THE WAR YEARS IN RECIFE – PART i

WAR YEARS IN RECIFE, BRAZIL, PART I

As I’ve mentioned before in a previous blog, my earliest memory of my father was being told by him how bitterly disappointed he’d been that I wasn’t a boy. That set the stage for my entire upbringing. The only time he paid attention to me, was to punish me, undeservedly most of the time, and only very occasionally for something I’d actually done wrong.

One of His Majesty King George VI’s naval ships limped into Recife having been badly damaged by a torpedo. The ship was put into dry dock for repairs.

All the English kids in Recife were invited on board for a big party. Sailors were on hand, doling out ice cream and sandwiches, slides and swings were created for our amusement and I remember it as being the most fun I’d ever had in my young life.

The Captain of this ship singled me out for attention. I was a platinum blond, blue eyed little girl who looked heartbreakingly like his beloved little daughter he’d left behind in England. He transferred all the longing and love he felt for his little girl onto me, and for the first time in my life, I had a true “Daddy” who gave me unconditional love.

His ship was in port for a long time because it required extensive repairs. He came to the Country Club every day, and when he’d see me, he’d open up his arms and I’d jump into them. I’d sit on his lap and he’d tell me wonderful stories about his naval adventures. I wish I could remember them.

We’d take long walks around the Country Club grounds, I clinging to his hand, while he looked down at me with love pouring out of his eyes. I chatted up a storm (never have been at a loss for words) and he’d listen, smiling and squeezing my hand from time to time, to show how much he cared. Being with him was magical for me – and probably for him too.

Nowadays, our relationship would probably be regarded with deep suspicion, but believe me, it was pure and very sweet – a man who bitterly missed his daughter, and a little girl who needed a Daddy’s love.

One day when I went to the Country Club, he had a special gift for me. It was a tame Cardinal bird, complete with cage. On offering a finger, this bird would hop onto it and just sit there. I was absolutely thrilled with this gift and instantly named the bird “Cardy.”.

I couldn’t wait to show him off to Brigitly, a little Swiss girl who lived next door. I went around to her house, with my Cardinal perched on my finger. She admired him profusely, but neither of us noticed her cat slinking up on its haunches, stalking my bird. Her Dad noticed it at the last moment, just as the cat hurled itself and grabbed my beloved Cardy, killing him instantly. Mr. Inhoff missed the cat, fell down heavily and broke his hand. I’m afraid I wasn’t at all sympathetic about his hand, being absolutely devastated over the death of my little bird.

Mum heard my anguished screams and came rushing out of the house. I sobbed and told her what had happened, clinging to my dead little bird.

“Never mind dear,” she said. “We’ll have a lovely funeral service for your little bird, to send him on his way to Heaven.

Mum had a soap box which was just the right size, so we lined it in cotton wool. I tenderly kissed Cardy, laid him on it and we buried him in the front garden.

Two days later, I dug him up again! He hadn’t gone to Heaven as Mum had promised – he was right there in the box, and what is more, he smelled really terrible!

I carried the box and Cardy into the house, howling my head off. Mum said obviously God was busy and hadn’t had time to take him off to Heaven. But she said, we really had to bury him in the same spot again, or God wouldn’t know where to find him (oh the lies mothers tell!).

“But Mummy, he smells so terrible, I don’t think God is going to want him in Heaven at all!”

Mum was innovative. “Alright darling, we’ll sprinkle him with perfume and that will make him smell very nice indeed.”

She handed me a bottle of perfume, and I emptied the whole bottle onto Cardy. We took him back to his grave site and buried him again.

Unbeknownst to me, Mum pulled the gardener aside and told him to get rid of that damn bird, box and all, right away.

Sure enough, a couple of days later, I went back to the burial site and lo and behold, Cardy was gone. I was happy – Cardy wasn’t there, so now I knew he’d definitely gone to Heaven. I told myself what a good thing we’d used up a whole bottle of perfume on him – God couldn’t possibly deny him entry through the pearly gates when he smelled so divinely of Eau de Cologne.

My association with my beloved Captain continued until the dreaded day his ship was repaired and he was going to sail away. Our farewell was excruciatingly painful for both of us. I clung to his neck, sobbing and begging him not to go. He had tears in his eyes too.

On our way home, Mummy noticed how hard I was crying. “Never mind darling, after the war is over, maybe you’ll see him again.”

“No I won’t,” I sobbed “The octopus will get him.” Not the Nazis, or a submarine launched torpedo; for some reason I can’t remember, I was concerned that a giant squid would envelope his ship and eat my beloved Captain.

I never saw him again, and I don’t even remember his name. But I don’t suppose that wonderful man ever realized what a hole he filled in a little girl’s heart, and that all these many years later, she would remember him with tears in her eyes.