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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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Father and Mother married in a traditional TurkishCypriot ceremony in Istinco,Paphos...The celebrations apparently went on for 3 days and 3 nights...And everyone in the neighbouring villages,including some Greek Cypriots were invited...The year was 1948....Things were starting to smell politically in Cyprus...The Greek Cypriot demands for Enosis were being made more and more openly...The seeds of mistrust were sown everywhere,and the little Turkish Cypriot enclave (paradise to some of us)had its fair share of it...
My elder sister B. was born right on que,nine mounths and a bit after the wedding...But not without a bit of tragi-comedy...All the health workers in the area was Greek Cypriots...The nearest hospital was in Polis...But most of the births in the villages took place at home under the supervision of a midwife...My mother was in labour for 2 or 3 days when the Greek Cypriot midwife announced it would be a difficult birth,and Mother should be taken to the hospital in Polis immediately...There was one serious problem...There were rumours that certain midwives intentinally delayed the labour of Turkish Cypriot babies...They made sure the prospective mothers ended up in the hospital in Polis where the Greek Cypriot doctor made sure they were not born alive..The fact that the previous two pregnancies in the village ended in still-births in Polis hospital made my father and Grandpa very anxious...
By the third day my mother had turned green in the face,and was in serious trouble...When the midwife adviced them she should be rushed to the hospital in Polis Grandpa send Father on his motorbike (the only fast mechanised means of transport) to the nearest Greek Cypriot village for one of the very few cars in the area....When the car arrived,mother was transfered to the back seat accompanied by the midwife....Granpa took his place in the front passenger seat,accompanied by his double-barrel shotgun...
The poor Greek Cypriot driver timidly enquired what the shotgun was for...
"We are not going to the Polis Hospital," Grandpa declared calmly, "they kill Turkish Cypriot babies there...Take us to the hospital in Paphos town...If my daughter dies on the way,I will kill this Greek Cypriot midwife,I swear to God"...
It must've been some ride...But the mother-to-be was alive (just) when they got to the hospital in Paphos,and the Greek Cypriot doctor there soon delivered my sister B to great relief of everyone,especially the poor midwife...
It could've so easily ended in tragedy of Shakespeareanproportions,because Mother is still in no doubt Grandpa would have carried out his treat...When I asked her years later when she was telling me this story if the rumours were true,she just shook her shoulders...
"Personally i didn't believe them," she said,"but my father did at the time...But when it was your turn the same Greek Cypriot midwife came and delivered you without a problem..." |
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repulsewarrior
Ministerial
Joined: 06 Jan 2006
Posts: 2152
Location: a cypriot in canada
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| Birkibrisli wrote: |
Father and Mother married in a traditional TurkishCypriot ceremony in Istinco,Paphos...The celebrations apparently went on for 3 days and 3 nights...And everyone in the neighbouring villages,including some Greek Cypriots were invited...The year was 1948....Things were starting to smell politically in Cyprus...The Greek Cypriot demands for Enosis were being made more and more openly...The seeds of mistrust were sown everywhere,and the little Turkish Cypriot enclave (paradise to some of us)had its fair share of it...
My elder sister B. was born right on que,nine mounths and a bit after the wedding...But not without a bit of tragi-comedy...All the health workers in the area was Greek Cypriots...The nearest hospital was in Polis...But most of the births in the villages took place at home under the supervision of a midwife...My mother was in labour for 2 or 3 days when the Greek Cypriot midwife announced it would be a difficult birth,and Mother should be taken to the hospital in Polis immediately...There was one serious problem...There were rumours that certain midwives intentinally delayed the labour of Turkish Cypriot babies...They made sure the prospective mothers ended up in the hospital in Polis where the Greek Cypriot doctor made sure they were not born alive..The fact that the previous two pregnancies in the village ended in still-births in Polis hospital made my father and Grandpa very anxious...
By the third day my mother had turned green in the face,and was in serious trouble...When the midwife adviced them she should be rushed to the hospital in Polis Grandpa send Father on his motorbike (the only fast mechanised means of transport) to the nearest Greek Cypriot village for one of the very few cars in the area....When the car arrived,mother was transfered to the back seat accompanied by the midwife....Granpa took his place in the front passenger seat,accompanied by his double-barrel shotgun...
The poor Greek Cypriot driver timidly enquired what the shotgun was for...
"We are not going to the Polis Hospital," Grandpa declared calmly, "they kill Turkish Cypriot babies there...Take us to the hospital in Paphos town...If my daughter dies on the way,I will kill this Greek Cypriot midwife,I swear to God"...
It must've been some ride...But the mother-to-be was alive (just) when they got to the hospital in Paphos,and the Greek Cypriot doctor there soon delivered my sister B to great relief of everyone,especially the poor midwife...
It could've so easily ended in tragedy of Shakespeareanproportions,because Mother is still in no doubt Grandpa would have carried out his treat...When I asked her years later when she was telling me this story if the rumours were true,she just shook her shoulders...
"Personally i didn't believe them," she said,"but my father did at the time...But when it was your turn the same Greek Cypriot midwife came and delivered you without a problem..." |
Father tought in Istinco for the first few years after my birth...We lived in the Teacher's House opposite my Grandparents' house...Built on land donated by my grandfather...My sister B. was about 2 years old when I was born...She got so jealous on my arrival that she devised ways of getting rid of me..Mother caught her sitting on my face,trying to set fire to me with a match,and feeding me to the dogs in the street...When all failed she run away from home,across to Grandma's house and refused to return till I was sent back to where I came from...Grandma had the answer..She told B. I was found on the village rubbish dump,and God wanted Mum to take care of me...That did it...Not only did she return but she went on to become a second mother to me,a role she still carries out with great pleasure and satisfaction...though Mother is still very much with us...aged 88as I write this...
After a few years Father got posted to Melandra,the nearby Turkish Cypriot village where my Auntie Cemile lived with her ever-increasing brood...And it was here that my parents' marriage troubles began...It was early 50s now and the Turkish Cypriots had began organising to resist the Greek Cypriot demands for Enosis ....Father got involved very early with VOLKAN,the political movement which eventually gave birth to the TMT...Under the guise of a teacher exchange program he was sent to Turkey,I believe to get some orientation training in clandestine activities..There he met a young woman,presented himself as unmarried,and proceeded to have an affair....The affair didn't end when he returned...They kept exchanging letters...Father kept these letters in a locked drawer,telling Mum they were secret VOLKAN documents,not to be touched or read...What happens when you forbid something for someone??? Yes...they seek it out and find it...When Mother read the letters she realised the Other Woman was very much in love,and she had no idea her beloved was married...So she sat down and wrote another one of her famous,life-changing letters...She introduced herself to the"other woman",told her how delighted she was to find out her husband had a great time while he was away in Turkey. She invited the woman to visit us any time in Cyprus,and included a photo of herself and us,the two children...The photo taken by Father who was an avid early photographer...The woman never wrote back...But Mother knew that Father knew the Other Woman knew of his betrayal...Thus began a ritual which would continue intermitttently for a long time...Father would have affairs,mother would find out and put an end to them, Father would try to beat Mum up and come out second best...Mother was truly her father's daughter...Formidable in close combat...Most of our kitchen pots and pans have father's headprints on them..Men never learn...and women never forget... |
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stavrizatz
Mukhtar/is
Joined: 20 Feb 2006
Posts: 952
Location: Australia / Lefkosia
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| Men never learn...and women never forget...[/b] |
i like that[/quote] |
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| stavrizatz wrote: |
| Quote: |
| Men never learn...and women never forget...[/b] |
i like that |
[/quote]
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| Birkibrisli wrote: |
| Birkibrisli wrote: |
Father and Mother married in a traditional TurkishCypriot ceremony in Istinco,Paphos...The celebrations apparently went on for 3 days and 3 nights...And everyone in the neighbouring villages,including some Greek Cypriots were invited...The year was 1948....Things were starting to smell politically in Cyprus...The Greek Cypriot demands for Enosis were being made more and more openly...The seeds of mistrust were sown everywhere,and the little Turkish Cypriot enclave (paradise to some of us)had its fair share of it...
My elder sister B. was born right on que,nine mounths and a bit after the wedding...But not without a bit of tragi-comedy...All the health workers in the area was Greek Cypriots...The nearest hospital was in Polis...But most of the births in the villages took place at home under the supervision of a midwife...My mother was in labour for 2 or 3 days when the Greek Cypriot midwife announced it would be a difficult birth,and Mother should be taken to the hospital in Polis immediately...There was one serious problem...There were rumours that certain midwives intentinally delayed the labour of Turkish Cypriot babies...They made sure the prospective mothers ended up in the hospital in Polis where the Greek Cypriot doctor made sure they were not born alive..The fact that the previous two pregnancies in the village ended in still-births in Polis hospital made my father and Grandpa very anxious...
By the third day my mother had turned green in the face,and was in serious trouble...When the midwife adviced them she should be rushed to the hospital in Polis Grandpa send Father on his motorbike (the only fast mechanised means of transport) to the nearest Greek Cypriot village for one of the very few cars in the area....When the car arrived,mother was transfered to the back seat accompanied by the midwife....Granpa took his place in the front passenger seat,accompanied by his double-barrel shotgun...
The poor Greek Cypriot driver timidly enquired what the shotgun was for...
"We are not going to the Polis Hospital," Grandpa declared calmly, "they kill Turkish Cypriot babies there...Take us to the hospital in Paphos town...If my daughter dies on the way,I will kill this Greek Cypriot midwife,I swear to God"...
It must've been some ride...But the mother-to-be was alive (just) when they got to the hospital in Paphos,and the Greek Cypriot doctor there soon delivered my sister B to great relief of everyone,especially the poor midwife...
It could've so easily ended in tragedy of Shakespeareanproportions,because Mother is still in no doubt Grandpa would have carried out his treat...When I asked her years later when she was telling me this story if the rumours were true,she just shook her shoulders...
"Personally i didn't believe them," she said,"but my father did at the time...But when it was your turn the same Greek Cypriot midwife came and delivered you without a problem..." |
Father tought in Istinco for the first few years after my birth...We lived in the Teacher's House opposite my Grandparents' house...Built on land donated by my grandfather...My sister B. was about 2 years old when I was born...She got so jealous on my arrival that she devised ways of getting rid of me..Mother caught her sitting on my face,trying to set fire to me with a match,and feeding me to the dogs in the street...When all failed she run away from home,across to Grandma's house and refused to return till I was sent back to where I came from...Grandma had the answer..She told B. I was found on the village rubbish dump,and God wanted Mum to take care of me...That did it...Not only did she return but she went on to become a second mother to me,a role she still carries out with great pleasure and satisfaction...though Mother is still very much with us...aged 88as I write this...
After a few years Father got posted to Melandra,the nearby Turkish Cypriot village where my Auntie Cemile lived with her ever-increasing brood...And it was here that my parents' marriage troubles began...It was early 50s now and the Turkish Cypriots had began organising to resist the Greek Cypriot demands for Enosis ....Father got involved very early with VOLKAN,the political movement which eventually gave birth to the TMT...Under the guise of a teacher exchange program he was sent to Turkey,I believe to get some orientation training in clandestine activities..There he met a young woman,presented himself as unmarried,and proceeded to have an affair....The affair didn't end when he returned...They kept exchanging letters...Father kept these letters in a locked drawer,telling Mum they were secret VOLKAN documents,not to be touched or read...What happens when you forbid something for someone??? Yes...they seek it out and find it...When Mother read the letters she realised the Other Woman was very much in love,and she had no idea her beloved was married...So she sat down and wrote another one of her famous,life-changing letters...She introduced herself to the"other woman",told her how delighted she was to find out her husband had a great time while he was away in Turkey. She invited the woman to visit us any time in Cyprus,and included a photo of herself and us,the two children...The photo taken by Father who was an avid early photographer...The woman never wrote back...But Mother knew that Father knew the Other Woman knew of his betrayal...Thus began a ritual which would continue intermitttently for a long time...Father would have affairs,mother would find out and put an end to them, Father would try to beat Mum up and come out second best...Mother was truly her father's daughter...Formidable in close combat...Most of our kitchen pots and pans have father's headprints on them..Men never learn...and women never forget... |
At the time we were too young,of course,to be aware of the storms which were gathering...Both withing the family and within our society at large...
From Melandra Father was posted to Sarama and then to Zaharga...All within the same Turkish Cypriot hamlet...When I was about 5, we finally had to move away from our little heaven...Geographically we didn't go far,but psychologically we might as well have moved to Mars...The ambilical cord was cut and we found ourselves in the village Yalia ,still in Paphos area...the Upper Yalia was Turkish Cypriot and the Lower (Kato) Greek Cypriot...I do not remember any interaction at all with the Greek Cypriots,in all those 5 years we lived there...What I remember vividly is the fear of the EOKA...The dreaded new underground Greek Cypriot movement striving against our colonial masters,and for ENOSIS,political and social union with Greece....for the Turkish Cypriots the EOKA fighters were little more than wild animals,who wanted to depose the British before they came to drink our blood...This was what we believed unquestionably...Whoever did the propaganda and the brainwashing must've been masters at this game...For we believed that opposing The EOKA was a matter of life and death...There was no choice...No other option...We had to fight the EOKA or fall into the fires of hell and burn eternally...Our life in Yalia,all 5 years of it,was truly fateful...I can now say it was truly life-changing...More,much more about that later...But there was one stable thing in our life during this period...Our visits to Istinco every summer holidays...for 3 long and lazy months we would return,year after year,to the embrace of our birthplace,to the green heaven provided by our grandparents....These months were truly blissful...
Not only because everything was familiar and comforting physically,but also psychologically...For Father never came with us...This meant 3 months of emotional sability...3 months without the everpresent danger of hot and cold war between our parents...3 months in which we were at peace with ourselves and with nature...3 months without worrying about the EOKA,Enosis,and what would happen if and when the British left us to the mercy of the Greek Cypriots...3 months living without fear,surrounded by the mysteries of the Greek Cypriot language and accent...3 months in which we felt Cypriot above else,often visited by friendly Greek Cypriot people from the surrounding Greek Cypriot villages,heard the sound of their church bells on our visits to their villages,saw the sights of peasant men and women,all dressed in black with headscarfs and dizliks,riding on their donkeys to and from their fields,Turkish Cypriot and Greek Cypriot alike...There were sometimes upto 100 workers who laboured in my grandfather's fields,harvesting wheat or checkpeas or or melons or almonds and walnuts or olives...whatever...Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot alike,all blissfully unaware,or uncaring about the ethnic nationalist clouds brewing in other parts,talking mostly in Cypriot Greek,for most Turkish Cypriots in this area spoke little Turkish,Cypriot Greek being their mother tongue...did I say "Mother tongue"??? How can Greek be mother tongue to most Turkish Cypriots in this region of Paphos??? I will let you speculate about that,dear readers... |
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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The center of our little world was my grandparents' house...It was more like a castle or a complex...Imagine a rectangle...The side facing the street,the only road in the village,was double storey...On the top floor there was the main living/bedroom,a huge area with a fireplace in one corner and my grandparents' sleeping quarters on the other...Sometimes when we visited in the winter school holidays,we would sit around the fire chatting and telling stories...I didn't say much but loved listening to my Auntie B's stories about blue -bearded giants and huge birds who spoke and carried people on their backs to far away adventurous places....When sleep came I'd simply move to the other side of the room onto my Grandpa's bed...This was a huge privilege...Only I was allowed to climb on that bed and go to sleep listening to the crackling sound of the fire mixed with the soothing voices of my beloved family...for I was the only boy,and was made to feel special from an early age...I'd lie there,my eyes fixed on the double barrel shotgun on the wall opposite,feeling very secure indeed....Next to the double-barrel there was the single barrel shotgun whic belonged to my youngest Uncle F.,long departed for university in Turkey to study dentistry...I learned to use that shotgun before I was 7 years old...
This room had two huge windows overlooking the street...They were covered with iron bars and protected by outer wooden shutters...From those high windows we could see the whole village,all the way to the hilltop opposite where the road hid behind our own vineyard...They faced south,and when open let in the glorious summer sun and the southerly breeze...I remember the time when Grandpa had acquired the only wireless radio in the village...He would place the wireless on the window sill facing outwards to the street...in the evening,during the main news bulletin most of the village would gather outside,some sitting on chairs or stools they had brought along,but mostly standing around and smoking like chimneys,listening to the news hour,or half-hour or the quarter or whatever it was...I understood little for it was mainly in Greek,though I somehow remember Turkish and English programs played on that radio as well...After 1958 we were forbidden to listen to the Greek programs so this public broadcasting from Grandpa's window ceased almost overnight..
Grandpa still listened to his nightly Cypriot Greek news on his wireless,but inside with the windows closed and the sound turned down very low....The TMT had become very much a part of out lives,and our destiny was no longer in our own hands... |
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| Birkibrisli wrote: |
The center of our little world was my grandparents' house...It was more like a castle or a complex...Imagine a rectangle...The side facing the street,the only road in the village,was double storey...On the top floor there was the main living/bedroom,a huge area with a fireplace in one corner and my grandparents' sleeping quarters on the other...Sometimes when we visited in the winter school holidays,we would sit around the fire chatting and telling stories...I didn't say much but loved listening to my Auntie B's stories about blue -bearded giants and huge birds who spoke and carried people on their backs to far away adventurous places....When sleep came I'd simply move to the other side of the room onto my Grandpa's bed...This was a huge privilege...Only I was allowed to climb on that bed and go to sleep listening to the crackling sound of the fire mixed with the soothing voices of my beloved family...for I was the only boy,and was made to feel special from an early age...I'd lie there,my eyes fixed on the double barrel shotgun on the wall opposite,feeling very secure indeed....Next to the double-barrel there was the single barrel shotgun whic belonged to my youngest Uncle F.,long departed for university in Turkey to study dentistry...I learned to use that shotgun before I was 7 years old...
This room had two huge windows overlooking the street...They were covered with iron bars and protected by outer wooden shutters...From those high windows we could see the whole village,all the way to the hilltop opposite where the road hid behind our own vineyard...They faced south,and when open let in the glorious summer sun and the southerly breeze...I remember the time when Grandpa had acquired the only wireless radio in the village...He would place the wireless on the window sill facing outwards to the street...in the evening,during the main news bulletin most of the village would gather outside,some sitting on chairs or stools they had brought along,but mostly standing around and smoking like chimneys,listening to the news hour,or half-hour or the quarter or whatever it was...I understood little for it was mainly in Greek,though I somehow remember Turkish and English programs played on that radio as well...After 1958 we were forbidden to listen to the Greek programs so this public broadcasting from Grandpa's window ceased almost overnight..
Grandpa still listened to his nightly Cypriot Greek news on his wireless,but inside with the windows closed and the sound turned down very low....The TMT had become very much a part of out lives,and our destiny was no longer in our own hands... |
Below this room,also facing the street,there were two huge storerooms...
This was where Grandpa kept the produce brought in from our fields...
In summer,donkey after donkey would turn up loaded with the latest harvest of the wheat,or barley,chickpeas,or beans (white and broad and blackeyed) or the olives or the carobs or whatever...I loved sitting on a loft like place high above the action and watch Grandpa meticulousy weigh and divide the produce 50-50 between himself and the share farmers...For by now we were not allowed to have any dealings with the Greek Cypriots Grandpa used to employ for labouring in the fields...The TMT had seen to that...So it was easier for Grandpa to turn the fields over to share Turkish Cypriot farmers,sit back and enjoy the fruits of their labours....Next to the storerooms along the street came the shop,the only shop in the whole area,where Grandpa would sell his produce both wholesale and by the kilo to the villagers...This shop was another place of wonder for a little boy like myself...Again I was the only one allowed into the shop,for,according to Grandpa, women and girls were not to be seen or heard in public...But I was most welcome to come and sit with him,and help him with the customers,or mind the shop while he went on his daily inspection tours of the fields....Grandpa was an unashamed monarchist...On the wall above his desk,in the prime position were the photos,enlarged and framed,of Queen Elizabeth the II and Prince Phillip...
Underneath hang Grandpa's two imperial medals,presented to him by the British Governor for services rendered to the British Empire...I remember a sash,blue and red,hanging on that wall as well...Which I think was used in the presentation ceremony for the medals....Grandpa was very proud of his exalted status,and was both respected and feared by the population around us...He was the nearest thing we had in Cyprus to a feudal landlord...A man of exteme dignity and honour...If I say so myself...His word and handshake were enough to close any deal,whether it was selling or buying land,lending or borrowing money or whatever...By the time my memory kicked in he was no longer the Muhtar (Headman) of the village,but at some time in the past he had been that, and the Money-lender and the Post master,and the sole shop-keeper of the area...I remember him past the age of 65,and by then he was a much softened person...But when Mother was a young girl and woman he was a truly despotic Patriarch...His children,all exept Mother,were petrified of him apparently...The boys would shake in their shoes whenever he called for them,and one Uncle who shall remain nameless was known to pee in his pants when he was summoned to the presence of the Middle -aged Patriarch...Grandpa amused himself by picking on this particular uncle...He would often stood him up in front of the whole family and ask him simple question he just couldn't answer if his life depended on it...Mother still laughs at the memory of his petrified sibling failing to point in the direction of East or West,or failing to utter the name of his schoolteacher...His punishment was immediate and severe...Often resulting in bruised fingers from the horsewhip...Mother can laugh now but at the time nobody was laughing,because whoever dared to laugh would be the next victim... |
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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For most of my childhood Grandpa was the postmaster for the area...I am not sure if he was paid or did it voluntarily...But it was convenient...He had the only shop in the whole 4 villages...People came from everywhere to shop,and while there would pick up or deliver their mail...From memory it came only once a week...In summer Grandpa had a habit of occasionally shutting the shop after lunch for about an hour, to catch up on some sleep....His preference was to get me to look after the shop while he slept but I was not always available....There was no way I could refuse of course...My trick was to disappear when I heard the familiar call "M... Efendiiiiiiiiiiii"....coming from the back door of the shop which opened into the courtyard...Grandpa never called me by my name alone...
He would always add the "Efendi" or Master as it would be in English for a child...."Master M..........."That was my que to disappear out the huge front door which led into the garden,if I wasn't in the mood for playing shopkeeper for an hour or so...
Anyway, it was one of those days when Grandpa was fast on his siesta,and my sister B. and I were reading our comic books in the big room upstairs in front of one of the windows.....We were disturbed by a voice from the street...A boy,somewhat older than my sister, who was about 10 at the time, had come to post a letter...They knew to come to the window and call out for someone to go down and recieve the letter...
I didnt want to interrupt my reading,so I asked my sister to attend to it...
B.was in a playful mood...She went to the window and seeing it was this particular boy she knew had a crush on her decided to have some fun...
"Throw the envelope up and see if I can catch it," she said to the blushing boy in the street...He tried a few times without success...B.was getting impatient..."Are you a boy or a weak little girl???" she cried, "throw it harder!"...The boy did,and we all watched the envelope rise high on a gust of wind and disappear above the window and onto the roof...
"That was an official letter,my father would kill me if it is lost!",cried the unfortunate fellow...His face turned red and he was in real danger of breaking into tears...B.had not finished having her fun...
"You see that patch of stinging nettle over there...If you go and roll in it,I will go to the roof and get your letter..."
I watched in horror and fascination as the boy in his short pants walked to the nettle patch and lay down slowly closing his eyes....After a couple of rolls he rose and walked out,tears running down his face,which was turning fast into the colour of a lobster thrown into boiling water....He said nothing and walked away wiping his tears with the end of his short sleeved shirt...
"Why did you do that for???" I asked,totally amazed...
"That would teach him a lesson for having eyes on me," said B. triumphantly..."Now be a good boy and go and fetch that letter from the roof..." |
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halil
Villager
Joined: 06 Sep 2006
Posts: 27
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Birkibrisli gardash ...... i am reading your story with great interest .
with regards. |
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repulsewarrior
Ministerial
Joined: 06 Jan 2006
Posts: 2152
Location: a cypriot in canada
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| halil wrote: |
Birkibrisli gardash ...... i am reading your story with great interest .
with regards. |
Great to hear it,halil...It would be nice if some of my other readers can respond too...There are enough clicks to indicate there are quite of few people reading this thread...BTW,I am away from my computer...Will continue with the story very soon...Cheers...Birxxx |
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| Birkibrisli wrote: |
For most of my childhood Grandpa was the postmaster for the area...I am not sure if he was paid or did it voluntarily...But it was convenient...He had the only shop in the whole 4 villages...People came from everywhere to shop,and while there would pick up or deliver their mail...From memory it came only once a week...In summer Grandpa had a habit of occasionally shutting the shop after lunch for about an hour, to catch up on some sleep....His preference was to get me to look after the shop while he slept but I was not always available....There was no way I could refuse of course...My trick was to disappear when I heard the familiar call "M... Efendiiiiiiiiiiii"....coming from the back door of the shop which opened into the courtyard...Grandpa never called me by my name alone...
He would always add the "Efendi" or Master as it would be in English for a child...."Master M..........."That was my que to disappear out the huge front door which led into the garden,if I wasn't in the mood for playing shopkeeper for an hour or so...
Anyway, it was one of those days when Grandpa was fast on his siesta,and my sister B. and I were reading our comic books in the big room upstairs in front of one of the windows.....We were disturbed by a voice from the street...A boy,somewhat older than my sister, who was about 10 at the time, had come to post a letter...They knew to come to the window and call out for someone to go down and recieve the letter...
I didnt want to interrupt my reading,so I asked my sister to attend to it...
B.was in a playful mood...She went to the window and seeing it was this particular boy she knew had a crush on her decided to have some fun...
"Throw the envelope up and see if I can catch it," she said to the blushing boy in the street...He tried a few times without success...B.was getting impatient..."Are you a boy or a weak little girl???" she cried, "throw it harder!"...The boy did,and we all watched the envelope rise high on a gust of wind and disappear above the window and onto the roof...
"That was an official letter,my father would kill me if it is lost!",cried the unfortunate fellow...His face turned red and he was in real danger of breaking into tears...B.had not finished having her fun...
"You see that patch of stinging nettle over there...If you go and roll in it,I will go to the roof and get your letter..."
I watched in horror and fascination as the boy in his short pants walked to the nettle patch and lay down slowly closing his eyes....After a couple of rolls he rose and walked out,tears running down his face,which was turning fast into the colour of a lobster thrown into boiling water....He said nothing and walked away wiping his tears with the end of his short sleeved shirt...
"Why did you do that for???" I asked,totally amazed...
"That would teach him a lesson for having eyes on me," said B. triumphantly..."Now be a good boy and go and fetch that letter from the roof..." |
The entrance to the main housing complex was not from the street...We had to go into a side alley and turn right to be faced by the huge wallnut main entrance...Once inside you found yourself in the day living room. This was where we spend the hottest part of the day in summer...The other side of this space faced the open courtyard...so if we opened the front doors, we were visited by the westerly winds making the hottest part of the day like a picnic under heavy pine trees on a mountain...Tacked away on the left there was a hole in the wall which led to Alladin's cave,as we called it....It was in fact Grandma's own storeroom...There were shelves on every wall plus tens of huge earthenware jars ,big enough to climb in...They were full of our own produce,what was needed to run the big household....Olives and olive oil,wallnuts and almonds,dried figs and carob syrup,all sorts of legumes (beans,chickpeas,broadbeans,black-eyed beans), homemade bread and paluze and sucuk (these were sweets made from grape juice and the latter stuffed with almonds and hugging a long string in the middle) etc etc...This place was forbidden to us,children.
But like all things forbidden it has a fascination for us which was irressistable....B. and I would dare each other to go in and pinch whatever goodies we could,to be eaten secretly out in the gardens or the fields...It took me some time tor realise that I would often get into trouble for pinching things from the pantry while B. never seemed to get caught...My punishment was swift...hair or ears pulled skillfully by Grandma...or if she was in a particularly sadistic mood,a masterly Chinese burn which would hurt like hell but leave no mark on the skin...
B.was immune to any punishment because she was the big favourite of Grandma...She literally couldn't do any wrong in Granma's eyes...Once I worked this out I refused to play the silly game of goody-stealing,leaving it to B. to be the deliverer of the heavenly stuff...The other creatures who had free access to this room was the house cats...There seemed to be an army of them...A voluntary army which would keep the mice and rats at bay...I remember the occassional mouse or rat brought out from the pantry by the cat-team...Sometimes the cats teamed up and attacked any snake which dared to approach the house,often coming out the victors...
The pantry was the place where Grandma hid things she didn't want Granpa to see...for he never ventured in that space,being satified to be the master of the shop and the other two main storage rooms facing the street...This reminds me of the William Tell incident with the oranges...
Well before the EOKA and TMT,and probably well before Grandpa started his shop,Greek Cypriots from the neighbouring villages used to bring fresh fruit and vegetables on donkey-back and sell them to the Turkish Cypriots in Istinco...On one such occasion the fruit were oranges....The Greek Cypriot men approached Grandpa and the other men sitting at the coffee shop and made their offerings...Seeing that the oranges were not of the usual high quality Grandpa and the others refused to buy any...The sellers were not too discouraged..."It's okey if you don't buy them," they said sitting down for coffee and lokums, "we will send our wives tomorow to sell it to your women"...Grandpa was not impressed...When he returned home he made a point of telling Grandma not to buy any oranges the next day if any Greek Cypriot women turned up at the door...The next day the Greek Cypriot women came and of course Grandma didn't have the face to refuse...She brought a big basket full and hid them in the pantry telling her brood not to say anything to their father about the oranges...When Grandpa came home for lunch,for his usual fried eggs and hellim (halloumi) all kept their mounths shut except Uncle Kemal..."Grandma brought some oranges today,' he blurted out,"would you like some with your lunch???"..."What a good idea," hissed Grandpa going white,"tell your mother to bring them all"...When Grandma produced the oranges Grandpa simply took her by the hand an led her outside....There he stood her against the wall and from 10 paces proceeded to one by one throw the oranges at his unfortunate wife who did her best to cover her head and stomach...He was obviously aiming more to miss than hit,and soon all the oranges had exploded against the wall...Grandpa stormed off without having his lunch...When she composed herself Grandma walked into the pantry and came out with a handful of chilli flakes...She took Uncle Kemal by the ear and led him upstairs to the living room where Grandpa had his lunch...She sprinkled all the chilli on the fried eggs and made Uncle Kemal eat it all... |
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erolz
Site Admin
Joined: 11 Aug 2005
Posts: 4211
Location: Kyrenia / Girne
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| Birkibrisli I too am reading your posts with great intertest and thank you for the effort involved in making them |
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Birkibrisli
Deputy
Joined: 29 Aug 2005
Posts: 1466
Location: Australia
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| erolz wrote: |
| Birkibrisli I too am reading your posts with great intertest and thank you for the effort involved in making them |
Thanks,Erol...Good to hear from you...Good luck with the upcoming elections....I am watching with great interest...Should be able to write another post in this tread later on today.... |
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