Fire on the mountain! - excerpt from my dairies part 16 (1991)

Fire on the mountain

It was about four o’clock in the morning one summer night when I awoke to hear a strange crackling noise coming from the fields behind the apartments where I was staying. I tumbled sleepily out of bed and went onto the balcony to discover what it could be. Looking out towards the main road I could see, some distance away, a fire. The crackling I could hear was the sound of the flames in the trees. I rushed outside, as I could hear voices, to discover that the fire brigade had already been called. I was not unduly worried, the flames were quite some distance away and we were in no danger.

By daylight however the situation was much more alarming. The flames were much closer. There was no sign of any firefighters and we, who lived in the apartments, gathered together and watched the advancing flames. I went back inside and gathered my important papers and put them ready pick up in an emergency.

After some time we heard the sound of a helicopter approaching.

“Good,” said Carol, a girl who was staying in another of the apartments, “At last something is happening. The fire’s getting a bit close to us now and the wind is in this direction.” We looked up at the sky.

“It’s not the fire service,” I told her “It’s the local television channel. Trust them to arrive before the fire brigade!” The helicopter was by this time swooping around taking photographs of the fire.

We had moved onto one of the upstairs balconies to get a better view and several people from Georgioupolis had arrived to join in the fun.

“Have you got a light?” asked Michalis from the car hire shop, who happened to be dropping of a hire car. - Well that was his story I suspected he was just being nosy.

“You want a light when the whole place is about to go up in flames?” Carol was indignant. “Why don’t you go and help Sifis with his water pump?”

Sifis, the owner of the apartments, had found an old stirrup pump and was trying to persuade it to work, without much success, the trickle of water that came out was worse than useless.

“Look at that girl who is renting number three,” whispered Carol, leaning towards me, “ she’s changed her outfit twice since the television cameras arrived.” As we watched her she once again went into her room and a few moments later came out wearing yet another outfit. We couldn’t help laughing. “What a time to worry about your appearance.” Carol chuckled, “I think she fancies Manos from the next room.”

“Do you think I should pack my bags in case we have to clear out?” She asked me a few minutes later.

“I already put all my important stuff together, passport and so on” I told her. “I have too many things to try to move it all.”

Eventually we heard the sound of fire engines.

“Only five hours after the alarm was raised,” I observed “If they had come immediately they could have put out the fire before it got to this stage. I wonder what caused the delay."

As well as the fire tenders two water carrying helicopters had arrived, and were scooping up water from the lake and dropping it on the flames.

Fire engines from Vrysses

Looking over to the next door balcony I could see that Carol was being chatted up by one of the Georgioupolis residents, several of whom had come to watch the fun.

“I couldn’t get away from him,” she told me later. “We were on that bit of unfinished balcony with no railing and I couldn’t get past him. The strange thing was that he ducked and turned his head away every time the television cameras were pointing our way.”

I laughed. “Not so strange, I explained, he’s 'well known' down at the local cop shop.”

“You’re kidding!” Carol, for once, was almost speechless.

“No, really, he has been 'helping them with their enquiries'  So it’s no surprise he doesn’t want his face all over the evening news.”

As we were talking an old man came up to us.

“I wouldn’t stay if the fire gets much closer,” he advised us “During the war there was an underground ammunition dump just behind here.” He moved away, throwing his lighted cigarette butt into the dry undergrowth. We just looked at each other! “That’s a comforting thought,” remarked Carol. “Do you think it’s true?”

“Anything’s possible around here, I replied.

As we watched, the olive trees in the fields behind us caught light. Whoosh! The whole vicinity was now full of smoke and a lot of valuable trees were going up in flames. Eventually after several hours the blaze was brought under control, much to our relief. The next day the extent of the damage was evident. Large tracts of woodland and olive groves were blackened and smouldering.The farmer who owned most of the land was counting his losses, many acres had been ruined, a lot of which could have been saved if the emergency services had arrived earlier.

Note: Apokoronas now has a fire station at Vrysses as well as emergency volunteers with a fire engine based at Nippos. At the time of the diaries the emergency services had to come from Hania.

The badge of the Apokoronas emergency volunteers

Photographs courtesy of "Haniotika Nea" and Apokoronas Life

Vendetta! Diaries part 15

Chicago comes to the village

This is another incident from my diaries which took place nearly 30 years ago. Names have been changed for obvious reasons!

While I was working at the lake I had a visit from Karen, The daughter of my friends, Chris and Ian, she had decided to spend the summer working in Georgioupolis.

“There’s trouble at t’mill,” she announced.

“What on earth are you talking about?” I sat down after fetching us some freshly squeezed Orange juice.

“Its Jane and Stavros.” She mentioned a couple who ran a cafeteria in Georgioupolis “Something’s happened. I don’t really know all the details, it’s all very confusing. Anyway they’re gone.”

“What do you mean, gone? Who’s gone?”

“Jane and Mary". Somebody went on a rampage with a gun and drove them out of town.”

“You’re kidding!”

“It’s true!” She took a sip of her juice and laughed. “I heard the police found the man and confiscated his gun but let him go. Guess what he did?” She paused waiting for my reply

“I have no idea” I answered her. I was not in the mood to play games. What on earth had been going on in the village? 

“Well,” she continued as I lapped up every precious bit of gossip, “Apparently, after they confiscated his gun, the man broke into the police station and pinched ALL of the guns he could find!” She burst into laughter. “Isn’t that just typical of this place?” She drained the dregs from her glass. Well this really was news. Karen continued with the tale.

“I heard that Jane has gone back to England, but I don’t know about Stavros.” 

"It all happens here!" I remarked

“You’re telling me. Do you know what happened to me yesterday?” Karen went on to tell of her recent romantic exploits but my mind was whirling with thoughts and images. What had really happened? Living at the lake I was isolated from the village news and we were too busy for me to take an evening off and go to find out

Only later did I hear the whole story ……

Jane’s daughter Mary had come to stay with her mother for the season and to help in the Cafeteria. She was a pretty girl of about twenty four and within a very short space of time had a local boyfriend.

“Its ok mother,” she told Jane, “I know what I’m doing. Don’t worry I’m not planning on getting married or anything.” All was going well until she realized that her boyfriend was becoming very jealous and was trying to control her life.

“I can’t live like this. I’ll have to finish It.” she told her mother.

“Quite right too,” Jane agreed. “He doesn’t even like you going for coffee with your girlfriends. You’ll be better off out of it.”

“Be careful,” warned Stavros, “things are not the same here in Crete as in your country.” But, having decided that their relationship was not what she had been expecting, Mary determined that the time had come for the parting of the ways. She did not bargain for the reaction she received.

“You are mocking me. My friends will laugh at me. They will say I’m not a man!” In Crete it was looked upon as a slur on his manhood for ‘his woman’ to leave him. Mary, brought up in the much freer society of Britain, had not realized just what a problem her decision would cause. She was of course prepared for a little unpleasantness, but her boyfriend went crazy.

“Get out of here. Now!” He threw her into the street and her belongings after her. Then he threatened her with her life.

“You had better get off the island fast,” he shouted “or I will shoot you and your mother.” Mary took this as an idle threat.

“Just ignore him” counseled Jane “he’s bluffing. He will soon forget.” Stavros, however, having grown up in  the ways of the island, realized that this man was certainly capable of violence and went to try to defuse the situation. Unfortunately he only succeeded in making things worse and the threat was extended to him also.

“You must leave,” he urged. “This family is capable of anything. They are bad people.”

“Just carry on as normal” advised Jane still unperturbed “It will pass.”

“You don’t understand,” Stavros tried to explain. “This is still a land of vendetta. He and his family will not forget. Maybe it’s better if you go to England for a while.” Jane laughed off the idea.

“They will do nothing, I am English!” she stated emphatically

Jane and Mary continued living in their little vacuum for a while, working in the cafeteria, although Mary was reluctant to go out to the disco alone, or be seen in any bars. Life continued much as normal but Stavros continued to warn them repeatedly, to be careful. “This is not a good family, they mean what they say. You must go.” he repeatedly told them “It is not safe for me either but this is my home I can’t run away.”

One summer evening shortly afterwards the cafeteria was packed with tourists, the music was playing and the drinks flowing. Jane was serving and chatting to customers, Mary was fixing ice-creams and fresh orange juice. Suddenly the sound of a car was heard racing up the side road by the café. The cafeteria was on a corner, the frontage on the village square and, by the side, a road lead down to the sea. There was a squeal of brakes as the car hurtled round the corner. For a moment nobody took much notice, thinking that it was probably just young boys being silly. The car slowed down by the front of the café. The windows were rolled down and the barrel of a gun pointed out. BANG! There was screaming as Stavros hurriedly pushed Jane to the floor. “Get down!” he shouted “Under the tables!” The tourists scrambled under the tables as more shots were fired BANG! BANG! BANG! Tables were overturned, glasses smashed, children were crying. The car shot out of sight with a screech of brakes.

“Are you all right?” Stavros asked as he helped Jane and Mary up from the floor “Why wouldn’t you listen to me?”

The holidaymakers were picking themselves up, brushing broken glass off their clothes and setting right the tables. Fortunately other than being frightened out of their wits there was no harm done, and they would have a story to tell when they got home.

“Get home, get packed, and get ready to leave RIGHT NOW!” Shouted Stavros “No more excuses. Until we can find you a plane you must hide up in the mountains.”  Jane and Mary left quickly, much shaken, as Stavros calmed the frightened tourists.

“Its ok” he reassured them “All over now…. Al Capone!” He tried to make a joke of it.

 As soon as he could he took the two women up to a remote village until they could get a flight out.

“I'll be back” said Jane, “don’t you worry.”

“Come on mother” pleaded Mary “let’s get out of here I’m scared.”

The next day, in a borrowed car, Stavros drove them to the airport. As the plane took off he watched it until it was a speck in the sky

My First Big Fat Cretan Wedding - diaries part 12

       

 I had never been to a Cretan wedding before and I was looking forward to it. I managed to arrange an evening off work and, dressed up in my glad rags, I went along.

The invitation said seven in the evening and I was there in good time. I found several friends already there and we stood together, outside the church, chatting, discussing the sartorial splendour, or lack of it, of the other guests, as we waited the arrival of the bride and groom. The women were, for the most part, clad in evening dress. The men ranged from smart shirts and trousers, to blue jeans and work shirts. We were harsh critics,

“Whatever does she think she’s wearing?” “Have you seen that woman in the blue? I think she’s forgotten to put her skirt on.” “Look at those shoes!” Suddenly from a distance away, we heard the continual, discordant beeping of many car horns.

“That will be the groom arriving,” said Chrysoula who was standing near me. “I went to school with Sophia. I will be very interested to see what her groom is like.”

“It will be your turn soon,” I told her.

“I’m in no hurry, it’ll depend on father.”

The cavalcade of vehicles pulled up at the church, to the accompaniment of much gunfire. The groom, uncomfortable in his new suit and haircut, made his way to the top of the steps by the church door, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“He will hand them to the bride when she arrives,” Chrysoula whispered to me.

At that moment the bride arrived in a car decorated with fresh flowers. As she stepped out of the car, radiant in white, the guests all began to clap. The groom approached and handed her the bouquet, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. Three tiny bridesmaids trotted around the happy couple like animated meringues in their pink and white flouncy dresses.

“Do you think she’s expecting?” whispered Chrysoula, “The dress is not a fitted style, it’s difficult to tell.”

We speculated on the possibility as we watched the groom greet his father –in –law to be.

The couple entered the church together and we all crowded in behind them.

The altar had also been decorated with fresh flowers and swathes of white organza. The priest was in his most colourful garb. He began the service immediately.

Sometimes when the weather is very hot the priest will conduct the service outside

I tried to follow the service as best I could but was rather surprised to see, once again as at other services I had attended, the people in the congregation chattering to each other and many of the men were outside smoking, and leaning against the church walls. Even the bride’s mother turned around to chat to the person behind her. The priest did not seem to be at all perturbed by this and continued the liturgy.

It was very hot inside the church with so many people crowding in. I could see the mother of the bride flourishing a large black fan, trying to keep her daughter cool.

Although I could not understand much of the service, I saw that at one point the priest held a goblet of wine to the lips of the couple and a spoonful of honey. Later I noticed the bride tread on the grooms foot.

“It’s a tradition” whispered Chrysoula., “If she does that it means that she will be the boss in the house.” The best man, or ‘Koumbaros’, then held two small, white, coronets of over the heads of the bride and groom. The circlets were connected to each other by a piece of white ribbon. They were crossed over the heads of the happy couple several times then placed on their heads and, thus connected, they processed with the priest, and the best man, around the altar three times. The guests began to throw rice and rose petals over the pair and this, combined with the marble floor, caused all the participants to skid around as if it were an ice rink. The bride was desperately hanging on to the hand of the groom as she tried to keep her balance.

At the end of the service the family formed a receiving line by the door of the church, the best man holding a silver tray, on which the guests placed small envelopes containing money, the accepted form of wedding gift.

As we left the church we were handed ‘boubonieres’, sugared almonds wrapped in a piece of decorative net and tied with a ribbon.

Frescos inside the church

The reception was held at a ‘kendro’, a large building, purpose built, to cater for up to about three thousand guests, not an unusual number for a Cretan wedding.

The tables were groaning with plates of ‘orektika’- starters-, bread, ‘xerotigana’- sweetmeats of thin pastry rolled up into a rosettes, fried and then drenched in honey, plates of graviera cheese, and of course, wine and tsigoudia.

I discovered that Roy and Margaret were also amongst the guests at the wedding, though I had not seen them in the crush at the church. They invited me to join them at their table, finding, shortly afterwards, that because Margaret only drank vodka, she had a hip flask of the spirit secreted in her handbag.

We were at a table with about ten other people, some of whom we knew, some who were total strangers. But by the time we had shared a drink, the ice was broken. Margaret, of course, knew the “master of ceremonies’.

“This is Manolis’” she said, introducing me to him. “He is married to the sister of the owner of ‘Fanis’ where we often go to eat.”

Manolis looked as if he had stepped out of a photograph of the eighteen hundreds in the Wild West. He was small and thin, with long rather straggly hair, a fancy maroon waistcoat and a shoestring tie. After greeting us he rushed off to make sure that the team of waiters was attending to the needs of the guests and that everyone was seated properly.

By the time the happy couple arrived at the kendro, entering to the recorded strains of The Wedding March played over the sound system the orektika were all finished the remains cleared away and a large, seven tiered cake had been placed on a table in the middle of the dance floor.

They cut the cake and fed each other forkfuls, then shared a glass of champagne. The assembled company began to tap their glasses with their cutlery, this grew in volume and was the signal that the guests wanted to see the bride and groom kiss. This duly accomplished, the cake was whisked away and the feasting began in earnest.

The feasting begins

First there arrived large steaming plates of ‘pilaffi’ and platters of boiled lamb, served with lemons. As each platter was emptied it was immediately taken away and refilled. Following the lamb came bowls of salad, followed by more large platters, this time holding great chunks of roast pork and potatoes. This was still not the end. It was followed by fruit, the cake not appearing until very late at night when many of the guests had already left.

The father of the bride came to every table to take a drink with the guests, as did the best man and the father of the groom, and the bride and groom themselves. They must have had strong heads indeed to make a toast at each and every table. Looking around the room I estimated there were about two thousand guests in attendance.

I was amazed at the amount of crockery the waiters could carry on the giant trays they carried balanced on one hand, high over their heads, I was glad that I didn’t work there.

Even as we were eating the band started up. It was a typical Cretan band with Lyra, Laouto and guitar. After much tuning of their instruments, and screeching and twiddling with the sound system, the band started to play. The first music we heard was a traditional wedding song, followed by a dance led by the bride and groom. The groom danced only a few steps before sitting down again, but the bride was expected to continue dancing, as many of the guests wanted to dance with her, tossing money to the band when they had finished their turn at leading the dance. This first dance continued for about half an hour and at the end of it the bride sank gratefully into her seat, mopping her forehead with a handkerchief she had secreted in her bosom.

The music and dancing continued with special dances for the ‘koumbaros’, family and friends. The music carried on late into the night with groups of friends taking to the dance floor and joining in as they felt inclined, every so often a burst of gunfire livened up the proceedings, another local tradition.

"Animated meringues"

How do they do that???

  When we left the ‘kendro’ at about 2 in the morning the celebrating was still going strong, and was expected to continue for some time. I heard later that the last guests left at about 6am. They certainly know how to enjoy themselves.

The Boys in Blue Again!

The Boys in Blue Again! - a tale of two visitors who got on the wrong side of the law - some names have been changed!

Photo of old Georgioupolis courtesy of Nikos Kokolakis

There was a young English couple, staying in Georgioupolis for the winter. I had not met them before or even known of their existence, for all the smallness of the village. We met one day at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to Hania.

Looking towards Georgioupolis from the Rethymnon road in the winter.

Tom was in his early forties, with shaven head and sported an ear ring(Which was unusual at that time). Tilly was only eighteen, thin, with long straggly hair and an unhealthy pallor. They told me they were living in a small rented cottage which had no proper heating or washing facilities. During the summer they had been living in a tent on the far end of Kallivaki beach, near the river. Neither of them was working much. Tom, simply did not like work it seemed and Tilly was unable to hold down a job for long due to ill health. Her health, it seemed to me, was unlikely to improve living in such conditions.

Early one rainy morning Tilly came to see me. Wet and shivering she was in a state of great distress.

“Tom has been arrested,” she gasped out.

I sat her down and made her a cup of tea from my carefully hoarded stores.

“What on earth has happened?” I asked when she had calmed down a little

“Somebody told the police that we had drugs in the house.”

“And did you?”

“Of course not!”

Even soft drugs carry a very heavy penalty here in Greece.

“Well, they did find a fragment of a leaf in the car,” she continued” but that was from when Tom was in Germany.” I raised my eyebrows.

“What happened then?”

She took a sip of tea and told me the whole story.

“It was the middle of the night and we were asleep. Suddenly we heard banging on the door and shouting. As you know we don’t speak much of the language. We didn’t know what was happening. The next thing the door burst open and four armed policemen burst into the house. I was terrified. I was only wearing a very flimsy nightie and felt totally exposed. One of them had what looked like a Kalashnikov!” She lit a cigarette and continued, her hand trembling, “They started to tear the place apart. The officer in charge was that policeman that calls into the taverna where you work and sits drinking coffee for hours.

“We have a whip hanging above the bed, for decoration", she continued, " and he asked me what it was for.”

“I bet he did!” I exclaimed, trying to hide a smile.

“I wanted to go to the bathroom,” she continued, “and asked if I could. He said yes, but the policeman with the rifle must come with me. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” She was still shaking and I put a dash of cognac in her tea.

“By the bed we have a pile of ‘men’s’ magazines, - you know, - and they asked if they could borrow them. They told me they’ll bring them back in a couple of days.”

I couldn’t help showing my smile now “ There’ll be a lot of reading going on in that police station in the next few days” I remarked.

“They arrested Tom. He’s in the cells at Vrysses Police station. I don’t know what’s going to happen. That chief policeman was very nice to me though.”

“Probably something to do with your skimpy nightie,” I commented.

“Do you think so?”

“Tilly, you are so naïve. He’s still a Greek man, even though he’s wearing a uniform. Just be careful.”

Fortunately, after a few days, Tom was released from custody.

“How did they treat you?” I asked

“Not bad,” he admitted “They were very generous with the ouzo”

“That follows” I replied “It’s that area commander” He's the one who rode a motor bike into the taverna and nearly knocked over the stove.

“We haven’t got the magazines back yet though.” He commented disconsolately.

                                  

Living at the lake. Diaries continued (part 10)

None of the family spoke any English, so I was delegated to serve the tourists. I enjoyed the work. Although it was hard, it was varied and we all worked together as a family, pulling our weight together and working the same long hours. I soon slipped into a routine and didn’t have time to dwell on anything else. I would sometimes watch television in the evenings with George after the girls had gone to bed.  George was very shy and we rarely spoke but it seemed to be a friendly silence between us and as my Greek improved we gradually conversed more.

The family was very kind to me. On one occasion when I had gone to do some shopping with Michalis, on returning I found chocolates and biscuits in my bag that I hadn’t bought and looking up saw a big grin on his face. I had experienced the famous Cretan hospitality many times before and I was happy to find it applied to the workers too, though I believe I was very lucky working with this particular family.

In the mornings as I was tidying the outside seating area and wiping the tables down, I would see George going off on his tractor to feed the animals and later returning, only to vanish into a small shed from where I could hear strange sounds. I wondered what he was doing until one day I realized it contained a machine for peeling potatoes.

I woke one morning to the soft pitter- patter of rain. On going down to the kitchen I could find no sign of life so I helped myself to coffee, bread and cheese, my regular breakfast, and then began to make what preparations I could for the coming day. Obviously in this weather we were not going to be busy but we might get a few locals and a smattering of hardy tourists.

After a while Chrysoula and George appeared both soaking wet and carrying large pails. They had been out collecting snails.

“When it rains,” explained Chrysoula “the snails come out of hibernation and we collect them to eat. First we put then in a box or container for a few days and feed them on flour or dry macaroni. This cleans their system and so, afterwards, we can cook and eat them. Mother will show you how another day, if you are interested.” I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to know.

At lunchtime we had a party of workmen in on their lunch break. They were working on some building near by and called in quite often, one of their favourite meals was liver, tossed in flour, and fried with oregano and red wine. One of them, a young man of about twenty five began to chat too me, asking me out. This boosted my morale no end, even when he told me his name. I couldn’t help thinking of Chris and how, when next we spoke on the phone we would giggle together. Imagine being asked out for a date by someone named Spartacus!

The weeks passed

Sundays were always very busy. It was inevitably an early start and a late finish, racing to and fro between the tables, making up bills, cleaning, wiping, and doing all the usual jobs at twice the usual speed.

One Sunday morning in June it suddenly began to rain. Chrysoula and I were hurriedly bringing in chairs from outside into the covered area. There was no sign of Eugenia or Athena. Still asleep we assumed. Still asleep we assumed. Suddenly we heard a yell and a loud crash.
“What was that?” cried Chrysoula as we rushed in the direction of the noise. “Oh my god, no!” Chrysoula began to weep as we saw her father spread-eagled on the floor and a large hole in the roof. He had been doing some work on the roof and had fallen through, hitting tables and chairs on the way down. Near where he had fallen I could see the long metal souvlaki skewers used for roasting whole lambs. They were pointing upwards. I shuddered to think what the outcome would have been if he had fallen just a few feet over to the left.

“Father, FATHER!” by this time the rest of the family were arriving on the scene. The girls immediately went into hysterics and I must admit that I felt like doing the same. George raced over to his father and spoke.

“He’s alive.” Relief washed over us. “We must get him to the hospital quickly, I’ll get the van.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.“Surely you shouldn’t try to move him?” I said. George looked up from where he and Yianni were lifting Michalis.

“There are no ambulances near here” he told me, his eyes full of tears “we have no choice.” Chrysoula had calmed down by this time and was now trying to comfort her mother.

“What happened?” she asked “What was he doing on the roof anyway?”

Poppy was still sobbing. “There was a leak, water was coming in.” She dabbed at her eyes. “He went to try to fix it. Oh! What are we going to do?” Athena fetched her mothers coat and bundled her into the van to accompany her husband to the hospital. “Nothing we can do now, except wait” said Chrysoula, mopping her eyes as we watched the van bump away along the rough lane.

Being Sunday we had to try to work as if nothing had happened, with three people short, we were kept busy with no time to think. The next thing we knew it was evening and the phone was ringing. It was Poppy calling from the hospital.

“They think he’s going to be alright” she told us with evident relief. “But he will not be able to move around for sometime, he has damaged his spine and must lie flat.”

Poppy had to stay in the hospital with him, to feed him and do all the things I had taken for granted the nurses would do. Not so, the system here in Greece is quite different and they would only give medication and carry out routine medical practices, no nursing as I knew it. A member of the family had to stay and do that. Fortunately Michalis had a slow but uneventful recovery. When he was allowed out of hospital he had a bed put up in the taverna from where he could hold court and supervise the proceedings until he was back on his feet….