Devon blue. The sunlight frisking flecks of dazzle across the waves. Torbay placid, the yachts gently bobbing, Moses Cradles resting on the waters.I am sitting on the harbour wall waiting for the sleeping town to wake up. Barely one hour after dawn in June, the sun already hot and brilliant. I had traveled overnight by train from London, the rail carriage stinking of stale smoke and damp. In 1965 British trains were, to my knowledge, the dirtiest in Europe. It was good now to be out in the fresh air sipping Orange Squash and eating the last of the sandwiches. The food had been packed for me the evening before by Mrs. Harris. I was trying to locate her runaway daughter. A rumour of a possible sighting had hastened me down to the West Country. I sat on the harbour wall trying to focus on my next move, but I was almost too tired to think. A crowd of seagulls were clamouring overhead, keen to steal some remnants of my banquet.
I was no stranger to Torquay. I had family living in the centre of the town, but today I did not want to be seen by them; I could not be diverted from my mission. Zoe had run away from home once before; my task was to try and locate her before the police were informed by her father. Her family and friends did not want her to be locked away as a young offender. She was a feisty, articulate and highly intelligent fifteen year old, not a feral street kid bereft of hope and ambition. The law enforcers did not always recognize the difference. Unfortunately the boy she ran away with was rumoured to have a heroin habit, so we had to act quickly. I could see the keys turning in the locks and the iron doors slamming tight, the guard dogs barking.
She had left London holding a small travel bag and a kitten. We had all been together in the Classic Cinema Tottenham Court Road. Her artist brother paid for the tickets. The kitten behaved remarkably well. From time to time he would wiggle and take a peek at the giant screen, but made no attempt to break free and scarper. This fur ball was not my friend however, I received a small scratch when I tried to hold him while ice cream was purchased. Suddenly Zoe announced that she needed the toilet. Apparently both the kitten and the bag had to accompany her. She did not return.
I became uneasy after just a few minutes, but her brother was so deeply engrossed in the film that he hardly noticed the time passing. Once out of the cinema however he rushed straight to the nearest phone box and started to ring as many relevant numbers he could think of. No one could tell him where Zoe was. We enquired at The One Tun, but the early evening crowd were clueless, a state of affairs that we should have expected. Some did know the truth however, but were sworn to secrecy. She was at number 12 Tottenham Street, a five minute walk from the pub and her obvious destination. So obvious in fact that we did not think to search there. That tenement block was the bolt hole of Fitzrovia`s remaining Beatniks and illiterati, probably the most bohemian address in London. Zoe and her companions remained there for only one night. They were soon on the road to Devon. At some point on the journey the kitten decided enough was enough and took his own route to liberation. Cats and hitch hikers are not good companions. The boy friend did not last much longer either, which was probably all to the good.
Rufus and I returned to his parent`s home to break the bad news. and within a few hours we had both commenced our travels, separately searching for his sister at opposite ends of the country. I did not find her in Torquay, but just a few miles along the coast in Plymouth I caught sight of a note she had penciled on the wall of a pub. "I am the only sane person in this place," a typical Zoe observation. She was probably right about that sweaty hole in the wall.
After nearly three weeks of travel and living off her wits she returned home to Hyde Park Mansions, tired and unrepentant. Within hours the police were informed, and she found herself locked away in the Young Offenders Institution a sort of naughty school kids zoo in a quiet part of Paddington. Fortunately she did not have to stay there long, A relative she greatly loved became her official guardian. She moved into his home in Kingston Upon Thames. He took her on camping trips to Istanbul and Afghanistan. He was a Hippy before the concept had been invented. Zoe had won the freedom to be the person that she wanted to be, a gift that she prized above all others. She remained an extraordinary person for the rest of her unconventional life.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 19th. 2014. - August 9th. 2020.
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