Thinking about Croatia

I was surprised how small Split Airport was - it was the size, I thought, of a modest bus station - I half expected to see dusty Hants & Dorset double deckers outside the arrivals hall - I remembered their green coachwork, the smell of cigarettes after school - but I saw a southern sky beyond the line of taxi drivers -

I came to understand that this was a Roman Catholic land - each palace was bedecked with blue flags - the mountains lining the shore were scorched and bare - the fathers in the streets had fought in the homeland wars -

The young man who was our guide explained about the Serbs - they said the fascists will kill you - kill them first -

He crossed himself before he climbed into the minibus - he drove with furious skill and pride along the new motorway -

In Sibenik Cathedral, I stared at the tombs of the fearless bishops - I heard, once more, their sermons against the invader - the cruel Turk, the rapacious Venetian, the unforgiving Serb - I wondered what would happen if they opened their eyes - bright angels guarded the chantry chapels - I saw the scoured and cleansed souls fly up to heaven -

In the bus, back from Bene Beach, we met two former partisans - as teenagers, they'd fought with Tito - they had shining eyes, and invited us for coffee on the Riva - one of them, Oscar, had met Fitzroy Maclean -

The pointed towers of the churches rose above dark pines in the islands - above our white yacht the sky was red - the sunset was like a movie directed by David Lynch -

In Split Archaeological Museum, there were gold coins from a hoard - my heart lurched when I saw how bright they were - still clean and shining, like unbroken promises -