Below the Radar - Cyprus Summer of '74

Chapter 4: Café Culture (The Times They Are A-Changin')

Alex, his older brother Simon and six of their mates bound for the disco on the Royal Air Force base at Akrotiri strolled into their favourite bar - the Andy Capp III.

As the name suggests the bar catered for and relied significantly on British ex-pats or serving British Forces personnel for much of its trade. As the late Cyprus afternoon sun faded the boys walked confidently through the large open and battered wooden doors across the garishly tiled entrance to the small bar at the back of the dimly lit and smoke filled room.

Marvin Gaye's voice drifted across from the 50's style stand up jukebox in the corner of the bar asking, in his deeply soulful and resonant voice, what exactly was going on. It was a serious and passion filled question he'd asked many times, but Marvin's' unease about the state of the world gave the small group no cause for concern. This was a beautiful spring evening in 1974, holding the promise of a great night ahead. They did love his music though, and the smiles grew that bit wider and the casual saunter more pronounced as they reached the bar, greeting George the Greek bar owner with a confident order for eight pints of Keo tops.

Andy Capp III was the favoured haunt of the moment, having recently taken over from The Twiga bar, even though it was a drab dingy little place located in a converted single storey building. In its favour it sat a convenient hundred yards west of the traffic lights at the busy crossroads of the Limassol by-pass and the road north to Polimedhia and Berengaria. The by-pass itself, though significantly wider than most roads in Cyprus, consisted of a single wide lane in each direction. The by-pass running straight from east to west and the Polimedhia road south to north. When built the by-pass had run north of most of Limassol town as it nestled on the south coast of Cyprus against the Mediterranean. The large working port was surrounded by a warren of bustling streets full of shops, restaurants, small business premises, coffee shops and Churches, centred on St. Andrews Street. As the town had grown up to and then beyond the by-pass, it had become more of a natural central thoroughfare than a by-pass, bisecting Limassol.

Matching its exterior, the inside of the Andy Capp was tired with few frills, a modest bar some twenty feet in length running parallel to the rear wall. The only real feature, which did gave it some cheesy character, was the four foot high neon-lit sign depicting the bars namesake, Andy Capp, which sat above the entrance, complete with iconic oversized checked flat cap and cigarette forever hanging out of his mouth. George the Greek bar owner was relaxed and friendly, everything siga-siga, slowly-slowly, serving everyone with no awkward questions asked about age. As long as his customers didn't bother anyone else, everyone was welcome and the jukebox had an ample supply of favourite tunes, mainly classics from the sixties, with a healthy spattering of early seventies favourites.

The boys were no strangers in the bar and could be found here two or three days a week, frequenting the bar late afternoon once school had finished. If the two local Youth Clubs (one in Limassol opposite Unicorn House and the other in Berengaria) were closed and they weren't playing football, swimming at the beach or browsing the shops around St. Andrews Street – homework being way down the list of likely afternoon pastimes – the teenagers could often be found sharing burgers, Cokes or 7 Up's over a long afternoon. The few drinks they could afford would be nursed until warm and flat, as they played darts, cards for a few piastres or monopolised the football tables or pinball machines in one of the small side rooms.

It was easy and not unusual to find a group of young lads, like Alex and his mates, in cafes and bars around Limassol. They mingled happily with the locals; though locals in this sense often meant young single guys serving in the Royal Air Force or British Army, many of whom were not much older themselves. But in the Cyprus of the early 70's and perhaps all around the Med, bars were café style places and most people were more than happy with the way things worked. Infrequently, a well-meaning busy body (read - sensible British Forces mum with kids of her own) would try to get the lads thrown out. On these rare occasions, and though knowingly under the legal drinking age, the complainant would be mercilessly hassled with that natural in-built sense of righteous indignation and entitlement that comes in the standard teenage kit bag.