Anthony Quayle’s cameo in ‘The Silencer’
‘The Silencer’ Excerpts from chapters 7 and 14.
Anthony Quayle and cast in ‘The Guns of Navarone’
Shpetim’s grandfather shuffled slowly down the steps and indicated with his stick that he wanted a cushion for the chair.
“How do you like Albania?” said Skender refilling his own glass with raki.
“I like it,” said Jude. “Great weather… great dust! Expensive Mercedes cars with roads to break their suspensions on. Warm, hospitable people living in cold apartment blocks… You are a family-loving people… providing you don’t get into a disagreement with another family.” There was an outburst of hearty laughter from all at the table.
Shpetim raised his glass. “Gëzuar!” he said.
“Gëzuar!” everyone toasted, chinking the tips of glasses together.
“Luan here broke the suspension on uncle Burim’s Mercedes,” said Shpetim gesturing to his side with his thumb.
“I did not. It was the axle… and it was already defective!” protested Luan and jumped up to grab his brother in a neck-lock. The two bothers play-wrestled with each other from the table across the yard until Shpetim took hold of Luan’s leg and up-ended him. They both tumbled together into a bush cracking the branches and rolling out together covered in twigs and leaves. Everyone roared with laughter. Shpetim’s immaculate, white shirt was now soiled and the front pocket torn.
“What about England? Don’t you miss it? Great Britain! It is a high culture Jude… and we will see it together, won’t we?” said Shpetim frowning at his brother as he brushed himself down.
“We will,” said Jude. “I miss it… and I worry about it. People call light darkness there now. I don’t know… it’s as if it’s lost its compass.”
“Old Petrit here… he loved the British officers when he was a boy,” said Shpetim.
“He was a child Partisan!” said Luan standing up and saluting with a clenched fist. “Vdekje fashizmit! Death to fascism! Freedom for the people!”
“Who did you meet, xhaxhi Petrit?” said Jude, his interest pricking up.
“Dëgjo…” said Petrit putting his stick against the table edge and lifting a piece of tomato to his mouth before sucking it noisily. He was not going to be rushed; he’d been given the spotlight.
“My family is from Dukat near Vlora… not here,” he said. “The war was terrible. I remember the Italian soldiers starving… they fell down at the roadsides together with their mules and died. There were some British officers who had a base in the mountains near us… some Italians would come and buy food for them from the villagers. One time, a big plane, a Halifaks they said, came in with supplies and more British soldiers and crashed into the mountain killing everyone on it. Some of the Partisans looted it… I was angry with them. It was not right. They had come to help us fight the Nazis!” He sat upright now and a boyish pride shone through his eyes. “But I went with my father… We took some bread, cheese and dried meat, and packed it in a bag on our mule. We travelled for most of the day through the mountains and down to the sea. The sun was setting across the Adriatic… all the way to Italy. The British had a base in a cave there… we knew. There was a man I remember… who came out to meet us. He had a fat face and small eyes. He looked sick and yellow… Major Toni Kueill he was called. He gave us a gold sovereign for the food. He gave me a photo of a film star and he said, “I’m sorry it is torn.” My father gave the sovereign to me and I still have it. Later, I joined the Partisans… that is another story.”
“If it was Major Anthony Quayle, xhaxhi, you met a special man. After the war, he became a famous film actor. Did none of you ever see him on the television?” Jude looked around at the blank faces. Luan shrugged his shoulders.
“’Ice Cold in Alex’… ‘The Guns of Navarone’… ‘Lawrence of Arabia’? I’ll get copies!” said Jude. “Enver Hoxha sent Partisans after the British officers who’d helped him as the war was drawing to a close. They were just a small band of men trying to fight off an evil tyranny… as another home-grown one moved in to take its place.”
“Enver Hoxha was a killer of the Albanian people!” shouted Luan and thumped the table.
“They were almost caught, but they escaped with their lives,” said Jude. “Those that died during those special operations, we know, are buried in Tirana Park.”
“It was a fight they lost,” said Skender. “It was obscure and far from the front lines. The war was won on the beaches of Normandy.”
“It’s sometimes said… that the victory over all evil was won at Calvary,” said Jude glancing at Shpetim. “That was our D Day. But we are in the days before VE Day… when He will come again. Until then… that battle is still on.”
From Chapter 14.
Anthony Quayle and friends drink a well-earned beer in ‘Ice Cold in Alex’.
Mrs Gurbardhi came down the steps of the house carrying her large, round, metal tray. She balanced it on the edge of the table and began to lift off the saucers of mezet she had prepared. There was white cheese, olives, a green salad, and some sliced liver fried with oregano.
“I have prepared some kukurec. Do you like it?” she said.
“I’d like to try it,” said Jude. She watched eagerly as Jude pushed his fork through a piece and put it in his mouth. It was a chewy, offal-like substance, which he did not take to. “I didn’t taste the like of it before,” he said having searched quickly for a phrase that would not offend. She nodded contentedly and went back up the steps.
“Did you bring one of those films for grandad Petrit?” said Shpetim.
“Yes… just pass me my bag,” said Jude. He lifted out his laptop and set it on the table top before rotating it to face Petrit. “It’s called ‘Ice Cold in Alex’. Anthony Quayle plays a South African soldier… in the Libyan Desert.” Jude placed a piece of white cheese in his mouth whilst he waited for the laptop to start up. He chose a scene where Quayle, John Mills and others were trying to push an old ambulance up a huge sand dune. Petrit leant in close to scrutinise it.
“Is it him?” said Shpetim eagerly. All eyes were on the old Partisan.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s been a lifetime since I saw him. We had walked all the day to get to the cave…”
“Yes, yes… We know the story,” interrupted Luan. “Look hard!” Petrit lifted his stick and jabbed at the screen. A smile began to form on his face.
“Will you look at that!” he said. “I remember… the eyes.” Jude sat back in his chair smiling. Shpetim laughed and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“Go get your souvenirs!” said Shpetim.
Petrit shuffled back down the house steps ten minutes later with a frayed, brown envelope, which was passed to Jude. He lifted out a black and white publicity photo of Joan Fontaine. It was in good condition except for a diagonal tear from the top left corner halfway to the centre. He tipped the envelope sideways and a gold sovereign rolled into his palm. It was in near mint condition and had Queen Victoria’s head on it. Jude ran his thumb softly over its face.
“Where did you hide these… all those years?” said Jude thinking they could have cost him internment. Petrit touched his nose.
*As a footnote of interest, the cave, known as ‘Sea View’, actually existed as an SOE base, and Major Quayle was present in Albania as described in the scene.
Copyright Paul Alkazraji. Highland Books Ltd. 2012. All Rights Reserved.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Silencer-...
Anthony Quayle and cast in ‘The Guns of Navarone’
Shpetim’s grandfather shuffled slowly down the steps and indicated with his stick that he wanted a cushion for the chair.
“How do you like Albania?” said Skender refilling his own glass with raki.
“I like it,” said Jude. “Great weather… great dust! Expensive Mercedes cars with roads to break their suspensions on. Warm, hospitable people living in cold apartment blocks… You are a family-loving people… providing you don’t get into a disagreement with another family.” There was an outburst of hearty laughter from all at the table.
Shpetim raised his glass. “Gëzuar!” he said.
“Gëzuar!” everyone toasted, chinking the tips of glasses together.
“Luan here broke the suspension on uncle Burim’s Mercedes,” said Shpetim gesturing to his side with his thumb.
“I did not. It was the axle… and it was already defective!” protested Luan and jumped up to grab his brother in a neck-lock. The two bothers play-wrestled with each other from the table across the yard until Shpetim took hold of Luan’s leg and up-ended him. They both tumbled together into a bush cracking the branches and rolling out together covered in twigs and leaves. Everyone roared with laughter. Shpetim’s immaculate, white shirt was now soiled and the front pocket torn.
“What about England? Don’t you miss it? Great Britain! It is a high culture Jude… and we will see it together, won’t we?” said Shpetim frowning at his brother as he brushed himself down.
“We will,” said Jude. “I miss it… and I worry about it. People call light darkness there now. I don’t know… it’s as if it’s lost its compass.”
“Old Petrit here… he loved the British officers when he was a boy,” said Shpetim.
“He was a child Partisan!” said Luan standing up and saluting with a clenched fist. “Vdekje fashizmit! Death to fascism! Freedom for the people!”
“Who did you meet, xhaxhi Petrit?” said Jude, his interest pricking up.
“Dëgjo…” said Petrit putting his stick against the table edge and lifting a piece of tomato to his mouth before sucking it noisily. He was not going to be rushed; he’d been given the spotlight.
“My family is from Dukat near Vlora… not here,” he said. “The war was terrible. I remember the Italian soldiers starving… they fell down at the roadsides together with their mules and died. There were some British officers who had a base in the mountains near us… some Italians would come and buy food for them from the villagers. One time, a big plane, a Halifaks they said, came in with supplies and more British soldiers and crashed into the mountain killing everyone on it. Some of the Partisans looted it… I was angry with them. It was not right. They had come to help us fight the Nazis!” He sat upright now and a boyish pride shone through his eyes. “But I went with my father… We took some bread, cheese and dried meat, and packed it in a bag on our mule. We travelled for most of the day through the mountains and down to the sea. The sun was setting across the Adriatic… all the way to Italy. The British had a base in a cave there… we knew. There was a man I remember… who came out to meet us. He had a fat face and small eyes. He looked sick and yellow… Major Toni Kueill he was called. He gave us a gold sovereign for the food. He gave me a photo of a film star and he said, “I’m sorry it is torn.” My father gave the sovereign to me and I still have it. Later, I joined the Partisans… that is another story.”
“If it was Major Anthony Quayle, xhaxhi, you met a special man. After the war, he became a famous film actor. Did none of you ever see him on the television?” Jude looked around at the blank faces. Luan shrugged his shoulders.
“’Ice Cold in Alex’… ‘The Guns of Navarone’… ‘Lawrence of Arabia’? I’ll get copies!” said Jude. “Enver Hoxha sent Partisans after the British officers who’d helped him as the war was drawing to a close. They were just a small band of men trying to fight off an evil tyranny… as another home-grown one moved in to take its place.”
“Enver Hoxha was a killer of the Albanian people!” shouted Luan and thumped the table.
“They were almost caught, but they escaped with their lives,” said Jude. “Those that died during those special operations, we know, are buried in Tirana Park.”
“It was a fight they lost,” said Skender. “It was obscure and far from the front lines. The war was won on the beaches of Normandy.”
“It’s sometimes said… that the victory over all evil was won at Calvary,” said Jude glancing at Shpetim. “That was our D Day. But we are in the days before VE Day… when He will come again. Until then… that battle is still on.”
From Chapter 14.
Anthony Quayle and friends drink a well-earned beer in ‘Ice Cold in Alex’.
Mrs Gurbardhi came down the steps of the house carrying her large, round, metal tray. She balanced it on the edge of the table and began to lift off the saucers of mezet she had prepared. There was white cheese, olives, a green salad, and some sliced liver fried with oregano.
“I have prepared some kukurec. Do you like it?” she said.
“I’d like to try it,” said Jude. She watched eagerly as Jude pushed his fork through a piece and put it in his mouth. It was a chewy, offal-like substance, which he did not take to. “I didn’t taste the like of it before,” he said having searched quickly for a phrase that would not offend. She nodded contentedly and went back up the steps.
“Did you bring one of those films for grandad Petrit?” said Shpetim.
“Yes… just pass me my bag,” said Jude. He lifted out his laptop and set it on the table top before rotating it to face Petrit. “It’s called ‘Ice Cold in Alex’. Anthony Quayle plays a South African soldier… in the Libyan Desert.” Jude placed a piece of white cheese in his mouth whilst he waited for the laptop to start up. He chose a scene where Quayle, John Mills and others were trying to push an old ambulance up a huge sand dune. Petrit leant in close to scrutinise it.
“Is it him?” said Shpetim eagerly. All eyes were on the old Partisan.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s been a lifetime since I saw him. We had walked all the day to get to the cave…”
“Yes, yes… We know the story,” interrupted Luan. “Look hard!” Petrit lifted his stick and jabbed at the screen. A smile began to form on his face.
“Will you look at that!” he said. “I remember… the eyes.” Jude sat back in his chair smiling. Shpetim laughed and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“Go get your souvenirs!” said Shpetim.
Petrit shuffled back down the house steps ten minutes later with a frayed, brown envelope, which was passed to Jude. He lifted out a black and white publicity photo of Joan Fontaine. It was in good condition except for a diagonal tear from the top left corner halfway to the centre. He tipped the envelope sideways and a gold sovereign rolled into his palm. It was in near mint condition and had Queen Victoria’s head on it. Jude ran his thumb softly over its face.
“Where did you hide these… all those years?” said Jude thinking they could have cost him internment. Petrit touched his nose.
*As a footnote of interest, the cave, known as ‘Sea View’, actually existed as an SOE base, and Major Quayle was present in Albania as described in the scene.
Copyright Paul Alkazraji. Highland Books Ltd. 2012. All Rights Reserved.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Silencer-...
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