when I saw the glint of humour in Calvert’s eye. ‘Mind you, there were a reet load of fine-looking wenches there.’
‘When was that?’ I asked, trying to steer Calvert away from the subject of women.
‘Nineteen fifty-six, just after that there Suez fiasco. Rum going on, that were. Anyroad, there were a few on us local lads out in Cyprus. A couple from Thorsby, two lads outer Dinsdale and o’ course, lad from Elmfield Grange, God rest him.’
The conversation had been no more than an idle chat up to that point, but when Calvert mentioned Elmfield Grange, both Eve and I stared at him in surprise. ‘Do you mean Andrew Kershaw?’ Eve asked.
He nodded, sobered by the recollection of Kershaw. ‘By, but he were a clever lad, Andy were. He used to interpret for rest on us. None of us could speak the lingo, but Andy reeled it off like nobody’s business.’
‘How well did you know him?’
Calvert held up his first two fingers that were pressed tightly together. ‘We were that close. Andy were mi best mate. No side t’ him, just because his lot owned t’ big house. Mi father were Rowandale keeper in them days, and t’ land marches wi’ Elmfield, so the two estates were thick as thieves. It were reet good to ’ave a mate out there among all them bloody furriners.’
‘You didn’t get on with the Greeks, then?’ Eve asked, momentarily sidetracked.
‘Oh, they were reet enough, especially t’ lasses. No, it were t’ southerners we couldn’t stand. Gave themsen airs and graces just ’cos they came from London. A reet stuck up set of p ... people.’
‘Tell us more about Kershaw?’ I prompted.
‘He did reet well, which were no surprise, clever lad like ’im. I reckon there weren’t many languages he couldn’t grasp, given a bit o’ time. Seemed to pick ’em up as easy as pickin’ up a pint.’
He lifted his, and seemed surprised to discover that it was empty. I took the hint and headed for the bar.
‘You were telling us about Andy,’ Eve reminded him when I returned.
He nodded his acceptance of the pint and continued, ‘Aye, well, we’d been out there about a year when Andy got singled out. Shame it were. Life out there weren’t same after he left.’
‘Sorry, I think you lost us, Zeke. What happened to Kershaw?’
‘We’d just got back from Athens. We’d met a couple of right smashers. Both spoke good English too.’ Calvert paused and grinned. ‘Well, good enough for what we were after, anyway. We’d been back on base a couple o’ days when an officer overheard Andy talking to one of t’ locals using their lingo. He called Andy over and asked if he spoke any other languages, or if Greek were t’ only one.’
Calvert smiled again. ‘Eeh, I’ll never forget t’ look on that bloke’s face when Andy started reeling them off. Fair gobsmacked ’e were.’
‘Can you remember what those languages were?’ Eve beat me to the question by a short head.
‘Not all on ’em, no, there were too many. French, for sure, plus Eye-tie, Spanish, Kraut, Russkie and a load more from over yon side of t’ Iron Curtain. Well, that were that. A week later Andy were whisked off. They said it were “special duties”, but we all knew what that meant.’ He tapped the side of his nose and lowered his voice dramatically, as if expecting the bar of our local to be crammed with foreign agents. ‘They called it “intelligence”, but we all reckoned it were spying. I wanted to know where he’d gone, but it weren’t the sort o’ question you asked. If you did, you’d find yourself in t’ glasshouse, or peeling spuds for a month. That were it, and I never saw Andy again until he came home wi’ a smashing-looking lass by his side and a babe in his arms. That were no surprise. He were a fine-looking young man, and lasses flocked round ’im. He picked a reet cracker to wed, right enough, and I thought, “good on you, mate”, but then it all went sour for ’em.’
‘You said his wife
‘When was that?’ I asked, trying to steer Calvert away from the subject of women.
‘Nineteen fifty-six, just after that there Suez fiasco. Rum going on, that were. Anyroad, there were a few on us local lads out in Cyprus. A couple from Thorsby, two lads outer Dinsdale and o’ course, lad from Elmfield Grange, God rest him.’
The conversation had been no more than an idle chat up to that point, but when Calvert mentioned Elmfield Grange, both Eve and I stared at him in surprise. ‘Do you mean Andrew Kershaw?’ Eve asked.
He nodded, sobered by the recollection of Kershaw. ‘By, but he were a clever lad, Andy were. He used to interpret for rest on us. None of us could speak the lingo, but Andy reeled it off like nobody’s business.’
‘How well did you know him?’
Calvert held up his first two fingers that were pressed tightly together. ‘We were that close. Andy were mi best mate. No side t’ him, just because his lot owned t’ big house. Mi father were Rowandale keeper in them days, and t’ land marches wi’ Elmfield, so the two estates were thick as thieves. It were reet good to ’ave a mate out there among all them bloody furriners.’
‘You didn’t get on with the Greeks, then?’ Eve asked, momentarily sidetracked.
‘Oh, they were reet enough, especially t’ lasses. No, it were t’ southerners we couldn’t stand. Gave themsen airs and graces just ’cos they came from London. A reet stuck up set of p ... people.’
‘Tell us more about Kershaw?’ I prompted.
‘He did reet well, which were no surprise, clever lad like ’im. I reckon there weren’t many languages he couldn’t grasp, given a bit o’ time. Seemed to pick ’em up as easy as pickin’ up a pint.’
He lifted his, and seemed surprised to discover that it was empty. I took the hint and headed for the bar.
‘You were telling us about Andy,’ Eve reminded him when I returned.
He nodded his acceptance of the pint and continued, ‘Aye, well, we’d been out there about a year when Andy got singled out. Shame it were. Life out there weren’t same after he left.’
‘Sorry, I think you lost us, Zeke. What happened to Kershaw?’
‘We’d just got back from Athens. We’d met a couple of right smashers. Both spoke good English too.’ Calvert paused and grinned. ‘Well, good enough for what we were after, anyway. We’d been back on base a couple o’ days when an officer overheard Andy talking to one of t’ locals using their lingo. He called Andy over and asked if he spoke any other languages, or if Greek were t’ only one.’
Calvert smiled again. ‘Eeh, I’ll never forget t’ look on that bloke’s face when Andy started reeling them off. Fair gobsmacked ’e were.’
‘Can you remember what those languages were?’ Eve beat me to the question by a short head.
‘Not all on ’em, no, there were too many. French, for sure, plus Eye-tie, Spanish, Kraut, Russkie and a load more from over yon side of t’ Iron Curtain. Well, that were that. A week later Andy were whisked off. They said it were “special duties”, but we all knew what that meant.’ He tapped the side of his nose and lowered his voice dramatically, as if expecting the bar of our local to be crammed with foreign agents. ‘They called it “intelligence”, but we all reckoned it were spying. I wanted to know where he’d gone, but it weren’t the sort o’ question you asked. If you did, you’d find yourself in t’ glasshouse, or peeling spuds for a month. That were it, and I never saw Andy again until he came home wi’ a smashing-looking lass by his side and a babe in his arms. That were no surprise. He were a fine-looking young man, and lasses flocked round ’im. He picked a reet cracker to wed, right enough, and I thought, “good on you, mate”, but then it all went sour for ’em.’
‘You said his wife
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