Memories of Alexandria: From a Void to Nothingness

By Ricardo Wahby Tapia

Set against the background of what was then the worlds most cosmopolitan city, Memories of Alexandria tells the story of a Spanish-Egyptian family, from the years immediately after the Spanish Civil War to Egypts decades of revolution, unrest and conflict between the late forties and the mid-sixties.

The storyline runs incessantly back and forth, embracing, like a lively journey, past present and future, portraying historical accounts and people from all walks of life with a philosophical and cynical approach to the scheming and false values of our time and the uselessness of it all.
It is also the story of the uprooted, those Egyptian khawagat (foreigners) who after revolution and wars, were forced out of the country by unforeseen and tragic circumstances.

The writing is sincere, cynical, ironic, candid, spicy, harsh, bold and desperate. In a nutshell, Memories of Alexandria From a void to nothingness is a surrealistic philosophical story of bygone times.

Ricardo Wahby Tapia is now retired after forty years in business, mainly in the tourist industry. He lives in Madrid and Cabezn de la Sal (Cantabria)

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456783600

Ricardo Wahby Tapia

Born in Madrid and brought up in Egypt from early childhood to his late teens, Ricardo Wahby Tapia returned to Spain in 1964. He is now retired after forty years in business mainly in the tourist industry. He lives in Madrid and Cabezón de la Sal.

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Copyright © 2011 by Donald Ianson

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-9923-7 (sc)

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iUniverse rev. date: 06/06/2011

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

The White Jaguar

This is the story of a white XK 140 Jaguar car and the lives of its various owners.

The car is real, but the characters are fiction, and any relation to real persons is coincidental.

With the trend today toward the nostalgia of the fifties and sixties, I feel that this novel will appeal to the older segment of the population that can remember Elvis, soda bars, and the dazzling colours of the fifties cars.

One has only to attend one of the numerous old car shows to know that there are a great many people who love these old cars and the wonderful memories they bring back. The White Jaguar should rekindle some of those memories for many people in England and across North America.

The murder of Maria, and Nick’s revenge on the murderer was written at the time of the Mahaffy and French murders in southern Ontario, and is the author’s own cry of outrage against all violent crime.

Contents

PART I – JIM

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

PART II – SHEILA

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

PART III – NICK (Nicalo)

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART IV – LOU

Chapter 13

PART V – EARL

CHAPTER 14

PART VI – JIM & MELANIE

CHAPTER 15

PART I – JIM

SIDMOUTH, DEVON 1954

Chapter 1

Jim awoke, and knew it was raining. He could hear the squish of the tires on the wet road as the milkman moved his electric milk cart down the row of council houses.

I better get cracking, Jim said to himself. If he did not get up soon his brother, Bob, would get into the bathroom first.

As Jim shaved and washed he wondered if the rain would continue into next week when he went on holidays. The Jaguar factory usually shut down in August, though lately orders were so strong in America that they might keep going all summer. Anyhow this was the first year he was going on his own holiday. His Mum and Dad had always gone to Yarmouth on his Dad’s holiday; and Jim and his brother went with them, but since coming back from his National Service in the R.E.M.E. (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) he had decided to go on his own holiday.

Jim’s mind drifted to the past. It had been two years since he was first posted to basic training at Honiton in Devon, and he could recall the first leave he had had after those first few awful weeks. In July and August it had rained and rained, and then just when the sergeant said they could go off the base that Saturday, the sun had come out.

Jim had met Tom Jeffrey, another National Serviceman, at the camp. Tom was a local Devon boy who lived in Sidford. Tom had said he could show his friends around Sidmouth, where there were some big hotels. In fact, Tom had said that there might even be a dance at the Manor Hall, and that he had a younger sister who might know some girls…

As Jim scraped hairs off his face he remembered that Saturday pass from camp… oh he had known a couple of girls at the grammar school here in Coventry, but that first leave in Sidmouth had been something different.

Tom had taken Jim and another chap, Roger, to the railway station at Honiton where they climbed into the compartment of a two-carriage train. For half an hour the old saddletank steam engine hissed and wheezed, but did not move. Finally, with a roar the express train down from London arrived and a few well-dressed gentlemen and some holiday-makers got off. Some of them got into the Sidmouth train, and after all the doors had been closed, and the conductor had waved his flag, they were off. Soon the old steam engine was wheezing and clanking its way across the lovely Devon countryside. The late afternoon sun made the red Devon soil even more exotic. Jim could still remember the thrill of adventure after those dreary weeks of basic training. Tom pointed out streams he had fished in, and told stories of trips his older brother had taken him on, on the back of his BSA motorbike.

As they approached Sidmouth the train climbed a steep grade and Jim wondered if it would ever make it. Tom confirmed Jim’s worry by telling a story about how on one occasion they had added some extra goods trucks and the old engine had failed to make the grade and had to return to Honiton to drop off some of the extra freight cars. Finally they arrived in Sidmouth. Tom’s father picked them up from the station. Jim remembered how the town was set between two cliffs. An esplanade ran along the beach with many private hotels and guest houses facing the sea. The larger hotels were situated on the ground rising toward the cliffs at each end, giving these hotels a magnificent view of the town and the coast as it ran toward the horizon.

Tom’s father had taken them to his house, where they met Tom’s mother and sister, Rose, and Tom’s older brother, Cliff. Both Cliff and Mr. Jeffrey worked at Dagworthy’s Garage.

Tom’s mother gave the boys sausages and mashed potatoes. Dessert was jam roll washed down with plenty of tea.

Mr. Jeffrey asked Roger and Jim where they were from, and what they did. Jim mentioned that his Dad worked at Jaguar.

Hey, that’s a good place to work, said Mr. Jeffrey. Beautiful car, that new Jaguar. One hundred and twenty miles per hour. We got one up at the garage. One of the hotel guests brought it in.

I have to go back to the garage to pick up my lunch box, said Cliff. We could take a look at it.

Well, we were thinking of going to the dance at the Manor Hall, replied Tom. Rose was going to find a couple of friends for Roger and Jim here.

Ah, you’ve got time to do both. Rose, who’ve you lined up for these boys? asked Cliff.

I called Lil but she wasn’t home, and May don’t have a phone, Rose said.

But I thought you were going to fix my friends up, Rosie, said Tom.

It’s not that easy, Tom. Lil likes some bloke in the estate office across the street, and May’s a strange one - you’re never certain what she’ll do. Anyhow, I wasn’t sure when you was coming home, Rose said, obviously a little embarrassed by her brother’s attack in front of strangers.

Hey, Tom, it’s OK, said Roger, coming to her rescue. Let’s see this Jaguar. We can catch a bus to the dance, and then we got to get back to the base before midnight.

I’ll run you boys back to Honiton, Mr. Jeffrey said. Not much of a Dad if I can’t do that for you, eh son? he added, smiling at his son.

Thanks, Dad, Tom said, and Jim and Roger also added their thanks.

Rose left first to go to her friends’ and the boys were just starting to walk to the bus stop when Cliff wheeled the BSA out.

I can take one of you chaps, but not all, Cliff said.

Roger and Jim looked at each other.

Your old man works at Jaguar, said Tom. Roger and I will take the bus. Wait for us at the garage.

Jim climbed on the back of the bike and soon they were rushing along the narrow streets of Sidford and on toward Sidmouth and the sea again. Jim remembered the rush of the cool evening air, and how it made his eyes water if he tried to look past Cliff’s shoulder.

Cliff pulled up in front of a large garage half a block from the sea. Dagworthy’s the name said. There were two petrol pumps outside and flats above the garage.

Hi, Ron, Cliff said to a uniformed taxi driver who was lounging by a large Vauxhall limousine. I’ve just come to get my lunch box.

With this they moved into the garage, which was packed with cars belonging to guests at nearby hotels that had insufficient parking space. Jim saw Ford Prefects, Morrises, but also a beautiful Lea Francis, and a smashing dark blue Bentley.

Where’s the Jag? Jim asked.

Over here, Cliff replied, going through a door to another part of the garage. There parked by the wall was a lovely grey XK120; the top was down and Jim could see the red leather seats.

She’s a beaut, ain’t she? said a voice.

Oh, hi Bill, said Cliff.

Owner gave me five bob to wash this car for morning, said Bill. Gave me the keys so’s I could move it down the wash bay at back. ‘E don’t know it, but I’d have done it for free just to drive this one. Just you listen to this engine.

Bill got in and started the car. A beautiful rumble came from the exhaust as he revved the car up.

Jim here’s Dad works at Jaguar, said Cliff.

Oh, aye, said Bill. Bet he makes good money.

Jim mumbled something about the money not being bad.

Look, said Bill, I got to take her down to the wash bay. Do you want to come?

Jim looked at Cliff and they both looked at the car – there just was not enough room for two passengers.

You go, Jim, Cliff said. I’ll get my lunch box and then bring my bike ‘round the back.

Jim got in the car carefully. Bill slammed the door, jumped in his side, revved the engine and let in the clutch. Jim had never felt anything like the acceleration. His head was snapped back at the start, and then his stomach seemed to be pressed into the back of the seat as the car continued its dizzying acceleration toward the rear doors of the garage.

My God, thought Jim, this chap’s mad; he’s going to crash this lovely car – with me in it!

Nevertheless, just as this thought ended, Bill slowed the car enough to negotiate the turn into the street and at a more sedate pace, he drove around to a back alleyway behind the garage where they washed the cars.

Not bad, eh? said Bill.

Jim agreed the car was amazingly fast; and what beautiful lines it had. He had seen them before of course, but never driven in one. For a young man interested in things mechanical, the Jag XK120 was a fantasy come true.

Just then Cliff came up with his lunch box. Have a good ride? he asked. Fast, ain’t she.

With this he reached in and pulled the bonnet. There was the twin cam six cylinder engine, which reminded Jim of the spitfire engine he had seen when he was in the air cadets.

Perhaps there was some relationship between the engine that won the Battle of Britain for the R.A.F. and this super six cylinder engine that was winning so many races, and so many dollars in America. Boy, he’d like to go to America and see some of those new cars. Those Yanks had V-8 engines… Cliff brought Jim’s daydreams to a halt.

Here’s Tom and Roger, Cliff said.

The other two young men admired the Jag, and then they all decided it was time to go to the dance at the Manor Hall. But first a couple of beers at the Smugglers Arms to get them into the spirit of things. Cliff said he would see them at the dance later, and rode away on his BSA to get his girlfriend.

Half an hour, and a couple of pints later, the lads started their walk to the Manor Hall. The sun had set, and at high tide the sea looked very peaceful in the twilight as they walked the half mile to the dance hall.

As they approached the hall up Manor Road, Jim could see the light from the Hall as it scattered through the trees on the street. A trace of sea mist and the sounds of laughter and music gave the evening a magic he had not experienced at dances back home. What might happen tonight? Who would he meet? The thrill of expectancy ran through him.

The boys went in and made their way to the bar. It was much easier to survey the situation when you had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Tom started talking to friends, and introduced Roger and Jim. While they were talking, Rose came by with a tall brunette.

This is May. May, these are the chaps that are over at the Honiton camp with Tom, said Rose.

How do you do? said May.

May seemed very quiet, but that was probably because she was very shy.

The group talked on, though Jim and Roger sipped their drinks in silence, not knowing who everyone was. The MC announced the next dance, a foxtrot, and as it started one of the chaps took Rose, and as Tom had gone across to see someone else, May was left standing. Jim wondered if Roger would ask her, but it looked as if Roger was wondering the same thing.

Oh, what the hell, thought Jim. Sooner I ask and get started the better – I don’t want to spend the whole evening a wallflower.

Would you like to dance? asked Jim.

Thank you, May replied.

They danced and made small conversation. She asked if he liked the Army, and told him that she was a waitress in one of the hotels on the seafront. The music stopped, and Jim took her back to the group.

Want a drink?

No thanks, she said.

So they stood watching other people – but soon Rose came back and Jim felt he was free to get another drink for himself.

When Jim got back from the bar another dance had started and May was already dancing with someone else.

Roger was standing finishing his drink when he turned to Jim and said, Look over there, Jim. How about those two?

Jim had looked toward the two girls standing across the corner of the hall from them. One was a cute blonde with short hair something like June Alison, the other, slightly taller, was a brunette.

The combination of the drinks and the knowledge that nobody really knew them gave the boys the courage to ask the girls for a dance.

The blonde’s a smasher, let’s ask them, said Roger. But before Jim could reply, the MC stopped the music.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to have a spot dance. If you’re not dancing, hurry up and get a partner and join. We’ve got some good prizes this evening.

Jim and Roger waited through the MC’s speech, wondering if they had any chance of getting across to the two girls before someone else asked them.

Come on! said Roger.

In no time he was beside the blonde. May I have this dance?

The blonde looked surprised, and then said a reluctant OK.

As they moved off Jim had an easier target with the now lone brunette.

May I have this dance? he asked.

Thanks, she said, and they moved off on a quick step.

Jim was not much at dancing, but the floor was so crowded that he didn’t have to worry about his skill.

My name’s Jim, and that’s my friend Roger. We just came over with a friend from the Army camp at Honiton. What’s your name? asked Jim.

My name’s Melanie and that’s Donna, said Melanie, indicating her friend. We were supposed to meet some friends here from Newton Poppleford, but I suppose they are not coming. What do you do at the Army camp?

All we do is bloody marching and drill, said Jim. He could have bitten his tongue for swearing, but Melanie had not seemed to notice. Just then the music stopped.

Now ladies and gentlemen, stay close to your partner and don’t move, said the MC.

One of the band members came down and the MC called out, Take fifteen paces forward, now three paces to your left, turn right, go four more paces… the couple nearest your right elbow.

Suddenly it dawned on Jim that they had won the spot dance.

Ladies and gentlemen, our winners! the MC called out.

A spotlight shone down on Melanie and Jim.

The prize is a free dinner at the Beach Hotel! Would the winners please come up.

Jim walked up with Melanie and collected the envelope. The MC asked their names.

Ladies and gentlemen, our winners are Miss Melanie Fuller and Mr. Jim Danforth. The crowd applauded, then the MC announced the next dance would be a tango.

I’m afraid I don’t tango, said Jim. Can I get you a drink?

Thank you, said Melanie. I’d like a ginger ale.

Jim went and got two ginger ales; he had had enough beer. When he got back to Melanie he handed the envelope to her.

You’d better keep this, he said.

No, you have it, Melanie said.

Jim thought. He had no use for a free dinner, unless he had a date. Melanie looked pretty good to a young man who had spent six weeks in Army camp. She was about five foot six with a nice face, and brown eyes to go with rich brown hair. Nice soft hands, slim waist in a white dress – not bad!

Eh, well, I don’t know anyone I can go with, unless you would like to go sometime when I can get leave again.

Just then Roger came up with Donna. Smashing you winning that prize Jim.

Well, we both won it you know, said Jim.

As they were talking Tom came over. Hey chaps, it’s quarter to eleven. My Dad’s coming over at eleven to take us back to camp. One more dance and we gotta go!

Jim took a hurried look at Melanie who was still drinking her ginger ale. Would the next dance be one he could dance to before he had to leave?

Look, Melanie, I don’t know when I can get leave again, you take the prize. I’ll try and call you if I can get leave but if I can’t in the next couple of weeks, you take it.

OK, said Melanie, taking the envelope from Jim. She folded it and slipped it into her purse.

The tango ended and Jim sipped his ginger ale, wondering what next to do or say.

Without any announcement the band started again. This time a nice slow dance – saved!

Would you like to dance? Jim asked.

Melanie did not answer but gave him a smile and stepped out onto the floor, and then turned toward him and smiled again and they moved off together.

Jim thought to himself, She’s nice and I think she likes me. This is different from the dances back home in Coventry.

What do you like doing? Melanie asked, breaking into Jim’s thoughts.

"Oh, I go fishing with my friends sometimes, and on Saturdays we go watch football. What do you