More trouble with the boys in blue!

Trouble with the boys in Blue No.2

The ‘trouble’ with the boys in blue began when I took a job in the only taverna open for the winter. “Captains” run by Yiorgos from Athens, was a traditional village taverna catering for the locals in winter and the tourists in the summer.

‘Captains’ was almost next door to the police station so it was the obvious place for the police to hang out off duty, or indeed on duty. They would pop in for coffee or raki or just spend the time near the stove keeping warm and passing the time, just popping back to check the phone every so often. As I was working from first thing in the morning till the night when the place closed, often holding the fort on my own it didn’t take much to get to know them all.

One cold morning we were sitting around the wood stove drinking coffee when the door burst open and a motor bike shot in swerved around the tables and only stopped when it nearly knocked over the fire.

“What the...” began Georgos jumping up in alarm stopping when he realized the motorcyclist was the head of the area police. So it began.

At the start of the season the village was very quiet with only a few tourists in the area. We were usually busy with locals though and we were often to be found cooking delicacies such as roast sheep’s heads and snails or whole baby crabs which would be eaten shells and all.

One evening in we were sitting late into the evening with a mixed company of locals and a few tourists who were visiting out of season. It was the birthday of my friend Margarita and she had arrived bringing a cake to share with the 'parea'. Our company included two of the three policemen who regularly manned the station. The wine and beer was flowing freely and after a while Georgos, decided it would be a good idea to fetch his Bazouki and began to strum a tune. He was a good musician but didn’t often have time to play. He played the old tunes everybody knew from the night clubs and we all joined in with the words or at least hummed along .soon after, of course, the dancing began . This was the Rebetica, the dancing from the banned “underground “ clubs of the 20’s Strange how the police were the most enthusiastic dancers and knew all the moves.

 It would have been a good night for a bank heist, had there been a bank.

As the ‘kefi’ grew, plates started to fly soon to be followed by glasses and bottles. The tourists at the table were rather taken aback but I reassured them that this was a normal way for the Greeks to express their enjoyment. Saves on the washing up too.

The evening grew late and several people made their excuses and left, but the die-hards kept on going. Crash! A full bottle of ouzo was thrown into the mélange. Turning around, I saw that the culprit was one of the policeman.

Most of the tourists had left the party by about two a.m. and the crowd was beginning to thin out.

BANG! A gunshot rang out, inside the ‘ladies’. I rushed with Margaret to investigate and found bullet holes in the wall. A quick look around showed the only people with firearms that night were the police.

“What was he doing inside the ladies?” Asked Margaret

“Don’t even ask” I replied “Far better not to know”

I looked at the state of the taverna; there was not a space on the floor uncovered by broken crockery and glass, with sticky pools of pungent ouzo spreading across the marble. One girl had cuts on her feet from dancing in open toed sandals amongst the rubble.

“We must leave while I can still stand” said Margaret making her way towards the door “and while Roy can find the way home.” She staggered slightly and Roy supported her to their car.

Inside the party was still going strong.

At about three in the morning Georgos had had enough and decided to leave.

“You can lock up,” he said. "I’m off."

“There’s an answer to that.” I called out after his departing back. “If you think I’m clearing this little lot up by myself, at this hour, you’ve got another think coming... and you’ll need to buy some new plates and glasses in the morning. We don’t have many left!”

There were still several customers drinking and singing who did not look to be in a hurry to leave.

“Let’s all go for a drink at the police station,” suddenly suggested Manolis at about 4 o’clock.

“The Police Station?” This seemed a rather strange suggestion,

“Yes we’ve got plenty of ouzo in the fridge; it belongs to our boss”

Several people agreed to visit this rather unusual venue and I thankfully closed the door on the mess. I was not looking forward to seeing our cleaning ladies' face in the morning when she arrived for work.

     It was the first time I had ever been inside the police station, and certainly I never expected to enter it under these bizarre circumstances. It was very basic with two offices and a corridor leading to what I took to be the cells. There were large maps on the walls and many curling and fading notices.

“We have Ouzo or beer,” called the policeman, opening the door of a well stocked refrigerator. “We’ll use the inspector’s office,” he continued, producing glasses and ice.

“Sit on the desk” he invited, there are only 4 chairs” 

Sometime, around five in the morning the party broke up and I made my way home, luckily only a few minutes walk away, wondering how I was ever going to be at work for eight o'clock!