The Story of Captain Kidd
Today would have been unremarkable were it not for one pleasant encounter merely by chance.
I did not stick to my daily routine and instead of going straight onto the beach I went for a walk along the promenade, towards the Agadir Marina. The encounter really owes entirely to my choice of tee shirt for that morning. It was the Exeter University tee shirt which I picked at random.
As they say it was to be and I am glad it happened.
After the nous-nous at the Jour et Nuit and a very brief look through the thin papers I turned to Sudoku. Normally I complete the two easier ones and later I may do the rest. Today I did all four. When that was finished I left the cafe terrace and started as I said earlier, along the promenade on the way to the Marina.
The promenade widens after the Jour et Nuit with palm bays and benches along the way until you reach the first bridge over a dry river bed. To the left is the sand and the ocean and to the right a parking space and a green area with lovely Eucalyptus trees, paths and benches. The benches are usually occupied by locals or tourists who would sit and enjoy the beauty and endlessness of the shimmering ocean, or simply stop to rest.
As I was passing the very first bench I heard someone say, ‘You’re from Devon?’
The voice was soft and I was not quite certain it was addressed to me but curiosity prevailed and I looked towards a seated figure of an elderly gentleman, all in white with a blue baseball cap.
I approached and said, ‘No, I studied there’.
Then he told me he was from Teignmouth and that was close enough. One word led to another and I stood there with my arms crossed and listened to this old fellow. I sensed that there was someone here I could learn from or at least exchange experiences. And when he told me that he lived in Agadir for seventeen years and is only now visiting for the sake of memories I decided I would invite him for a coffee so that we can get to know each other a little better. He agreed and we ended back in the shadow of parasol at the Jour et Nuit.
Little by little we realised that we had a lot in common. We shared our experiences, love for the country; we checked on the books that we read and so on. When I told him I was originally from Yugoslavia he smiled gently and said, Strange you know I flew President Tito in Rangoon back in the fifties. Then he told me that he was working at the time for the Burmese government and was the only one being an RAF pilot, qualified to fly him.
He was a young eighty-nine and walked with a walking stick. Later he told me the stick was a gift from his English friend who lived in Taghazout and had a surfing business there. It's handy when negotiating the stairs, you know. He said.
At one point he told me there was a book 'doing circles' called ‘Restless for Morocco’. I was pleased to tell him that I had read it twice and I confirmed the name of the author. He was surprised that I knew the name of the author but then he said that the author was dead. His floating body was found off the coast of Casablanca not long after the book was published. This was a shock to me and it saddened me a great deal. I failed to ask him how he had found out about the author’s death. It will haunt me until I find out more about it. (As it happens I phoned him again in November 2009 when I popped the question. He told me that someone with connection in the British Consulate had told him. So perhaps it is reliable. I am still not quite certain what happened. I visited a site of MINORSO, which are the UN forces in Western Sahara where the author was stationed, but was unable to find out more)
While chatting on I also recommended Walter Harris and his book Morocco That Was, of which I was surprised he had not heard before. I mentioned that Walter Harris was a very colourful personality and was among other things a godfather to one of Oscar Wilde’s sons. He was only eighteen years old at the time. His parents knew Constance Wilde and they also lived in Tithe Street.
He told me that Wilde was visiting Tangier with a French writer; I said Andre Gide and he confirmed. My view was that Wilde was visiting Algeria more than Morocco.
Then he told me a story about Wilde when tax collector came to pay him a visit explaining that they came because he was not paying the taxes. They told him that he lived there, he slept there and so he had to pay taxes. To which he retorted in his usual sharp style, But I sleep very badly good fellows.
I am tempted to repeat his story about the Queen and Prince Philip which as he warned me should be taken with a pinch of salt. .
While at Ascot Races the Queen was entertaining two Saudi royals. They drove in in an open open horse drawn carriage. At some point the Queen, being a very knowledgeable person in this matters, stepped down from the carriage to check the hardness of the soil as it would affect the race conditions. As she stooped to touch the ground one of the horses gave a loud fart. The Queen felt uncomfortable for moment and asked the Duke if she should say something. His advice was in the affirmative and the Queen said, ‘We are sorry’. The Duke's immediate comment was, My dear, I thought it was one of the horses,’
My new friend was also a tennis coach and one of his pupils was the famous Boris Becker. He also met Jimmy Connors when he played a match at the Royal Albert Hall, winning a huge bottle of Whisky as the event was sponsored by one of the distilleries. J. Connors was complaining to his coach about the size of the bottle as he could not take it with him on the plane. His coach suggested he gave it to my new friend who, he gladly said, enjoyed it immensely.
We spent a couple of pleasant hours exchanging telephone numbers and promising to keep in touch. He was pleased about my website, saying that laptops and all that novel technology was beyond him; someone who was a first class pilot and flew presidents around the world.
I told him that he must write about his life. He told me that he had. The manuscript is called Agadear to my Heart and it was in the hands of someone who is preparing it for publishing. He added that publishing took time.
The whole conversation was pleasant and interesting and I did learn a lot about him. Many things seem so familiar as my own life has taken a similar course.
He moved to Agadir to live here when he was sixty-four. He drove here with his camper van. He was actually driving here visiting for many years until the petrol became so expensive that he decided to settle here. When he reached the age of eighty-one he returned to England and settled in Teignmouth, at a residential home for ex military officers. He invited me there and hoped to entertain me at his home. His walking stick came handy particularly when descending the stairs. His has a rank of a captain and his name Cyril Kidd. I think he lives up to his name.
July 2008
(As we have exchanged our phone numbers it was only appropriate that we should get in touch at some point. This was not to happen until quite some time later. But in November 2009 while in London for week I did phone him. It was lovely to see that he was in good spirits and he seemed genuinely please to hear from me. When I asked if he remembered me he replied. Good god my dear fellow. It is only this morning that I mentioned you a nice young lady. At the mention of the young lady his voice acquired a very youthful tinge. She is about to start studying at Exeter, he said, and I told her the story of our meeting. Isn't that strange?
Yes he did visit Agadir last July, was his answer to my question if had been back.
He invited me to visit him, which I promised to do next time I am in England. I remember him saying that the captain of the submarine which featured in the Hitchcock's famous thriller The Man Who Knew Too Much, was living at the same compound. That is what he told. He must have confused the titles as this film has nothing to do with a submarine and the first version was made in 1934. the only film Hitchcock remade. As I like visiting Exeter this seems likely. I told him I was leaving for Morocco on Sunday by Easyjet. He said isn't that strange. A friend of mine is going to Agadir on Sunday morning. So it transpired we are going by same plane. He gave his name so contact him, which I promised to do. So the coincidences and strangeness keeps on surrounding our acquaintanceship.
December 2009)