As previously mentioned, when we arrived in Iran the Shah was still in power and life was good Then things changed, very quickly and although there were moments of light, the darkness came and didn’t just scare the shit out of us, but also taught us some very important life lessons.
My folks made a lot of friends whilst in Shiraz, many nationalities and from various walks of life. We would visit their house and vice versa and of course, regularly congregate in the local ‘bar’ or ‘club’. I remember visiting the American TAFT (Tactical Airforce Training) club. Loved going there. That’s where I learned to play softball and football (no not the soccer kind) and watched Happy Days, Eight is Enough and Little House on the Prairie in the TV room. Its also where us kids found that American crisps were far superior to ours if only for the amount of E numbers in them back then lol. We could play safely as it was a secure facility and it is also the place where I first heard Linda Ronstadt and Helen Reddy in the bar.
As a rule, kids were not allowed in the bar (as there was alcohol obvs) but we would nip in and out to get money for the pop machine and crisps. However one day I pulled a doozy. In-between the side of ‘pitch’ and the concrete path which ran along side the building where the TV room was, they were relaying some water pipes or something which meant a big open ditch (to an 8 yr old it was big) and of course us kids, not wishing to waste a golden opportunity to do something we shouldn’t, decided it would be a good idea to take a shortcut from the pitch and jump across the ditch rather than go the long way round to get to the TV room.
Of course everyone hopped, skipity, jumped over the ditch like friggin Gazelles without a hitch, then it was my go. As soon as I jumped I knew I was in trouble, my back foot slid on the mud and gave way as I took off which meant that not only did I not clear the ditch, but I hit the edge of the concrete path and fell into the ditch catching my thigh on a protruding piece of rebar, I like to call it my finest swan dive faceplant ever move. Someone fetched my folks from the bar and as the first aid box was in the bar (along with a few off duty medics) I was taken back into the bar and placed on a table and suddenly we were starring in own episode of bloody MASH. I had smashed my front teeth in and cut my lip and a corker of gash in my thigh. Its weird what random memories stay with you, whilst the medics were fixing me up, I lay there listening to Linda Ronstadt singing Carmelita and Helen Reddy singing Delta Dawn (cracking tunes/albums BTW) thinking I know these songs as my Dad sang them in the car. Once patched up it was decided we should go home and put me to bed. I was left with a 3 inch scar on my thigh and both front teeth chipped in a perfect V which meant every time I said a word that began with an S or had one in it I would whistle. Suffice to say my siblings took the piss right up to when I had them fixed 4 years later. Sadly that was one of the last outings we had to TAFT as the Revolution kicked off and they declared Martial Law, I think we had 2 or 3 more visits as they had to shut the Base/Club as it was American and a security risk .
It was during one of those last visits that I got to see domestic abuse, real hatred and experience genuine fear for the first time. I had asked my folks if I could go for a sleep over with my friend (my folks were friends with her parents (Welsh) and drank with them at TAFT) and they said yes as Dad worked with her dad and we would be at their house hours before the Curfew and they could come and collect me in the morning. Unfortunately her parents started arguing as soon as we got to their house and he started beating the shit out of her, he punched her so hard she flew, feet off floor, across the kitchen and collapsed into the veg rack in the corner unconscious on the kitchen floor and bleeding. I knew this was not good and I rang my folks asking what to do and Dad immediately said to go and wait in my friends bedroom, close the door and only come out when I heard the door bell as he was coming to get me ASAP. Thank god Mum had always taught us to memorise our home telephone number by heart no matter where we lived in the world, we could always call home.
The folks arrived and we left. Dad thought we had enough time to get back to our house before the Curfew kicked in, but alas no. We were driving along (we had a 1977 Jeep) and mum told me to cooch down in the footwell between the front and back seats, covered me with a blanket/towel as we were approaching a road block and they knew we were going to be stopped by the Police. I say Police, in fact the were not regular Police they were SAVAK, the secret police and right nasty bastards to boot. Dad got hauled out of the car with mum following almost immediately. I was still hiding in the footwell when the next thing I know I hear Dad talking, then some shouting and suddenly Im being hauled out of the car. As I was pulled out I was spun round just in time to see my Mum smacked in the face with a rifle butt for not answering a question about where we were going (she hadn’t translated and replied quickly enough for the nasty git). Dad was pinned down over the bonnet and the next thing I know I’ve got a gun pressed up against my temple and this bastard telling my folks he will shoot me if they don’t tell the truth and it wasn’t an idle threat. Instinctively I knew to stay still, very very still and not resist as when I tried to go to my mum the gun was pressed really hard against my temple, I just focussed on my mums face and didn’t flinch but gave the pig who hit me mam the most evil stare an albino looking 8 yr old could. Dad explained why we had missed curfew as there had been a demonstration which delayed traffic and he was taking us directly home. After a few minutes of them showing their power by shoving and man handling my folks and checking Dads papers and still pointing the gun at me, we were finally told to get back into the car and allowed to go home. We never broke curfew again and I can still feel that barrel against my head and see that fuckers face who hit my mum.
Life carried on under martial law, we still went to the supermarket once a week (initially) and school as well. When we had to go to the supermarket mum had the good sense to not only dress us girls in kaftan-esk type clothes but she also wore an abaya and head scarf. It was definitely a dash in, grab what you need and out again. As time went on it became more and more uncomfortable to go out in public as some folks would shout abuse at us and we started to feel a little more unsafe with each outing. Then of course the blew up Spinneys (details in Lockdown & Liberty post), after that Mum pretty much went out on her own to the local shops who would still serve her but within a short space of time that soon almost stopped. Because of mums tan and the fact she dressed like a local most didn’t realise she was western, of course once they did they would point and shout. If she happened to be in a shop the shop keeper had to tell her to go for fear as being seen as a western sympathiser even though they had served us for almost 2 years, they were that frightened of being reported to the SAVAK. Towards the end of our time in Shiraz food and water got a little scarce. Some of the shop keepers would serve mum but from the backdoor where she couldn’t be seen, some even left basics like bread, fruit and veg in black bags near the back gate/bins of the shop when it became too dangerous for them to serve her at the backdoor. Bless them you could see in their eyes and gestures it was not what they wanted but they had a true genuine fear of the SAVAK.
Eventually we were housebound 24/7, us kids found new and ingenious ways of entertaining ourselves from me and my sister winding my brother up over Monopoly (he always had to be banker and would try n rip us off) to hanging out/over the balcony outside my brothers bedroom by our fingertips to pick walnuts from the tree next to it in the orchard behind the condo, to becoming shit hot at charades. My brother taught me how to play chess, which I still enjoy playing today, my sister taught me how to dance and my mum taught us all how to sew, iron and change a plug as well as cook. Now each activity was dependant on whether or not the electricity was on. Constant black/brown outs occurred and we didn’t always have running water so you had to make what you had in the water tank last the entire day. We washed our clothes whilst we were in the shower/bath (well more mamma than us kids) and we did not waste water by leaving the tap running. Veg water was never thrown away but used to make soup and mam could bake a mean loaf of bread I can tell you.
Outside out gate was a long driveway which led to the entrance of the International Hotel next door and before they closed the hotel and locked those gates, us kids used to enjoy going out there and playing hopscotch, play catch (we had softball and baseball mits) and roller skating etc but pretty soon the local kids would see us and run up and start hitting us or throwing stones at us so we had to knock that on the head. We used to get our own back, we could get onto the top of the orchard wall and walk down to the gates and throw stuff back at them, if we had fallen we would have definitely broken bones and if we had gone over on the orchard side I think we would have been bitten and eaten alive as the floor literally moved. Now here is an interesting fact which we learned a little late in our time in Shiraz. In the west if you give the thumbs up sign it a positive thing which could mean a multitude of things. However, in Shiraz it was the equivalent of giving the bird/2 fingers and it used to send folks apoplectic. Us kids would be in the back of the car giving the thumbs up to all the other drivers and wondering why they were shaking their fists at us. Obviously once we realised that it was naughty, well we carried on. Not until mum told us that we could be arrested did we stop but still gave it large to those kids at the end of the street.
One final memory I will share on our time during the Curfew, our folks gave us a gift that has lasted us to date, that was a love of reading. Mum had bought the entire Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys collection at a table top sale at TAFT along with a number of factual/historical books. Those books saved our sanity and also gave us a might impressive and extensive vocabulary for our ages and a real enjoyment for ready about true crime and historical events, kept us quiet and happy for hours, I think it may have saved their sanity as well ha ha ha.
