governor’s box. Along with me and Kenneth.” Kenneth grinned
and gave her a casual salute. “It’s the four musketeers from the hospital, you
see. Except without Lucky – who is our D’Artagnon – we’re short one musketeer.”
Lucky’s mother
smiled in understanding and said she’d be happy to have him ready when they
came to pick him up. The guys left with much horn honking, gravel skidding, and
music blaring on the radio.
As Lucky and his
mother turned back inside, she asked, “I wonder what’s so special about Brian
that he caught the eye of the governor?” Lucky shrugged - he had no idea. His mother asked, “What was
Brian in the hospital for?”
“He’s a
demolition expert,” Lucky said. “He was defusing a bomb and something went
wrong. Kenneth said the whole bomb didn’t go, just the detonator, which Brian
had already pulled.”
Lucky’s mother
paled as she imagined the incident. Like most people of her generation,
however, she was a veteran of war traumas and quickly recovered. “Didn’t you
say that he’s only a lieutenant?” she asked.
“Yeah, a
lieutenant,” Lucky said. “But everybody looks up to him and goes along with
him. Even Harry – and he’s a major. If Brian says something, people listen. And
they sort of do what he says.”
Lucky laughed at
the memory of an incident at the hospital. “I saw a general salute him once,”
he said. “Can you imagine that?” He shook his head. “Boy, that Brian. He’s got
everybody fooled.”
His mother said
quietly, “Well, obviously there’s more to Brian than meets the eye.” She gave
Lucky a look. “Is he the son of a lord, or something? Or a rich man’s son?”
Lucky had to
laugh at that. “Brian always says that he’s as common as a mustard jar,” he
said. “But he does have money. I think his father’s a big shot union leader, or
something. He’s always loaning Harry and Kenneth money when they get in a jam.”
“Well, I guess
we’ll learn more at the Governor’s tattoo,” Lucky’s mother said.
A few days
later, Donna called and told Lucky she hoped his feelings wouldn’t be hurt, but
she had to withdraw her invitation for him to sit with her at the tattoo. The
boxes reserved for American embassy bigwigs, like her father, had been
over-promised and there was no longer enough room for Lucky.
Lucky frowned.
Donna’s voice had sounded a little tense. So he asked. “Is there enough room
for David Sisco?” Her silence was reply enough. “So he’s still telling stories
about me,” Lucky said.
“He never
stopped,” Donna said. “I warned you about him, didn’t I?”
Lucky was both
angry and relieved. He’d been trying to figure out how to tell Donna that he
wasn’t going with her after all. That he’d be with his British mates, instead.
“Will we be able to see each other later?” he asked. “I mean, has that changed
too?”
Another long
silence. Then, “It’s not going to be easy.”
“No, I guess it
won’t be,” Lucky said.
*****
Lucky had his
revenge at approximately 5 p.m. that Tuesday when he mounted the long stairs in
the company of Harry, Kenneth and Brian - who were all wearing tailored dress
uniforms, with medals of heroism tumbling down their chests. Obsequious ushers
led them to the Royal Box, where the island’s two greatest men held forth – The
British Governor General and the famed Cypriot leader of both church and state,
the Archbishop Makarios.
As Lucky climbed
the stairs, he saw the proud looks of his parents, then the astonished
reactions of foes and friends alike. At first, they weren’t sure what was
happening. Larry and Tom Johnson waved and shouted for him to join them. Further
on, a banner hung over one row of seats, proclaiming it the territory of the
British school he’d once attended. He saw his enemies – Dr. Blackpool, the
headmaster, Quinton-Thomas the surly teacher with the heavy hand, and there was
Derek the betrayer, miserable as ever. And, of course, Simms, the pimple-faced
tormentor of lower form lads. Simms purpled when he saw Lucky. He half rose,
but then spotted the three uniformed soldiers accompanying Lucky and quickly
sat down again.
Higher still,
Lucky saw Donna, along with her mother and father and the Siscos - including
David who was sitting next to her. He sneered at Lucky and shouted, “You’re in
the lower seats, Cole.” He laughed at what he assumed was Lucky’s error, but
then his father leaned forward and whispered something. Sisco turned beet red.
On the next
landing, just below the Governor General’s box, sat Jim and the mayor of
Nicosia, along with other city officials.
“Lucky!” Jim
cried. “Look how you’re coming up in the world.”
He waved the boy
over and Lucky drew Brian and the others aside so they could meet Jim and be
enthused over by the mayor and his cronies. Then the ushers were hurrying them
along to the royal box. And as they approached the resplendent group within –
the Governor General in full dress uniform and his glittering aides, and
bejeweled wife, along with Archbishop Makarios with his long, forbidding beard
and kind eyes – the band struck up a stirring tune.
The announcer
boomed, “Ladies and gentleman. We proudly present our special guest – Victoria
Cross Honoree…. Lieutenant Brian Fogerty!”
Everyone rose to
applaud Brian and to stare at the medal on his chest. It was a large,
distinctive cross, dark brown – almost gold - in color and emblazoned with the
British Lion. It hung from a wide ribbon of dark red.
Lucky saw
military men in the audience salute Brian and many wiped away tears. In the few
minutes he’d had with his friends before reaching the stadium, Lucky had
learned that the Victoria Cross was the equivalent of the American
Congressional Medal of Honor. Since it was first awarded in 1854, little more
than a thousand men and women had been awarded the medal.
“You mean,
you’re like Audie Murphy, or Sgt. York?” Lucky said, eyes as wide as dinner
platters.
Brian was
embarrassed. “I didn’t do anything like those blokes,” he said. “I just managed
to live, is all.”
When he was
pressed for details, Brian dug in his heels and only said that it had to do
with “a little light machine gun work, is all.”
Later on, Harry
told Lucky that the action involved a great deal more than that. Not only had
Brian fought off an overwhelming force of Germans, but he’d carried two wounded
men to safety, including his company commander. Under fire the whole time, he
carried first one man, then gone back to retrieve the other. Brian overheard
part of it and told Harry not to “fill the boy’s head with crazy stories.
But for the
present, Brian stood straight as an arrow as he shook hands all around – first
the Governor General, then Makarios, then the others. He introduced Harry and
Kenneth and there was more hand shaking. Then he nudged Lucky forward.
“We’d like you
to meet a very special friend of ours, Governor,” he said. “He’s a famous lad
over at the base hospital, where he’s done more for our spirits than a World
Cup trophy.” He hesitated, losing his place and blushing, then added, “His
name’s Lucky Cole, Governor. Lucky Cole.”
The Governor
General, a tall, fit man with steel gray hair and piercing blue eyes, bent to
shake Lucky’s hand. “Heard of you, of course,” he said. “The American boy. A
mighty sick lad, if memory serves. The American consul came to see me about
getting you proper medical care.”
Although Lucky’s
hand was engulfed by the man’s massive paw, he tried to return a firm grip,
like his father had taught him. “Thank you, sir,” he said. He wanted to say
more. He wanted to say that the Governor General’s intervention had saved his
life and he even opened his mouth to speak those words. But he was too overcome
by the moment. Instead, he just pumped the man’s hand and repeated, “Thank you,
sir.”
He was saved
from total embarrassment by the band, which struck up “God Save The Queen.”
Everyone rose to sing, hands over hearts for civilians, salutes for military
men and women. Lucky, who had mocked the song at the British Academy, not so
long ago, stood tall with all the rest, right palm on his breast, singing along
with the others. He owed it to them, by God.
The coronation
ceremonies in Cyprus went off famously – as they did worldwide. Lucky saw
marvelous displays of marching men, including a whole company of kilt-wearing Scotsmen.
Mock battles were staged, along with much gunfire, acrobatic assaults on
blazing barricades and a dazzling ballet on ropes of men dangling from a
helicopter – an exotic flying machine in 1953.
Refreshments
were served continuously – there were long buffet tables set up in the
amphitheater’s gallery, with every kind of food available – from Greek dishes,
to Indian curries, to fish and chips and peas. There were also bars stocked
with liquor that flowed freely throughout the night. There was no need for
anyone in the Governor’s box to attend the buffet – waiters whisked trays of
food and drink in and out in a steady stream.
When the time
was right, Lucky fetched Jim and the mayor of Nicosia – Mr. Dervis – to meet
his friends. Jim immediately hit it off with the “Musketeers,” and was soon
boasting about his prize student. Mayor Dervis and the Governor General were
drawn into deep conversation, looking up once in awhile to applaud something on
the field that they really hadn’t seen, but because of their position, had to
acknowledge.
Lucky couldn’t
help but notice that the conversation was tense, but not entirely unfriendly –
the two men seemed to appreciate one another. But it was definitely stressful
and mostly negative, with frequent shakes of the heads, followed by smiles and
nods to make up for it.
Night fell and
the pyrotechnics began. The rajah’s man put on a fabulous show, with rockets
and sparklers turning the sky into a wonderland of images of people and funny
animals. The final display was an enormous pyrotechnic portrait on Queen
Elizabeth II. It was so detailed that it looked like a portrait created by an
artist using fire for paint. Drums rolled and everyone cheered. Many people
were so overcome by emotion they were weeping. Then the band played “It’s a
long way to Tipperary” and the whole audience joined in singing:
It’s
a long way to Tipperary,
It’s
a long way to go,
It’s
a long way to Tipperary,
To
the sweetest girl I know!
Goodbye
Piccadilly! Farewell Leicester Square!
It’s
a long, long way to Tipperary,
But
my heart’s right there!”
A whiff of
familiar perfume thrilled his senses and
as he turned his head, Donna leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Let’s take a
walk.”
And so they did,
threading their way through the crowd – and no one noticing them – until they
came to the buffet area. It was almost empty, with all the waiters and
waitresses and cooks off to see the entertainment.
Donna drew Lucky
into a hallway and stood on her toes to kiss him. He was overcome with desire,
pressing her against the wall, kissing her long and deep. It started getting
pretty passionate and then the band struck up “God Save The Queen” once more
and they both knew the tattoo was over and they broke apart. Lucky was a little
embarrassed and didn’t know what to say. Donna suddenly came forward again to
kiss him once more. And she said in a soft, sweet voice- “Now I’m Lucky’s girl…
Lucky’s girl.”
“Oh, yeah,”
Lucky said, trembling.”
But as he kissed
Donna again, he wondered where Athena was and what she was doing at this
minute.
NEXT: THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE
LUCKY IN CYPRUS: IT'S A BOOK!
Here's where to get the paperback & Kindle editions worldwide:
Here's what readers say about Lucky In Cyprus:
- "Bravo, Allan! When I finished Lucky In Cyprus I wept." - Julie Mitchell, Hot Springs, Texas
- "Lucky In Cyprus brought back many memories... A wonderful book. So many shadows blown away!" - Freddy & Maureen Smart, Episkopi,Cyprus.
- "... (Reading) Lucky In Cyprus has been a humbling, haunting, sobering and enlightening experience..." - J.A. Locke, Bookloons.com
*****
NEW: THE AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF
THE HATE PARALLAX
THE HATE PARALLAX: What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A new novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan
After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm ravaged night.
BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization.
*****
Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
 |
Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
|
In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is "The Blue Meanie," a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself.
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