The morning was grey with a distinct chill in the air as Bulwark made her way into the harbour at Piraeus. Being a comparatively large vessel the usual morning traffic gave way briefly as we worked our way sedately down the roads, breaking from the main channel eventually and heading for our berth among a couple of other military types.
I was getting used to the traditions of being afloat on one of Her Majesty’s grey funnel steamers and Bulwark accepting salutes from all and sundry as she passed; in the military, lesser ships always salute their more senior sisters and Bulwark being carrier class was about as senior as you get. Approaching our berth I was somewhat surprised to note a sailor ditching a bucket of swill over the side as Bulwark slipped by. The scruffy bugger looked up and waved as we were all standing to attention and just turned and sauntered off: he would have been caned for that in our lot.
We were alongside, the hawsers secure, a gangway rigged and the communications links brought inboard. It may seem slightly odd given the number of radio aerials aboard, but telephone links were used to communicate with the local authorities and for making long distance calls home, so were an essential as far as the ship was concerned. Very different to today of course when you’d simply dial direct from your mobile.
Being part of the duty watch I wasn’t going to get ashore on the day of our arrival, but we were going to be here a week so I wasn’t exactly bothered. I spent my free time looking up some Athenian history in the ship’s library and had a fair idea of those things I wanted to see when my turn came for shore leave. I’d heard of the Acropolis of course, but in my naivety I wasn’t aware the building at the top of the hill was actually called the Parthenon. Nor was I sure what the building had been or the significance of the hill to the city sprawling below it. I obviously had a lot to learn.
During the following morning’s working hours I heard tales of the delights awaiting me ashore. One of the old hands was telling us we could even make a few quid by selling our blood if we were short of funds; I wasn’t, so didn’t take much notice.
Once ashore a couple of us jumped into a fast black (taxi) and headed for the city. There are perfectly adequate bus and rail links, but for some reason matelots always seem to take the most expensive option when it comes to transport. The drive into Athens was fast and furious and possibly even more frightening than the drive into Istanbul. The only real difference being this driver didn’t stop to pray en-route.
We disembarked at the Acropolis and started looking around. To say I was amazed would put no too finer point on it. Back then the remains were completely open and anyone could just walk among the columns, feel the marble, look out over the city and wonder how a civilisation so advanced when this wonder was constructed could be so backward now. We clambered on walls, explored the theatres and temples around the foot of the hill. Climbed back to the top of the hill and stared out over the sprawl below us, making mental notes of other locations before heading down again.
Various taverns fell into our path as he walked down into the city and toward the old Olympic stadium. The odd libation helped us recover from the rigours of sight-seeing and of course we needed to stop more and more frequently as the beer took effect and bladders filled.
Shooting into a public convenience on one occasion I was slightly taken aback to see an elderly lady dressed head to toe in black and with a face like a wizened monkey, sitting at a table inside toilet block. My need was great so I just rushed past and stood with my back to her as I used the urinal. On completion I looked for a sink and finding none made my way back to the door. The old lady scowled at me and taking a walking stick barred my passage from her chair. The leathery old crow said something, but it was all Greek to me and I tried to leave. The voice raised a few decibels and her spare hand shot out: ah, light dawned. I was supposed to pay for the privilege of peeing in her presence! Taking some change from a pocket I asked in my best English, “How much?”
The crone simply looked at me.
I pointed to the coins in my hand and said “Drachma. How many?”
The crone continued to stare.
Noticing a few coins of little value on her table I assumed she would give change if I offered too much. I took a few drachma and offered it to her. Nothing, not even a flicker of recognition. I tried a few more coins and said again, “Drachma. How much? What do I owe you?”
We were obviously at am impasse and I was starting to worry a little since I didn’t want to lose my pals. I took more coins and just dumped them on the table. The stick came down and I was released; my pee had just cost me considerably more than the last round of beers!
It soon became apparent that the little group I was in had some very different ideas about what to look at and where to go. Antiquities were fast becoming a thing of the past with the others and it seemed I alone was the only one who wanted to explore farther a-field. Deciding it would be better if we stayed together I eventually conceded and allowed myself to be dragged kicking and screaming into another of Athens’ many bars.
I suspect the reality is that most of the city’s hostelries were family businesses and the one we found ourselves in next certainly was. Compared to some of the bars I’d been seen in recently this one was palatial and had vines growing above a courtyard area in the Greek fashion. We ordered Alpha beer from the waiter and sat at one of the tables.
The beer arrived along with the owner, who also brought ouzo. As this was obviously a free welcome it seemed churlish to refuse and we drank his health. He asked in stuttering English if we were from the “Beeg sheep” that had arrived and we said yes with much nodding. The owner welcomed us to his establishment and went away.
A few minutes later the owner reappeared, carrying a tray of glasses and an old photo album. Like the Brits, the Greeks are a sea faring nation and this gentleman had served in the Greek Navy. His album contained many photographs of British warships and we wondered if he’d also served aboard these? He pointed out specific ships and said “Thees” several times. How could he have served with us when his English was so bad? The language barrier was certainly a difficulty. He passed the glasses round and toasted us; Metaxa, Greek brandy. Hmm I liked this.
The conversation continued in staccato form and more Metaxa arrived, brought this time by Dimitris, the owner’s youngest son who spoke better English. The family name was Metaxas, like the brandy but different and our new best friends told us the Metaxas family history; I became horribly confused with the explanation. We ordered more beers and more Metaxa arrived with them. By the time we’d been there an hour, we were quite plastered and had become the centre of attention for Iannis, Dimitris, Costas and the few locals who had stopped in for an afternoon coffee.
They fed us moussaka to soak up the booze and retsina to clear the head; it didn’t work and we simply got more and more pissed. When the meal was over along came Greek coffee, which I loved (and still do). More Metaxa followed and we spent the entire evening with these lovely people, eventually wending our way back to the ship in the midnight hour. The bill? Negligible to say the least. How they stayed in business I’ve no idea since to a man we’d eaten and drunk at least six times the value of the ticket.
Not all my shipmates had the good fortune to fall in with such generous people though and one guy finding he was short of funds decided to find one of the city’s blood banks to raise a little drinking money. Whether he simply didn’t realise as much cash as he needed on a single armful or whether it was greed I have no idea, but when the police scrapped him up from the gutter he was suffering from a case of pernicious anaemia and not a single vampire in sight. It transpired the silly sod had visited two independent blood banks and had somehow managed to make three donations before collapsing. The authorities rushed him to hospital for a transfusion, which he had to pay for: on board ship we ran a book on whether he’d procured his own donation!
