'I am am Corfu,' said Countess Malinopoulos. 'Therefore it is inc.u.mbent upon me to form the committee that works out how we are to welcome our gracious King.' Corfu,' said Countess Malinopoulos. 'Therefore it is inc.u.mbent upon me to form the committee that works out how we are to welcome our gracious King.'

'Yes, indeed, I do see that,' Mother agreed nervously.

The Countess, who resembled a raddled black crow wearing an orange wig, was a formidable force, there was no doubt, but the matter was too important to allow her to ride roughshod over everyone. Within a very short time there were no less than six welcoming committees, all struggling to persuade the Nomarch that their plans ought to take preference over all others. It was rumoured that he had an armed guard and slept in a locked room after an attempt by one of the female committee members to sacrifice her virginity in order to get his approval to her committee's schemes.

'Disgusting!' trumpeted Lena Mavrokondas, rolling her black eyes and smacking her red lips as she wished that she had thought of the idea herself. 'Imagine, my dears, a woman of her age trying to break into the Nomarch's room, naked!'

'It does seem a curious way to try to get his ear,' Larry agreed innocently.

'No, no, it is too absurd,' Lena went on, deftly popping olives into her scarlet mouth as though she were loading a gun. 'I've seen the Nomarch and I am sure he will agree to my committee being the official one. It is such shame the British flit is not in port; we could then have arrange a guard of honour. Oh, those lovely sailors in their uniform, they always look so clean and so virulent.'

'The incidence of infectious diseases in the Royal Navy...' Larry began, when Mother hastily interrupted.

'Do tell us what your plans are, Lena,' she said, glaring at Larry, who was on his eighth ouzo and inclined to be somewhat unreliable.

'Soch plans, my dears, soch plans ve 'ave! This whole Platia vill be decorate in blue and vite, but alvays ve 'ave troubles with that fool Marko Paniotissa.' Lena's eyes rolled in despair.

Marko, we knew, was a sort of inspired madman and we wondered how he had got on to the committee at all.

'What does Marko want to do?' asked Larry.

'Donkeys!' hissed Lena, as if it were an obscene word.

'Donkeys?' repeated Larry. 'He wants to have donkeys? What does he think it is? An agricultural show?'

'This I explain 'im,' said Lena, 'but alvays 'e wants to 'ave donkeys.'E says it is symbolic, like Christ's ride into Jerusalem, so 'e vants blue and vite donkeys.'

'Blue and white ones? You mean dyed?' asked Mother. 'Whatever for?'

'To match the Greek flags,' said Lena, rising to her feet and facing us grimly, shoulders back, hands clenched; 'but I tell 'im, "Marko," I say, "you 'ave donkeys over my dead corpse." '

She strode off down the Platia, every inch a daughter of Greece.

The next one to stop at our table was Colonel Velvit, a tall, rather beautiful old man with a Byronic profile and an angular body that twitched and moved like a windblown marionette. With his curling white hair and flashing dark eyes, he looked incongruous in his Scout's uniform, but he carried it off with dignity. Since his retirement his one interest in life was the local Scout troop and, while there were those unkind enough to say that his interest in Scouts was not entirely altruistic, he worked hard and had certainly never yet been caught.

He accepted an ouzo and sat mopping his face with a lavender-scented handkerchief.

'Those boys,' he said plaintively, 'those boys of mine will be the death of me. They are so high spirited.'

'What they probably need is a bevy of nubile Girl Guides,' said Larry. 'Have you thought of that?'

'It is no joke, my dear,' said the Colonel, eyeing Larry morosely. 'They are so full of high spirits I fear they will get up to some prank or other. I was simply horrified at what they did today and the Nomarch was most annoyed.'

'The poor Nomarch appears to be getting it in the neck from every direction,' said Leslie.

'What did your Scouts do?' asked Mother.

'Well, as you know, my dear Mrs Durrell, I am training them to put on a special demonstration for His Majesty on the evening of his arrival.' The Colonel sipped his drink delicately like a cat. 'First, they march out, some dressed in blue and some in white, in front of the... how do you call it?... dais! Exactly so, the dais. And they form a square and salute the King. Then, at the word of command they change positions and form the Greek flag. It's a very striking sight, though I say it myself.'

He paused, drained his gla.s.s and sat back.

'Well, the Nomarch wanted to see how we were progressing so he came along and stood on the dais, representing the King, as it were. Then I gave the command and the troop marched out.'

He closed his eyes and a small shudder shook him.

'Do you know what they did?' he asked, in a small voice. 'I have never felt so ashamed. They marched out, stopped in front of the Nomarch and gave the Fascist salute. Boy Scouts! The Fascist salute!'

'Did they shout " Heil Heil Nomarch"?' asked Larry. Nomarch"?' asked Larry.

'Mercifully, no,' said Colonel Velvit. 'For a moment I was paralysed with shock and then, hoping that the Nomarch had not noticed, I gave the command to form the flag. They moved about and then, to my horror, the Nomarch was confronted by a blue and white swastika. He was furious. He almost cancelled our part in the proceedings. What a blow to the Scout movement that would have been!'

'Yes, indeed,' said Mother, 'but they're only children, after all.'

'That's true, my dear Mrs Durrell, but I cannot have people saying that I am training a group of Fascists,' said Colonel Velvit earnestly. 'They'll be saying next that I plan to take over Corfu.'

During the ensuing days, as the time of the great event grew nearer, the island's inhabitants became more and more frenzied and tempers grew shorter and shorter. Countess Malinopoulos was now no longer speaking to Lena Mavrokondas and she in her turn was not speaking to Colonel Velvit because his Boy Scouts had given her a gesture of unmistakably biological nature as they pa.s.sed by her house. All the leaders of the village bands, who always took part in the St Spiridion's procession, had quarrelled bitterly with each other over procedure in the march past, and one evening on the Platia we were treated to the sight of three incensed tuba players chasing a ba.s.s drummer, all in full uniform and carrying their instruments. The tuba players, obviously driven beyond endurance, cornered the drummer, tore his instrument from him and jumped on it. Immediately, the Platia was a seething ma.s.s of infuriated bandsmen locked in combat. Mr Kralefsky, who was an innocent bystander, received a nasty cut on the back of the head from a flying cymbal and old Mrs Kukudopoulos, who was exercising her two spaniels between the trees, had to pick up her skirts and run for it. This incident (everybody said, when she died the next year), took years off her life, but as she was ninety-five when she died this was scarcely credible. Soon n.o.body was on speaking terms with anybody, though they all talked to us for we kept strictly neutral. Captain Creech, whom no one suspected of possessing a patriotic streak of any sort, was wildly excited by the whole thing, and, to everyone's annoyance, went from committee to committee spreading gossip, singing bawdy songs, pinching unsuspecting and unprotected bosoms and b.u.t.tocks, and generally making a nuisance of himself.

'Disgusting old creature!' said Mother, her eyes flashing; 'I do wish he'd behave himself. After all, he is meant to be British.'

'He's keeping the committees on their toes, if I may use the phrase,' said Larry. 'Lena tells me that her bottom was black and blue after the last meeting he attended.'

'Filthy old brute,' said Mother.

'Don't be so harsh, Mother,' said Larry. 'You know you're only jealous.'

'Jealous!' squeaked Mother, bristling like a diminutive terrier. 'Jealous!... of that... old... old... libertine libertine! Don't be so disgusting. I won't have you say things like that, Larry, even in joke.'

'But it's unrequited love for you that makes him drown his sorrows in wine and women,' Larry pointed out. 'If you'd make an honest man of him, he'd reform.'

'He was drowning his sorrows in wine and women long before he met me,' said Mother, 'and as far as I'm concerned, he can go on doing so. He's one person I'm not interested in reforming.'

The captain, however, was oblivious to all criticism.

'Darling girl!' he said to Mother the next time he met her, 'you haven't by any chance a Union Jack in your bottom drawer?'

'No, captain, I'm afraid I haven't,' said Mother with dignity. 'Neither have I a bottom drawer.'

'What? A fine wench like you? No bottom drawer? No nice collection of frilly black knickers to drive your next husband mad?' asked Captain Creech, eyeing Mother with a lecherous and rheumy eye.

Mother blushed and stiffened.

'I have no intention of driving anyone anyone mad, with or without knickers!' she said with great dignity. mad, with or without knickers!' she said with great dignity.

'That's my wench,' said the captain. 'Game, that's what you are, game. I like a little nudity myself, to tell the truth.'

'What d'you want a Union Jack for?' asked Mother, frigidly changing the subject.

'To wave, of course,' said the captain. 'All these wogs will be waving their flag, so we must show 'em the good old Empire's not to be overlooked.'

'Have you tried the Consul?' asked Mother.

'Him?' replied the captain scornfully. 'He said there was only one on the island and that that was only to be used for special occasions. If this is not a special occasion, what in the name of the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es of St Vitus was only to be used for special occasions. If this is not a special occasion, what in the name of the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es of St Vitus is is? So I told him to use his flagpole as an enema.'

'I do wish you wouldn't encourage that dirty old man to come and sit with us, Larry,' said Mother plaintively when the captain had staggered off in pursuit of the Union Jack. 'His conversation is obscene and I don't like him saying things like that in front of Gerry.'

'It's your fault, you encourage him,' said Larry. 'All this talk about removing your knickers.'

'Larry! You know perfectly well what I meant. It was a slip of the tongue.'

'But it gave him hope,' went on Larry. 'You'd better watch out or he'll be into your bottom drawer like a truffle hound choosing nighties for the wedding night.'

'Oh, do be quiet!' said Mother crossly. 'Really, Larry, you make me angry sometimes.'

The island became more and more tense. From the remote mountain villages where the older women were polishing up their cow's-horn head-dresses and ironing their handkerchiefs, to the town where every tree was being pruned and every table and chair on the Platia repainted, all was a-seethe with acrimonious activity. In the old part of the town, where the streets were two-donkeys narrow and the air always redolent of freshly baked bread, fruit, sunshine and drains in equal quant.i.ties, was the tiny cafe belonging to a friend of mine, Costi Avgadrama.

The cafe was justly famous for producing the best ice-cream in Corfu, for Costi had been to Italy and had learned all the dark arts of ice-cream making. His confections were much in demand and there was scarcely a party worth calling a party given on the island that did not include one of Costi's enormous, tottering, multi-coloured creations. Costi and I had a good working agreement; I would go to his cafe three times a week to collect all the c.o.c.kroaches in his kitchen to feed my birds and animals, and in return for this service I was allowed to eat as many ice-creams as I could during my work. Determined that his shops should be clean for the Royal Visit, I went along to Costi's cafe about three days before the King was due and found him in a mood of suicidal despair such as only a Greek, with the aid of ouzo, can acquire and sustain. I asked him what was the matter.

'I am ruined,' he said sepulchrally, setting before me a stone bottle of ginger beer and a gleaming white ice-cream big enough to sink the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic. 'I am a ruined man, kyria kyria Gerry. I am a laughing stock. No longer will people say "Ah, Corfu, that is where Costi's ice-cream comes from." No, they will say instead, "Corfu? That's where that fool Costi's ice-cream comes from." I shall have to leave the island, there is no other course. I shall go to Zante or maybe Athens, or perhaps I shall join a monastery. My wife and children will starve, my poor old parents will feel burning shame as they beg for their bread...' Gerry. I am a laughing stock. No longer will people say "Ah, Corfu, that is where Costi's ice-cream comes from." No, they will say instead, "Corfu? That's where that fool Costi's ice-cream comes from." I shall have to leave the island, there is no other course. I shall go to Zante or maybe Athens, or perhaps I shall join a monastery. My wife and children will starve, my poor old parents will feel burning shame as they beg for their bread...'

Interrupting these gloomy prophecies, I asked what had happened to bring about this state of despair.

'I am a genius,' said Costi simply and without boastfulness, seating himself at my table and absent-mindedly pouring himself out another ouzo. 'No one in Corfu could produce ice-creams like mine, so succulent, so beautiful, so... so cold cold.'

I said this was true. I went further, for he obviously needed encouragement, and said that his ice-creams were famous throughout Greece, maybe even throughout Europe.

'True,' groaned Costi. 'So it was natural that when the King was to visit Corfu the Nomarch wanted him to taste my ice-cream.'

I was greatly impressed and said so.

'Yes,' said Costi, 'twelve kilos of ice-cream I was to deliver to the Palace at Mon Repos Mon Repos and one special ice-cream for the great banquet on the night His Majesty arrives. Aghh! it was this special ice that was my undoing. This is why my wife and children must starve. Ah, cruel and relentless fate!' and one special ice-cream for the great banquet on the night His Majesty arrives. Aghh! it was this special ice that was my undoing. This is why my wife and children must starve. Ah, cruel and relentless fate!'

'Why?' I asked bluntly, through a mouthful of ice-cream. I was in no mood for the frills; I wanted to get to the core of the story.

'I decided that this ice-cream must be something new, something unique, something never dreamed of before,' said Costi, draining his ouzo. 'All night I lay awake waiting for a sign.'

He closed his eyes and turned his head from side to side on a hot, unyielding, imaginary pillow.

'I did not sleep, I was in a fever. Then, just as the first c.o.c.ks crowed, "Ku-ka-ra-ka, koo," I was blinded by a flash of inspiration.'

He smote himself so hard on the forehead he almost fell out of his chair. Shakily, he poured out another ouzo.

'I saw before my hot and tired eyes the vision of a flag, a flag of Greece, the flag for which we have all suffered and died, but the flag made in my best superior, quality, full cream ice-cream best superior, quality, full cream ice-cream,' he said triumphantly, and sat back to see its effect on me.

I said I thought the idea was the most brilliant I had ever heard of. Costi beamed, and then, remembering, his expression became one of despair again.

'I leaped out of bed,' he continued dolefully, 'and ran into my kitchen. There I discovered that I had not the ingredients to carry out my plan. I had chocolate to colour the cream brown, I had dyes to make it red or green or even yellow, but I had nothing, nothing at all, to make the blue stripes in the flag.' He paused, drank deeply, and then drew himself up proudly.

'A lesser man... a Turk or an Albanian... would have abandoned the plan. But not Costi Avgadrama. You know what I did?'

I shook my head and took a swig of ginger beer.

'I went to see my cousin Michaeli. You know, he works for the chemist's down by the docks. Well, Michaeli may St Spiridion's curse fall upon him and his offspring gave me some stuff to make the stripes blue. Look!'

Costi went to his cold room and disappeared inside; then he came staggering out bearing a mammoth dish and laid it in front of me. It was full of ice-cream with blue and white stripes and did look remarkably like the Greek flag, even if the blue was a little on the purple side. I said I thought it was magnificent.

'Deadly!' hissed Costi. 'Deadly as a bomb.'

He sat down and stared malevolently at the huge dish. I could see nothing wrong with it except that the blue was more the colour of methylated spirits than true blue.

'Disgraced! By my own cousin, by that son of an unmarried father!' said Costi. 'He gave me the powder, he said it would be fine; he promised me, the viper tongue, that it would work.'

But it had worked, I pointed out, so what was the trouble?

'By G.o.d and St Spiridion's mercy,' said Costi piously, 'I had the idea of making a small flag for my family, just so they could celebrate their father's triumph. I cannot bear to think what would have happened if I had not done this.'

He rose to his feet and opened the door leading from the cafe to his private quarters.

'I will show you what that monster, my cousin, has done,' he said, and called up the stairs, 'Katarina! Petra! Spiro! Come!'

Costi's wife and his two sons came slowly and reluctantly down the stairs and stood in front of me. To my astonishment I saw that they all had bright purple mouths, the rich, royal purple of a summer beetle's wing case.

'Put out your tongue,' Costi commanded.

The family opened their mouths and poked out tongues the colour of a Roman's robe. They looked like macabre orchids, or a species of mandrake, perhaps. I could see Costi's problem. In the helpful, unthinking way that Corfiotes have, his cousin had given him a packet of gentian violet. I had once had to paint a sore on my leg with this substance and I knew that, among its many properties, it was an extremely tenacious dye. Costi would have a purple wife and children for some weeks to come.

'Just imagine,' he said to me in a hushed whisper, having sent his discoloured wife and brood back upstairs, 'just imagine if I'd sent this to the Palace. Imagine all those church dignitaries, their beards purple! A purple Nomarch and a purple King! I would have been shot.'

I said I thought it would have been rather funny. Costi was greatly shocked. When I grew up, he said severely, I would realize that some things in life were very serious, not comical.

'Imagine the reputation of the island island... imagine my my reputation if I had turned the King purple,' he said, as he gave me another ice-cream to show that there was no ill-feeling. 'Imagine how the foreigners would have laughed if the Greek King had turned purple. reputation if I had turned the King purple,' he said, as he gave me another ice-cream to show that there was no ill-feeling. 'Imagine how the foreigners would have laughed if the Greek King had turned purple. Po! po! po! po! Po! po! po! po! St Spiridion save us!' St Spiridion save us!'

And how about the cousin, I inquired; how had he taken the news?

'He doesn't know yet,' said Costi, grinning evilly, 'but he will soon. I've just sent him an ice-cream shaped like the Greek flag.'

So the island was wound up to a pitch of unbearable excitement when the great day dawned. Spiro had organized his huge and ancient Dodge with the hood down as a sort of combination grandstand and battering ram, determined that the family at any rate were going to get a good view of the proceedings. In a festive mood, we drove into town and had a drink on the Platia to pick up news of the final preparations. Lena, resplendent in green and purple, told us that Marko had finally, if reluctantly, given up his idea of blue and white donkeys but now had another plan only slightly less bizarre.

'You know g'e'as'is father's printing works, huh?' said Lena. 'Vell, 'e say'e is to print thousands and thousands of Greek flags and take them out in 'is yacht and then scatter them over the vater so that the King's ship 'as a carpet of Greek flags to sail on, no?'

Marko's yacht was the joke of Corfu; a once rather lush cabin cruiser, Marko had added so much superstructure to it that, as Leslie rightly said, it looked like a sort of sea-going Crystal Palace with a heavy list to starboard. Every time Marko set sail in it bets were laid as to when and if he would return.

'So,' continued Lena, 'first 'e'ave the flags print, then 'e finds they don't float they sink. So 'e makes little crosses of vood and sticks the flags on them so that they vill float.'

'It sounds rather a nice idea,' said Mother.

'If it works,' said Larry. 'You know Marko's genius for organization. Remember Constantine's birthday.'

In the summer Marko had organized a sumptuous picnic for his nephew Constantine's birthday. It would have been a splendid event, with everything from roast suckling pig to watermelons filled with champagne. The elite of Corfu were invited. The only snag was that Marko had got his beaches muddled and while he sat in solitary splendour surrounded by enough food to feed an army on a beach far down south, the elite of Corfu, hot and hungry, waited on a beach in the far north of the island.