AS WE ENTERED THE PORT of Syros, bobbing about in our little wooden caïque, several dull grey warships loomed over us like ominous ghosts. The water flattened and the engine calmed as we slid towards the quayside, where our ship awaited. Yianni and Manno seemed to be arguing, arms in motion and voices raised. Noticing the alarmed look on my face, Manno explained.

‘Do not look so afraid, little one. We must decide if we should drop an anchor or not. We are afraid the big ship will catch it and drag us away in the night. This will kill us both and destroy our boat . . . Now, we think it is best to not use the anchor.’ He turned off the engine and drifted toward the quayside. People stood by to catch a rope that Manno threw. With no anchor to act as a brake, Yianni fell to his knees in the bow and stuck his arms out to prevent the boat crashing into the concrete quayside. I watched the process with great attention, feeling the correct procedure may come in useful one day. Eventually we moored up.

Amid back-slapping and hand-shaking, Yianni and Manno were treated like long-lost heroes. ‘Ela! Come and eat, my friends!’ and ‘We play backgammon this afternoon!’ and ‘I wait you in the kafenio, sport,’ showing off their English for the sake of those aboard. Women sashayed past, swinging their hips and batting their long dark lashes at both father and son. A bystander could suppose the fishermen were heroes returning after many years – not days.

Two soldiers and a Red Cross nurse transferred Perkins onto a stretcher and hefted him along the wharf towards the warship. I carried his crutches while Josephine and Manno brought the bags.

People lined the quayside selling their wares; live hens, cockerels, and rabbits in bamboo crates. Josephine and I bought oranges, stuffed them in our pillow-bags, then we stood on the harbour edge and ate one between us. We stood there in the late-afternoon sunshine, our eyes narrow with pleasure as we enjoyed that fruit, and even now, when I think about it, my mouth waters. That orange was so sweet, juicy, and fresh, and our fingers were shiny and delicately perfumed from the oil in its thick skin.

The air buzzed with clatter and chatter. Excited locals had an opinion on everything and voiced it loudly. I guessed it was a big thing for the Syros people to have warships in port and so many strangers on the quayside. A stall holder shouted to Josephine and I. ‘Ela! Ela, koukla! ’