How I came to be in England - Part 19

The Englishman never told me if he went to war. During the Falklands conflict we spoke very rarely. I felt I was an undesirable, living as I was close to the Soviet Union. Even his letters dried up.

I tried to concentrate on my studies and spent most of my time in the University Library. It was still used as the pick-up spot, and was ever busy. I kept bumping into the 4th year boy in the lift, or on the landing where he'd stand leaning against the steel banister, taking long drags on his cigarette. Once when I went for a smoke with my friend, he came out alone from the library and was so startled to see us he stopped dead. His worn-out leather jacket was undone, and his dark brown hair flopped over his eyes.

When he finally moved away from the door and pressed for the lift, the devil in me said, ‘Can I have a light?’ I dangled the cigarette between my fingers. He stared at me for a moment then lit a match and held it in his cupped hands. They were shaking.

My friend and I couldn't look at each other until we heard the lift stop at the ground floor and the outside door open. We both burst out laughing at the same time.

‘He’s still got the hots for you, you know,’ my friend said, growing serious. 'I can’t believe what I just saw!’

In the bus on the way home I thought about the boy, or rather, man. We'd worked out he must be at least 26. According to the School of Economics myth, that group of students had been at the University since the mid seventies. This year would be their 7th. I couldn't believe it, besides, stories grow in the telling. But the guy intrigued me. I couldn't help it. I had so little contact with the Englishman, I was beginning to forget how his lips tasted when he kissed me. We hadn't seen each other for 3 months. As the Falkland’s war progressed, his image grew more and more distant.

No-one in Finland understood what it meant to me to have the Englishman at sea, not knowing whether he was involved in the war or not. If a British submarine was lost to the Argentine Navy, would Thatcher let the world know about it? I doubted it. Eventually his parents would be told if anything happened to him but would they think about letting me know? They’d be too grief stricken to even think of anyone else. Had the Englishman told his mother about the proposal? How I wished I’d said ‘yes’ on that magical night at the ball. I’d now have an official role in relation to my love, and a right to know if the Englishman had been sunk.

My Father was the least sympathetic of all. ‘You should find yourself a good Finnish man.’ He seemed to have forgotten the night at the Russian restaurant. I wondered what had caused this change of heart, but wasn't surprised. He’d always been like it: One day he’d say one thing, the next the complete opposite. For the past few weeks he'd spent all his evenings and weekends at home. Mostly in a bad mood. I wondered if he’d had a row with his girlfriend, but didn't dare to ask.

I was in limbo. I was confused. I was lonely.




The night the news of the sinking of the Belgrano was shown on TV, my Father had been drinking vodka all evening. The bottle of Koskenkorva stood on the floor next to his chair. The Finnish newscaster didn't say if there were any British casualties, but who’d know if several British submarines were involved? I'd seen enough war movies to know submarines hunted ships in packs. I sat on the plush sofa and watched the pictures move in silence. Involuntarily I put my hand against my mouth. My Father narrowed his eyes and glanced sideways at me. ‘You know the Englishman is not there!’

I ran out of the living room. I cried into my pillow, trying to keep quiet. And then the phone rang. I heard my Father answer. He said, ‘Just a moment,’ in English. I ran out into the hall and took the receiver from him.

‘Hello?’

To hear the Englishman’s voice! It sounded as if he was far, far away, but I knew better than ask where he was calling from. I sobbed into the telephone, I couldn't help myself.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, I was just watching the news, and I didn't know…’

‘I’m fine, except, I’m missing you.’

I sighed and sat on the floor in the hall. We spoke for over twenty minutes. I cried, laughed and whispered into the receiver, not caring how much of it my Father heard. When the Englishman said he had to go, I told him I loved him once more, put the receiver down and walked quickly to my room. I fell asleep dreaming of my handsome Englishman.

My life as a spy

My career in UK started as translator/ journalist at the BBC Monitoring Service in Caversham. There I listened to Finnish and Swedish radio broadcasts, selected relevant news items and translated them into English.

The Degree in Political Science from the Swedish School of Economics in Helsinki gave me the language skills as well as an understanding of society. That was the theory. But the translation work wasn't easy for me. The transcripts had to be quick and accurate. There's no such thing as old news.

I'd learned Swedish in the school playground in Stockholm, and had no idea of grammar. My Finnish mother tongue suffered during the three years spent in Stockholm. Although I took my Baccalaureate in Finland, I still have some serious gaps in the language. And those of you who know Finnish know it's complicated. Some say only Cantonese is harder to learn. My school English was just that, school English. The little I'd learned at university was useful, and the learning curve at the BBC was steep. But after only six months I was a fully fledged Monitor, and was let loose on the news all on my own.

Translation became second nature. Even now when I hear Finnish or Swedish spoken I immediately think of how I'd put it in English.

The news aspect of the work thrilled me. While I was there, Chernobyl happened. Suspicions of a nuclear accident were first reported on Swedish radio, before the Finns admitted to some seriously high levels of radiation in their atmosphere. This was few hours before the story broke worldwide and the Soviet Union released the awful truth of the nuclear catastrophe. Our little four-man team worked through the night to translate everything Finnish Radio said, as well as the comments on Radio Moscow in Finnish and Swedish.

Many other nationalities were also represented at the Monitoring Service. As I'd only recently moved to Britain, it was wonderful to be with people who were fellow aliens in this country. Many of them had not arrived here as easily as I had. Many of them were homesick for a country they thought they'd never see again. I often think of my friends who now freely visit their homes in Estonia, Czechoslovakia, Poland or Russia.

The reason I'm reminiscing about my time at the BBC Monitoring is that the current manuscript, The Lost Daughter, tells a story of a Finnish girl working at the Monitoring Service. She befriends a Russian girl whose quest to find her missing father takes them both back to Helsinki. The story is fictional, but based on my experiences at the BBC.

My Finnish team leader once said, 'We're all spies here'. And in the same breath she told me I wasn't allowed to discuss anything I heard or saw with anyone outside the organisation. 'You signed the form didn't you?'

So is it any wonder that even after all these years I'm still intrigued?

How I came to be in England - Part 17

I felt a tap on my shoulder. My friend's face looked serious. 'Loo, now?'

I smiled at the Englishman, 'Sorry, I'll be back.'

He looked surprised but I didn't have time, my friend was already dragging me away from the table.

We made our way through of throng of people on the dance floor and passed the bar where my eyes met with the year 4 boy who'd asked me out. He lifted his glass as if to toast me. He'd loosed his black bow tie and undone the top button of his shirt. He was leaning casually against the bar, with the drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I smiled confidently back at him. I was so happy I didn't care what he thought.

'Guess what?' I said once were were inside the gleaming ladies' room. The School of Economics Ball was held in a smart private club in the centre of Helsinki. I'd never been inside. Every room was decorated in a thirties art deco style, with black marble and shining chrome. Absentmindedly I wondered how they could keep a bathroom so clean all the time.

My friend looked at me through the mirror where she'd started adjusting her make-up.

'The Englishman asked me to marry him!'

My friend dropped her hand, 'What?'

'Just now, isn't it wonderful?'

'What about your studies?'

I looked down at my hands. It was as if she'd splashed cold water over my face from the white shining sink. 'Yes, I know, I'm not going to drop out - again - but isn't it...

'Have you even read Doris Lessing's The Perfect Marriage?

'Well, no...'

'I'll lend you the book.' My friend turned back to face the vast mirror. She was dabbing at her make-up while tears ran down her face smudging it further.

Suddenly I remembered she'd wanted to talk to me. 'What's the matter?'

'He's dancing with another girl!'

'Who?'

My friend shot me an accusing glance, 'The Incredible Hulk. I saw them smooching before and just now I saw him kiss her. On the mouth!'

My friend's boyfriend had an incredibly strong physique and with his spiky dark hair, he looked just like the cartoon character. The Hulk was her partner at the ball. I knew she was really smitten with him, although she said she didn't believe in love.

'The worst of it is , I know her. We went to school together, but she didn't get into the School of Economics. No brains.'

I hugged my friend. 'Bitch.'

She nodded and took a deep breath in. 'They can both go to hell. I was getting bored with the Hulk anyway.'

We walked out of the ladies room through a set of double doors. 'But, you must promise me that you'll not marry the Englishman. You can't just become some one's wife. You have to finish your studies.' My friend was facing me, her expression eager.

I knew she was right. I'd been to England, I'd seen how difficult it was to get a job. I didn't want to end up being a barmaid in a pub somewhere, bringing up the kids while my husband was away at sea. Or worse, have no job at all, to become a housewife. 'I promise.'

The Englishman was sitting just as I'd left him, with one elbow on the table holding a cigarette. He stubbed it out and got up. His politeness broke my heart. No Finnish boy would even have known that's what you do when a lady comes back to the table.

'Everything alright?' he said.

'It's a long story.' I watched as my friend made her way to the other side of the long table. I was glad to see she had another boy, our mutual friend to talk to. There was no sign of the Hulk.

The Englishman's gaze was steady on me. I knew he was waiting for an answer.

He took my hands into his. It felt trapped. I had a sudden desire to pull away from his grasp. I lifted my eyes to him. His dark eyes were wide, his mouth set in a straight line.

'I have two years left at university.'

The Englishman let go of my hand. He lent back in the chair. 'I thought you might say that.' He was smiling. He gave me a light kiss. The Drinks Master had climbed onto the table. It was time for another drinking song.

How I came to be in England - Part 16

The Englishman didn't seem at all fazed by the idea of meeting my father. 'You've met all my family,' he said and put his arm around me. He'd just arrived from London and we were walking up from Mannerheim Street tram stop to the bus station to catch the number 105 to Espoo. The year was 1982.

It was strange to meet up so quickly again, after only five weeks, rather than the many months we'd endured without each other before. With the Englishman's lean taut body next to me, chatting about what I'd planned for the week, I was relaxed and comfortable. Again I felt as if we were a real couple. Had I imagined his doubts in Hyde Park? He put his hands inside my coat to warm them from the bitter cold of the late February afternoon. When he kissed me in full view of the other people queuing for the bus, I couldn't imagine he'd be with anyone else. But I couldn't ask. I couldn't even bring up the subject of 'The Future'. I was afraid he'd repeat what he'd said to me in the summer. If he did that I would die. I would never want to see him again and that alone would kill me. Never mind what the failed relationship would do to my ex, who still phoned me on any pretext. Asking, 'Are you still running after that Foreign Sailor?'

In the cellar of my father's place was a sauna with a pool shared by a couple of other houses in the development. I'd booked it for that first evening.

'I didn't bring my swimming trunks.' The Englishman stood in his underpants in the middle of the small changing room. After all we'd done in bed he was shy?

I pulled my top off, and stripped down to nothing.

'Ah,' the Englishman said and followed me into the hot, darkened sauna.

After a few moments, when our bodies were getting used to the heat, I threw water on the coals. 'This is called a löyly.'

The Englishman made a sound and ducked. The steam filled the space and the lovely prickly feeling of the heat touched my body. Like most Finns, I love the sauna. When I was only three days old my father took me into one in our summer cottage by the lake. I enjoyed the heat so much they called me The Sauna Baby.

'You OK?' I said to the Englishman. He was almost doubled over on the bench next to me.

'Yeah, a bit hot.'

'Sorry, we'll go for a swim to cool down.'

'I feel wonderful,' he said after we'd had a few more of rounds of löyly followed by another swim in the cold pool. I smiled. I'd make a Finn out of this Englishman yet.

We met my father at a Russian restaurant called Sashlikki. I’d never been there, but my Father said, ‘She likes it.’ I realised he was going to bring his girlfriend.

The place was decorated with dark red and blue colours, the table cloths looked like satin, the wallpaper velvet. Lamps were slung low over the tables. As we sat down my Father nodded to an unseen waiter who brought a round of clear vodka.

‘To the Finnish Ladies,’ my Father said and lifted his glass. The girlfriend giggled.

I took a sip of my schnapps, the girlfriend drank half of hers and both the Englishman and my Father emptied their glasses. His eyes did not leave the Englishman’s face. The waiter came around with the bottle to refill the glasses. My Father nodded to the man, who was dressed in an old fashioned Cossack’s outfit, to leave the bottle of Koskenkorva on our table. I glanced over to the Englishman at my side. He put his hand on my knee under the table and gave it a little gentle squeeze. ‘I’m fine,’ he whispered in my ear.

‘So, you like vodka?’ My Father said and lifted his glass again. We hadn’t even looked at the menus yet.

My memory of that evening is a little hazy. But if I recall rightly, no-one fell under the table. No-one had as much as an argument. The food was excellent. Beetroot soup, rare spiced beef with dark sauce, garlicky potatoes, cabbage of some kind. We laughed a lot. My Father bought both his girlfriend and me a long stemmed red rose. He wanted us go dancing together. When instead we decided to leave, he looked sad and embraced me as well as the Englishman warmly.

‘I think I passed,’ the Englishman laughed outside the restaurant. My Father had insisted on giving us money for a taxi and ordered it for us. It was as if the past ten years hadn’t happened. It was as if the Englishman had resurrected my old Father. During the evening he’d even called me ‘My Best Girl’ again. I curled up against the Englishman on the strongly smelling leather seat of the taxi and fell asleep.

The Englishman's visit coincided with the annual School of Economics Ball. My friend wanted to know if he was going to wear his uniform, but on the phone from Faslane the Englishman had told me he wasn't allowed to. I'd been a little disappointed but thought it must have something to do with Finland being so close to The Soviet Union and the Cold War. Not that I could see anyone in Helsinki being interested in my British Submarine Sub-Lieutenant.

On the night, he looked handsome in his DJ. I wore a ball gown an old school friend had made. It was a strapless white silk dress, with a narrow black belt, which tied with a small bow at the back of my waist. The long ends fell behind me.

This was my first university ball, but the Englishman had been to many during his time at Dartmouth and since. But none quite like this one. According to the School of Economics tradition, long tables were served rounds and rounds of schnapps, which were consumed along to various drinking songs. There was a Drinks Master who led the proceedings and towards the end of the evening some of the top table climbed onto the table to sing. One of them was the Finnish Foreign Minister.

But the Englishman didn't just watch the other people in the room. We danced. I floated in his arms on the vast dance floor. I wanted everyone to see, especially the gang of year 4 boys, how in love we were. Back at our table the Englishman turned to me and said, 'You're beautiful, did you know that?' I smiled and felt his warm hands around mine. He looked at me intently. I burned under his gaze. 'Can I ask you something?' he said.

'Of course.' I felt out of breath. Was he going to talk to me about 'The Future'?

'Will you marry me?'