Chapter 36

Briyan Briyanovich Khrinhov stood on the fantail of the RFS Poltava as it slid smoothly through the heads outside Wellington Harbour. It had been a year since the RNZN's Te Kaha had paid a similar courtesy visit to Vladivostok. Now it was Russia's turn to establish a first. Not since the First World War had a Russian Naval Vessel called at a New Zealand Port.

This was the second port of call for the Poltava. Previously, she'd tied up at Devonport in Auckland, the RNZN's main naval base. After Wellington, she was to call at Lyttelton, near Christchurch, in the South Island.

The Poltava sailed through into the harbour, a wide parabola considered one of the most beautiful natural harbours in the World. The South Pacific sun shone bright, bathing the seaside suburbs and the many beaches.

All the Russian crew were excited about visiting a place very few had ever seen before. For Briyan, however, it had a special significance. It was from this port that his Grandfather, John Greenhaugh, had sailed for Spain to join the Republican cause back in 1935.

Beside Briyan stood a New Zealand Naval Officer, Lieutenant Rashbrooke, who'd been seconded to the Poltava in Sidney, Australia. A specialist in Navigation, he was to advise the Russian command staff about navigating the sometimes treacherous waters around New Zealand's coast. Rashbrooke needn't have worried, though, the Poltava had a full suite of the most modern electronic navigation equipment. But it was a nice diplomatic touch all the same.

The Poltava tied up at the Overseas Passenger Terminal, once it was confirmed that the cruiser's overhang would not knock off the top floor of the terminal building. The bows of the ship flared widely, but there was sufficient clearance.

Rashbrooke had managed to organise a trip for Briyan to visit his Grandfather's birthplace. John himself, and his wife, Benin, were now well into their eighties and were no-longer capable of making the journey. They still lived in the city of Novgorod together with their friend, Jana Ivanova. Jana had moved in with the couple some 12 years ago after her Military pension had been wiped out by currency inflation.

John, now known by his Russian name, Ioann, had fared a little better as a retired General of Aviation. Their co-habitation had as much to do with economic circumstances as their long 'menage et trois' relationship.

In fact, they'd called themselves 'the Troika, ' as long as Briyan could remember. Once upon a time they'd scandalised their neighbours, but now, they were just a trio of old friends sharing an apartment together.

The next day a Ministry of Defence car came for Briyan. A woman Army Lieutenant from the MOD's Public Relations Office called Silvia accompanied Briyan on the trip. Unmarried and hitherto unattached, he quite looked forward to the three and a half hour journey.

Briyan inherited his Grandfather's height and some of his good looks. His skin was darker, though, like his Grandmother's and he had black hair like a Spaniard.

They drove down State Highway 1 along a coast dotted with small seaside communities. Green farmland stretched on the landward side towards the distant mountains of the Central Tararua Ranges.

"Where is Mount Egmont?" he asked Silvia.

"Can't see it yet," she explained, "it's stuck out in the East. The Maoris say that once upon a time four mountains had an argument and Egmont was banished. The Maori call it Mount Taranaki."

"The mountain moved?" Briyan said in astonishment. He had a good grasp of English but found Silvia's accent hard to understand at times. He thought he must have missheard her.

"Legend... like a fairy tale?"

"Ah!"

Eventually, beyond the city of Wanganui, the mountain emerged like a ghost out of the humid air. It was a cone, just as John described, and it was capped with a mantle of white snow.

"Hawera's up ahead," Silvia explained, "as far as we're able to tell, your Grandfather lived on a farm a little inland from here... up that road there. Want to see?" Briyan nodded and Silvia turned the car onto the unsealed road.

New Zealand Government researchers had tracked down a relative of John's. Greenhaughs had not lived in the area for a good many years but the researchers had discovered that a descendent of John's Aunty had inherited the farm. The man was pleased to meet a distant cousin. He had local Maori blood and valued family ties highly.

The locals had prepared a reception for their visiting Russian relation and Briyan left well-lubricated by their hostpitality later that afternoon. He was adopted into the local 'iwi', a sub tribe of the mighty Ngati Toa, and wore the gift of a traditional whalebone pendant around his neck.

Back at the ship, Briyan couldn't wait to cable home telling his Grandfather all about his experiences.

He explained to Silvia on the way back how his Grandfather had not been able to set foot on the soil of his birthplace because of the Cold War. Now that things were different, John was too old. It seemed a pity, he thought, because he was sure John would've been welcomed back into the community like a long lost son.

"Yeah," Silvia agreed, "New Zealand's kind of like that. We forgive and forget pretty quickly."

"It wasn't his fault, you know," Briyan told her, "he got caught up, like a rat in a trap. Y'know, once, a KGB man took him to West Berlin before they built the wall. It was easy, then, to go from East to West, West to East. Grandfather said he could've made a run for it then. Do you know why he didn't?" Silvia shook her head. "Family! Just like those Maori people. It was family. He couldn't go and leave his family behind. See? Underneath it all, he is still a 'Kiwi, ' yes?"

"Yes," Silvia agreed.