Volunteer in the British Army One Sunday, I heard that there was a visitor at the ‘kafene’, whose job it was to go around the villages looking for volunteers to join the army, so I went to hear him. First, he spoke about all the good things the army had to offer: Good and plentiful food, clothes and shoes for free, good salary etc. Then, he sat down, opened his notebooks and waited for the first man to come forward to enlist. No one dared. “That young man over there,” said the village president, pointing at me “went to Polemidia and they rejected him because of his age. Can anything be done?” “Why are you asking me?” Koutsokareklas – that was his name – said curtly, “it’s up to you and the birth certificate you provide.” The mayor understood. The next day, with a false certificate in my hand, I went off to the city to look for Koutsokareklas. He read my date of birth: 10/10/1923 “There, bravo,” he said satisfied, having recognised me. That was it! I was in the army! In a little while, a group of about twenty of us gathered from all around the county. A military truck picked us up and took us to Polemidia. First of all, we were taken to the barber. They cut our hair with a clipper set at number one. They explained that it was to prevent us from getting infected with lice. From there, to the storeroom, where we were kitted out with clothes, shoes, blankets, underwear, shaving kit and anything else a soldier might need. Everything fitted into a white, fabric sack which served as a suitcase. After that, we were taken to the tents which would be our new home. Eight long and narrow beds in rows on both sides of the tent. They explained that we had to be outside the kitchen at 12 noon in a line for food, with our canteen and cutlery in our hands. We got on with making our beds, following instructions from a corporal. Some skill was required because they all had to look the same. We had just had our first lesson. We heard a bugle. It was calling us to eat. We formed a single queue in front of a large container with beans in tomato sauce and a chef. He put a ladleful of beans in each solder’s mess tin, followed by a piece of bread and an onion. The corporal said: “When you finish eating, I want you to stay in your tents. I will take you for a medical examination.” When we got to the infirmary, we had to strip naked – I was so embarrassed – and one by one, we walked past the doctor. Luckily, it was summer and we weren’t cold. Page 101 of 371
“Were you in such a big hurry?” the doctor who examined me asked. It seems that he could tell from the shape of my body and the amount of hair I had that I was still young. He wasn’t expecting a reply and he asked his question whilst examining my testicles. I was very happy to hear his next comment: “Pass,” he said. I had passed. Next, I was vaccinated and after that I had two injections. “Go to bed,” they told me “and lie still.” Eventually, we were all lying on our beds. It wasn’t long before the vaccination and the injections took effect. We were all sick as dogs. A combination of fever and chills. None of us went for dinner. Eating was far from our thoughts. The next morning, they made us get up. We put on shorts and light shoes made from fabric. They took us to the square and ordered us to run up and down. It was so that the injections would dissolve, which would avoid swelling, they explained. The next day, after breakfast, they lined us up in threes. I omitted to mention that all this time, in the camp, there was pandemonium. All you could hear was “left, right, left, right,” accompanied by loud shouting: “You there, what are you doing? Change your step.” “Halt – quick march,” and this went on forever. A man strutted up to us and began: “Welcome to the army.” On his shoulders he had little metal triangles which indicated that he was a sergeant. He continued: “Tomorrow you will begin your training. Whether you become good soldiers and when, depends on you. The first thing you need to learn is discipline. From now on, you will obey blindly any order you receive from an official. From a sergeant, all the way up to a general. Even if you are ordered to jump into a well, you will do it without question, otherwise there will be disciplinary measures. These are the regulations of the army. Forget your civilian life. Forget even your name. From now on you will respond only to your number.” He carried on with a load more army regulations, saluted and turned to leave. Then he remembered something, turned and said: “If any of you want to quit, you still have time until the oath taking tomorrow.” And with that, he walked off. I should go, I thought. But where could I go with my hair cut the way it was? They knew what they were doing. On top of that, the reason I joined in the first place hadn’t ceased to exist. The next day, we were sworn in. No one left. Their circumstances must be the same as mine, I thought. The training began. They explained that ‘left’ (in English) was our left leg, ‘right’ was our right leg and that ‘about turn’ (again in English) meant to turn around. I found it difficult to remember the meaning of all these foreign expressions, but I was comforted by the fact that some were worse than me. Page 102 of 371
There were a lot of funny scenes during training. The sergeant would order ‘right turn’ and some would turn left. He would order ‘about turn’ and some would carry on going straight whilst the column turned back. If we started laughing, we were cut short by the booming voice of the instructor. It took them several days to shape us up. Next came the weapons training. It was madness. He would order something and we would do something entirely different. I was among the first few to understand and I was annoyed with those whose behaviour meant we had to do it again and again. This torment went on for three months. Finally, they formed us into a battalion and called us: ‘Fourth Pack Transport Company’. [54] They explained that when we left for overseas, we would be given mules and our job would be to carry food and ammunition to the soldiers on the front line. Every week, they paid us. I saved my money and when I was given a three day leave to say goodbye to my family before going abroad, I gave it to my mother. All we knew was that we were going abroad; they didn’t tell us where we were going. It was a military secret. With a heavy soul, I said goodbye to my family, not knowing if I would see them again. 54. The ‘Fourth Pack Transport Company’ was part of the ‘Cyprus Regiment’ (see additional notes at the end of the book for more details). Page 103 of 371
Volunteer in Egypt Two days later, they woke us up at midnight. “Get ready for departure.” They called out four hundred numbers. They loaded us up, together with our kit, in about fifteen army trucks and took us to the port. I hadn’t even been on a small boat before, never mind a ship. They carried us on to an old, rusting ship, which to me was like a floating city. Some of us were arranged on the deck and some below. At about three in the morning, it sailed. As we were leaving the port, I looked back at the city lights and wondered if I would ever set foot again on this land. We knew that we were not going to a festival, it was drilled into us, in a war you kill or be killed. I remembered the words of Tsingis: “Wars take place, not to safeguard the interests of the workers, but the interests of the rich.” I still didn’t fully understand what Tsingis meant, but I knew one thing. I was going to war to fight for the interests of others. The name of the ship was ‘Fuatie’. It wasn’t long before it made us seasick. I had never been on a ship before and almost as soon as it sailed, I experienced motion sickness. I vomited so much I thought I was going to die. I have no idea how long the journey was. What I do remember is that one morning, we found ourselves lined up in the square of the port of Alexandria, in Egypt. From there, they moved us by truck out of the city to a desert area with nothing but sand, called ‘Citibits’. The military camp was ready and waiting for us. There were tents, storerooms for supplies, space for a kitchen and dining room, everything we needed. We were lined up to be lectured by the major, a white-haired man who, we learned, had been in the army for 32 years. In addition to him, there was a captain, five lieutenants, eight sergeants and two corporals. They were all British professional soldiers and they were also lined up in front of us. A Cypriot acted as the interpreter. They gave him two sardines – that’s what we called the army stripes – and made him a corporal. “From now on,” he began, “I will be your major. These are your officers.” He pointed to the line next to him. “Shortly, you will be divided into companies. Keep the camp clean. When you go to the city on leave, you must go in groups. The Arabs are thieves. They may even kill you.” He saluted the captain and left. Page 104 of 371
The captain ordered us “at ease” and we relaxed from standing to attention. He ordered the lieutenants to split up and they stood at five different spots around the camp square, which were marked A, B, C, D, E. He ordered “attention”, saluted and left too. He was delegating the job to the lieutenants. “When you hear your number,” the interpreter said, “join your company.” He took the lists from one of the lieutenants and started calling out numbers. It was an uncomfortable process. The midday sun was burning and as the sand was getting hotter, it generated an unbearable heat, which came through the bottom of our shoes and burned our feet. It took more than two hours before I heard my number: 16572. I stood to attention and walked towards the letter C. This was to be my company. When I joined the others, I took a good, long look at the lieutenant and the sergeants who would be in charge of me from now on. The tents were behind the boards which were marked with the letter of the company. When the companies were selected, they separated us into groups of ten and gave us the number of our tent. There were ten straw beds laid out in our tent, on the sand. We secured our guns to the tent posts and unloaded our belongings. We lay down and waited for the signal to go to lunch. “We will have a good time here,” my next-door neighbour said, “the sand is soft, it won’t hurt our back,” and laughed. When it was our turn, we went to eat. We were given some small beans in tomato sauce and a piece of bread about 1/8 of a loaf. We will lose weight, I thought. For the remainder of the day, they didn’t bother us. They left us to rest and recover from the sea journey. At 5am we heard the bugle sound the reveille. We went out in our morning uniform for the morning training. We definitely loosened up. Breakfast consisted of four biscuits, a quarter of a tin of spam and a tin cup of tea. Damn them, I thought angrily, we will die of hunger around here, but I didn’t say anything. We spent the rest of the day cleaning the camp and picking up papers, cigarette ends and whatever rubbish was on the ground. Page 105 of 371
The First Rebellion in the Army For lunch we were given broad beans, for dinner biscuits, butter and marmalade. It was becoming a problem. This situation could not be allowed to continue. We had to find a way to protest. We agreed to refuse breakfast as an expression of protest. I went to the front of the queue out of our group of ten. As I went past the cook, I refused everything he tried to give me. A military policeman pounced on me. He must have had orders. They must have sensed our disapproval and they were expecting it. The others were frozen. I saw them, with bitter disappointment, accepting the breakfast, as I was led to the dungeon. He locked me in and walked off. At around 10pm they stood me in front of the major. “What you did,” he said “is a rebellion. The law specifies three months in prison, but I will only punish you as an example.” He wrote: “Three days field punishment and added, “don’t do it again, dismissed.” I didn’t get a chance to say a word, nor was I given an opportunity to defend myself. They took me back to the dungeon. This strengthened my resolve. I must carry on the fight, I thought. At lunch time the military policeman brought me lunch. I refused. A little later, he came back. He took me, at the double, to my tent, loaded me up with all my kit and led me in front of a mount of sand. He stood there and shouted orders: “At the double, about turn, about turn and more about turn.” I went up and down the mount of sand at the double, laden with my full kit, including my gun. This agony went on for two hours. When he took me back to the dungeon, I collapsed. I needed a long rest. I was soaked in sweat. When my sweat cooled down, it provided me with cool relief in my hot cell. It’s only three days, I thought, I am sure I can manage it. That evening, I refused to eat. First thing in the morning the next day, two hours at the mount of sand. Once again, I refused breakfast. However, they were determined to break me. They didn’t let me rest for long, before the policeman took me, once again, to the mount and repeated the procedure. I don’t know what happened to me, but at some point, I got dizzy and fell to the ground. I suppose I was overcome by hunger and tiredness. He picked up a bucket of water and poured it over me. I was soaked. When I came to, I heard the policeman asking me: “Will you eat?” “I am not hungry,” I mumbled. “Drop it,” he growled. “Will you eat, or shall we continue?” Page 106 of 371
“Yes,” I surrendered “I will eat.” His face lit up in triumph. He took me back to the cell. He brought me bread and water and he waited to see me eating. I ate it and drank the water. That evening the same thing happened. The next morning my sergeant came to the cell with the policeman. They let me out and my sergeant explained that the major had commuted my sentence because I agreed to eat. I went to my tent. My colleagues looked at me ashamed. They felt that they had betrayed me. They took turns to offer me chocolate, biscuits etc trying to justify themselves, because, according to them, the way things turned out, they had no choice. “You are right,” I said. This took them by surprise. They admired me for accepting their justification, when they were expecting curses. From then on, they treated me with respect. They asked my advice, even though I was one of the youngest among them. They thought that I was always right and I tried my best to be right. Our bread ration improved. They would cut the loaf in six instead of eight pieces. Naturally, no one was certain that the improvement was the result of my sacrifice, or some technical difficulty which had been overcome. What was certain, was that I secured the admiration of almost all the soldiers. Page 107 of 371
A Mule is Worth a Thousand Soldiers About fifteen days went by when, one morning, they loaded us up on a train and took us to the port, to bring back the mules. We found the same ship, the ‘Fuatie’ using a crane to unload the mules that it had brought from our homeland, one by one. “Welcome patrioti,” [55] or “welcome patriotissa,” [55] we would say, depending on their sex, as we collected two mules each. We lined up by company and walked back to the camp. Back home, we would ride mules. Here, it was forbidden. So, we walked, each in charge of two mules and it took us about four hours to reach the camp. I really couldn’t understand why we were not allowed to ride. Company E was left behind to prepare the camp for the mules. They drove poles into the ground, tied ropes everywhere, separately for each company, and hung feed bags on the poles, filled with straw and barley. We walked past the water troughs which had also been prepared by company E, watered our mules and tied them next to the feed bags. A feeding frenzy followed. The major carried out a careful inspection and then we were dismissed. We ate and lay down for a while. A new round of training was about to begin. We learned how to keep our mules clean, how to saddle them, how to load them with food supplies and ammunition and many other tasks associated with mules. They emphasised repeatedly that a mule is worth a thousand soldiers! We were not allowed to hit them, even if they kicked us. Their food supply was endless and they were treated like kings. Sometimes, I thought to myself, I wish I was a mule instead of a soldier. The training lasted three whole months. In the meantime, with the small amounts of money we were given, we sometimes went to Alexandria. I had stated that two out of the two and a half shillings I earned should be sent to my family. I would pocket the remaining half shilling. By order, when we went to town we had to carry our helmet on our shoulder. There were frequent air raids in the city and we had to be prepared. We found out that, not too far away in Libya, specifically in El Alamein, tough battles were taking place with huge casualties, including some Cypriots. 55. ‘Patriotis’ (compatriot) is a man who comes from the same ‘Patrida’, the Greek word for homeland. ‘Patriotissa’ is the female version. Page 108 of 371
One day, when we got off the tram – there were about fifty of us – we got mixed up, through no fault of our own, in a big fight. Arab and Australian soldiers were fighting and even though we didn’t know why, one of our group shouted: “Onto them boys.” We put our berets in our pockets, put on our helmets, took off our belts and used them to lay into any Arab we came across. We knew that the Arabs used their heads as weapons, just like bulls. Therefore, our target was their head. The belts were raining down on the heads of the Arabs. They were bleeding badly. Fortunately, both the civilian and the military police arrived about the same time and dispersed us. We were no longer in the mood to go to town. We got on the tram and went back to the camp. I had written to my family and I received my first letter. We had been instructed not to give details of our movements; in case our letters fell into enemy hands. I wrote: I write to you from the country of the Nile. We are all well. Plenty of food, new clothes and shoes and feather mattresses. Don’t worry about me mother. Please write to me about all of you. I would like to know how you are getting on. Let me know if you are receiving the money I am sending and if you have any other source of income. With kisses to you all. I opened and read with emotion, my mother’s first letter. It said: My dear child. I received your letter, which I kiss often, as if I am kissing you. You are asking us how we are. Listen, son. If we didn’t have your money, we would be in poverty. May God protect you. Look after yourself son. I made a vow to Apostle Andreas, that I will light a candle to him. He will protect you. When, God willing, you return to us, we will go to his grace to light the candle and deliver my vow. This was followed by: My Apostle Andrea who has so much grace help our Andreas return to us. And a PS: When I am old enough, I will come find you. With kisses from everyone. Aristotelis. He had written the letter. I knew that mother was illiterate. Her affection covered me like a blanket. So what if she was illiterate, she had her own way of expressing her feelings. She suffered from me being in a foreign land and hoped I would return. She said so in the letter she had to have someone write for her. My poor mother. You gave birth to us and we brought you suffering. Page 109 of 371
Blacksmith One day, just before we left Alexandria, my lieutenant called me to his office. “Your trade,” he told me, “is a metalworker. At least that’s what it says on your ID card. We need blacksmiths, what do you say, do you want to become a blacksmith?” I hesitated. Back home, it was considered a lowly trade. They saw my hesitation and the sergeant added: “You will get a raise in your earnings of two shillings a day, when you pass the tests. I will teach you the trade quickly.” He was Sergeant Philips, a big Welshman whose job was a blacksmith. When I heard the size of the raise, I was amazed. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t refuse. I had very recently received my mother’s letter. Two more shillings per day for them would be a godsend. “Gladly,” I said, “I agree.” From now on, I would be a blacksmith. I was happy to have the job for other reasons too. I didn’t have to exercise and I didn’t have to pull mules. I would put on my apron and go to work like a civilian. Sergeant Philips was in charge of me. I threw myself into learning the job as quickly as possible. I was eager to earn the two shillings. My sergeant gave me a nickname. He called me ‘titch’ meaning small. Never mind, I thought, better to be called titch rather than 16572. He taught me how to shape the shoe in the fire, how to cut the mule’s nails carefully and to fasten the shoes with nails. It didn’t take me long to learn. Philips was proud of his student. The other three, who were taken on at the same time as me, still had a long way to go. The skin of the mules changed colour and was shining from all the rubbing. They kept feeding them to fatten them up and improve their looks. We were the only ones they were not willing to compromise with. When we stuck the red-hot shoes on their feet, they would jump around as if they had the devil in them. One day, I was shoeing a small mule. I had just removed a nail, but the mule must have been in pain because she pulled her leg suddenly and the nail made a deep cut in the palm of my hand. As if that wasn’t enough, she kicked me in the back side and after a couple of somersaults I ended up a long way away, covered in blood. Philips, who couldn’t stop laughing, came to collect me. When he saw blood pouring out of my hand, his expression changed. He took me to the infirmary, where they stopped the bleeding and bandaged it up. To this day, I carry the scar of that injury. There was no punishment for the mules, so whenever I came across that mule I gave her a hard time. God help me if they caught me, but Philips turned a blind eye. Page 110 of 371
At Lebanon’s Front We were ready. Soldiers trained, mules shod and well fed. It was time to enter active service. We were put on trains and taken to Palestine. We camped just outside Haifa. From here, thunder could be heard. Not far from here, in Lebanon, war was raging between the French. On one side, the troops under Philippe Pétain and on the other side, those under Charles de Gaulle were trying to settle their disputes. Lebanon was a French colony and one of the two had to prevail. Pétain had allied with the Nazis and handed France and its colonies over to the Germans. De Gaulle, who was the leader of the Free French, was fighting to remove Pétain and his supporters from Lebanon. Allied troops were taking part in the battles, on the side of De Gaulle. Those were the troops we were sent to support. They were a battalion of infantry, mostly Australians, who were helping to clear the mountains of Pétain’s troops. After two days and nights of marching with our mules, with the major at the head of the column, we reached Lebanon’s border. We were now just behind the front line. All ranks, from sergeant up to the major, had their own horse and rode all the way. We, on the other hand, as a result of the long march, were facing problems with our feet, with the feet of some soldiers badly affected. Naturally, it made no difference. We were there to serve and that’s what we would do. We camped under a big hill to avoid enemy fire. Our column stretched out to around three miles and it was natural that the enemy would become aware of our arrival. We dug trenches, set up our tents and when we were ready, we went out looting! With three very close friends, we had noticed a banana plantation near the coast. The bananas had been neglected and were overripe. We went in and we set to, eating insatiably, the most delicious bananas. About fifty meters away there was a deafening sound and there was dust everywhere, some of which was falling over us. “Down,” I shouted, “they are shelling us.” Almost next to me was a neglected ditch. Without wasting any time, I jumped in and pressed my body to the ground. I could hear the sound of a second bombshell, whistling by. It must have been close because I was covered in dirt. I couldn’t see the others. About ten shells fell all around me, one after the other. I was scared and every time another one fell, I pressed my body harder into the ground. I stayed there, face down for quite some time. Finally, they stopped. A deadly silence followed. Nothing could be heard, apart from the afternoon breeze as it was blowing through the banana leaves. I was encouraged. I stood up and started shouting: “Come on boys, get up, let’s go.” Page 111 of 371
The other three surrounded me. Fortunately, no one was hurt. However, we were all so possessed with fear that our bodies were shaking uncontrollably and our faces were ashen. “Let’s go,” I suggested and started running. They all followed me at the double. When we put some distance between ourselves and hell, that’s how it seemed to us, we heard whistling and banging in the banana plantation. I made sure there was no more danger. By now, we had reached the cover of the hill. I stopped and said: “We nearly had it over the bloody bananas.” Leandros, who had partly recovered, made a joke: “I was so scared, I peed myself.” Zakos went one better: “Never mind pee, I think I pooed myself.” “You know,” I said, “we received the baptism of fire. That’s what war is.” I felt something biting my head. “Boys, what’s biting me?” I asked. “You’ve become an ant nest,” Yiorgos told me, “wait.” They all got busy, removing big red ants from all over my body and my clothes. It seems that there was an anthill in the ditch. I was so scared I didn’t even notice. In the end, I had to take off all my clothes before I could get rid of the raiders. Finally, we reached the encampment and told the story of our mishap. They had also heard the sounds and were terrified. It was the first experience for all of us. After that, we were much more careful. We never left the camp without a good reason. That evening, a large group of soldiers headed up the hill with about a hundred mules, loaded with food and ammunition. They returned in the early hours of the morning. Their noises woke us up and we struck conversations with them, wanting to know how they got on. “It’s total hell. It’s a miracle that we survived. Bullets were flying all around us and the howitzers were chasing us with mortars. Fortunately, the path was hidden by rocks, that’s how we got away with it.” There was an announcement. All returned safely. We calmed down. The next day, the conversation was about what techniques we had to adopt to avoid enemy fire. The next evening, they called a load of numbers again. They were the ones selected to go up the hill. Among them was a soldier called Mihalis, who protested that his feet were too badly hurt. He was in danger of being court martialled. I realised that it was more to do with fear than his hurt feet. He was a good lad and a good friend. According to regulations, I shouldn’t be going to the front line. As a farrier, I was valuable, although not quite as valuable as a mule. I approached him and said quietly: “Don’t make a fuss, I will go in your place.” We would be leaving in the dark and I was certain that no one would notice. Page 112 of 371
After a few hours, with precautions, we arrived. The corporal signalled for me to stop behind a rock. He whistled softly and I saw around ten shadows jump out of the darkness. I realised they were Australians from the way they talked, although naturally, I couldn’t understand them. They unloaded the mule, took the contents of the containers and loaded the containers back on the mule. The corporal signalled to me that I had to leave. During all this time, bullets were flying all around us. Now and then, a shell would explode, but we were protected by the rocks. I began the journey back. I didn’t have a guide anymore. I tried to concentrate, so as not to get lost. If I went the wrong way, I could fall into enemy hands. The noise from the mules’ hooves and the banging of the empty containers made us targets. The enemy were firing at me nonstop until I reached the ravine. Then they stopped and I could breathe freely again. I got away with it, I thought. I followed the path, crossed the ravine, went up the side of the next hill and back down again and made my way to our encampment. I had an unusual capacity to orientate myself easily, which is why I managed to stick to the route. Mihalis, who was waiting for me, took back his mules and I went to bed. It must have been around 3am. When I got up the next morning, I was exhausted. Some, who knew what I had done, told of my achievement in secret. They all appreciated it. “Bravo, what courage,” and “bravo, what bravery,” they were saying. Mihalis never cowed again. Whenever they called him, he was willing. He was upset that I might have got killed for his sake. He would often say to me: “It would weigh heavily on my conscience if something bad happened to you.” “Don’t worry, what difference today or tomorrow,” I would reply with pretend indifference, to reassure him. We were lucky. We didn’t have a single casualty on this front. We were there twenty-four days. It seemed to be never ending to us. The uncertainty of staying alive and the fear of mutilation made the time seem much longer. Page 113 of 371
In Beirut Fundraising for the Imprisoned Leadership of the Π.Σ.Ο. The enemy was retreating. We were following, but we didn’t come across it again. We reached the outskirts of Beirut. We heard, with joy, that Lebanon was now in the hands of De Gaulle, our hands. We celebrated our victory. We camped just outside Beirut. How could we enter the city with so many mules? We settled into a routine. One day we received a message that, back home, a general strike had been declared and that the leadership of our Union was arrested and imprisoned. I had to do something. I approached two to three others and floated an idea. “Back home, a general strike has been declared,” I said. “We all have someone close to us who has been affected by this struggle. What do you think about starting a fundraiser and sending the money to those on strike?” Almost everyone welcomed the proposal enthusiastically. Only one person was hesitant and I had to convince him. “We can only raise breadcrumbs,” he was saying, “it’s not worth the bother.” “At least they would have our moral support,” I said. “Support is what matters.” He gave way and agreed to try. We came up with a plan. For the next couple of days, we carried out an information campaign. We went around the camp spreading the word: “We are here, risking our lives fighting fascism and, in our homeland, they are arresting the leading supporters of workers’ rights and throwing them in prison without a trial.” Our campaign resonated. There were about twenty soldiers who turned out to be well versed in union matters, but hadn’t declared their allegiance before, who supported us when we announced the fundraising. The result went well beyond our expectations. We collected twice as much as we expected. Some even sold pullovers, socks and whatever else they could to civilians, attributing the loss to the war, having only just left the front. The next task was to find a way to get the money to its destination. None of us knew anything about these things. About that time, we learned that some members of Α.Κ.Ε.Λ. [56] had joined the army en masse, following a call to do so by the party and had been dispersed among our battalions. I suggested that we wait for one of these soldiers to join us. Unfortunately, none of them were assigned to our battalion. However, after a few days, a soldier from another battalion visited ours and I heard that he was looking for me. We met. Page 114 of 371
“I am YS,” he introduced himself with only his initials. “I enlisted when the party called for us to join. We found out that you are in charge of a fundraising effort and decided that you are the right person to help us.” “How can I help?” I asked my interlocutor. “We intend to organise the soldiers,” he told me and looked at me questioningly, to see my reaction. “Isn’t that illegal?” I asked, pretending that I didn’t know the answer. “Yes,” he said, “that’s why our organisation will be illegal. We will work illegally.” “Alright,” I said, “give me some time to think about it. In the meantime, we have a problem. Let’s see if you can help us.” I explained about the money we had collected. “Of course, we can help. We have made contact with the Party and the Unions of this country and we can send the money via them.” We sat down in a small coffee shop and he wrote: We, the Cypriot soldiers of the Fourth Battalion of Pack Transport, feeling the righteousness of your struggle, send you this small amount of money, together with our assurance, that we are following, from the distance, your sacrifices for the good of our country. We add our voice to yours, with indignation and call for the immediate release of the leading members of Π.Σ.Ο. [57] I read the contents and was amazed at this man’s ability to write so quickly and so well. “Wonderful,” I declared and gave him the money. “Don’t worry,” he assured me. “Soon you will have a receipt for it.” We went our separate ways. A few days later, he came directly to my tent. 56. Α.Κ.Ε.Λ (Ανορθωτικο Κομμα Εργαζομενου Λαου) means Progressive Party of Working People (see additional notes at the end of the book for more details). 57. Π.Σ.Ο. (Παγκυπρια Συνδικαλιστικη Ομοσπονδια) means Cyprus Trade Union Federation. Page 115 of 371
“Hello,” he greeted me, “I brought you the receipt. You can show it to the people you trust. Be careful though, if you are found out you will be in a difficult position. What did you think of the suggestion I made a few days ago?” “I am still thinking about it,” I replied. He realised that I had reservations. We arranged to meet again in Beirut somewhere. “We can have a proper conversation there,” he said. “You are right to have reservations.” Page 116 of 371
Secret Organisation: Α.Ο.Κ.Σ A battle was going on inside me. I would be getting involved in matters that I knew nothing about. Above all else, for me, was the maintenance of my family. This decision would place that in danger. What would happen to my family if something happened to me? I went to the meeting battling these reservations. He was waiting for me. “Welcome Andrea,” he said, “my name is Yiannis Sofocli.” He offered me his hand in friendship and told me his name for the first time. Until then I knew him only as Y.S. I followed him. We went into an office where a soldier, not wearing his beret, was sitting down and writing something. “Hello, my friend Lerni,” came the greeting from Yiannis Sofocli. “As you can see, we are being careful because we are working illegally. We’ve put our trust in you.” We sat around a table. “Have a cigarette,” said Lernis, offering me one, “do you smoke?” “No thank you,” I replied shyly, as though I was not man enough to smoke yet. “It’s better,” Yiannis said, “I don’t smoke either.” “So, my friend Andrea,” Lernis began, “we made enquiries about you back home. You come from a poor family and you were a member of the General Workers Union. Yiannis has told us of your reservations and we consider them justified. After all, we are not going to a celebration and it’s best that you know what you are getting yourself into. As Yiannis has already told you, our organisation will be illegal. Unfortunately, army regulations don’t allow this kind of organisation. However, without organisation, the purpose and sacrifices of our soldiers will go to waste. We can’t let the sacrifices of thousands of our compatriots be wasted. Our goal is freedom for Cyprus after the war. That’s the reason we enlisted and that’s the reason we are fighting. If the British want colonies, they should fight fascism on their own. To achieve our goal, we need to organise the majority of our soldiers. Only then would we be able to demand what is rightfully ours: Our freedom. Now, tell us what you think.” I was in a difficult position. The things I heard were right. They put into order various perceptions I had over the years. They provided me with clarity of thought. On the other hand, what about the family? Page 117 of 371
“What you say,” I stuttered, “is right. But what will happen to those I left behind?” “Don’t worry,” Yiannis sought to reassure me, “the party is vigilant. It will not let your family go hungry.” This solved my problem. In that case there is nothing stopping me, I decided. “From now on you will be known as comrade AK,” Lernis announced. He went on to explain how we would operate in secret, that about one hundred men had already joined and that the members of Α.Κ.Ε.Λ, were working nonstop towards the enlargement of the organisation. “There are no members of Α.Κ.Ε.Λ in your battalion. You will be the first cell. Our success in your battalion will depend on you. Come every week on the same day and time to talk to us.” I stood. I promised to do all I could and left. This is also the only way, I thought, that we can improve our way of life in the army. In my mind, I was already planning which people I would approach. I didn’t get it wrong. Within a few days our group numbered five. They designated me secretary and the link. Only I would make contact with the higher leadership. In the meantime, I had passed the farrier tests and they stuck a badge on my shoulder with a little gold-plated horseshoe, to distinguish me from the others. My salary increased by two shillings a day, which I declared should be sent to my family. Yiannis would provide me with material. First with some brochures and later with theory. We would withdraw to secret places and study. We were in this area, outside Beirut, for nearly three months. From there we went to Tripoli, also in Lebanon. It took us 48 hours to get there. We camped just outside Tripoli. Around us were camped the 1st, 2nd and 3rd battalions. Four battalions, including ours, in an area of about ten square kilometres. We began contact. The work was increasing rapidly. Our army duties during the day and working for the organisation at night. A sectoral committee was set up and our organisation was called Α.Ο.Κ.Σ. [58] One of the first aims of this organisation was the cultivation of the anti-fascist spirit of the soldiers. We worked tirelessly in this direction. The soldiers accepted the organisation with enthusiasm. 58. Α.Ο.Κ.Σ. (Αντιφασιστικη Οργανωση Κυπριων Στρατιωτων) means: Anti-Fascist Organization of Cypriot Soldiers. Page 118 of 371
It seems that they didn’t know what to do with us because they left us there for about a year. For us, it was an opportunity. We managed to organise 60% of the battalions. When we reported to the sectoral committee, my battalion always came first. Eventually, the officers found out what we were doing. We had informers among us, who gave us away. My constant contact with my sergeant forced me to learn to communicate in English. One day my sergeant started behaving strangely towards me. He had become angry and strict. Nevertheless, he respected me and told me in confidence: “Titch, be careful, the army doesn’t tolerate such things.” I pretended that I didn’t understand. “Take note, I don’t have or want to tell you anything else,” he told me firmly. I realised that someone had given us away. The same night I was giving instructions: “Hide all material and any incriminating evidence, we have information that we have been betrayed.” The very next morning, they lined us up. We were ordered to strip, with the excuse that they were looking for lice and a thorough search was carried out, both of ourselves and all our kit. They even sprayed with insecticide to be convincing. They found nothing! That afternoon, we found out that the same thing happened in all four battalions. Luckily, we had warned them. Page 119 of 371
Clash with The Military Police One day, I went into Tripoli with a lad who was our bugler, to satisfy our sexual needs. I was now over eighteen and it was time. To find what we were looking for, we had to enter an area which was out of bounds for the army. We decided to risk it. We didn’t get very far before we were caught by the military police and taken back to the camp. The next day, they presented us in front of the major. “Do you agree to be judged by me?” he asked me, “or do you prefer a court martial?” I knew that if I went to a court martial, I wouldn’t get away with it, even if I was defended. “I agree, sir,” I replied. “Fifteen days field punishment,” he ordered. “But sir, we got lost,” I tried to excuse myself. He ignored me and walked out. The little horseshoe on my shoulders saved me up to a point. My punishment this time wasn’t simply running at the double with full kit. It was to clean the toilets, empty the buckets of faeces, clean the kitchen after meals and wash the large kitchen utensils used by the cooks. The rest of the time, I went around the camp, picking up papers, cigarette butts, and other litter. My comrades offered their support but I refused it. Evangelos, that was the bugler’s name, did not consent to being judged by the major and he was court martialled. He was defended by our captain, who was a personal friend of his. He got fifteen days in military prison. Evangelos was a young man of twenty-two years of age and as he was burly, he fulfilled the role of our wrestler and boxer. Our captain was in charge of sports in the camp and Evangelos was his pride and joy. That’s why they were friends. When he came out of prison, we hardly recognised him. A skeletal human being with excruciating pain in his stomach. With a great deal of difficulty, he described his experience to us: “When I went in,” he began, “the prison guard ordered me to put down my kit. As soon as I took the sack off my shoulder and put it down, I received the first punch in the stomach. ‘Pick it up,’ he shouted, ‘who told you to put it down?’ I was confused, but I picked it back up and was rewarded with two more punches in the stomach. He then locked me up in the dungeon.” Page 120 of 371
He added: “What can I tell you? What goes on in there cannot be described. You start running at 5am for an hour. Then, you run on the spot whilst you shave and wash. They give you five minutes for breakfast and then the agony begins. They split the prisoners into groups of three. Two are loaders and one is a carrier. They are given two shovels and three buckets. The two loaders are made to stand away from each other and begin filling the buckets with sand, using the shovels. The carrier has to carry a full bucket from one to the other and empty it. Then pick up the full bucket, carry it to the other loader and empty it. Pick up the full bucket and so on. This goes on for three hours. There are three prison guards assigned to each group of three prisoners. If you break your silence for any reason, they beat you up. “In the afternoon, after lunch – if you can call it that – the punishment continues. You have to stand to attention. Someone grabs your gun and pretends to examine it. Suddenly he hits you hard in the stomach with the butt of your gun, on the pretence that it’s dirty. If you fall down, you are kicked and hit with the butt until you stand up again. This goes on for another two hours. At night, every now and again, they throw water in your cell, to make you wet and stop you from sleeping. Fifteen days in there and what you see in front of you now, is the result.” Our captain sent poor Evangelos to the hospital for a month to recover back to his old self. After a few days, we heard a piece of good news, which forced the closure of the military prison. Two ‘Elladites’ [59] from the armoured division got into a fight with two military policemen. The policemen called for help and when reinforcements arrived, they arrested the Greeks and took them to the same prison as Evangelos. As soon as they got them inside, the prison guard began his usual ‘welcome’ procedure. One of the two Greeks resisted and returned the punches. Other guards intervened, grabbed him, stretched his elbows behind his back and held him, for other guards to beat. They hurt him so badly that he died from his injuries. His friend, who was watching this, couldn’t believe his eyes. “You are killing him, bastards,” he shouted. So many blows rained down on him that he passed out. When he came to, he found himself in the hospital. They took him there, afraid that he may die too. 59. In the Greek language, ‘Ellinas’ is the word for a Greek (male) or ‘Ellinida’ (female) and refers to all Greeks. However, a citizen of Greece (as opposed to a citizen of Cyprus) is also known as ‘Elladitis’ (male, plural ‘Elladites’) or ‘Elladitissa’ (female, plural: Elladitisses). Page 121 of 371
He found out that his friend had died. At the first opportunity, he escaped from the hospital and went straight back to his battalion. When his friends heard the story, three or four of them got into a tank and went straight to the prison. They didn’t even try to stop at the gate. They simply drove the tank through it, knocking it down. The first six or seven guards who tried to resist, were mowed down with the machine gun. The remainder ran off to hide. They then turned the barrel of the tank canon and aimed at the guard tower. It disintegrated. All this happened quickly and before the rest of the guards even knew what was happening, the Greeks were back in their tents as if nothing had happened. The military authorities, within days, declared the prison undesirable – they had no choice – and closed it down. They had to hide the crimes being committed there under their orders. When the chief of the military police, at the head of a group of military policemen, visited the armoured battalion to investigate and interrogate, in relation to what happened, he came a cropper. With the arrogant air which characterised the colonialist senior officers of the British army of that era, he ignored the command from the guard to halt. And the guard, obviously carrying out his duty, responded with a burst of fire from his automatic weapon, which sawed up the chief, from his head down to his toes. The matter was never mentioned again. Page 122 of 371
Scuffles with British Soldiers There was another incident, which took place in this area and which is worth mentioning. A battalion of English soldiers, known as the ‘Death Battalion’, camped next to the road leading from our camp to the city. One night two of ours were passing by and without any reason, the British soldiers picked on them and beat them up badly. It transpired later that they did it under the influence of alcohol. That night, I was visiting my girlfriend. She was a girl with whom I had formed an innocent relationship and whose house was nearby. When our soldiers saw their bloodied friends and heard what happened, they pulled out about twenty timber posts holding up the tents and whatever else they could find and went, at the double, to the camp of the Death Battalion. The British soldiers heard them, came out and a wild brawl followed, which went on for a considerable time. I was watching the scene through a window. What happened that night is indescribable. I could hear cries of pain, cursing in Greek and Turkish and thuds from the hitting. Our soldiers considered it their patriotic duty to teach them a lesson. That’s what they were saying proudly the next day. It was reported that there were seven dead and about thirty injured, some seriously. None on our side, even though they were outnumbered. I was stuck in the house. I didn’t dare go through the battleground to get to the camp and in any case, the girl wouldn’t let me go. I stayed there, locked up and undecided until 4am, when we heard knocking on the door. At first, I hid. They must be looking for me. The girl didn’t give me away. My sergeant, who knew about my relationship with the girl, insisted. “Titch,” he shouted, “come out, don’t be afraid, I am here with the captain to help you.” I trusted Phillips, so I came out of hiding. “Come on Titch, get in the car,” ordered the captain. There was a jeep waiting for us outside, with another soldier they picked up from one of the neighbouring houses. He was the captain’s valet, hence their interest. He was the one who told them about me. “Lucky they came for us,” he told me, as soon as he saw me, “otherwise, I would be a deserter. There is no way I would have attempted to get through there.” The “supposed” enemy had set up a roadblock next to their camp and stopped us. The guards gave us hostile looks. Words were exchanged between our captain and the leader of the guards that I couldn’t hear, but whatever it was they let us through. See what can happen, I thought to myself. If I was in the camp, I might have been able to talk them out of it. Page 123 of 371
The next day, they lined us up. “What happened,” the major told us, “damages relations between the allied forces. I know it wasn’t your fault, you were provoked. Their major admitted as much to me. However, don’t go anywhere near their camp because they may seek revenge.” That evening, the German propaganda announced on the radio: “The heroic Cypriot soldiers, who have been in a state of mutiny for some time, defeated a whole battalion of enemy troops who tried to subdue them.” And to illustrate the authenticity of the announcement, it mentioned the location and duration of the scuffles. We discussed it. It was propaganda and no one should get carried away with it, we decided. Our enemy was fascism and not the British, even though, at least for now, our country was their colony. Fortunately, after a few days, the British were moved to an unknown location and things settled down. Page 124 of 371
Army Exercise and Hunger Strike One day we went out on an exercise, in full kit. The target was the capture of a hill. Live ammunition was being used. When we captured the hill, we went for lunch, exhausted. We found a loaf of bread divided into 16 pieces. In other words, each ration was 1/16th of a loaf, just 200 grams. Comrade Y.P., who was the organisational secretary, told me in secret, “this is intolerable. I propose a hunger strike.” “What response do you anticipate?” I asked quietly. “One hundred percent,” he replied with conviction. “Alright then,” I replied. The slogan went out. Hunger strike. Indeed, it was successful. The major, trying to absolve himself of the responsibility, called us to attention and ordered us to eat. No one moved. He left us there and went to find a radio. He called the general in charge of the area. Before long, the general was in front of us. “One time, boys,” he began, “I found myself at the front line. When I complained about the food, do you know what my superior told me? Tighten your belt he said and I did. So, tighten your belts and eat what’s on offer, otherwise you will go hungry. I gave orders that if you don’t pick up your portion within five minutes, it is to be thrown away,” and he left. The steering committee had a meeting and decided that we would do the same thing in the evening. When we refused to eat again in the evening, they had to bring back the general. Only this time, he was accompanied by a lorryful of bread! “Boys, I did everything I could and found bread for you,” he said. We were jumping around with joy. We won! I relaxed. I was worried about the outcome of our campaign. I was the secretary of the organisation and I felt the responsibility. Under no circumstances did I want to carry the burden of something happening to these men. But we won. The hill we captured was still covered in snow. I gave instructions and we collected some money. I called Zakos, who was an expert in these things, and told him: “Take the money, go down to the village, buy three or four goats and spend the balance on ouzo. We have to build up our resistance to the cold tonight.” We were ordered to stay up on the hill that night. In a little while, we saw Zakos and some others, laden with bottles of ouzo and pulling four goats behind them. The fire was ready and waiting. We slaughtered the animals, skinned them, cut them up and loaded the pieces of meat on skewers. Even the British officers participated in the Page 125 of 371
feast. They were over excited by the delicious taste of the food and the simplicity of its preparation. We passed the night under two blankets each of us carried. The next day, we had to defend our position against the simulated attack by the enemy. We used bullets, hand grenades and basically threw everything we had at them. We repelled the attack. The exercise had been successful. We had finished and we headed downhill. The women and children were staring at us, frightened. It took us a long time to convince them that it was just an exercise. Given the level of noise we made, it was understandable. Page 126 of 371
My First Sexual Encounter A few days after the exercise, we had an epidemic of mumps. I was one of the first ones to be infected. They transported me to the hospital and locked me up in isolation. The isolation was a necessary measure to stop the spread of the virus. I was lucky to get away with it without any repercussions. The only thing which appeared was haemorrhoids. I told the doctor. He examined me and concluded that I needed an operation. He gave me a piece of paper and told me to give it to our battalion’s doctor. That’s what I did. The very next day, I was in an ambulance, with a fellow sufferer, on our way to Jerusalem. The specified operation could only be performed at the General Hospital. We had to travel a long way. By the time we got there, it was early afternoon. They took us into the hospital where I was examined by two different doctors and then the nurse took me to the ward. I had never seen such cleanliness before. Everything sparkled. I was especially impressed by the nurses. The way they were dressed in white, with a white hair cover, which left only their rosy-red faces showing, they looked to me like angels. One of these ‘angels’ took me over to my bed and said: “Strip and put on your pyjamas, you have to stay in bed until your operation.” Naturally, I had no idea what she was saying to me. She made me understand using sign language. She realised that I was hesitant to strip in front of her and all the other occupants of this large ward. She pulled a curtain around my bed and came inside to help me. I tried to make her understand that I wanted to be left on my own. She shook her head negatively. I understood that she must have had orders to help me. Shyly, I took off my jacket and my shirt and tried to put the pyjama top over my t-shirt. She stopped me. “Everything,” she said and she grabbed my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. She put the pyjama top on me and started unbuttoning my trousers. This was a step too far for me. I pushed her gently away, took off my boots and got under the covers. From under the covers, I took off everything and put on the pyjama bottoms. During all this time, she was watching me curiously, with a mysterious but angelic smile. She picked up my uniform, pulled back the screen and left. Soon, another one of these angels was at my side. They called her ‘sister’ but to me she was ‘little sister’. She was a cute little creature that looked only about 16 or 17 years of age. She hung a card on my bed, put a thermometer in my mouth and took my pulse. She wrote something on the card and indicated that I should get up. I put on a pair of slippers provided for me – the first time in my life I had worn something so light and soft on my feet – and she put her hand under my arm and led me out of the ward. Page 127 of 371
I thought she was taking me to the operating theatre, but she wasn’t. She led me down a narrow corridor into a bathroom and closed the door behind us. She turned on the taps and gave me to understand that she wanted me to take off my clothes to have a bath. I must have changed colour from my embarrassment. Strip in front of this female little angel? To let her see me naked? I would lose all my manly dignity. She came close and repeated her request so sweetly that I felt sorry for her. I took off my top. I admit that when I went on to unbutton my pyjama bottoms, my hands were shaking. She looked away to encourage me and eventually, there I was, as naked as the day I was born. Even though the bath water was warm – they had central heating – I felt that I was covered in cold sweat. She turned and looked at me for a long moment. Perhaps she was admiring my young stature. She rubbed some cream on my testicles and using a brush, she soaped my nether regions including my bottom. She then began shaving what little hair I had. I was out of control! I remember the embarrassment I felt, to this day. My member refused to obey me. It grew and kept growing. She noticed of course and she was trying to hide her smile. The more she touched me, the more excited I became. It seems that she too couldn’t resist, because I saw her blushing and her face took on a rose-coloured hue, that made her look even more beautiful. When she finished shaving me, she dried me off quickly and locked the door. I thought she was doing it to stop anyone else from coming in. When she turned towards me though, she came into my arms and rested her little face on my chest. I was encouraged. I tentatively touched her breast and she didn’t resist. I lifted her skirt and felt her bottom. Heaven was covered by a little pair of shorts. She helped me by lowering them down to her knees. Still, something prevented me. Perhaps it was the thought of soiling this spotless little creature. She couldn’t wait any more. She pushed herself against me and our naked bodies were on fire. She guided me in. I felt my body convulsing with pleasure. I held her tightly against me and kissed her everywhere. She was writhing in my arms and seemed satisfied. That was it. This beautiful young woman had taken my virginity. I immediately wished that it would happen to me again. She got me in the bath, which was almost full of water. She tidied herself up and unlocked the door. She came to me and proceeded to soap my whole body. I was no longer embarrassed. It reminded me of when I was a small child and my mother washed me. She dried me, dressed me and took me back to my bed. She tucked me in and instructed me, with a nurse’s attitude now, to stay there. Page 128 of 371
In the evening, another sister lifted me up and put some pillows behind my back, to hold my top half upright and she put a tray in front of me containing different kinds of food. I didn’t know in which order to eat it, so I copied the soldier next to me. I didn’t want to be taken as coarse, even though I was. I waited in vain for the little sister to reappear, but I never saw her again. Page 129 of 371
The Operation The next day, they didn’t give me any food. They explained that, shortly, I would be taken to the operating theatre. Indeed, at 9am they got me to lie down on a moving bed and they pushed me along the corridors to the operating theatre. Two doctors and three nurses were waiting for me. They took my clothes off, in front of all these people! One of the doctors asked me to bend over and he examined me. They got me to kneel on a glass table which could be moved up and down mechanically. They pointed at two handles and instructed me to hold on to them. It was as though I was praying. They rubbed a liquid all over my bottom. They injected my buttock and soon I couldn’t feel anything in that part of my body. The only thing I remember was a light squeak, similar to the sound of peeling potatoes. It didn’t take long, but to me it seemed like forever. Not because I was in pain but because I was embarrassed. All I could think about was the position I was in, completely naked with my testicles hanging down, in front of all these people. When the doctor finished, they bandaged me up, put a gown over me and took me back to the ward. I wasn’t expecting what happened next. They instructed me to walk. After a while, the local anaesthetic wore off and gradually, the feeling in my body started to return. When the anaesthetic wore off completely, the pain I felt was so excruciating, that it was as though someone was sticking needles into me. Tears were running down my face and I was biting my lips to stop myself from crying out loud and embarrassing myself. The nurse who was watching me allowed me to get into bed. I tried lying on my back, but I was in too much pain. I tried on my side which didn’t help and on my stomach, which provided some relief. They changed my bandages twice a day. The first two to three days were very uncomfortable for me, but the following three days that I spent in the ward, I was much better. I even helped with the food distribution and sometimes I helped the amputees. Some had lost an arm or a leg and some had limbs in plaster. I felt sorry for them. At times, when I tried to console them, they would typically say: “What can you do, that’s war.” Page 130 of 371
Visit to Jerusalem I was allowed fifteen days to recover and I was moved to the recovery facility. It was a superb location, high on a hill, overlooking Jerusalem. I knew from a young age that here in this city, Christ had sacrificed his life. I was eager to visit it. Two days later, Lefteris, the young man who travelled in the ambulance with me, was brought in to join me. He had a cataract operation and he was also brought here to recover. Everyone ended up here. They gave us permission. “If you want, you can visit the city,” they said and they even gave us an advance from our salary. Lefteris and I went straight to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. A monk offered to guide us and we accepted. First, he led us up a dark staircase, which began within the church and led directly to Golgothas (Calvary). As we went up, he spoke to us in such a pious manner, that we felt we had to keep quiet and listen. He was an old man, with a trembling voice, white hair and beard and a deeply wrinkled face. He looked to me like Saint Onoufrios, whom I had come across one day when we went up to the mountain near my village to fetch wood. It had started to rain and we found shelter in an abandoned old church, which was dedicated to him and contained his icon. The monk explained to us that there are many Christian denominations who consider this to be their holiest site and they have their own places of worship within the area. He then pointed to a simple wooden cross and said: “This is where Christ was crucified. This is the Golgothas of the Orthodox Greeks, our Golgothas.” At the same time as we were there, there was a group of catholic tourists with a professional guide, who was showing them a different part. When he pointed at our wooden cross and explained something, some of them began laughing. I took it personally and got very annoyed. How dare they laugh at the Orthodox Golgothas, I thought. Next, ‘Saint Onoufrios’ led us to the stairs, to go back down into the church. The monk was at the front, I followed and Lefteris brought up the rear. As I was going down the steps, stepping carefully on the stone steps, which had been there since the church was built and had never seen the sun, I slipped, my feet hit the monk and we both ended up sprawled on the floor of the church. Lefteris ran over to help us, but luckily, we were fine. I asked him again and again to forgive me for my carelessness. “God has protected us,” he told me, with such conviction that I was relieved. He showed us the icon of the ascension and said: “This icon is miraculous. If you give it silverware, it takes it.” Without hesitation, I took a two-shilling silver coin out of my pocket and placed it flat against the icon. It stuck. I tried to pull it off, but he stopped me. “Ah,” he said, “it’s not appropriate, leave it now, it belongs to the icon.” I couldn’t react, for fear of appearing irreverent. Nevertheless, I couldn’t Page 131 of 371
accept that the icon needed money. Especially from someone like me, who didn’t have all that much. Were there no exceptions for the icon? With these queries in my mind, we moved on. “Here,” the monk continued, “the Jews buried the holy cross secretly. Saint Helen discovered and recovered it, after many years and after an enlightenment from God.” We said nothing and he moved on. “This is the burial site of Joseph of Arimathea and also that of Lazarus, whom Christ resurrected. Here,” and he pointed at a tiny temple in the middle of the church, “is the canopy which covers the Holy Grave.” He went on to explain that from this canopy, on the anniversary of Christ’s resurrection, the holy light escapes and engulfs the faithful. He then entered the small temple and we followed him. He showed us a stone tomb covered by a heavy marble slab and said: “This is the Holy Grave.” I stood there staring at it ecstatically. This is where the man god was buried, I thought. And it was from this tomb that he ascended, moving aside this heavy marble slab. Suddenly, I don’t know what came over me, I said to Lefteris: “Grab the other side.” Our intention was to lift the slab, to see what was inside. “For God’s sake,” shouted the monk, “we will all die.” His tone stopped us dead in our tracks. “It is sacrilege.” “Excuse me,” I murmured, “I didn’t intend for us to commit sacrilege, we were just curious.” “Pisteve kai mi erevna” [60] he said, emphasising each word and pointing to the sky, to remind us of the importance of the divine saying. I bowed my head in shame. Perhaps in order to change the subject, he began again: “Sometime in the past, a catholic cardinal entered the canopy and tried to release the holy light. He prayed to Christ to let him have the holy light, so that he could transmit it to his faithful and thereby prove that his was the true religion. Nothing! Suddenly, the holy light came out of here,” he pointed to a split in the canopy, “and went straight to the ‘trikeri’ [61] of our bishop and from there it went on to light all the candles of the Orthodox Christians. That is the true religion my children,” he concluded with pride. 60. ‘Pisteve kai mi erevna’ (Greek: Πιστευε και μη ερευνα) means ‘believe and don’t search’. It is the Greek Orthodox equivalent of ‘to have blind faith’. 61. Trikeri (Greek: Τρικερι’) is a crosier. In other words, it is a stylised staff that is a symbol of the office of a bishop. In the case of a Greek Orthodox bishop, it has three candle holders at the top, where candles are placed when in use. Page 132 of 371
He gave us a guidebook which described where Christ went and everything that happened to him. He charged us two shillings for the guided tour, which Lefteris paid and we left. We visited many more places of interest, in and out of the city, such as the cave of the manger, the mount of olives, the temple of Solomon and others. We then went down to the River Jordan and finished back at the recovery facility. We had run out of money. We were skint. Even if we wanted to visit the city again, we couldn’t. I lay down and let my thoughts wander over the places we had seen. I started from the beginning. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Golgothas or should I say Golgothades (plural). I stopped there and remembered the nicely dressed tourists who mocked my Golgothas contemptuously. My anger returned. I wondered again and again if they might be right. The response I got from the other half of myself, the Orthodox half, was an emphatic No! My religion could not be wrong, I concluded and in my mind I told them to get lost. I remembered what the monk said, after we cascaded down the steps: “God has saved us my child,” as if he was there laying out cotton wool for us. It’s a good thing we didn’t break an arm or a leg, I thought, that’s when we would find out if God would fix it for us. I reached the icon. Something funny is going on here, I decided. The icon itself cannot have a need for grosia. It’s not its fault if the monks use it to take people’s money. If the icon was keeping the money, it would have tonnes of it on its surface after collecting for so many years. Someone obviously takes it away. I moved on, bypassed the graves of both Josephs and Lazarus and stood in front of the Holy Canopy. This must have been built later, I thought. When they crucified him and buried him here, this area must have been wilderness. The church, which covers everything, including the canopy must have been built later. Why didn’t the monk allow us to see what was inside the tomb? I was consumed with curiosity. I wondered what was inside. What frightened the monk? How is it possible that God would kill us when I know him to be merciful? Or was it the time when Christ rested and we sinners were not allowed to see him? On the other hand, Christ had been resurrected and had gone to heaven, so what prevented the monk from allowing us to see? All these questions were going around in my mind for quite some time. My thoughts were interrupted by the bugle, which meant that it was time to sleep. I put on my pyjamas and got into bed. I couldn’t get to sleep and my thoughts began wandering again until I found myself in Bethlehem in front of the cave. Page 133 of 371
Why did Christ choose to put himself inside the belly of poor Maria and in the cave? Couldn’t he put himself in Salome’s belly, who lived in a palace? The miracle would still take place. And then, why did he allow them to crucify him? If he wanted to, he could have turned the nails into rubber or even paralyse the hands of the executioners the minute they lifted the hammers to nail his hands. Wouldn’t that be a greater miracle with everyone recognising his power? And another thing. When he got angry and broke up the merchants’ stalls in the temple, because he realised that they were cheating the people, why didn’t he, with a wave of his hand, just demolish the temple on top of their heads, instead of letting them accuse him? Why didn’t he free his people from Roman occupation, as he was almighty and could do so with a wave of his hand? That way, everyone would be convinced and we wouldn’t have believers and non-believers with a thousand different perceptions. The way he left, not only did he not leave peace on earth, but he created a whole load of conditions for men to kill each other in order to convince each other. And as he is omnipotent and merciful, even if men made the mistake of crucifying him, why doesn’t he illuminate their minds, even today, so that they all think the same and stop their differences? Ah, I remembered the words of the monk: “Πιστευε και μη ερευνα” (have blind faith). With these and many other questions in my mind, I fell asleep. In the remaining time Lefteris and I spent at the recovery facility, we grappled with these questions, which covered our minds like a cloak. Eventually, we realised that we couldn’t figure it out, and gave up. Page 134 of 371
In Bagdad The convalescence was over. We were transported back to our battalion in Tripoli. I was back among my friends and in a familiar environment. I made contact with my comrades and found out that ‘the work’ was going well. Many of the boys were joining our organisation and, in our battalion, we had reached 85% membership. I notified the sectoral committee of the results and we decided to arrange a round of lessons for the executive members. Our material was supplied by our ‘elladites’ friends and from back home, by Α.Κ.Ε.Λ. The lessons began with a series of brochures, followed by theory. This was real education and we loved it. As soon as we finished one lesson, we wanted to move straight on to the next one. Apart from these, we arranged a supply of material for self-education. I found this extremely interesting. I threw myself into studying. It became part of my life. At times I was accused by friends that I embraced self- education at the expense of guidance to others. We spent over a year at this place. This gave us time to organise and to set up various services, ran by our members, which strengthened our organisation further. By now, it was early 1943. The news from the war was encouraging. The Germans and Italians were retreating in almost all fronts. Rommel, who up to now seemed immune, was receiving the first slap from a possessed Montgomery, who caused him to run away, leaving behind countless dead and wounded. The allies’ prison camps were filling with German and Italian prisoners. These successes went a long way towards lifting our morale. At this time, our battalion was transferred to Baghdad, but first we helped embark our mules to an unknown destination. The day we left, as we were passing Mislagia, a suburb of Tripoli, my girlfriend put aside any embarrassment. She hung on to me and was kissing me unconsolably. She realised, or more accurately, she sensed, that she was losing me. She was begging me to desert, promising to hide me in her village. Of course, this was impossible. How could I, the secretary of the organisation, abandon everything and run away with my girlfriend? It would have caused serious damage to our organisation. I promised her that I would come back for her, after the war. “At least, write to me,” she said. I promised her that too. We were taken to the port of Tripoli, where we were loaded onto trucks and after three days we reached Baghdad. We camped outside the city. A few days later, we unloaded about a hundred new mules. It was explained to us that the mules had arrived from India, that they were still wild, that they had never been shoed and that we had to be careful. When the soldiers tried to brush them, most of them started jumping around and neighing as if they were possessed. Page 135 of 371
When the time came to shoe them, they just wouldn’t have it. These animals had spent their entire life without shoes. How could they accept irons and nails on their feet? We had to construct a cage, made out of strong timber, which was only just big enough to hold one mule. We pushed the mules into the cage, which was no mean feat, we tied their heads tightly, so they couldn’t move it and also tied their legs onto the four posts. We released one leg, so that we could shoe it, whilst the animal, even all tied up, was shaking the cage. We tied the shoed leg back up and continued with the next. In normal circumstances, we could shoe 10 – 15 mules. Now, one, at most two. It took us six months to break them in. They injured a load of soldiers who were trying to approach them. One soldier, in particular, was kicked so hard in the belly, that he lost his life. He was our battalion’s first victim. In letters we received from home, we learned of an unpleasant incident. Iraqi soldiers, who were stationed in our homeland, raped and killed three girls. This made our blood boil. We were in their country and we treated their girls like sisters. I was afraid that our lot would retaliate. I got in touch with the leadership for guidance. We made a decision and communicated it to the core membership. The decision was: “We must not get carried away with patriotic feelings and take any action which would risk the loss of our prestige and dignity.” Nevertheless, what I was afraid of happened anyway. A friend, who was particularly hot blooded, was on guard duty one night. He saw an Iraqi soldier passing by and without any warning, he shot him dead, with one bullet. He defended himself and managed to convince the military authorities that he called out to him to stop, but instead, he came at him with bad intentions and he had no choice but to shoot him. However, we learned the truth from the other guards. We called him to account. In a meeting of his core group, everyone agreed that he had committed a crime, the repercussions of which affected all of us. All leave was cancelled for a month. He apologised: “One of the girls was my cousin. I am sorry for what I did.” This put me in a difficult position. He was a good and honest friend, I thought. On the other hand, such insubordination could not go unpunished. Another friend helped me out of my deadlock by proposing that we expel him from the organisation. Everyone understood that he violated the organisation’s discipline. It was decided that he would be expelled for six months. This was a heavy punishment and he was almost in tears. He had the right to appeal to the more senior leadership of our organisation, but he didn’t. He considered his punishment to be appropriate. Page 136 of 371
In Italy – The Eighth Army The mules were broken and calm. The eighth army had invaded Italy and was chasing the Germans who were retreating. They woke us up one morning at 2am. They told us to get ready because we were leaving. They never told us where we were going. We were loaded on trains, together with our mules and the journey began. It took two days and two nights before we reached Suez. When we eventually got off the train, we were taken directly to a ship. All the companies in our battalion were on the same ship. We enjoyed meeting our friends and there were brotherly embraces all around. By the time we left, it was dusk. All exterior lights had to be put out, so that the ship was in darkness. Only inside lights were allowed. A number of soldiers were put on duty, looking after the mules, making sure that they did not get tangled up in ropes and hurt themselves. The officers went to their cabins and the rest of us wherever we could find. I found a corner between two large pieces of metal and I covered myself with the two blankets I carried with me. I slept well. I wasn’t seasick this time and in fact I was enjoying it. When I woke up, I noticed that there were ships scattered all around us. There must have been around twenty to twenty-five ships making up our convoy. I worked out, from the direction we were travelling, that we were heading for Italy. We had our breakfast, which consisted of tea and biscuits and then we lined up for an announcement: “Since yesterday, we have become part of the glorious Eighth Army. We are on our way to join them in Italy.” We were given instructions for the journey and we were assigned various duties. In my case, as I had nothing to do, I was assigned the next shift on an anti-aircraft gun. Ours was a commercial ship, but they installed two anti-aircraft guns to provide some protection. When I went on duty, I sat on a swivelling chair and kept my eyes on the sky, just in case the enemy appeared. At some point, I saw an airplane heading towards us. I was confused. In between the screaming sound of the alarm, I could hear orders shouted at the soldiers to put on their life jackets. I didn’t know what to do. I had no training on this bloody thing and I hadn’t even been told if I was allowed to fire it. I was waiting for orders. Fortunately, a British soldier came running over and he gestured to me to give him my seat. I got up straight away and he took over. He pointed it in the direction of the airplane. Another soldier joined us and began looking at the airplane through a pair of binoculars. Every so often he said: “Ready…. ready…ready.” Page 137 of 371
I noticed that the plane was pulling a large balloon behind it. When the plane was within range of the military ships, which were sliding on the water like snakes, I could hear that many of them opened fire. I was expecting the plane to drop, but instead, I saw the balloon deflate and disappear. I heard the man with the binoculars say, “they got it,” and I saw them both laughing with satisfaction. Why don’t the Germans go to hell, I thought to myself, they scared us for nothing. At the same time, the ships around us were whistling the end of danger. The gunner got off the chair, gave me a friendly slap on the back and told me to take my seat again. We had no further incident and in the afternoon of the next day, we entered the port of Bari, on the east coast of Italy. Before it got dark, we camped in an olive grove, a few miles outside Bari, where we remained for a few days. Page 138 of 371
Visit to Rome Whilst we were camped outside Bari, I had an opportunity to visit Rome. I was part of an honorary detachment, which was sent to pay our respects to the Pope. We were lined up in the Vatican’s square and when a man with a loud voice shouted “attention”, we planted ourselves rigidly to the ground. I saw the Pope come out on the balcony and wave his hand. He then made the sign of the cross on the sky above us and disappeared back into the building. The man with the loud voice ordered us to disperse. I immediately headed for the entrance to the church of Saint Paul. I went in. I took a few steps and I noticed a big statue of a semi naked man. I read the sign: SPARTACUS. I was excited. I had read about him and in my mind, he was one of the great revolutionaries. I wondered what he was doing inside this church and concluded that as he was a revolutionary and protector of the oppressed, he had earned his place. I was pleased at the honour afforded to him by modern men, as if he was mine in some way. I carried on, dazzled by the magnificence of the temple. I was under the dome. Right up at the top, between paintings of saints, I could read an inscription, written in ancient Greek letters and which went around the dome in a circle: ‘Ο ΠΟΙΜΗΝ ΒΟΣΚΩΝ ΤΑ ΠΟΙΜΝΙΑ ΤΟΥ’. [62] I was proud. As a Greek, this honoured me. What I couldn’t understand was the absence of the reredos and I wondered how the faithful kissed the icons. I noticed that instead of icons, the saints were depicted as majestic statues and enclosed in protective railings. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t kiss them. So, this is why the monk in Jerusalem called them heretics, I thought to myself. I was particularly taken by the statue of the virgin Mary. The statue was made from clear marble and she was so beautiful, that she put our Aphrodite to shame. Now I understood why God had chosen her over Salome. I walked around her, admired her magnificence and decided to exit the church, when I noticed soldiers of various races and nationalities heading, with particular interest, along a route which led to the basement. I followed them and found myself in front of a big surprise. 62. ‘Ο ΠΟΙΜΗΝ ΒΟΣΚΩΝ ΤΑ ΠΟΙΜΝΙΑ ΤΟΥ’ is ancient Greek for: “The Shepherd tending his flock” Page 139 of 371
Untold wealth was laid out inside glass showcases. Crowns, crosses, mitres, cherubims and many other things, made from solid gold, decorated with bright ‘brigantia’, [63] adorned the countless showcases, which covered the entire floor. Papal guards protected this treasure. So, this is where the world’s wealth has been hidden and caused the people to go hungry, I thought. They gave it all to Saint Paul. What will the saint do with all of this? If I could have even a small piece, I could take my family out of its misery. I could even buy a whole load of shoes and send them to the village for all the children who walked barefoot. With these thoughts, I left the vaults of the Vatican. I wandered around the city and marvelled at its grandeur. We had to leave at 12 noon and I couldn’t go too far. Fortunately, they hadn’t bombed and destroyed such a beautiful city, I thought. I really wanted to see more, but I didn’t have time. I went to the meeting point and we left for the camp. Our colleagues kept asking us what we saw and did and particularly if we saw the Pope. When we told them that we saw him, some of them started teasing us. “You lucky thing,” said one of my friends, “now that you have been blessed by the Pope, if you are hit by a bullet or a mortar fragment, you are going straight to heaven. The problem is how would we find you, when we are in hell?” 63. ‘Brigantia’ (Greek: Πριγαντια) are diamonds which have been highly polished. Page 140 of 371
At Cassino We were still in our camp outside Bari and waiting for news from the front. We heard that the Germans had dug in and were hidden inside a hollow mountain called Cassino, [64] from where they inflicted serious casualties on the allies. We heard the news from the BBC. “Wait until we get there and we’ll see,” a friend said mockingly. One day the major, with a sweet and smiling face, announced to our battalion: “Boys, we are leaving for the front. We will replace the Indian transporters, who have been supplying at Cassino for the last two months and are tired.” He was giving it to us straight. Not only were we going to the front, but we were going to Cassino! We started getting ready, chatting among ourselves. One said: “As soon as the Germans find out that we’ve arrived, they will come out of their hiding holes and run away.” Another: “They had better write to their mothers for the last time.” It was being treated like a joke! Our column moved out with our trucks and our mules. Everywhere we passed, we saw the remnants of the battles. Cannons, both ours and the enemy’s, upside down, tanks on their side, vehicles with their wheels in the air and now and then, debris from shot down airplanes. As we got nearer, the sounds of war grew louder. We could clearly hear the volleys from our cannons and the explosions of their shells. We camped a short distance behind our artillery line, from where the mountains at Cassino could clearly be seen with the naked eye. We took care of our mules and got on with preparing our ‘quarters’. I noticed an upturned ox cart. I began digging a trench under it. I figured that I would be safe under the cart. I came across a large stone which forced me to abandon my efforts and to move a bit further on, near a large rock which was at least two metres high. This was where I made my home. I dug a trench which was about two feet deep and just about my size in length and width. I erected my personal tent above the trench, to protect me from the humidity and the rain and settled in. 64. The small town of Cassino is approximately 300 kilometres from Bari, in central Italy and roughly halfway between Rome and Naples. It lies at the foot of a mountain range, including a steep hill, the top of which was dominated by a historic abbey called Monte Cassino (see additional notes at the end of the book for more information). Page 141 of 371
All these things were taking place in the middle of a pandemonium of noise from our cannons, which were sending their ‘bouquets’ to the enemy. Suddenly, a deafening sound shook the surroundings. And immediately a second, third, fourth, and this carried on for five whole minutes. I remained stuck to the ground. At last, they stopped. I came out of my trench and when I heard cries of pain, I ran towards it. There, next to the ox cart, was a soldier covered in blood and moaning. “Boys,” I shouted, “Selihis has been wounded.” A few were encouraged to appear and run for help. He was talking: “I tried to run,” he explained “but I was hit by shrapnel.” One piece of shrapnel had grazed his head and another had lodged in his thigh and dropped him to the ground. “I can’t move,” he added, “I can’t feel my legs.” We picked him up and carried him to the ambulance. They gave him first aid and then took him away. I got away with it, I thought. We had our first casualty. Luckily, it was the only one. We looked, with curiosity, at the big holes made by the German shells. One of these had hit the ox cart and blown it to pieces. It was lucky that I found the stone, I thought, otherwise I would be dead now. We ate in the trenches, taking precautions. The captains were wandering around, calling numbers. They were the numbers of those selected to go up the mountain that night. One of those whose number was called came over to me and told me in confidence: “My friend, I am not going, I am scared.” I tried to convince him but it proved impossible. I sent him off to invite the members of the steering committee to an extraordinary meeting. Within a short time, five of us were huddled inside my tent. “Friends,” I said, “the phenomenon of fear has appeared. Our friend – and I said his name – is refusing to participate. What do you suggest?” “A body of volunteers,” suggested friend B.K. “In this instance, I volunteer to take his place.” There was no need for further discussion. We prepared a list, all five of us signed it and G.P., who was the organisational secretary, circulated it. Before long, we had 30 signatures. We called it “Death Corps”. Friend G.P. suggested that, as we had enough volunteers, we take my name off the list, for two reasons. Firstly, as the general secretary, I should be protected. Secondly, as a farrier, I was not allowed to go up the mountain and I didn’t have my own mules. I said: “My friends, with regard to the former, I am not irreplaceable and as for the latter, we will find a way.” They left, not fully convinced. Page 142 of 371
At around 10pm that evening, around thirty soldiers were leaving for the front with their mules. B.K. went with them. I wished them good luck and went back to my tent. It was quiet now. Now and then, the sound of firing could be heard, as if to remind us that we were still at war. I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about the ones who had gone up the mountain and tormented by the thought that some of them would not make it back. Two to three hours went by, in a strange silence. Suddenly, the silence of the night was broken by the sound of enemy shells which, I estimated, were exploding about five hundred metres away, near the river. Our artillery returned fire and lit up the night. The enemy was forced to stop shelling. A long silence followed and I was finally able to fall asleep. I woke up shortly afterwards, by a repeat performance. The enemy’s target was the same spot. Our artillery fired non-stop for a long time. Finally, they stopped and that strange silence of war prevailed, like an intermission in a loud music concert. I got up, left my hiding place, put my coat on and stood behind the large rock for protection. I felt the need to see what was happening in the thick darkness. Now and again, I could hear the sound of rifle and automatic fire, as well as hand grenades. I concluded that the infantry must be fighting. A little later, I heard footsteps and I ran over to our returning soldiers. Under the moonlight, I could see that they were covered in mud. I helped B.K. take care of his mules and I suggested that we have a chat. We moved away from the others. “Any casualties?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he replied, “not everyone has got back yet. The report will be prepared in daylight.” He explained, in confidence, that up there things were difficult and he went on to describe: “The storerooms of food and ammunition are behind a mount, not far from here. We went there first, to load up the animals. I loaded mine with food. We headed down towards the river and a wooden bridge, that looked like it was recently constructed, when they started firing at us. There were about ten soldiers looking after the bridge and they told us to protect ourselves. We pulled back about fifty metres and waited. “The worse thing was not the shelling. It was a stench that made us want to vomit. I observed that the glow of the enemy’s cannons came from inside the mountain. When our artillery forced them to stop, we crossed the bridge at the double, under instructions from the supervisors. As we crossed, I realised that the smell was coming from the corpses of dead men and animals, which could not be buried and were left to rot. I had to hold my nose in order to cross the bridge. Page 143 of 371
“From here, we began our ascent through a narrow path, following a white line which was there to guide us and we stopped on a mountainside. Up to there, there was a corporal in charge of us. About ten soldiers were waiting for us. We separated and everyone followed his own guide. I was selected by another corporal, together with two others and we headed to the top. “We stopped at a certain point – you can’t tell where you are in the dark – and found ourselves surrounded by five or six soldiers with camouflaged faces, whilst bullets were passing very close to our heads. We unloaded, put the empty containers back on the mules and they told us to leave. “I took charge. We managed, in the dark, to get back down to the mountainside, where our corporal was waiting for us. When about fifteen of us gathered, we left, following the white line. When we got close to the bridge, the enemy started firing at us again, so we hid until they stopped. The problem is you can’t hide the mules. We ran across the bridge and the supervisors on the other side were hurrying us away. Once again, I had to hold my nose, but at least we didn’t have any casualties. The others haven’t returned yet.” The destruction started up again. “They are after our people,” B.K. said, “they must be at the bridge now.” “Let’s see if they make it too,” I added. Quite some time went by but they didn’t appear. It was dawn. Our artillery was firing non-stop. One behind the other and all together in a frenzy. This went on for more than two hours. B.K. and I waited, chatting. Suddenly, we heard footsteps and they began appearing. We went up to them and noticed that they were frightened and covered in mud. One of them was walking at the front without any mules. We approached him. “What happened?” we asked, almost at the same time. “They hit the bridge,” he explained, “they destroyed it and we were stuck on the other side. We were waiting for it to be reconstructed. The river is full of dead mules and decomposing human corpses. My mules were both killed by a bomb.” “Has anyone been wounded?” I asked. “Yes, Mihalis,” he replied “he was wounded badly in the leg and was taken away. I picked him up and carried him across the bridge.” So, our casualties were one wounded soldier and two dead mules. B.K. and I agreed to meet again, after breakfast. Page 144 of 371
When the official report came out, it went on at length about the mules. Mules were valuable. “We have plenty of soldiers,” they kept telling us, “but not enough mules.” As for Mihalis, the report just said “wounded” and that was that. The officers, who knew the dangers the soldiers were facing, adopted a softer approach. They couldn’t be strict in the knowledge that we could lose our life at any moment, but unfortunately, discipline suffered. The five of us, members of the steering committee, met again to assess the situation. We decided on a campaign to improve morale and encourage the soldiers to fight. We were anti-fascists and here, in this place, we were being given the opportunity to fight them, carrying out our duty to the full. Usually, the silence of the night was broken around dawn. As soon as there was any daylight, our artillery began firing, nailing down the Germans who were hiding in underground tunnels inside the mountain. They still managed though, after the hellfire, to send plenty of their shells over to our lines, causing panic and casualties among us. One of these hit our mule lines and cut to pieces about twelve of them. In the three months that we spent in the battle of Cassino, I volunteered several times to go up the mountain, in place of frightened soldiers. The name given to the bridge, justifiably, was “Bridge of Death”. You couldn’t go across without receiving the ‘presents’ of the enemy. Perhaps the imagination of a civilian cannot comprehend what happens to a soldier in those circumstances. In battle, he no longer considers the risk. Fear is set aside, because he has no other choice. If he allows fear to take over, he only extends his own agony, without helping the situation. For this reason, fear is converted to consummate skill on how to evade danger. I became good in the precautions department. Firstly, I could tell if the shells were meant for us, or somewhere else, from the whistling noise they made in the air. When I decided that we were the target, I learned how to protect myself. I considered that a rock, or a tree trunk, were sufficient to protect me from death. And so, by the end, I almost enjoyed it instead of panicking, as I did in the beginning. The 1st and 2nd Cypriot Transport Battalions had camped a short distance further down from us. My brother Yiorgos, who enlisted a year after me, was in the 2nd. I went to visit him and we talked. He had also arranged for his salary to be sent back home to the family. That meant that the family was living well. I found him to be in good spirits and his morale was high. He confided in me that, he too, was a member of our secret organisation. “Brother,” he said to me, “a bad dog has a bad end. Look after yourself and don’t worry about me. Even if I wanted to, I can’t get killed.” Page 145 of 371
A few days after I saw him, I heard that a piece of shrapnel caught him lightly on his right hand and he was taken to the hospital. Instead of getting upset, I was glad. At least for now and for some time to come, he would be safe. By the time he recovers, I thought, the front may have fallen. One night, after a lengthy meeting, I was given the task of writing the minutes of the steering committee and creating a document to be circulated among the core members. I hid in my tent, lit a candle inside so that it could not be spotted by the enemy and got on with the job. In the stillness of the night, I heard a whirring sound and realised that it was an enemy plane. I put out the candle and went outside, out of curiosity, to see what was going on. Right above my head, high up in the sky, there was a German stukas circling and getting ready to dive. Our spotlights found it and our anti-aircraft guns began firing non-stop. I burrowed back into my trench and pressed myself down onto the earth. There was no safer place. A little later, I heard the characteristic sound of the diving stukas, which sounded like a screaming siren, getting louder and louder and heading straight for me. Tonight, I am in for it, I thought, shaking uncontrollably with fear, which in retrospect was unnecessary. The stukas did indeed dive and disgorge its deadly cargo, but the explosions came from about two hundred meters away from me and I calculated that it hit our artillery lines. However, nothing like that had ever happened to me before and that’s why I was so scared. The next day we learned that it had destroyed about ten heavy guns and killed about twenty gunners. Page 146 of 371
The Attack and Capture of Cassino We lived in this hell for more than three months before Cassino fell to the allies. One very dark night, with the sky covered by dark clouds, so that not even a star could be seen, we received orders to retreat. I was surprised. I approached the Commanding Officer (CO) of our battalion and asked him what was happening. He explained to me, confidentially, that a general attack was about to begin and that the mules had to be moved back for their own safety. We moved back, about two kilometres and camped temporarily. I informed the steering committee, by word of mouth, of the purpose of the retreat. I didn’t sleep. I waited to see the outcome of the operation. At exactly midnight a countless number of bombers flew overhead, in the direction of the enemy. At the same time, our artillery of more than a thousand guns began a bombardment of the enemy, which lit up the night. The scene was indescribable. From where I was standing, I could make out the top of the mountain from the light of the explosions and it was literally burning. The pandemonium lasted for more than an hour. When it stopped, there was a brief silence, before a new ‘musical instrument’ began. It was the familiar ‘music’ we heard every day except this time many more instruments were added to the ‘orchestra’. The frantic sound of machineguns, rifles, mortars and so many others, from both sides, was deafening. An attack was clearly underway. From the flashes of the guns from inside the mountain, I could tell that the Germans were desperately putting up a resistance. This part went on for about half an hour, which to us seemed like forever. Finally, there was silence. We were all on our feet. I approached our CO again. “Any news?” I asked. “Nothing yet,” he replied. At that moment, a messenger came over to him and announced: “The operation was a success.” We were ordered to go to sleep and wait for new orders. I climbed into my sleeping bag and thought about the battle and its outcome. I wondered how many people lost their lives that night and how many mothers lost their sons, whilst they slept somewhere unaware of their loss. Why couldn’t men find a way to resolve their differences peacefully, instead of resorting to their mutual destruction? How will those who died this night benefit? Will the survivors reap any benefit from the death of so many? Page 147 of 371
And what about the other side? What did the Germans who died give their life for? Is it really possible that there are people who like fascism? And then, there is all the material that was wasted in the process of killing people. Wouldn’t it be better if it was made into tools to help man in production? Furthermore, what was my grievance with the German or the Japanese that I had never met or even seen? I wondered if those fighting against us were like me, workers, lumberjacks, carpenters, builders and miners. In order for the operation to succeed, we had to kill Germans. What irony, to seek the death of your fellow man, so that you can live. At about 3.00 am the madness began again, up on the mountain. I wonder what is going on now, I thought. Did the Germans counterattack? I got out of my ‘sack’ and ran over to the CO’s tent. I found him standing outside his tent, in his pyjamas, looking up at the mountain. “What is happening, Sir?” I asked. “How would I know,” he replied, with the same curiosity. Everyone was on their feet again, wondering what was going on, asking questions and getting no answers from anyone. “I’ve tried to communicate by wireless, but I haven’t succeeded yet,” said our CO. We surrounded the radio operator and waited eagerly for a communication. The clouds had dispersed and we could make out each other’s faces in the moonlight. We were all staring at the radio operator. At some point his face lit up. “I managed to get in touch,” he said and immediately added, “sir, Cassino has fallen! It’s in our hands.” Our commander got so excited he was like a madman. He threw his coat on and went off in his vehicle in a hurry. Our lieutenant climbed up onto a rock and announced officially: “Following a sudden attack, the allied troops managed to pull the enemy out of its hiding places and destroyed it. Celebrate the fact.” Some of our soldiers spontaneously picked up their rifles and began firing in the air, in an atmosphere of triumph. It was like Christmas Eve, with embraces, good wishes and celebrations. No one slept after that. We carried on celebrating the win, as if it was the end of the war. At dawn, we saw our CO coming back. When he got close enough, he shouted: “The flag of the Cypriot battalion is flapping in the wind, together with all the others, on top of Cassino.” Page 148 of 371
“Sir, in your pyjamas?” I asked. He looked down at himself and laughed. “All is forgiven,” he said and added, “sleep for twenty-four hours.” We clinked our pannikins of tea with his cup – there was no champagne here – and went to sleep. It was so quiet all around us that it made me feel strange. We stayed in this temporary position one more night and then we marched. We walked all morning and covered around ten kilometres without any resistance. We camped next to a stream and threw our faces in it, drinking insatiably. We watered the mules, had lunch and some friends and I went in search of the source of the stream. On the way, we encountered crews of soldiers who were either burying the dead or clearing the road of destroyed tanks, trucks and guns. I recall that at one point, we came across a convoy of trucks blocking the road and we had to go into the adjacent fields to get past. At one point, we heard a noise like the sound a ball makes when it bursts. I noticed that a mule had become unsettled and I went to see what was going on. The mule had stepped on the swollen belly of a body, which exploded. An attempt had been made to bury it in a hurry, with only a small amount of dirt covering it. We talked about this and the other things we had seen as we continued our journey to find the source of the stream. Suddenly, we came across a small pool around an artesian well. In the pool, face up, was the decomposing body of a German soldier. His belly was full of worms and fat, which was half eaten by the worms and was floating down towards our camp. Some began spitting and others laughed at our mishap. You see, we had drunk so much of this ‘crystal clear water’! We decided to clear the stream. One of our group grabbed his arm and tried to pull him out, but the arm came off in his hands. I noticed some crumbled blankets nearby. “Wait,” I called out. I laid one of the blankets next to him and instructed: “Roll him onto the blanket.” We grabbed the corners of the blanket and pulled him out of the water. There was a really bad smell but the stream, with its strong flow of water, didn’t take long to clear up. When we got back, I reported the incident to our commander and in turn, he notified the burial crew. Page 149 of 371
At Rimini We left the next day. We walked for a long time, I can’t remember how long, perhaps 3-4 days, until we reached Rimini. [65] Here, we learned, fierce battles had taken place just before we arrived and the enemy had to retreat, having taken heavy casualties. San Marino, perhaps the smallest independent state in the world, was nearby. It had remained neutral during the war and, as a result, it was unaffected by the carnage that was going on around it. So, sensible people do exist, I thought. We met resistance by the Germans at the ‘Gothic Line’. We camped on the side of a mountain, at the top of which there was a small village called ‘Sogliano’, which was held by the Germans. The Gothic Line stretched many kilometres and the Germans had built strong defences, which caused difficulties for the allies. From our new position, we began to supply the allies, always at night of course. This time, we had to supply some soldiers called ‘Gurkhas’. These men, in addition to the usual armaments, carried a big knife in their belt, which looked like a cleaver. It was a dark night, but thankfully, it was not raining and it was not cold. The tea we were given to drink had a substantial amount of rum added to it. There was a reason of course. The drink gave you a warm feeling all over and made you very bold. I took two mules from one of those who had not managed to overcome their fear and followed my guide. We loaded one mule with hand grenades and the other with a heavy machine gun and chains of bullets. Another five joined our group and we began the uphill journey to the village. The difficulty was that I didn’t understand their language and they didn’t understand mine. Their faces were darkened with only their eyes shining in the dark. 65. The city of Rimini is on the East coast of Italy on the Adriatic Sea and much further North than Cassino. The distance from Cassino is approximately 400 kilometres. The Gothic Line was another well entrenched line of defence by the Germans and the battle of Rimini, which was along the Gothic Line, was also a key battle in World War II. (See additional notes at the end of the book for more information). Page 150 of 371
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