Forced Circumstances

By Amanda Trollope

Forced Circumstances tells the story of a young 22-year old British woman living in 1960s Iran, bringing together a fragmented family amidst the turmoil of the Shah’s rule.
Married to an Iranian man with two children from a previous marriage, our bold protagonist takes on the complex role of stepmother to kids unaccustomed to affection or stability. Navigating traditions requiring full body coverings and forbidding women to venture out alone, she faces intense challenges as a conspicuous foreigner subject to contempt and harassment.
Did she quietly harbour regrets over tying her fate to such complications instead of a more comfortable English life? Would the eruption of Ayatollah Khomeini and Iran’s Islamic Revolution provide the leverage needed to hold their Jewish family together? Or drive them further toward resentment and dysfunction in a now-perilous homeland?
Relating this family’s ambitions, sacrifices, and conflicts across clashing societal upheavals, the memoir serves up lessons in perseverance and perspective. It illuminates the timeless experiences that unfold when different cultures combine under a single roof - and what it truly takes to transform that awkward juxtaposition into a nurturing sense of home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035806843

Amanda Trollope

Amanda Trollope or Mandy as she was called by friends and family, being a spontaneous person and trusting in the future, agreed to travel to Iran for a visit, by car. She was newly wed to an irresistible Iranian and was already three months pregnant. Arriving in Iran, or Persia as it was known in those days of 1964, was quite a shock to the system. However, the hospitality of his family put her mind at rest; they were on holiday weren’t they? She was sure she would meet whatever came her way just as she had been taught by her loving parents and would manage. Just the bathroom facilities nearly bowled her over. Agreeing to stay in Persia put her stamina to test. But with the love of her husband, together they began to build a life. The difference in cultures was difficult to understand let alone compare. Mandy decided she would concentrate on bringing up her children in love, just as she had been. She wanted to give them all the tools she could, to deal with life’s trials and tribulations. She decided they would bring her husband’s two children, of nine and ten years old, to Persia, taking them out of their boarding school in England; where they were desperately unhappy. Mandy could no longer bear to read their letters so full of tears and feelings of abandonment. The journey to build a worthwhile life together was full of ups and downs but bravely faced. Despite having to share the family home with sixteen other members of his family, they made the best of it and learned a few lessons.

Book preview

About the Author

Amanda Trollope or Mandy as she was called by friends and family, being a spontaneous person and trusting in the future, agreed to travel to Iran for a visit, by car. She was newly wed to an irresistible Iranian and was already three months pregnant.

Arriving in Iran, or Persia as it was known in those days of 1964, was quite a shock to the system. However, the hospitality of his family put her mind at rest; they were on holiday weren’t they? She was sure she would meet whatever came her way just as she had been taught by her loving parents and would manage. Just the bathroom facilities nearly bowled her over.

Agreeing to stay in Persia put her stamina to test. But with the love of her husband, together they began to build a life.

The difference in cultures was difficult to understand let alone compare. Mandy decided she would concentrate on bringing up her children in love, just as she had been. She wanted to give them all the tools she could, to deal with life’s trials and tribulations.

She decided they would bring her husband’s two children, of nine and ten years old, to Persia, taking them out of their boarding school in England; where they were desperately unhappy. Mandy could no longer bear to read their letters so full of tears and feelings of abandonment.

The journey to build a worthwhile life together was full of ups and downs but bravely faced. Despite having to share the family home with sixteen other members of his family, they made the best of it and learned a few lessons.

Dedication

My friend and now my daughter’s mother-in-law, Batsheva, who steadily read my weekly episodes and pushed me along. My children, who encouraged me, reminded me of events and corrected my versions where necessary: Andrew, Michelle, Samantha, Gidi and Eleesa.

My siblings, Nic, Giles and Anna, were always around to provide stories of the past and encourage me.

My beloved parents George Trollope and Jean Hedley and aunt, Viva Brady, who have all, sadly, passed away. They were a continual inspiration all my life and until today. Even my great grandchildren have learned some of their sayings and sing the songs my mother would sing me.

My dear sister-in-law, Anna (Khanoum), Melamed who shared many years of our lives in good will, giving sound advice on Persian and Jewish ways and understanding me. Having an excellent memory, she is able to provide information and events without fault.

My dear friend, Karin Lavid, is always available to fill me in on the time we spent together.

I am grateful and always will appreciate you all.

Copyright Information ©

Amanda Trollope 2024

The right of Amanda Trollope to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035806836 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035806843 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

First and foremost, Austin Macauley accepted my work with no prior conditions. I have received acknowledgement, professional assistance, encouragement and understanding from the highest quarters. None of this should be taken for granted, particularly by a new author. I am most grateful.

All my present and past friends have always backed me and encouraged me to write my story and there are too many to mention them all. But, in particular, my dear friends, Clare Sagiv and Jakob, Gabi and Rani Oren, who continually encouraged me. Yudit and Eli Sitbon with their son, Amit, are always behind me. Anat and David Shawinsky bugged me to finalise the book. My friend, Eliran, encouraged me to find a reliable publisher.

Let it not go without mentioning my faithful husband, Moty, who stood behind me all these years of my writing and supported me in every way. His children Adi and Yaron, her husband, Idan and wife, Inbar, were most supportive.

Part One

Chapter I

November 1964

I fell in love with Omar Sharif.

Well, that’s what I thought at first sight of him. He was suave, handsome and charming.

This all came with an attractive foreign accent. He told me he was Persian and then he brought me to Teheran.

Is this it? I asked Rahim as he parked the car alongside a dirty grey, two-storey building. The row of shops displaying SKF machinery and spare parts were on the ground floor. Looking up; I saw there were large windows lining the floor above which faced the main bus station.

Yes, answered Rahim with his soft Iranian accent. Welcome to the centre of Teheran. This is the family house, where my youngest sister Ferry is living at present with her husband and two year old son, which I mentioned to you during our journey here .

The noise and fumes from the buses arriving and leaving the bus station were most unpleasant. There was a great deal of shouting as people hurried to the buses and called out to each other. I watched as women, wearing long cloak-like garments (which I was informed by Rahim, is called a chador,) covering them from head to foot; struggled to hold the hands of their children, a bag and their chadors to cover the lower part of their faces. They held the chadors in place with their teeth. It was extraordinary to see these efforts and I never got used to it. They continually had to rearrange their chadors in order to be completely covered. Only their eyes were allowed to be seen. Later on I learned that the Shah, in fact, did not believe in wearing the chador; just like his father, (who would apparently roam the streets of Teheran and whip off the chadors of unsuspecting women and order them never to wear them again). However, the women were free to do as they pleased during this Shah’s reign; depending on their religious beliefs or what their husbands decided.

I stretched to alleviate my stiffness, after a week of, practically, non-stop driving and started to gather my various belongings.

Just bring your handbag and your small ‘Hold all’ Mandy, I’ll be back down in a minute to collect our cases. Rahim told me with a smile, as he opened the car door for me to get out. He offered me his hand to assist. I was three and a half months pregnant but not showing yet. I was happy for the offer of his hand as I really did feel stiff.

Thank you my darling husband, I happily retorted, took his hand and gave him a kiss on his cheek; I thought more than that might not be appropriate in Iran, having been filled in by Rahim on ‘Do’s and don’ts’ while we stay in Teheran.

Are our things going to be safe in the car? I asked rather anxiously as I eyed the busy people rushing by.

Don’t worry darling, I will be straight down. I just want to get you inside so you can wash and tidy yourself and rest a bit. Rahim tenderly told me, so I wouldn’t worry.

How on earth do you get into this building? I asked Rahim, searching for the entrance.

Rahim laughed, Here it is, he said as he led me to a tall, double green door with faded paint, set back into a niche in between the shops and at an angle. He rang the bell and we waited holding hands.

After half a minute or so we heard the heavy footsteps of someone hurrying down the stairs and a man’s voice shouting out something.

My brother-in-law, Ghodrat, Rahim told me in my ear.

The door swung open with a loud ‘Bang’. We were greeted by this robust man with a broad smile on his face and Rahim was swept up in his enthusiastic embrace. His dark hair was cropped very short and he was dressed very simply but tidily, in long brown trousers and a beige shirt with long sleeves. He loudly greeted Rahim in Farsi and I was greeted in his broken English. My hand was wrung and crushed in his huge palm. I was most taken aback and I nursed my crushed hand for a few seconds while he showed us the way up a dark stairway, on stone steps rimmed with metal. He closed the front door behind us with a ’Boom. I thought to myself that there was nothing very delicate about this man but he was full of infectious enthusiasm.

He shouted out something, presumably to his wife. So she responded by putting her head over the metal balustrade with her toddler son in her arms. She was beaming with delight, obviously thrilled to see her brother. She hugged him tightly and her small, delicate, pale face was flushed with happiness and her hazel brown eyes were lit up from within. While all this was going on I was able to compare her slight build to that of her husband’s sturdy one. There was such a big difference I was rather surprised. Ferry was wearing a dark cotton skirt and light blouse with long sleeves; her long, shiny black hair was tied back from her face. I was relieved to see she was not wearing a chador otherwise I would have felt uncomfortable, However, Ferry later explained to me that usually women did not wear a chador in the house unless the husband expected it, in front of other people. Nonetheless, there were very few Jewish women who would wear a chador unless they lived in a densely populated Moslem community; in a poorer area. Despite the fact it was November it was not so cold outside, but inside it was chilly. I was glad I had dressed in a light woolen dress. It was also midday so I imagined it would get cooler at night.

We were still standing at the top of the stairs and eventually Rahim introduced me to his youngest sister, Ferry, whose English was very good. I was made to feel most welcome as she kissed and hugged me.

Welcome to our family Mandy, she warmly said. We very happy you visit us and this is our son, Anton.

You are so kind Ferry, thank you, I gratefully told her. I tried to say something to Anton but he was shy and turned his brown curly head away, burying it in his mother’s shoulder. He was still in Ferry’s arms and I remember thinking how heavy he must be for her. She was so small and thin and he was a big boy for the age of two, well built like his father.

I take you to room, Ghodrat loudly announced as he strode down the wide passage with a high ceiling and double doors on either side leading off into various large rooms, also with high ceilings and tall windows. The doors were all painted in grey which created a dull atmosphere, and, despite the tall ceilings, little light came into the passage.

This your room, Ghodrat with a flourish and wide smile shoved the double doors inwards.

We saw a large, wooden double bed carelessly made up and a variety of personal items scattered around the room, on the wooden side tables and on the wide shelf in front of the oriental shaped window. One feature of the house I really loved was the shape of the windows. On the side facing the street they were wide and deeply set into the wall, in a half circle which created a window sill due to the fact the window did not reach the floor.

Rahim and I realised they were showing us their bedroom. So Rahim had a long conversation with them but it did not help, they insisted we should spend at least the first night in a decent bed; they would sleep in the sitting room. This was Iranian hospitality they explained. I was deeply touched and most grateful.

I’ll just pop down to bring up our bags, Rahim told me, You can go with Ferry, she will show you where to wash up and you can leave your handbag here. he added indicating Ferry and Ghodrat’s bedroom.

Come with me, said Ferry, who had finally relieved herself of her heavy bundle. Anton had toddled off to play. I’ll show you the rest of the house, she said and she smiled at me.

I was dying to go to the bathroom by now. Ferry realised this and said our first stop would be the bathroom. We went back down the tall wide corridor towards the stairs and made a left at the end into a narrow passage which had a lot of light coming through from the end. One doorway we passed on the right, I had no idea where it led since it was completely dark inside. Ferry told me it was the kitchen which seemed a bit strange to me, being so dark. Then we came to the ‘Bathroom’.

Oh horrors! I was looking at a hole in the ground. What a stink! Ferry turned on the light. I was horrified but I could not be rude and show any emotions. So I thanked her and closed the door.

I stopped myself from crying; I was so desperate to pee and had no idea how to negotiate this hole. There were footholds on either side of the hole set in cement which had gone completely black. I cautiously mounted the footholds and bobbed down. I was careful not to touch the side wall. Was I glad I was not wearing slacks! It was a dicey business and then there was no paper. But there was a small watering can with some water in it. So I tried to wash myself. Oh this was awful; I was getting so wet, including my feet and legs.

In fact, while we had been journeying through Turkey, on our way to Iran, I had seen holes in the ground in various restaurants and coffee shops but I had never used them. I had told Rahim I would rather wait and go under a tree on our way, so that’s what I did. I had never imagined one of Rahim’s family having this type of loo in one of their houses. I managed to calm myself, I certainly did not want to make a bad impression on Rahim’s sister; I washed my hands, splashed my face with water and took several deep breaths. There was a small, clean looking towel hanging up which I used to dry my hands and face. I took a look at myself in the mirror over the basin. A tired pale face looked back at me; my sea blue eyes were scarcely visible in the weak light. I noticed my long fair hair needed a good brush; I would deal with that in the room. I couldn’t wait to get out of the ‘Bathroom’.

When I opened the door I saw the source of the light at the end of this passage. It was coming from simple glass doors which led out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the back of this flat to the left and the offices of a large bank to the right. Looking around gave me a chance take a hold of myself and I started back to the bedroom where I had left my handbag, feeling a bit calmer. I wanted to take care of my wet feet and legs too.

Back in the bedroom, which I noticed had been tidied up a bit; I saw Rahim had brought up our bags. He was sitting on the bed waiting for me. He looked at my forlorn face and wet feet, he tried to keep a straight face, So it got you in the end did it? he spluttered and burst out laughing. I’m sorry darling but you look so woebegone. Come over here, let’s have a look at you, he said as he held out his arms to me. I sank into his arms and he kissed and hugged me until I relaxed.

Come Mandy, let’s find a towel and take care of your wet feet and legs, Rahim said. So we rummaged through our bags till we found a towel. While I was drying my legs and feet, Rahim said, The next thing is to give you a lesson on the best way to use an Iranian loo. I looked up at him and he was smiling, I smiled too and even started to laugh; suddenly I saw the funny side to it. We both had a good old laugh which made us feel better; after all, our journey had been long and we were feeling tired and hungry.

I gave my hair a good brush, applied some lipstick and a tiny squirt of scent behind my ears, rubbing my wrists behind my ears, to save on the scent – I had an idea I was not going to be able to buy myself such indulgence for some time to come.

Feeling somewhat refreshed and definitely in a better mood, Rahim took my hand and we went to join Ferry and Ghodrat.

Ferry was running around between the kitchen and sitting room. Anton was playing near her feet, when she was still and toddling after her as she went from place to place.

Let me help you Ferry, I offered as she passed me in the passage, with some dishes in her hands.

Oh, you tired Mandy, after long journey and I hear you pregnant, congratulations! Please rest, sit with Rahim, I manage.

I would feel better if I could help, I don’t like to sit around while I could be helping, I explained to her.

Then you kind, please take dishes with glasses and put on tablecloth in sitting room, she gratefully smiled at me.

I went into the spacious sitting room facing the back of the house, overlooking the bank. Ghodrat was sitting crossed legged on a large, red Persian carpet with his back leaning against one of the bare walls talking to Rahim who had indeed joined him. There was a newspaper on the floor beside Ghodrat. They looked up at me as I entered the room and smiled. I returned their smiles and they continued with their conversation. I saw there was a round, colourful, plastic tablecloth on the floor in front of the men so I knelt down and arranged the plates and bowls evenly around. I then went back to collect the cutlery from Ferry. (Obviously the men were not expected to assist in this activity, I noted. There was a lot I had to get used to. My thoughts returned me fondly and momentarily to home where my father had always insisted we all help in the house).

I went back down the passage towards the stairs and turned left, remembering the kitchen was the first doorway on the right. The enticing, spicy aroma of food was wafting out of the, now, dimly lit room, which was so tiny with no space to put anything. There was a large sink with rather grotty looking sideboards on either side, where wet dishes had been stacked upside down to dry. Ferry was cooking on an Aladdin paraffin stove and a low, paraffin stove with four wicks, especially designed to steam the rice. Anton was playing on the floor in a corner with a couple of kitchen utensils. He seemed to be aware of the danger of the hot stoves since he was well back from them; as far as the amount of space would allow! He squinted up at me suspiciously, out of the corner of his eye; however, since I just stood in the doorway he returned to his game.

Shall I put some knives and forks on the tablecloth? I asked Ferry.

We use spoons and forks, it is more easy to eat rice, Ferry explained. Please take them and I give you more things to take, she said, handing me the cutlery and some green, grass-like herbs with mint and parsley on a plate. Your English is good Ferry. I complimented her. I had noticed it was not easy for her.

The green herbs were not new to me. I had already been introduced to these fresh herbs while crossing Turkey. In these countries it was considered a basic part of their meal to have fresh herbs served with everything. I remember mentioning to Rahim that one of the herbs actually did look like real grass and I felt rather like a donkey eating it! I never really took to eating those herbs, which is a pity. (Today I appreciate how healthy they are.) These days it is considered very good for you and I always served them with Rahim’s meals. (I was slightly wary of getting worms, unless they were well washed, it was a well-known fact the fertilizers were all natural animal based).

Having arranged the cutlery and herbs on the tablecloth, I returned to Ferry to help with the serving of the food. I noticed Ferry was meticulously clean and organized; she had to be in those conditions – she remarked to me when I pointed this out to her. She had already started to serve the food on dishes on the floor. On the floor, I thought to myself? Well I suppose there was no other way since counter space, there was none. Ferry was sitting on her heels, a position frequently used by women. (I also acquired some strong muscles in my legs adopting this position in order to deal with cooking on low stoves and serving food). In those days few Iranian people owned a table and chairs, nor did they have modern or spacious facilities in the kitchen. It was a fact all women were considered no more important than servants or second class citizens; in most cases.

Women were there for the comfort of the men, to wait on them, listen to them – usually not being expected to even voice their opinions. They would be used in any way the men wished, I quickly learned; they were not allowed to complain, this was their lot. Even when their husbands wished to get rid of frustration and beat-up their wives, there was no one to turn to. The police would tell a complaining wife, whose face was black and blue with bruises, that she was the property of her husband and it was against the law for them to interfere – I know, I experienced it.

Ferry and I carried the food and a bottle of Coca Cola into the sitting room with little Anton tagging on behind us. Rahim and Ghodrat smiled up at us, welcoming the delicious smells which accompanied us as we placed the food and Coke on the tablecloth. We were all hungry and my tummy was rumbling!

An oval shaped metal dish held the steaming white rice with golden brown slices of crispy potatoes decorating the top. In front of each of us, Ferry had placed, in front of each person, a small soup bowl of a stew-like dish, made of cooked herbs, beef cubes, brown dried beans and dried lemons. The aroma was amazing and the taste was even better! Ferry served us all with some rice, adding a crispy potato on each serving and begged us to help ourselves to the ‘Ghormeh Sabzi’, the name of the stew. I watched carefully to see how I should manage and serve the food from the bowl. Anton sat beside Ferry as she fed him and then he went to his father to have some more. He kept going from one parent to the other till he’d had enough. The next thing I knew he had curled up on the floor and fallen asleep.

Ghodrat and Rahim tasted the rice with their fingers, using the tips of their index and second fingers together with their thumbs, they dipped their fingers into the rice making a circular movement and squeezing slightly as if making a small ball of the rice. Bending low over their plates, they then placed the rice in their mouths.

I see you are experts at eating rice, I commented in amusement! I was not going to risk eating in this manner, until I possibly had more practice. This made them all smile.

Don’t worry, Mandy Joon, Rahim answered. Just take some of the ‘Ghormeh Sabzi’ with your spoon and pour it over the rice, like this, he added, while he demonstrated. Maybe you should place some on one side to taste, in case you do not like it, he said. There was no danger of that, it was so tasty, I added more and more to my rice; licking my lips with every mouthful. I had not eaten so well for a long time, particularly due to the fact I had not really trusted anything we had found to eat on our journey to Iran. I have learned, since then, that Ferry is an excellent cook and I enjoy all her food. She is also a dear, sensitive and caring friend.

So how was journey to Iran? Ferry politely inquired of me.

We actually quite enjoyed it. I answered. "It was very interesting traveling through Bulgaria and Turkey. The countryside was picturesque and, in Bulgaria, we could see how uncivilized they were by their use of horses and carts as a method of traveling and working the fields.

Turkey was different. It has a drier climate. Half way through Turkey the paved roads ended, in Sivas, and we had to drive over very bumpy, ground, as if corrugated. The only way to feel a more comfortable ride was by driving faster but this raised a lot of dust! There also were places where the road or track rather, went very close to the edge of a ravine while we climbed higher ground and hills. We could see remnants of vehicles which hadn’t made it round the corners; various wrecks of a bus or lorry lying on their sides or overturned, having driven over the edge. It was not pleasant to think about what would happen if we were to be stranded in such a situation. This was far away from civilization and we knew robbers frequented such uninhabited areas; living in the hills in caves. We had heard various stories, on our way, when we stopped to eat. I was quite nervous driving over these unpaved roads and the view did not help; being dry and dusty. There were not many trees or in fact anything green. It was tiring and I looked forward to reaching Iran but this was the longest part of our journey.``

Why you come to Iran? Ferry asked. We happy and surprised when Rahim called from London. But we thought Rahim come alone.

Rahim had suggested that I should stay in London with my father. However, I had no money and no job. We are planning to live in Israel which you probably already know but, due to the fact Rahim has been most unfortunate in England with his factory and lost all his capital, he decided he would come to Iran to see if anything was owing to him over here! Like that we can start off in Israel with some funds at least. I noticed Ferry and Ghodrat looking at each other.

I carried on and explained, I insisted on accompanying Rahim since I could not encroach on my father’s good will. I have always paid my way and now I was married obviously this would still be expected of me. The problem was Rahim had insisted I left my job since we thought we would go straight to Israel to live. Then he was offered the chance of driving his friend’s car from Germany to Iran, which would run the car in by the time we arrived in Iran and we would not have flight fares to pay for. We have not slept in a bed for a week, since we left England! I laughingly told them. But I feel fine. Apart from the ferry crossing from England, traveling to meet Rahim in Düsseldorf, when I threw up dreadfully, I have weathered the journey very well.

Ferry smiled at me, You very brave. You heard stories about Iran before you came and your family is worried?

My mother has left home and they are going through a divorce at present, so I think they have other things on their minds at the moment. My two brothers said they would miss me and were sorry to see me go and my little sister of fourteen was very tearful. It was a difficult parting I must say. My eyes welled up with tears at the memory, but I was tired I reminded myself as I roughly brushed away a falling tear.

Anyway it will not be for long. We will see them again soon, before we set off for Israel, I consoled myself as I thought out loud.

Yes, of course, said Ferry understandingly as she got to her feet and started to clear the dishes, I bring tea.

I’ll help you Ferry, I was happy to get up off the floor so it was too late for Ferry to argue.

We cleared everything off the tablecloth and took it all into the kitchen where I noticed she had already made the tea. The kettle was sitting on top of the now low burning paraffin stove and the teapot was sitting on top of the kettle. This was the way Iranians brewed their tea, (even today they make their tea in this manner). The tea becomes strong so they pour a little in the bottom of the glass and top it up with boiling water, according to the strength people like it. The glasses are very small, served on small saucers and accompanied with sugar lumps or jam. They drink the tea with the sugar lump held between their teeth.

We returned to the sitting room with the tea which we carefully placed in front of the men and one for each of us too. I watched this ceremony as everyone took a small piece of chopped sugar lump between their teeth, sipping the tea through the sugar lump and pushing it back behind their teeth in order to speak. I’ve no idea how they do it. I have no experience with this since I don’t like sweet tea!

I once saw how Ferry chopped the sugar to make such small pieces. She would buy this large cone-shaped lump of sugar and on a special wide, wooden bowl; with a raised, wooden stand in the centre, she used a special little hammer whose head had a sharp flat edge on one side and a normal hammer head on the other, to chop the sugar; which took hours. Women undeniably did not have an easy time.

Anton, by this time, had disappeared from the floor; Ghodrat had carried him to his cot, he told me. We sat and enjoyed our tea, a habit I picked up with alacrity. I enjoyed having a cup of tea after each meal and found it gave me a relaxed feeling. We all felt sleepy and, as is the custom in Iran in the afternoons, we all retired to rest; having finished our tea.

Nora

Rahim and I awoke a couple of hours later, much refreshed. Ferry had thoughtfully heated some water on the Primus stove so we could wash ourselves. There was no shower in the house.

What am I going to do? I asked Rahim in a horrified voice. Am I not able to bath while we are here?

You will have to manage Mandy for the time being. You can wash yourself, as everyone else does and whenever Ferry goes to theHamam you can accompany her. His tone of voice was firm. He looked at me without a smile.

Rahim explained that one packs a bag of clean clothes, once a week, and goes to the local Hamam or baths. This was obviously perfectly normal as far as he was concerned.

I was thrown for a few seconds but not being one to complain and recalling the fact I had asked to come to Iran, in the first place; I made a mental switch and persuaded myself this was after all an adventure. I was going to have to make do while in Iran.

Well I did manage. Ferry provided me with a metal tub, a bar of sweet smelling soap and a can of warm water, which I carried to the bedroom. What a glorious sensation to wash off the dust of a week’s travel. Rahim brought me some more warm water so I was able to wash my hair too, what a luxury! I was standing well back from the windows, since there were no curtains and the central bus station had an office with large windows exactly opposite our bedroom window.

I changed into clean clothes, towel dried my hair and Rahim came in to carry out the filthy water! I now was able to turn on the light not caring if people could see us moving around in the room. It was evening, our having slept the afternoon away. I brushed my hair, now several shades lighter, creamed my face and tidied the room. I turned the light out and went to find the others.

Rahim was busy chatting to Ghodrat and Ferry in the sitting room, having also washed and changed.

You look pretty in blue dress, Ferry greeted me with such a friendly compliment. You feel rested and had good sleep?

I thanked her warmly and assured her I did feel rested. I was beginning to really like her with her frank and open manner.

Ferry served me with some refreshing tea. Some fruit was colourfully arranged on a large plate on the tablecloth. I noticed there were also small cucumbers among the fruit and Rahim was enjoying each bite as he added salt to the one he held in his hand.

I certainly have missed the Iranian cucumbers. In England there are only very long ones, which one eats in a salad. Here we eat them as a fruit. I could hear from the satisfaction in his voice that he was beginning to feel at home; with memories of simple habits returning to him.

No small cucumbers in England? Ferry incredulously asked in her broken English, for my benefit. How you live without?

Well I don’t like cucumbers, so it is easy for me, I joked. They all chuckled. It struck me that in every situation the simplest things in life were the most difficult to do without. Here I was without a shower and hot water and Ferry already imagined it being impossible without small cucumbers!

We sat around chatting, enjoying our tea and fruit. Rahim informed me that another one of his sisters, Nora, who lived in Germany, was visiting Iran with her family. I had met Nora and her family very briefly, in Italy. He had already spoken to her by phone. She was staying in a smart hotel in the centre of Teheran and she had invited us to supper that evening.

I was very excited. I was getting to know Rahim’s family and it was important for me. It allowed me an insight into the Iranian side of Rahim, who he was and where he came from. After all, if I thought about it, I had only known Rahim three months before we married and most of that time he had been away.

During our honeymoon in Italy, which his oldest sister had arranged for us, we had not been alone.

We had travelled with Rahim’s two children, Michelle and Andrew of nine and ten years old and my seventeen year old brother Nic – all packed into Rahim’s old Jaguar car. Rahim’s brother Moeeze and lorry driver, Charley, had driven in Rahim’s lorry from London which was packed with everything Rahim and Moeeze owned; on its way to Israel.

We all stayed in a small rented house by the sea, next door to his sister, Shari, who actually lived in Italy. Shari was with her family, her husband Mazzo – who was a famous professor specializing in ear, nose and throat problems – and their baby daughter of two years old, Maria Nuri, (Her nickname was Cheechol). Mazzo’s two sisters were staying there too. Rahim and Shari’s mother was also staying with them. We certainly had not been alone on that holiday, even his sister, Nora, came for a few days with her husband and two small daughters. It was a large party of people. I already had found myself cooking for our group, washing, mending clothes and generally being told what to do; which I really hated!

I did not have very happy memories of that time. However, there were two saving factors; one was that I discovered I was pregnant and the other was getting to know Andrew and Michelle. I did enjoy the time we spent together, we had a lot of laughs and I found I had much to offer them as a mother. They were in fact my first children, a present from heaven, I always told them and myself. They were delightful; absorbing everything I said and did for them. I taught them to swim and have fun in the sea which was just beside our rented house. They helped me with various chores and Michelle never left my side.

Rahim and I prepared ourselves to go out and visit his sister Nora. I changed again, this time into my favourite maroon, knitted dress with little gold buttons down the front to the waist.

I allowed myself a little more of my scent, and a dab of lipstick. I didn’t really have much jewellery, only my amethyst engagement ring and gold wedding band and a couple of gold brooches but that did not bother me. Rahim and I were only just starting out together after all.

Meeting Nora and her husband, Shapour, again was indeed a pleasure. Due to the fact we were staying in the centre of Teheran, nothing was too far away. Even though Rahim decided to drive to the hotel which he explained to me on the way was owned by his successful cousins the Beruchims; we could have managed to walk but it would have taken about half an hour and we did not have the time; apart from which it was not recommended to walk in the streets at night time.

Rahim and I arrived at this rather modern looking hotel from the outside, grandly showing Sinai Hotel over the main entrance. We had no problem finding a parking space.

Approaching the hotel I saw it was bedecked with colourful awnings over the main door and lower windows. I found the warm, brightly lit interior, shining from the large windows, welcoming and giving off a badly needed lift to the dull streets.

We were shown into the dining room via a large well lit reception area with gold painted light fixtures on the walls and a sparkling chandelier hanging in the centre. I noted with surprise the contrast of the dirty streets and everyday life of the average person against the luxury of comfortable arm chairs and small sofas carefully placed in various niches, all in King Louis XIV era style. We were walking on thick wall to wall red carpeting with Persian carpets dotted around in various shapes and colours. The dining room was in typical European style. It was bright with white walls and pretty Persian watercolour paintings which skilfully added to give it a Persian flavour, I imagined; trust me to notice the paintings in particular – due to my love of painting I suppose!

Nora and her husband, Shapour were waiting for us. They saw us and came over to greet us with open arms and happy smiles. We were still walking on the plush carpeting, I realised with pleasure. Once again they managed to make me feel part of the family just as Ferry had. I was kissed on both cheeks by both of them and Nora gave me a warm embrace. Shapour took my arm and led me to their table. The tables were round with spotless white tablecloths and set with sparkling cutlery and glasses. (I thought to myself I had better enjoy this moment since tomorrow we would be back to eating on the floor! Not that it really was of much importance to me, it was still a novelty, and there are worse things in life – like being hungry for instance). He pulled out one of the decorative, wooden-backed, white chairs for me to sit down while Rahim was chatting to Nora. As I watched them I remember thinking to myself that Rahim was a very handsome man. He took care of the way he dressed; usually in a nice shirt and tie with a jacket, according to the occasion and being slim he always looked good. He was not very tall, just a few inches taller than me. In fact, I remember noticing his height when we first met and thought I would not be able to wear high heeled shoes; if I continued to see him! His hair was dark and neatly combed back from his face with its light complexion. His small features with large, alluring, hazel coloured eyes set wide apart and adorned with dark eyelashes setting off his perfectly shaped nose and small mouth. Probably, due to his small nose and mouth, he was with a small moustache when I first met him, (Most men in Iran grew moustaches, more masculine – I suppose!), but he shaved it off on our ‘Honeymoon’" when he learnt I didn’t like it! The members of his family whom I had met so far, were also good looking.

Shapour was making small talk with me in his pleasant Persian-accented English, he spoke well and I had no difficulty in understanding him. He had pulled up a chair to sit next to me and was asking how I found Iran. He was a striking looking person with his hair already completely grey and full which he kept short at the back and swept back in the front. His skin looked tanned showing off his light eyes and white teeth when he smiled which he did frequently. I told Shapour I had few feelings for the time being since everything was so new to me, except for the Iranian bathrooms about which we both laughed. However, I knew I had come along for the ride and it was all an experience which I was absorbing bit by bit. The best part of it all, I told him, is meeting Rahim’s charming and friendly family. To which he bowed his head and thanked me with his warm smile. By this time Rahim and Nora had joined us and Rahim sat on Shapour’s left and Nora on my right.

Nora was so pretty with her short black hair beautifully styled, she always smiled. She and Ferry were so alike with small attractive features and lovely hazel eyes. She was elegantly dressed in a cream suit and she wore a string of exquisite pearls around her neck.

Nora also spoke English well enough, obviously with a Persian accent; probably due to the fact they lived in Germany and Shapour was doing business there with other European countries. They also spoke German fluently, of course; hence the German accent appeared here and there while they spoke to me. We ordered our first course and Nora was very interested in learning about my family.

I felt comfortable enough in their company to divulge that my parents were getting a divorce. However, I did not give them any reasons. I, myself, still found it difficult to accept that this loving couple – in my eyes – would now be apart forever. How could I ever justify the fact my mother had gone off with another man, not that she had been one hundred percent happy with her decision at the time. Initially she had been on the phone to my father daily trying to decide whether she could really make the break or not. I could not find a suitable reason for her to leave the man, who had always been my perfect person, my role model. If it was due to him having lost his job and her having to go out to work instead, I was not sure and I will always retain this question in my mind. None of this was something I was ready to talk about just yet.

My family lives in London, I told them with a smile. I have two younger brothers and a sister, to whom I am very close. It was not easy to leave them with the knowledge Mummy was no longer at home, but I had no choice and they all understood I was obliged to follow my husband; particularly since I was pregnant.

Oh, that is wonderful news, congratulations, said Nora and Shapour, in unison. Let’s raise a glass to a comfortable pregnancy and easy birth, added Nora, beaming happily for us. We all drank a toast and we were blessed by this charming couple, on our marriage and for a happy future together.

I soon noticed how Iranians had a wonderful way of greeting people and blessing them instantly. Every occasion was one to celebrate and bless. The answers to these blessings were also blessings. Even a thank you was answered with a blessing. I found it very polite and agreeable, but I found it difficult in the beginning to find the correct answers so I made a few mistakes, much to my chagrin!

By this time our first course had arrived. We had all chosen a soup-like dish full of finely chopped herbs and greens called Ash – of which there are many types, this one was cooked in pomegranate juice. It was so delicious. The aroma itself was enticing. I lifted my eyes to look at everyone and saw I was not the only one to be enjoying this delicacy.

Nora was sitting beside me so it was easy to converse. I noticed Rahim and Shapour had reverted to Farsi so I felt free to chat to Nora. I was happy for Rahim that he was able to speak to his well to do cousin, (Yes, Nora had married her cousin; a tradition which Iranians believed in.) I hoped he would be able to glean useful information which eventually might be of use to him, in starting a business in Iran. I asked Nora about herself.

She told me she was living in Germany with Shapour and their two little girls of three and four years old, Liana and Angela, who were with them in the hotel but were tucked up in bed fast asleep; in their room with a babysitter. She admitted to me, with a smile and a special light in her eyes, that she was pregnant too and was due a month after my baby. Now it was my turn to congratulate her and give her my best wishes. I gave her a kiss on her cheek and held her hand for a second in a gesture of friendship. I felt very close to her and was happy we had something in common. We both smiled at each other in understanding.

We have to live in Germany, Nora explained to me, Since Shapour works with his brothers in their importation business of electrical goods. Germany is base because goods are produced there. Sometimes my mother come to stay, that is nice for me; I really miss my family.

Oh yes, you will remember I met your mother while we were in Italy, and your sister’, I answered her.I could not communicate with your mother on my own but Andrew and Michelle helped me since their knowledge of Farsi is good. Also Shari speaks English, so we managed, I laughed. Nora laughed with me; she understood the problems of learning a language. I believe your mother orMama, as she kindly told me I should call her, spends time traveling around the world living with her various daughters for a few months at a time, she doesn’t have to stay in one place."

That is right; she knows she has no home of her own without husband to look after. She is much younger than Agha was and many years ahead of her but she sometimes say she feel old! She rather spends time with her children either in Germany, Italy or Iran. My father, Agha, we called him, died in Israel which was how he planned it. He is also buried there on the hillside of Jerusalem. You can see graveyard as you drive up windy road to Jerusalem, just before entrance. It is emotional sight for us with much meaning to my father. Even though Nora’s English was not perfect, it was very good.

I’m very sorry I did not meet him, I think I would have liked him; from all that is said about him. Andrew and Michelle were very fond of him.

Yes, you are right. Oh look, our second course has arrived. It is kebabs with rice which everyone enjoys. Now you can see how we eat it. Nora jovially added.

It was a treat indeed. We all added raw eggs to the rice, mixing it thoroughly and topped it off with Sumagh, a red, ground spice which gave a sour-ish taste to the rice and enhanced the taste of the lamb kebabs which were served on long, flat metal skewers; straight off the grill. I was really enjoying the Iranian food. I hoped, at some stage, I would also be able to produce such tasty meals. I made this comment to Nora and she smiled at me.

It takes time and experience, she said. Time is on your side and experience will be yours. We brought up to help in the kitchen and we learn from our mothers, we see it every day. So, when we marry we already know how to cook; most of us do anyway.

At home, my mother likes to be alone in the kitchen, so I have never been taught; except for while I was in Switzerland and I took cooking lessons in the college I was attending. However, while my mother had been missing from home latterly, I had taken to preparing all sorts of meals for my father and my siblings; out of a cook book. My first attempt was not so good and my father was so kind, he told me I had served the meal so decoratively! I laughed as I remembered my failure.

So you lived in Switzerland, I understand? Nora took the conversation in a different direction.

"Yes, indeed, I was there for five months in all. I was sixteen when I finished my exams in high school and my parents suggested I should go to Switzerland to ‘Polish’ my French. I went to college from September till December and I realised it was the end of the school year and my friends would not be returning. I decided I would look for a job and the family I was staying with very kindly found me a children’s home in the mountains where they needed some assistance with the children.

I was there for two months and I managed to be thrown out! I had been caught arriving home after ten in the evening, (At eleven to be precise)! So I was sent home. However I did learn some French," I laughed as I remembered the incident. Nora was amused too.

Anyone for desert? Shapour asked us all, as our plates were removed from the table by our friendly waiter. Well, I was quite elegantly satisfied, as my aunt would have said! However, a desert was hard to resist. The men ordered tea which was served with some jam. Nora and I ordered some chocolate cake with tea.

I hear you lived in London. Did you enjoy it? Nora enquired of me.

Latterly I lived in London and I was happy during the time I was actually there; I even had a couple of jobs in London. One was in an art gallery, which was fun. I had to assist with choosing frames for customers and I worked in the office. But I was just filling in for a friend who was on maternity leave. While working there I met this artist who was looking for someone to help him prepare for an exhibition. Rahim and Shapour were looking at me in interest.

"This artist, David Goshen, was charming. He was very tall and slim with tightly curled hair; he must have been about 30 years old. He was so full of ideas and exuberance, he carried one along with his enthusiasm; it was not important he was not particularly good looking since he really believed in himself. I found it most refreshing and enjoyed working with him. It involved going to stay in his vast family house in the country in Suffolk.

He lived with his wonderful wife who was very attractive with long brown hair and was also tall and slim and his three small children who all had his tight curly hair but they were fair. They all ran about with bare feet, so did his wife, mostly, and they were dressed very casually and rather sloppily in a nice way.

There were another two helpers living in the house. One was a hippie artist type, young girl of about twenty two years old, called Fiona and the other was an attractive young man who was about nineteen years old, David Gough, who wanted to become an actor and was just looking for odd jobs until the right acting job came his way. It was all very casual which fitted the atmosphere and was enjoyed by all.

My room was on the second floor and the bed was a four poster! Everything was dark, heavy wood, the walls, the floors, the doors, except for the ceilings which were painted white. But, there was a friendly ghost, apparently! The only time I might have experienced a meeting with this ghost was after an evening at the local pub. We had consumed oysters, after which I was violently sick, it probably did not help that I had also been drinking white wine. Anyway, when eventually I made my way to bed I was a bit unsteady, but I made it to my room and undressed. As I approached the bed I felt a distinctive push from behind and fell on the bed. I quickly stood up and looked behind me. I soon sobered up, I can assure you, I laughingly told them as I recalled this incident. There was no one there, needless to say. I hurriedly scampered under the covers including my head. I eventually slept and told David about the incident in the morning. He just said,Oh so you’ve met our friendly ghost have you? and that was it, all in a night’s work as it were!

My job was to get up at six in the morning and turn off the ovens where the painted ceramics were being baked. When they eventually cooled down I had to remove the painted tiles and arrange them in piles for David and Fiona to set into table tops, various frames and single tile pictures. There were many jobs to do and we were busy most of the time. The ultimate climax was David’s exhibition in London in the very smart area of Chelsea. It was set up in his friend’s flat and I was so excited to be in charge of this vital exhibition to which David had invited all sorts of important people." My face was alight with happiness as I related to them this interesting period of my life.

I can see you enjoyed this job, Nora observed. I explained how I was very interested in art and even liked to dabble in some drawing or painting myself, so I am always happy to be in this environment.

Our dessert arrived and we tucked in, savouring the sweet chocolate after our delicious kebab meal, and washed it all down with our tea. The men turned to us and Shapour asked me how I enjoyed the Iranian food. I laughed, I usually do not have any problem with food and Iranian food is particularly to my taste.

It was getting late and Rahim looked at me indicating we should be taking our leave. They asked for the bill but Shapour would not hear of Rahim paying. He told us we were their guests and they had invited us after all. There would be other opportunities since they intended to stay for a month or so.

Nora and Shapour saw us to the door and I could see on their faces that they were happy to have spent the evening together getting to know one another better; their smiles were genuine. We hugged, kissed and wished each other a good night; hoping we would meet again soon.

Rahim took my hand as we left the warmth and bright lights of the hotel and we crossed the darker road to the car. Rahim mentioned he had contacted the owner of the car and he was going to hand it over tomorrow. I didn’t think that we would find it too difficult without a car, since there were plenty of taxis and buses around. These thoughts I shared with Rahim and he agreed with me. Anyway you will not be venturing out on your own, Rahim added. If you need to go out you will have to be accompanied by someone. However, for the time being you do not speak the language and will not know where to go for anything.

Will I not be able to even explore, to find my way around a bit, on my own? I asked Rahim in surprise, a little worried.

Women do not wander around on their own in this country, it is not considered modest, Rahim firmly told me.

I knew, being pregnant, I was rather sensitive; so I tried to see the bright side of things. Well, never mind, I will have you with me whenever we want to go out, I tried to sound cheerful.

You will not be coming with me wherever I go since it will not be suitable to take you into male company; for instance, if I have some business to attend to. But we will be visiting the family and you will not be on your own if I am out because Ferry will be at home. He obviously saw nothing strange in this and was not worried I might be lonely.

I could see the sense in what he was saying; I would be the last person to want to make him feel uncomfortable or ashamed of me.