The Voyage of the Golden Handshake (27 page)

Enzo assembled the group at the foot of the gangway. He had with him a huge yellow and black umbrella which he held aloft in the style of countless tour guides throughout the world. Harry discreetly remained in the background: his job was to keep count of the group in order to make sure that no one got lost or left behind. This was not an easy task as individuals would lag behind or wander off the main track. He was constantly counting and checking.

As near to the departure time as could be expected, a group of fifteen from the ship waited patiently for their bus. It was interesting for the locals for observe the manner in which the
visitors dressed. Sir Archie had obtained from somewhere a toupee which, he insisted, was totally appropriate for India as the word was derived from the Hindi word ‘topi’ meaning hat. Harry suggested gently that it might stimulate memories of the old Raj, to which Sir Archie replied that if that was true, then so much the better. People should not forget their heritage otherwise they would become lost.

Lady Veronika had decked herself out in a very broad-brimmed white hat of the type often seen in China. It was so broad that anyone walking by her side was in danger of being struck by the brim and thus had to keep several paces distant. This may have been the purpose of such a hat as Lady Veronika had no time whatsoever for small talk.

Enzo had chosen what he called his ‘Desert Hat’. This was green in colour with a peak, and protection at the back and sides from the sun. It was the sort of hat that he had seen Peter O’Toole wearing when he portrayed Lawrence of Arabia. It was certainly distinctive and, together with the guide’s golden umbrella, he cut an unusual figure.

It was up to Harry to sport the faithful imitation of the Tilley hat which he called an ‘Alpine’ and was the sort of hat one might see in Australia rather than on the ski slopes of Switzerland.

It was for the New Zealand sisters to take first prize for the most distinctive headgear, although it must be said no one had suggested a contest. Back home in the lush valley of the Tukituki
River, they kept bees. They reasoned, with their flawless logic, that in a country like India, where flying insects were as numerous as people, there was only one suitable hat. So, they emerged, each wearing a beekeeper’s straw hat with their faces completely shielded by opaque netting. Had de Barkley been on the tour he would undoubtedly have passed some comment which involved female followers of the Prophet, but as he was not, the group were spared his asides.

In case anyone did not have a sun hat, Enzo had brought with him enough paper hats to go round. They were not to everyone’s taste, as they were inscribed
I’m a Golden Oldie
, a slogan which he had thought up all by himself and of which he was quite rightly proud. Only one member of the group - a solo passenger from an inside cabin somewhere near the engine room - took one, and insisted on wearing it back to front, much to Enzo’s annoyance.

The mini-bus pulled up exactly three quarters of an hour late. The driver was the same one who had driven the small party to the dinner the previous evening. Now he drove a larger, but more ancient vehicle.

‘Anyone for Billericay?’ he shouted as he pulled up.

All but the twins were puzzled by this remark but one of the ladies from behind the net explained, ‘He takes his holidays in Essex, you know. He loves the fresh air.’

Once settled and having been informed how to operate the
individual air conditioning, (open the window nearest to your seat), he crashed the antique trolley into gear and they were away. Enzo kept his eyes tightly closed for much of the journey to Alleppey. He was sitting in the front of the coach in a little jump seat next to the driver, and no matter how much he pleaded, the driver refused to slow down.

‘If I slow, sir, many people get angry. They try takeover me, sir’.

Enzo understood him to mean ‘overtake’ but he did not trouble to say so.

The inevitable happened about one hour into the journey. They rounded a bend at breakneck speed as a trader, pushing a cart full of coconuts, veered just a little too far into the road - with the result that the cart went flying and coconuts flew in all directions like cannon balls. Several onlookers were winded by flying coconuts, and one poor fellow was completely knocked out as a nut caught him squarely on the head. The trader avoided injury by performing a leap that would have won him a Gold Medal at the Olympics. The small crowd applauded his agility. Unsurprisingly, he was not appeased by the acclaim and made a rush for the driver, who had stepped from the coach to inspect the damage.

Enzo, who had opened his eyes when he heard the impact and immediately closed them again, now opened them once more and motioned to the passengers to remain in their seats.
The coach was now surrounded by curious villagers, some of whom pressed close against the window, pointing and laughing at the exhibits inside. The twin sisters in particular were the subjects of considerable attention and caused a minor commotion when Petra, wearing her veiled beekeeping hat, opened a window to get a better view and caused a group of young boys to recoil in alarm at her appearance.

‘Please stay in your seats and close all windows,’ repeated Enzo. ‘This matter has to be sorted out by the people themselves. We cannot be involved.’

A good half-hour passed and the coach grew increasingly hot. Harry passed around some semi-cool drinks whilst the driver continued to bargain with the trader. Finally, the matter was resolved and they were on their way again to waves and shouts from the onlookers.

‘All OK, sir,’ said the driver to Enzo as he resumed his former speed. ‘No worry, sir. You get to boat, sir.’

Despite his anxiety, the heat proved too much for Enzo and he fell into a gentle slumber. He awoke to find that the coach was drawing to a halt and several armed men in military uniform were approaching the vehicle.

‘Where are we?’ he queried.

The driver looked nervous. ‘I think very small trouble, sir. I take wrong road.’

Before Enzo could reply, two armed men had entered the
vehicle and ordered the driver and Enzo to get out, which they duly did. Enzo, wearing his green desert hat, bush shirt and khaki shorts, could easily have been mistaken for a half-crazed insurgent, and it was clear that the military types had their suspicions. Two more men entered the coach, and seeing what appeared to be a coach-load of extras for a
Carry On
film, ordered them all to descend. In fairness to the Indian military, it must be said that the passengers did not look like the normal tourists who visited the backwaters of Kerala.

Enzo looked around. It seemed that they had entered some sort of army compound. A number of military types lounged around an army truck without wheels which was being further dismembered by several men in oily overalls.

‘Follow me,’ ordered the soldier with stripes on his uniform.

The little group reluctantly picked up their haversacks and did as they were bidden. They skirted what seemed to be a parade ground and were ordered to wait outside a long low building. Enzo and the driver were taken inside where, thanks to a slowly revolving ceiling fan, it was slightly cooler.

The soldier with stripes knocked on a door and on receiving the command, ‘Enter,’ opened it and ordered his charges to follow.

A man in a well-tailored military outfit and bearing a distinguished moustache, finely waxed at each pointed end, sat behind a desk on which there was a red telephone and an empty filing tray.

‘Sir,’ said the stripes.

The officer nodded and looked curiously at Enzo. He spoke a few words in what was probably Hindi and then addressed him.

‘Let me see in case.’

Enzo opened his holdall to reveal a couple of dozen paper hats emblazoned with his slogan.

‘What you mean, Golden Oldie?’ the officer queried.

Enzo tried his best but it was very difficult for him to attempt to describe just exactly what was meant by the legend. The officer looked more and more puzzled. Eventually he held up his hand, indicating Enzo should be quiet.

‘Bring others,’ said the officer.

There was a short interval whilst the other unfortunate members of the tour were marched across and one by one entered the room. As the last few were about to enter, there was a loud bang and a clatter - followed by a cry of anguish. Enzo, thinking that one member of his party had been shot, instinctively rushed to the door, only to observe Sir Archie nursing his dented pith helmet and surrounded by the shattered blades of the ceiling fan. The Chinese-hatted Lady Veronika, showing some concern for once in her life, tried to get nearer to him but was prevented by the wired broad brim of her headgear. A distinctly irate-looking soldier pushed Sir Archie into the room, and as he could not get near to Lady Veronika, pushed her also with the butt of his ancient 303 rifle. This caused her to release a stream of invective
in Russian which resulted in another soldier prodding her with his rifle also and forcing her to join the others.

The group lined up before the officer, who examined then with a look of considerable curiosity on his face.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked in rather good English. ‘And why are you wearing disguise?’ As he said this he looked intently at the twins. ‘You are terrorist,’ he said. ‘You hide your face.’

‘Oh, did you hear that, Philippa?’ said Petra to her twin sister. ‘He said we are terrorists.’ She looked at the officer through the net and brandished her umbrella at him. ‘Let me tell you, young man,’ she said, ‘we live near the Tukituki River and are not terrorists.’

The officer didn’t reply but switched on his computer. ‘Give me your address,’ he ordered. ‘I will look on Google.’

Philippa gave the number of their house in the Elsthorpe Road.

‘Ah!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘You have a terrorist camp there - Camp David. Is that where you train? You didn’t know that would be on my computer, did you?’

‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Philippa robustly. ‘That is a holiday camp for young people.’

The officer snorted and once again perused the motley group before him.

‘You have entered secret government property,’ he said. ‘We are now searching your coach and we will search you. This is
very big trouble for you. Very big trouble.’

Enzo hitched up his Bombay Bloomers and looked appealingly at Harry, the universal fixer, who had been quiet to this point. Harry was just about to intervene when there was a sharp rap on the door and another officer entered. He babbled something, and the officer behind the desk shot to his feet. As he did so, a very grand-looking military type entered, smothered in gold braid - and who should follow him but none other than the Admiral.

‘Good Heavens, Harry - and you also Bigatoni! Have I accidentally dropped in on a rehearsal for the Indian production of HMS Pinafore?’

Enzo, who was now too emotionally exhausted to say anything further, simply sat heavily on a low chair. Harry took the lead and explained the situation.

‘Amazing,’ said the Admiral, ‘that today of all days I should come to this camp. I arranged with some of my old friends from the Indian Defence Staff to take a quick tour of one or two establishments whilst we had time in Cochin - and who should I find but you!’

Needless to say, apologies were issued all round, tea and digestive biscuits were served and the party rushed back to their coach. Much to Enzo’s relief, the remainder of the day was uneventful. A military escort took them to Alleppey when they travelled even faster than they had done on the first part of
the journey. Despite this they were very late indeed for the boat. Immediately they boarded, a meal of rice and Mezhukkupuratti (fried vegetable curry) was served and much fun was had by all in attempting to pronounce words on the menu. The sisters did agree to raise their veils to eat, and immediately dropped them once it was over. Thereafter, a lovely day was enjoyed by all and Enzo and Harry were thanked profusely by a group of tired but happy Golden Oldies.

Following their frightening experience on the roads of Kerala the previous evening, Albert and Alice decided that they would not travel to the backwaters. As Albert said, ‘We have enough canals in England, and Suez was a washout.’

So they gave this unique part of India a miss.

As the ship would be in port throughout the day, they determined that they would take a walk ashore and try to buy one or two souvenirs and a postcard for the Robinson family with whom they had stayed in Southend-on-Sea. The day of the launch seemed a long time ago now, but they had not forgotten the kindness of the Robinsons and wanted to keep in touch.

Fred Batty, after spending hours on the internet, was a mine of information and advised the attendees at his lecture to be careful on shore as the Spice Market was somewhat pricy and tourists would be spotted a mile off. He advised a visit to Jew Town, the part of Cochin where, unsurprisingly, the old synagogue
could be found, and which was an interesting place to explore. He also advised that it was a bit far to walk and it would be best to take a taxi or a tuk tuk. Budget-minded as always, despite his vast wealth, Albert decided on the three-wheeled vehicle, the tuk tuk, and somewhat reluctantly Alice went along with his choice. The helpful local guide at the exit from the dock gave them a map and pointed out where they should direct the driver to take them. It all went amazingly smoothly. They were alarmed at one point when out of a small side street there appeared an elephant with a wizened-looking figure riding it. However, they took this in their stride and alighted in a street full of small shops selling coloured scarves, beads, bangles and, believe it or not, postcards.

‘By go,’ said Albert when they returned to the ship for lunch, ‘it were crowded out there.’

Alice sat down immediately and started to write on a postcard with a picture of a decorated elephant walking down the same street along which they had walked that very morning.

‘
Saw an elephant today
’ she wrote slowly. ‘
Very busy here. Lots of Indian food. Love from Alice and Albert
’.

Albert read it and asked for the pen. He scribbled on the bottom of the card, ‘
A bit like Grimsby!
’