My goodness, what a night. The weather forecast had predicted a storm to roll in during the night and into the first part of the morning. The wind was already beginning to pick up and some rain had started as I was getting ready for bed the evening before. Then during the night I was woken by a loud ‘clank’ and then a light coming on in my room. I lay there startled and wide eyed. I froze, thinking in my half-awake fear that someone had just broken into my room. I lay still and listened. All was quiet and the light went off again. The rain was lashing down and I nervously got up and went to the bathroom. No intruders. All was well.
Now more awake I lay in bed, and then heard the clank again, and the light came back on. Figuring out that it was the emergency light above the main door by the wee galley kitchen, I then realised it was the power going out and the emergency power cutting in. I managed to drift off again, my fright in the night subsiding, but kept being woken by the emergency power cutting in at regular intervals, and the rumble of thunder.
I finally got up at about 6.00 am and opened up the curtains and shutters, leaving the balcony door slid open and the mosquito mesh slider carefully closed. The rain was lashing down and the sea crashing into the shore as the strong winds thrashed at the trees, and thunder and lightning swirled through the hills. It was all very dramatic and exciting and somehow felt an appropriate, and fitting way to start the morning of my last full day on Leros.
I did my usual morning meditation practice and yoga stretches and ate my breakfast in my room as the storm subsided, giving way to overcast skies and rain showers. Just after ten I messaged Nikos to say unless something changed on the HQ tunnel front that I would stay at the hotel and catch up on my writing and note taking and meet him and Thanasis at the restaurant at 7.30 that evening.
I send the message, and there is only one grey tick which I think nothing of, assuming Nikos would get back to me in an hour or so. I decide to fiddle about and sort through my bits and pieces, getting them in order for packing. An hour goes by and there is still only one grey tick, and still only one grey tick after two hours. I am now beginning to get a little concerned especially as Nikos had had to cancel the evening before, I hoped he was okay and there was nothing wrong.
I told myself I was being daft.
The rain having stopped, and having trouble letting go, I headed off on a walk to Panteli to distract myself. By the time I returned at about 1.00 pm there is still only one grey tick and so feeling quite concerned at this stage I message Thanasis to ask if he knows if anything had happened with Nikos, and was he alright. He replied immediately saying he would try and contact him. He was back to me within five minutes; Nikos would contact me straight away.
A couple of minutes later Nikos messaged “…Oh man, I have just woken up! I guess I needed some sleep!”. Phew, I was relieved, all was okay. He also told me that there was no news on the HQ tunnel, and we agreed that with some advance notice we could arrange it for my next visit, along with a trip to Agios Nikolaos, the second evacuation site that my father returned to during the German occupation.
We confirmed our arrangements for that evening and I was delighted to hear that Thanasis would be able to make it. This all felt very good, and I was perfectly content with the way things had worked out as this trip had already gifted me way more than I had expected.
I sat for a little while allowing myself to see and process all the things that had come up for me that morning. The catastrophising, the slipping into waiting mode once again, and the inability to let go, and more importantly seeing the part of me that judged and criticised me for all of this.
I simply sat and observed the best I could, curious, and then moved on with the rest of my day.
I had some lunch and started to pack. At 14:21 precisely I hear a ‘ping’, and it is a message from Nikos, and everything has changed. Not only has the blue sky reappeared, but also Nikos has received a phone call from the Reserve Guard to say they will meet us at Meraviglia at 5.00 pm and open up the HQ tunnel for us! He messages me again shortly after to say his friend Markos wants to come along and tells me to be ready and waiting to be picked up at 16:40. I thank him profusely promising to be ready on time.
Wow! I could not believe it and feel so delighted I want to cry.
Happy and joyful, I finish most of my packing and am ready in plenty of time, and head down to the road to meet Nikos and Markos who have already arrived, Nikos smiling away as I walk towards them. Everybody is in fine form as I climb into the back of Markos’s 4WD. Nikos introduces me to Markos and I am surprised to hear him reply with a New York accent. It turns out that he was raised in New York city moving back to Leros with his parents when he was 12. “Thus the perfect English”, I say. “Yeah, but my vocabulary is a 12 year old’s!” he replies smiling. He then tells me that after the tunnel we will go to Agios Nikolaos! Things are getting better and better, especially when he reassures me he will guide us through it all and make sure we are at the Paradisos on time that evening.
We arrive at Meraviglia and meet a couple of guys from the Reserve Guard who are doing some maintenance work up there. It turns out that this is all very unofficial but they needed to be up there on that day anyway and wanted to help out. One of them slips off and returns shortly after to say it is now open. We walk together over the rough ridge that I had walked along with Nikos a few days before and scrambled down the slope to the entrance of the tunnel, and there it is, now with the iron grill door open, and in we go.
It is remarkable. About 6 feet wide and 8 feet high, running from west to east. Markos guides us through, each of us with a powerful flashlight. As we pass through Markos points out the large side rooms that have been carved out of the sheer rock, where supplies would have been stored and communications would have been set up. You can still see the remnants of the walls that had been built within these caverns. Just before the tunnel curves round to the left, there is a semi collapsed shaft that goes up through the rock to the outside world, and was where there would have been an observation platform, now impossible to access but you could just about see the light coming through where the opening would have been.
We all explore together and then the three of us pose for photos taken by a friend of Markos’s who we picked up on the way. It feels very bonding and profound to be here.
We head back out into the daylight, and the guys described the scene as it would have been on those days leading up to November 16th 1943, when the German army finally overran the place and the British commander Brigadier Tilney was forced to surrender right there where we were standing at the entrance way to the tunnel. Markos then went back in on his own, and with the aid of skilled lighting techniques took some high quality photos and video footage.
Whilst he was doing this I walked away from the entrance and turned to the north east, looking towards Partheni. The sun shone and the wind blew a gentle breeze, and I was very quiet and contemplative, imagining my father being ordered shortly before the surrender to evacuate the SBS guys, and then leading them across the treacherous and dangerous terrain praying not to be spotted by the enemy, to Partheni, where he had already hidden the boats and supplies they would need to make good their escape. Had they been caught on the way, being SBS and SOE, they would have been shown no mercy.
Markos reemerged and handed me one of his powerful lights so I could take a bit of time to explore the tunnel on my own. I walked through slowly and reverently, talking softly to my dad, putting my hand on the hard rock where he may have put his hand, and stepping where he had stepped. It was a solemn moment.
I came out of the tunnel and joined the others, it was time to go.
We walked back to the car, stopping to thank the Reserve Guards who had made this possible, and headed off to Agios Nikolaos, dropping Markos’s friend off at her scooter on the way.
It wasn’t far to Agios Nikolaos, nowhere is very far in Leros, but it was a beautiful and dramatic route to the remote north east of the island, and the last stretch was a stunning, slow drive along a track that clung to the side of the mountain that would have been impossible without a four-wheel drive. We came around the top of the final ridge and the track headed steeply down with a view of the sea, where would be nestled Agios Nikolaos.
We carried on down and parked by a small church, a remarkably remote spot for a church. We had a look around this tiny structure, and went into the original section that would have been there in 1943. It was no larger than a small kitchen. There are small churches dotted all over the island, often built to give thanks for saving the lives of those in peril, particularly at sea.
Apparently this church was given as a landmark to head for, for the soldiers and partisans wanting to evade capture by the Nazis, especially the Italian soldiers who were fearful of being shot for resisting their former allies. It was incredible and peaceful and you could see why this was the place to hide. Looking back up the valley it was a lonely spot completely cut off from the rest of the island, with only a handful of goat farmers dotted here and there, and so likely to go undetected by the occupying forces.
In all over 900 men made it here to be rescued by my father and his team who would come in at night to this unseen and unknown bay to take them safely away to the Turkish coast. There are stories to this day of ghosts living here. It is thought that they originate from that time, when the escaping soldiers and partisans were hidden among the dense undergrowth, keeping silent and out of sight by day, and only emerging at night to get ready for and make good their escape. The few people living here would hear whispers and see shadows flitting through the bushes and trees in the dark. They believed they were ghosts.
I could sense those ghosts in this now peaceful and remote place, and I could feel the ghost of my father within me.
We were all quiet and thoughtfully subdued, and Markos led us back to the car. He had guided us through this incredible afternoon perfectly, making sure there was plenty of time for everything, no rush, and making sure we would make it to the Paradisos on time.
We drove back in relative silence. Agios Nikolaos had touched us all, especially Nikos who I was surprised to hear had never been there before.
By the time we arrived at the restaurant perfectly on time we were all chatting merrily again. It turned out that not only was Manus, the restaurant owner, Nikos’s best friend, but also Markos’s cousin. I invited Markos to join us but he had to go. I said my very grateful goodbyes and off he went. A kind and generous soul who I had never met before in my life giving me the gift of an afternoon I would never forget. What an incredible guide, what an incredible guy.
We entered the restaurant and were greeted warmly by Manus and shown to a lovely table overlooking the sea.
Thanasis arrived and we ordered food and wine. We talk and eat and drink. Then another bottle of wine appears on the table. We looked at each other bemused, none of us having noticed one of us ordering it. Manus points over to a man sitting on the other side of the restaurant who is smiling warmly and waving. He then comes over and placing his hand on my shoulder asks about my father. The word has got around. Nikos is delighted as it turns out he is somebody from the municipality that he had wanted to make a connection with. This has been a trip about connection.
We finish our food and Thanasis brings out the visitor’s book for his museum and I write a full page. He also produces a brand new copy of Swastika Over the Aegean by Tony Rogers. I have been trying to get hold of a copy of this book for years, and I insist on paying the going price for it, which is considerably less than a second-hand copy goes for on eBay, and ask Nikos and Thanasis to inscribe it in Greek.
We are all having a very merry time. Live music has struck up being played by Manus and the man who bought us the wine, and then another bottle arrives courtesy of the restaurant! We talk away having great fun, and fantasising about making a movie about the Battle of Leros with Tom Hanks, who, it turns out, has been to Leros and is very interested in the story.
Finally it is time to go. We hug and affirm we are now friends for life, and I promise to return, and certainly with Dorothy for the 85th anniversary of the beginning of the Battle of Leros on the 23rd September 2028, if not before.
I walk back to my hotel happily drunk and put the kettle on and send a message to Dorothy to tell her how happy I am, and she then phones and we have a great chat. I make my Camomile tea and drink it sitting on the balcony listening to the crickets and the sea before falling into bed and a deep sleep.
THE HONEY DEW CAFE CHRONICLES 
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