Lisa, Mayda and I met up in the Birdcage the following morning. With all guests now off the SuperYacht, Danny, Clive and the Skipper had helped themselves to the guest staterooms. Only a skeleton domestic staff remained on board; the rest, including the Purser had been sent on ahead on a domestic flight. They would be sent on leave for a few weeks until the boat recommenced sailing with guests in the Gulf and beyond. We had a leisurely breakfast; our charges, unlike normal guests, had busy workdays, so we, in contrast, would have plenty leisure time.

We briefly observed the start of our Suez trip. The commercial shipping had to wait while a number of naval vessels, from an assortment of nations, first passed, then we were off. The journey would take a day, with a further day to get to Sharm El Sheik where we would top up on fuel. Then we would cruise directly to Muscat, with an option of picking up additional fuel if required in Salalah. This would take us seven days, assuming no problems. Speed would be generally limited to 15 knots to give the best cruising range, although this could be increased to over 20kts if required.

Lisa and I faxed the college to secure dorm accommodation and arrange a late start. We also sought a placement for Mayda whom we described as a refugee seeking a temporary position as a language coach. This was cheeky as we had no entry papers for her yet and we compounded this by also seeking accommodation for her on campus! We passed the time by starting to teach Mayda English, and rehearsing our dance routine for our part-time jobs which we hoped to resume for the college year.

Mayda was clearly getting more used to our world as she didn’t show any surprise on learning that we were dancers, as well as students, in the UK. She pitched in and helped us develop our routines, and then started to dance along with us. We hoped to resume our dance classes as well and offered to cut her in as an instructress/demonstrator and she was happy to accept.

In this type of environment, it is best to develop a routine and we disciplined ourselves to follow a pattern of an hour’s English class, an hour of dancing practice, a break of 30 minutes, and start over again. We generally started at 11am and stopped around 5pm when we would have dinner with the Skipper, Danny and Clive and retire to our respective staterooms. Initially the only interruption was an almost daily security drill conducted by Danny and Clive, and involving everyone on board.

The security arrangements involved the engineering staff securing themselves in the engine spaces and sealing off the doors. The deck crew manned a number of high-powered hoses on either side of the main deck with a retreat route to the crew quarters where they could also seal themselves in. The SuperYacht’s No 2 (XO in their parlance) would directly lead this team. The main point of resistance was the bridge. This could not be easily sealed off, although all external doors across the boat would be locked and all external companionways retracted to make access to the upper decks more difficult. The Skipper and the No 3 would be on the bridge along with Clive and Danny. Us “Birdcagers” would also locate ourselves there, supposedly as extra eyes, but more likely just because the guys wanted us to be there! The two Bren guns were mounted on the open bridge extensions on port and starboard; the two SLR’s were left beside them, along with ammunition. The Sterlings were left unloaded in the centre-rear of the bridge with magazines ready alongside. Clive and Danny took to wearing their shoulder holsters around the boat; in the heat I imagined these to be quite uncomfortable. This was all very dramatic and a bit scary, but we understood the need for drills and reckoned that a boat of this size would be safe.

As we progressed South, security picked up and, as we approached the Bab al-Mandab Strait, either Danny of Clive were constantly on the bridge. Lisa and I started to stand watch with our own companion; at least we got to go to bed with them that way. Our initial routine now went out the window, or rather the porthole! On watch we tended to switch sides every 30 minutes or so, partly to alleviate boredom, although one patch of sea looks much the same as the other. Radio and radar were monitored, mostly by the navigation personnel, but we would occasionally look at the screen. We were happy to pass a UK frigate as we transited the Strait into the Gulf of Aden and we started to relax a little as we turned East towards the Arabian Sea.

Danny and I relieved Lisa and Clive on the bridge at 4am. The Skipper and Mayda were already two hours into his navigation watch and were due off at 6am. We staggered the change of helm and security watch on the bridge to avoid everyone changing over at the same time. The sea was quiet, traffic light and only one unidentified vessel heading slowly towards us at the limit of our radar range. This wasn’t unusual. Nor was it unusual that the vessel turned about 30 degrees to starboard as the range closed and then resumed a reciprocal course about half a nautical mile off our port side. That looked like a standard anti-collision manoeuvre. What was unusual was that its speed decreased to about 5 knots, as judged by the radar. We turned to starboard to widen the range to a nautical mile and resumed our course. Danny was standing on the port bridge extension watching the ship through binoculars. It kept course; probably just a smuggler or maybe an innocent freighter timing his arrival at his next port.. I was on the starboard bridge extension looking from the bow, where the sky was beginning to lighten, to the stern where it was still pitch black. Mayda, who had been looking at the radar alongside the Skipper who was helming, wandered over to me, stepped outside into the cooler air, stretched and yawned.

Moving the binoculars from the dark astern to the light ahead was not optimal for good observation. Almost aligned with the bow, I thought I saw a shadow. I looked away, looked back, still there… was there a second? Was it a swell? Maybe the remnants of the wake of the other ship? I looked away again, then looked back, not at the shape, just a bit away. The eyes work better that way. The two shadows were still there and we had closed fast on them. Just as I was about to call Danny over, the shadows suddenly developed white tails and moved rapidly towards us, now about 30 degrees off our starboard bow.

In situations like now unfolded, it often takes much longer to recount the story than the duration of the actual event. I shouted “Bandits, starboard bow” as I grabbed and cocked the Bren. Our bow started to turn to port as the Skipper reacted instantly to my call but I still barely had time to aim and fire at the closest shadow. I gave it what I hoped was half a magazine in short bursts and was just about to turn to the second shadow when I realised that ejected empty cases from an SLR were hitting me in the face. It must be Danny; he sure could move fast!. I emptied the Bren into the second shadow, removed the magazine and someone slapped another one on. I divided this one between the two shadows again; we could now make out that they were “Gemini” type rubber boats, almost undetectable by radar. I stopped again for a second reload when Danny put a hand on my shoulder.

“Enough… they’ve had it.”

I looked back. He was standing behind me with another magazine in his hand. The rifle was being fired by Mayda! He slapped the magazine onto the Bren; Mayda was reloading the rifle.

“Just keep an eye; fire if you see movement.”

He ran back quickly to the port side and swept the Bren fore and aft… no targets there. The ship he had been watching, probably a mother ship, had picked up speed, turned away from us and was jetting out great plumes of black diesel smoke as it powered away. We could have caught it easily, but that wasn’t our job and the legalities of firing on an escaping ship were tricky.

Clive and Lisa burst into the bridge, breathless, and obviously just dressed. Once the firing had started, both the Engineering and deck crews would have gone directly to lockdown; no point in playing around with hoses at that stage. The Skipper had picked up speed and was weaving towards the East. The shot-up dinghies were disappearing in our wake.

“Think we’re OK; bandits approached starboard bow but were shot up by the girls. You take Starboard; Lisa, here with me.”

Danny’s concise summary told Clive all he needed to know to join the party. He came over to our position and I made to relinquish the Bren to him. He shook his head and scanned the sea looking for any more threats. I could hear the Skipper on the radio reporting a pirate attack, the location, the current course of the mother ship, and the likelihood of bandit casualties in the water. A US warship responded and, shortly afterwards, reported helicopters on the way. They were over us in about 40 minutes, circled us for a minute and headed off, presumably in pursuit of the mother ship.

We started to relax. The crew were called from lockdown and we started to unload the guns, clear them and put on fresh magazines. A crewman came up with a brush and started to sweep up the cartridge cases. I looked at Mayda.

“Your face is a mess, sorry about that,” she said, and started to gently wipe the black marks left behind by her ejected rounds. I had at least one into my left eye and anticipated a shiner.

“Where did you learn to use a rifle?”

“Kurdish women fight along with the men; we have to.”

I found this hard to reconcile with the idea that some Kurdish men at the time would kill a female relative who had “dishonoured” the family, but then again, we had plenty of contradictions in our own society in the 80’s.

Two more, larger helicopters were overhead about 20 minutes later. One continued past us to the scene of the incident; the other circled. A voice came over the VHF asking if we could use some additional security while we sorted ourselves out and got a rest, and if an officer could come on board to get the details of the incident. The Skipper agreed to both the offer and the request and the helicopter approached from astern. It was far too big to land on our small helipad at the stern and hovered while six men were winched down. Four were marines, with rifles and combat kit, two were Navy officers. Danny met the boarding party on the aft deck. The four marines settled down around the pool area, somewhat in awe of the luxury of their surroundings. Danny brought the officers to the bridge.

Introductions were made all around and the older officer, a Lieutenant Commander, started to get details from the Skipper and Danny. Clive and Lisa slipped off; they weren’t directly involved and couldn’t contribute to the report. The younger officer, a Sub Lieutenant was busy making notes and trying not to be seen staring at Mayda and me. Mayda was wearing a dress, but, given the heat, I was only wearing a bikini top and white miniskirt, both a little marked now from the ejected rounds.

Much to the SubLt’s delight, Danny called us both to the Starboard bridge extension and asked me to continue the report from my perspective. When I got to the part about opening fire with the Bren the LtCdr’s jaw visibly dropped.

“You’re shitting me!”

Danny answered.

“No; only the two girls fired. By the time I got over to this side it was clear that the situation was in hand and I had better return to the Port side to secure it.”

The LtCdr decided that our names were worth adding to the report. I wasn’t very happy about that as that would mean that the biggest Navy in the world had a record of me being on board this SuperYacht so I gave a false second name. Danny said nothing, just raised an eyebrow. I found out later that Mayda also used a false name and, as I was translating from her French, asked me to say that she was Egyptian. The story all recorded, we all headed off to get some sleep leaving the marines to guard the boat and the two Navy officers on the bridge with the boat’s No 3 helming.

A few hours later, Danny asked the Skipper, Clive, Lisa, Mayda and me to have a quick meeting in the guest dining room along with the two Navy officers. They reckoned that we were lucky the encounter happened at dawn and that we were heading East, otherwise we might never have seen the two rubber boats approach. They guessed that we were picked up on radar and the dinghies dropped off before we were properly identified as a Yacht. Even seeing what we were, the bandits, or pirates, would never have expected to be faced with our firepower which could only be carried on a boat with a semi-official status. We were surprised to discover that they hadn’t found anything incriminating on the mother ship. Its skipper claimed to know nothing of the dinghies and had made off when he heard the gunfire as he wanted to save his ship from whatever was happening. He even had some cargo, a manifest and a destination port congruent with his course, so he had to be let proceed! Some bodies and debris had been recovered near the reported site of the incident.

A helicopter returned and picked up the naval party. As he was leaving the Sub Lieutenant said goodbye to Mayda in fluent French and winked; he had heard her say “tell him I’m Egyptian” to me, but apparently hadn’t told his boss! As the heli pulled away, I put my arm around Mayda’s waist.

“See what I mean about how we can get on in our world?”.

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The rest of the trip was quiet and, at Danny’s suggestion we resumed our routine of English classes and dance practice. Getting back to a normal routine helps recover from trauma. I suspect that Mayda had fewer problems than me; at least she didn’t show or say that she had any and I suspected that this wasn’t the first time that she had seen a gunfight. Life was tough in the Kurdish lands which spanned Turkey, Syria and Iraq. Danny, of course, just did this kind of thing for a living. For me it was different. In the first place, there is a huge rush of adrenaline followed by a low; this is just a standard physiological reaction. Then there’s the “what-if” internal debate; I had very nearly missed seeing the bandits, we could have been boarded, and it would have been my fault! Then there was the realisation that I had shot some people. Ok, bad people, but I took very little satisfaction from that. I suppose soldiers deal with these issues all the time; I wasn’t cut out to be a soldier, even though our own mini army was now recruiting women! So, I dealt with this much like the kidnapping; push it to the back of your mind and keep busy! If you’re lucky, it fades with time.

It seemed like no time had passed until we arrived in Muscat. Now we had to leave our cocoon and venture back into the World. There was no problem with Lisa and me as our papers were in order; Mayda would not be allowed to land until we got papers for her; the Embassy would not issue papers until she applied there. In the end, Clive persuaded two consular officials to come on board to interview her, lured as much by the promise of a good meal and plenty of wine as by a sense of duty. It was agreed that Clive, Danny, Lisa, Mayda and I would be at the party. Clive was organising the meeting, Danny, Mayda and I were direct protagonists in the events leading to Mayda requiring asylum, and Lisa was there to ensure that Mayda ended up in the UK and not in Ireland. As I wasn’t a UK citizen, albeit entitled to live there due to a bilateral arrangement between our two countries, it might have been an easy “out” for the British Embassy to tell Mayda to apply for asylum in Ireland.

Clive went ashore and purchased some more demure clothing, mainly Indian in style for Lisa and me, local for Mayda. We had to be careful not to openly divulge our real role on the SuperYacht, not that the Embassy people wouldn’t know. The Embassy guys were in their 30’s, Public School, Oxbridge types. They were urbane, affable and inquisitive. They went through our stories before sitting down to the meal and we had a two-hour grilling, mostly individually. Our stories matched, of course, as they were true. Lisa and I were interviewed together as to how Mayda would be looked after in the UK and we mentioned a combination of her being a language teacher in college, and a dance instructress in our classes. Eventually the two had a private conference and agreed that Mayda would be given temporary travel papers to enter the UK pending a final decision by the Home Office, the UK branch of Government responsible for immigration.

We settled down to a convivial meal. We kept the wine flowing and eventually the officials were quite “merry”. This was another new experience for Mayda, as seeing people drinking, especially getting mildly drunk, was not part of her life so far. She was more amused than anything else seeing these two powerful officials, capable of deciding her fate, descend to behaving like boys. As inhibitions dropped, and knowing that we were dancers, they asked if we would give them a demonstration. We agreed; it was easier than sitting and talking rubbish with them. We slipped off, got changed, returned and did a few of the routines that we had practiced during the voyage. Eventually Clive drove them back to their residence, having extracted a promise of a letter to cover my souvenir revolver and that they would be at the airport as we boarded our flight for London in two days’ time to smooth over any issues with Mayda’s papers.

And now we had to leave the SuperYacht. Danny, Clive and the Skipper were sorry to see us go; I wonder why?! They tried to extract a promise of a return next year; we declined to promise, but didn’t rule it out. In reality, we felt that we were closing this chapter in our life, probably for good, but didn’t want to make a definite decision at this time. We were alongside in Muscat and we booked into the Intercontinental as the boat was due to sail for its home base in the Gulf. The lads came to kiss us goodbye and carry our bags down to the taxi. Danny gave me a small box, the revolver, and warned me not to try to carry it in my cabin bag! Then he took two envelopes from his pocket: One each for Mayda and me.

“From the owner… just a token to recognise your service in the Battle of the Gulf of Aden…probably the Order of the Great Falcon or something like that… second class of course for women!”

He gave me a slap on the ass and headed off. We opened the envelopes in the car; they were stuffed with US$100 bills. I had almost doubled my earnings for the summer! Mayda now had a cash stake to give her a new start in life. We spent the next day touring Muscat. It was a lovely city, with some of the nicest people that I have ever met, anywhere in the world. We packed for the flight, got a taxi to the airport in good time and met the Embassy guys. Mayda had no problem boarding; apparently airport staff were used to the concept of temporary travel documents as visitors occasionally lose passports. The flight was long for me as I’m a bit tall for economy seats and we were all a bit keyed up about getting through immigration in London. We were careful not to take too many of the complimentary drinks (served even in Economy class back then!) as we needed clear heads in Arrivals.

It turned out not to be too bad. Lisa and I stuck close to Mayda when she was asked to go to an office for an interview. The immigration clerks just recorded her details, confirmed where she would be staying in London, and gave her a Home Office telephone number and address to contact. We met Lisa’s parents and spent the first few nights in their house then moved into the college accommodation. As a non-student, Mayda couldn’t stay in the student accommodation, but the college had provided a room from the limited supply of staff accommodation available. It turned out that she could not be placed on the payroll until her position was regularised, a detail which neither the college nor us had foreseen so she simply worked as a language assistant without pay, a fact which did her reputation no harm in the college.

We resumed the dancing classes, now with a very exotic demonstrator/instructor! Mayda was loosening up as she got used to London life and even tasted some of the champagne we ordered when her permanent residency was approved. We also resumed the ladies’ self-defence classes, and broadened this out to become an exercise and self-defence class. Eventually we had to limit the numbers as our business was getting in the way of our studies. We had to limit our personal restaurant dancing work as we were earning enough money running classes and needed the time for study Instead, we started to function as an agency to place some of our better dancers in these jobs: Another income stream.

Jeremy contacted Lisa and me again: Could we dance for a visiting potentate? Good money for a weekend’s work! We declined. Truth be told, we weren’t really comfortable recalling our work on the SuperYacht. It seemed like we had pushed the boundaries until we had passed our comfort zone and we didn’t want to return to that world. It would also undermine our life together. We wanted to make our relationship work and lesbian life in the early 80’s was complicated enough without adding in heterosexual sex work. Despite our dalliances with Danny and Clive, which were more in the way of tactical alliances, we realised that we were both committed to a lesbian lifestyle. A gay friend later described himself to me as 90% gay, 10% straight, meaning that he occasionally would fancy a girl but mostly he fancied guys. That, in reverse, probably described Lisa as well, and, to a lesser extent, me.

Mayda soared in London. Intelligent and tough, she was doing well in college. She gradually became more comfortable with Western ways and eventually commenced a relationship with an English lecturer. She opted to keep the name Mayda and an assumed surname; she wanted, indeed needed, to disappear from her family and the Kurdish community in general. Like us, she worked hard in our extra-curricular businesses, without the exam pressures which Lisa and I had for her first year in London.

By the end of this second academic year, Lisa and I had a dilemma. Our captive clientele was now dispersed until the commencement of the next academic year and we either had to suspend our activities or get a new client base. The college facilities would remain available to us at a modest cost so we advertised, mainly by leaflet drop, but also in the beauty salons and hairdressers in the local area. This worked and we had a reasonable business going after only a month and then we had to make a further decision about continuing this business as college recommenced.

The next year was hectic. Mayda moved fulltime into our external business and we rented a room from the college to accommodate this. As we were attending a business school, and the business had commenced on campus, the college was accommodating and regarded our business activities as a form of thesis. We struggled through the year and barely scraped through our end of year exams. I took the following year off college to devote to the business along with Mayda; Lisa completed her studies. The following year I resumed and completed college with Lisa now working full time in the business. This had the added advantage in allowing us to retain our association with the college and conduct classes for students in free college facilities in the evenings.

Eventually when I had completed my degree we had to move off the campus, but rented a premises close by. This enabled us to keep our college clientele and we continued to advertise through college clubs and societies. The business prospered and we opened a second “Ladies Gym” close to another London college the following year. Mayda got married and stayed with the business until her second child was born. We have remained good friends down through the years and she named her two girls after us.

We grew the business for two decades, then realised that we were working our lives away. We sold the business, over 20 gyms by now, and retired to live on our own Nordhavn 60 motor yacht, cruising mainly in the Mediterranean.

As we’d say in Irish… Sin e Roth Mór an tSaol

Roughly translated… Life has come full circle.
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