The 19th Son

The Family and the Responsibilities Increase It was a Sunday in Spring. I was sitting in the town square, in a ‘kafenio’, discussing the political situation with a group of friends, when a young girl arrived on her bike to announce: “Mr Andreas, your wife has given birth.” “What did she have?” I asked, full of curiosity. “A daughter, she had a daughter,” the young girl told me. I jumped up with joy. “Yiorgo,” I called out to the owner, “drinks for the patrons on me.” And I left happily on a motorbike I used for transport. Now I had a daughter. I kissed my wife for her achievement and she was proud for giving me what I longed for. Soon though, when my enthusiasm subsided, I began to feel the weight of responsibility. Now, on top of everything else, I would have to provide a dowry for my daughter. I consoled myself that I had plenty of time before she reached eighteen. I enjoyed sport. I became a good spear fisherman and a formidable shooter. I distributed to the neighbours, free of charge, the fish and the partridges I brought home. I brought back so many my missus got fed up with them. I always celebrated my name day, on 30 November with partridges. My son Nikos was going to school and producing excellent results, something I was proud of. Around this time, I got it into my head to make machinery for aggregate. I looked for an area next to the sea and found it in Kissonerga, a village outside the town of Paphos. I rented it and constructed a ‘breaker’ and industrial sieves. I installed them in the area I rented and began production. It was something original. I was the first person who dared to process the stones the sea spewed out. For this achievement, the government granted me a franchise over part of the seashore. The work was going well until the winter arrived. I had built the installation on top of a small mount. The height, from sea level to the installation, was more than ten metres and the distance, from the mount to the sea, was about a hundred metres. There was an almighty storm, the likes of which no one could remember. The waves crushed, one behind the other and flooded the facilities, forcing us to stop work. Neither I, nor anyone else, ever expected that the sea would bother us. Even so, one day when I went shooting in the area with a couple of friends, I thought I would have a quick look at the installation. We were all shocked. The small mount had collapsed Page 201 of 371

and the machinery was scattered in the sea, with the waves pounding it wildly, as if to take revenge for my audacity to use the sea’s property. I rejected the suggestions of my comrades to return and we carried on shooting. I didn’t want to ruin their enjoyment with my personal problem. However, I felt a pain around my abdomen, but I said nothing. Later, I discovered that I had suffered an umbilical hernia. That day, I missed every partridge I shot at, even though I had plenty of opportunities. It was a heavy blow. Ten years’ worth of effort going to waste. These installations cost me everything I had – around three thousand pounds which, for that time, was an absolute fortune. To put it into perspective, the house I bought, which included two bedrooms, a small reception room, kitchen etc cost me £1,350. In other words, I was ruined financially. And if that wasn’t enough, we were still in 1962 and although the armed struggle of EOKA had finished, we had issues with the Turks. The workshop was working for free, making armour used to convert tractors into armoured vehicles. They were used in the attack and capture of ‘Mouttallos’, the Turkish quarter of Paphos. The British colonialists managed to separate the Cypriot people into Greeks and Turks and the conflict was reaching serious dimensions. I remember well how surprised I was when Makarios came to Paphos to address a large, pulsating public gathering after the ‘Zurich Agreement’. “Cypriot people,” he began, “we have won.” His entire speech centred around the accolades of our “victory”. I found the illusion he was creating extremely irritating. I knew that the agreement reached in Zurich not only did not solve the Cyprus problem, but it also created the prerequisite for tearing the two communities apart. Later Makarios, as president of the republic, realised his mistake and tried to correct it. The situation then was so unsettled that we were doing nothing but run back and forth to the guard posts, guarding our sector. As a veteran, with my experience in guns, I spent my time on top of a machinegun with my finger on the trigger. Page 202 of 371

Emigrating to London and Reconnecting with The Party Financially, I was getting deeper into debt. The bank would not extend my borrowing facility. I used everything I owned, the house, the shop, as collateral. I had no courage left to fight in those conditions. I asked my brother Aristotelis, who was already in London, for a formal invitation and I left for London. I left behind my homeland, which I loved so much and served in so many ways, and my family, with a wife and three children. It was the beginning of 1964. Three of my siblings were already in London. Theodoros, Aristotelis and Ermione. They all toiled every day to make a living. I went to work as a welder. The country was industrialised and you could only specialise in one thing. It was different from Cyprus, where you did everything. I cleared £15 a week. I sent £10 to the family and kept the other £5 for myself. I got by. I reconnected with the party. Yiannis Sofocli was in London, on behalf of the Central Committee, to reorganise the Cypriot groups. We were organised separately from the British because of the language barrier and we had our own guidance and our own building. I was put in charge of the youth movement again. I formed a dance troupe of folkloric dancing and we performed in the community. It was part of our effort to maintain our cultural heritage. Our mass organisation was called Ε.Κ.Α. (Ενωσης Κυπριων Αγγλιας) which means Union of Cypriots of England. I was its secretary for a considerable time. The Communist Party of Britain took the decision that the Cypriot teams had to be absorbed into their party. According to them, you couldn’t have a party within a party. They had a point, but what could the Cypriot communists contribute, given that they couldn’t speak the language and therefore could not participate in discussions or decision making? My reaction was negative. The party went ahead with the decision of the British communist party, without considering the objections of the Cypriot immigrants. A small number of senior members supported the decision as being the right one, in spite of the dismantling of the Cypriot groups and the withering of the Cypriot movement. The newspaper ‘Vema’ went from being the instrument of the Cypriot community, to being a second instrument of the British communist party and almost stopped concerning itself with the problems of the community. As time went by, it became more and more evident that the decision was a mistake. Not because, out of stubbornness, we didn’t make any effort, but because we felt helpless not being able to take part in the decision-making process. Page 203 of 371

Α.Κ.Ε.Λ. was monitoring the downward slide and after two years, it decided to reorganise the lost assets, forming groups which were exclusively for its members, with guidance coming directly from the party itself. The decision was personally delivered by comrade Fantis, the party’s deputy General Secretary. He took me aside to discuss it. Our biggest problem was finding a suitable member who would be salaried and who would undertake the guidance. We considered all the senior members. They all had their jobs, their personal problems, but someone had to do it. By this time, I had a small dress factory which employed about sixty workers, both men and women. I created it starting from nothing. My friend Fantis concluded that I was the only one who could carry out the required duties, naturally if I could overcome my personal difficulties. We widened the discussion by bringing in some more senior members and they also concluded that it had to be me. I made a proposal to my son, who was by now my partner, and he agreed to take charge of the factory. Therefore, I was free. In a General Assembly of the members, the Guiding Committee was elected and I accepted the post of Secretary. I suggested that I take only half the allocated salary and also use my own vehicle, so that the party wouldn’t have to buy one. It was hard work. We had to bring back the disbursed members and we had to do it despite the objections from the members who had joined the British communist party. We set up teams in London and in other cities. We worked hard. The years had taken their toll on me. I realised that I could no longer carry the burden of guiding the members. I had to be replaced. In any case, I had managed to save some money and it was time for me to return home. Stelios was an old senior member of the party, who had been a member of the secretariat, but was removed because he committed an indiscretion. He was now an ordinary member. I remember his apology for his indiscretion, which was so sincere it moved me. On a visit to Cyprus, I took the opportunity to discuss the matter with Papis and he promised me that he would put it to the Central Committee. My proposal was clear. From our existing assets in London, Stelios was the only one who could undertake the responsibility. A short time later, I received a letter, which outlined the decision of the Central Committee to accept Stelios and giving me permission to be repatriated. And so, Stelios took over and I went back to my business which needed me. The business was growing and I wanted to go back home. My house was ready, I had 30 ‘Stremmata’ [83] of land and about £30,000 in cash. I could live in my homeland. Page 204 of 371

My mind was always on the land that bore me and I always missed being among friends and acquaintances. I knew that the situation back home was unsettled. Makarios was in power in Cyprus and the junta of Papadopoulos ruled Greece. The Greek junta was totally against Makarios and they had already arranged three assassination attempts, with the help of the members of the illegal organisation, calling itself EOKA-B. They were a small minority, who were still seduced by the prospect of uniting Cyprus with Greece. They did not take into consideration the political conditions, nor the reaction of the Turkish community. In any case, the Zurich Agreement provided for the Turkish Cypriots to govern Cyprus jointly with the Greek Cypriots, even though they made up only 17% of the population. Makarios declared Cyprus an independent state and encouraged closer relations with other independent countries. For the junta in Greece, this was an insult. Makarios had to be bypassed, even if he had to be murdered. That was the reason for the failed assassination attempts. The junta was ruthless. 83. ‘Stemmata’ singular ‘stremma’ (Greek: Στρεμματα, singular: Στρεμμα) is the Greek measurement most commonly used to describe the size of an area. It measures 1,000 square metres Page 205 of 371

Back to Cyprus – Coup So, I notified my family of my decision, I bought a new car and left with my wife and daughter for my homeland. I drove through Europe without any difficulty, until I reached the Greek border with Yugoslavia. The Greek border guards made life so difficult for us that I almost turned back, intending to travel to Cyprus via Turkey. Finally, they let us through. We reached Piraeus, boarded a ship and eventually arrived in our homeland. It was the 15th of June 1974. We lived with relatives for a few days until we furnished our house. I had already ordered the furniture from London. I bought more items, completed the household equipment and we moved into our own home. It was a small villa, with all the comforts and a large garden, where we planted flowers and trees to make it look nice. We lived in an area with very few houses, which was just what I needed, following the turbulent life of the cities. I couldn’t stand doing nothing, but on the other hand I wanted a job which was not too demanding. I reached an agreement with two civil servants to form a partnership and open an Estate Agency combined with an Architectural Office. I would run the office, as my partners were already employed by the government. On Monday, 15th of July 1974, at 8am, I opened the office door and went in, together with the one and only person we employed, a woman who was waiting for me. Before we could settle in, around 8.10am, we heard the deafening sounds of exploding bombs coming from nearby. Perplexed, we looked out of the window and what we saw was indescribable. Our office was in the city centre near Eleftheria’s Square. From our vantage point, we could see the presidential palace on fire, the government offices a little further on from Γ.Σ.Π. (Nicosia’s football ground) in ruins from the tank bombardment and we could hear the continuous sound of machine gun fire. We realised that a battle was taking place. We turned on the radio, but it was not transmitting anything. The roads below us filled with armed soldiers. We saw them driving around in army jeeps as if possessed, firing in the air, putting fear into people everywhere and imposing a lockdown. Now and then, we could hear the sirens of ambulances carrying the wounded to hospitals. I heard a girl who worked in a neighbouring office say: “Coup, it must be a coup taking place.” Trembling with fear she said, “my husband is a policeman,” and started crying. I tried to console her as best I could. I was the only man there and I found myself surrounded by girls, who left their offices and gathered in ours, obviously hoping that I would somehow protect them. We remained in our office, on one of the higher floors. We were hoping for at least an Page 206 of 371

announcement from the radio providing clarification of the situation, but the radio only broadcast war marches whilst outside the shooting continued. It occurred to me that I should call my wife and I recommended to her that they all stay indoors. I explained that something bad was taking place and that I would get home as soon as I could. As soon as I finished my call, I heard the radio announce: “People of Cyprus, the revolution was successful, Makarios no longer exists, Makarios is dead.” I felt a tingle of fear and sadness go through my body. What I had just heard meant a lot. They killed Makarios, they captured the radio station and announced their victory. The girl whose husband was a policeman fainted. The radio kept repeating triumphantly: “Makarios is dead. The dictator Makarios no longer exists.” We were all thinking the same thing, how to get to our homes. We remained locked in until 11am. In the meantime, every now and then I called home and gave them courage. Finally, I said: “Girls, I am going to try to get home and what will be, will be.” “I will come with you,” said the girl from our office. “Me too,” said another, whose house was on my way home. Using my experience as a veteran, I worked out exactly where the battles were taking place and, in my mind, I marked out a route to follow. The two girls and I went down to street level, found the car and with numerous precautions, I headed off. I passed very close to the battles and just as I calculated, we did not come across any roadblocks. I dropped the girls at their homes and reached my own home around noon. “It’s good you came home dad,” my ashen-faced daughter told me, “we were going out of our minds with worry.” “There is no need for you to worry,” I recommended to them calmly, “we are not in any danger here.” My house was situated eight kilometres outside the city centre, near the airport. From here, I could see almost the whole city. I went out to the veranda. Smoke was coming up from the presidential palace, machine gun fire could be heard around the area of Ρ.Ι.Κ. [84] and next to it, in Athalassa, hard battles were raging. 84. Ρ.Ι.Κ. stands for: ‘Ραδιοφωνικο Ιδρυμα Κυπρου’ which means Cyprus Broadcasting Corporation. Page 207 of 371

I figured that the forces loyal to Makarios had managed to regroup and were now fighting those who staged the coup. I was wrong. It was only a small amount of resistance, which was soon defeated. Everything went quiet, with the only sound coming from the radio, which kept repeating: “Makarios no longer exists, Makarios is dead.” I told my wife and daughter to prepare some food, more to take their mind off things rather than because I was hungry. It must have been around 2pm when we heard, from a different radio station, the voice of Makarios: “People of Cyprus, Makarios is not dead, Makarios lives. This is Makarios himself speaking to you. Hear my voice, I am speaking to you from Paphos. The enemies of the people did not succeed in killing me. Defend your country, defend democracy. Make the enemies of our people pay for their crime. I am alive, people of Cyprus, hear my voice. This is Makarios himself speaking to you. Let’s go forward to a proud victory.” We were completely stunned. Makarios was alive. I began counting on the patriotic forces of Paphos. I tried to call Paphos, but it was impossible. They must have cut the telephone lines. The only thing we could hear now from the radio was that we should stay in our homes and that sooner or later Makarios would die. We had a difficult night full of suspense. The next day we heard on the radio that Paphos had also surrendered its arms. But we also learned that Makarios had escaped and had left for an unknown destination, via the British military bases in Cyprus. Confusion prevailed. On the same day, Samson, the so called seven-day president, announced triumphantly on television that the revolution was victorious. Among the measures announced by the regime was a decree for all citizens to surrender their guns, including shotguns, to their nearest police station. I owned a double-barrelled shotgun and about 50 cartridges. I found myself in a dilemma, wondering whether I should surrender it or not. Around 10am, we had a surprise. Sofoclis, the eldest son of my old friend Yiannis Sofocli, who was studying in the Soviet Union, arrived with a young woman and a charming little girl. “We had nowhere to go and thought of you. Will you host us uncle?” he asked me. “Of course,” I told him, surprised at the unexpected visit. Ounni, that was the name of the girl he was living with, was from Brazil and she was studying at the same university. They had come to Cyprus on holiday and were staying at the house of friends in Pallourgiotissa, an area in Nicosia. Their host was a senior member of the left and therefore they were in danger. They preferred to be with us, because we were still considered to be new settlers. Their taxi dropped them off and left. Page 208 of 371

We got into a discussion. “I am very much afraid,” observed Sofoclis, “that, when the coup members finish with the supporters of Makarios, they will turn their attention to the left.” I agreed. Sofoclis was so frightened, it was as if they were already after him. To calm him down, I asked him one question after the other, mainly about his studies. I succeeded in my efforts. We had lunch listening to the radio, which constantly announced, or rather ordered, that shotguns had to be surrendered. I told Sofoclis about the shotgun I had at home and my hesitation to hand it in. “With Makarios alive,” I observed, “it’s not impossible that it may be needed for resistance.” After all, that’s what his message from Paphos implied. “But, if Paphos has also surrendered, where will the resistance come from?” observed Sofoclis. “And if they pay us a visit, you can imagine!” His fears were justified. So, I collected my shotgun and the cartridges and went to the police station of Deftera to hand it in. There, I saw up close the horror of the coup. There were about three hundred people waiting their turn, standing in line without a word. I went into a kafenio opposite and waited for my turn. On the roof of the police station, there was a guard post with a machine gun and the operator was wearing a beret, with EOKA-B [85] on the front. On the ground floor, I could make out a group of prisoners who could be seen through the prison bars, with fear etched clearly on their faces. At some point a truck full of policemen arrived, guarded by about ten members of EOKA-B. “My little birds,” I heard one of the customers in the kafenio say, “the little birds have surrendered.” I heard the others call this man ‘doctor’. I learned that the prisoners belonged to a section of ‘Effedriko’ [86] who fled to the mountains to continue the resistance, but who decided to surrender in order to avoid further bloodshed. They are in for a very difficult time, I thought to myself. I heard a policeman say: “Take them to the Central Prison, we have no more room here.” They left, with their escort, without a further word spoken by anyone. 85. EOKA-B was an illegal organisation which, together with the officers of the Greek army’s Cyprus garrison, staged a coup against Makarios in July 1974. 86. ‘Effedriko’ (Greek: Εφεδρικο) was the presidential guard, fiercely loyal to President Makarios and the only group which put up any kind of meaningful resistance against the coup For both EOKA-B and Effedriko, see additional notes at the end of the book. Page 209 of 371

Just as they left, I heard a burst of fire and I looked up fearfully. I realised straight away that it was only intended to cause fear, because I saw the smoking barrel of a gun pointing to the sky. The crowd waiting to surrender their guns felt the same fear as me. The ‘doctor’ tried to reassure them. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.” I picked up my hunting shotgun and went to join the queue. I noticed a group of men whom I recognised as my ‘horianous’ (from the same village) including the community president of Kambia. I greeted them and we shook hands. Yiorgos of Yiakimis, brother-in-law of the president, asked me with curiosity: “What are you doing here Andrea?” I explained that I was there to surrender my shotgun. “But you are a foreigner, let us help you,” he said and approached the policeman at the window, bypassing the crowd. After they exchanged a couple of words, he signalled for me to approach. I wasn’t too happy at what was happening, but I went nearer, under the glare of everyone else watching me with hostility. I got to the window, handed in my gun and my cartridges and took my receipt. I thanked my benefactor, who was proud of his achievement, said goodbye to the horianous and left. When I got home, I must have looked agitated because as soon as Sofoclis saw me, he asked me what was wrong. I described everything I saw and heard, concluding that if it wasn’t for my benefactor, I would still be there tomorrow. We listened to the announcements on the radio until past midnight before we decided to go to bed. Everyone fell asleep except me. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t believe that such a small number of people who took part in the coup could prevail. I was angry with Makarios, my party and the Cypriot people in general. I was trying to work out what went wrong. I was cursing the junta in Greece, which organised and supported this crime. And in this upset state, I simply couldn’t get to sleep. Around 5am, I got up, got dressed and started watering the garden. The morning was still unsettled. Now and then, gunshots and bursts of automatic fire could be heard. They are celebrating their victory, I thought. My wife, who was the first to get up, asked me with curiosity: “What is all this shooting, I wonder?” “They are celebrating,” I replied, “make some coffee.” All the others were still in deep sleep. They finally got up around 9am. They found me listening to the radio. We had breakfast with a heavy heart, as if we sensed a major calamity. My main worry was the Turkish element. I knew that they were lurking, ready to take over the island. Page 210 of 371

However, I did not dare express my fears, because it would terrorise the people under my protection. Instead, we discussed things in general and particularly the people sending telegrams to Samson, recognising his regime and swearing faith and loyalty to him. And the radio proudly and continuously transmitted the contents of these telegrams. We did not leave the house, which was particularly important for Sofoclis and his family, because we feared that they may arouse the curiosity of someone who would betray us. From the news and from word of mouth, we heard that they were rounding up Makarios’s supporters and members of left-wing parties. Also, that very near us, in Lakatamia, they were digging mass graves, using bulldozers and throwing in groups of victims of the coup, who had been kept in the hospital and even in some cases, whilst they were still alive. In this kind of circumstances, you don’t dare to step outside. Friday came and went in the same climate, with the only difference being that road movement had increased. It was people going out to buy food and other supplies. Encouraged, I went to a supermarket and filled my car with food. I noticed a deadly quiet that I had never come across before. The only thing I could hear was the odd: “How much?” or “what do I owe you?” and everyone rushed off to their homes. “People are terrorised,” I said when I got back home, “we are in trouble.” I proceeded to explain what I saw and heard. Page 211 of 371

Turkish Invasion It was dawn of Saturday, 20 July 1974. I couldn’t have been asleep because I was quickly up and out to the veranda in my pyjamas, with my eyes peeled towards the town. I looked at the time: 6.10am. The sun was just coming up. I could make out two planes heading in the direction of Kyrenia, dropping countless parachutists in the sky. I could see clearly and I understood immediately. Turkey had intervened. At the same time, attack aircraft were diving and dropping bombs on specific targets. One of them passed low above our house and I could hear it bombing the airport. I turned on the radio. There was nothing. All the others were luckily still asleep. I left the radio on and went back out to the veranda. Somewhere near to where the parachutists were dropped, a battle was taking place. The planes were pounding the airport and the area near ΕΛ.ΔΥ.Κ [87] as well as the Presidential Palace, the Broadcasting Corporation and even the city. I heard a voice on the radio and I ran back in. I just managed to hear: “They tried to invade our land in Kyrenia, but our armed forces pushed them back into the sea. The sea of Kyrenia has become the invaders’ grave.” I turned to the Turkish station straight away. “Don’t be fooled and don’t believe what you hear. Do you want to be certain? Open your windows and look out and you will see what’s happening,” it was saying and boasting continuously. I went back to our own station. “Our armed forces are fighting bravely and inflicting heavy casualties on the enemy.” I turned the radio off, just in case someone woke up, heard it and panicked. I went towards the bedrooms. I thought that the best thing I could do was to gather them up and leave the city. I prodded my wife first. “Maroulla,” I called out softly to her, “wake up.” She sat up in bed. I sat next to her, put her in my arms and whispered: “Turkey has invaded. Don’t be afraid, we are not in any danger here.” She got up, bewildered, and we both went out to the veranda. She was speechless. “What shall we do now Andrea?” she asked me, when she recovered a little from the shock. 87. ΕΛΔΥΚ stands for: ‘Ελληνική Δύναμη Κύπρου’, which means Hellenic (Greek) Force in Cyprus. It is the permanent regiment of the Greek army in Cyprus. Its role is to help and support the Cypriot National Guard and protect the integrity of the Republic of Cyprus. Soldiers are selected from the ranks of conscripts doing their military service in the Greek army. Page 212 of 371

“We should wake up the others and leave for the mountains.” “I am going to wake them up,” she said. I continued to watch the disaster taking place, when I heard a loud scream coming from inside the house. I ran in, only to find my daughter passed out in my wife’s arms. At the same time, Sofoclis and Ounni came out of their bedroom terrified. “What’s going on uncle?” asked Sofoclis. “Don’t be afraid,” I encouraged him, “but the Turks have invaded.” I was still trying to revive my daughter, throwing water on her face and slapping her gently. Finally, she recovered. She was crying and her whole body was trembling with the fear and panic she felt. I told her off: “Aren’t you ashamed?” I asked her. “Is this a way for heroines to behave? You are going to die from fright.” I held her in my arms. “There is no need for you to be frightened,” I whispered, stroking her head gently. “Wake up the little girl too,” I said to Sofoclis. He explained to Ounni and she went off to wake up her little daughter. “Get ready, we are leaving,” I said, like an order. I began carrying supplies to the car, whilst the others were preparing whatever they considered necessary. We dressed in a hurry, put whatever we could think of in the car, locked the house and headed off. It must have been around 7.30am by the time we left. “Where are we going uncle?” Sofoclis asked me. “I don’t know,” I replied uncertainly, “somewhere safer.” Luckily, the car’s tank was full of fuel, which was encouraging. I headed towards the mountains, following the route via ‘Palechori’. I turned on the radio, which was continuously repeating again and again: “The enemy has been pushed into the sea. Our heroic troops have inflicted irreversible casualties on the enemy.” The car was large, but it had a powerful engine and it was going along like a horse that bolted away. We went past ‘Anaya’, ‘Arediou’, ‘Malounda’ and Klirou and reached Agios-Epifanios. I reduced my speed and looked for a camping area. We were now about 25 kilometres away from the city. From here, I thought, we will be able to see what is happening. Page 213 of 371

I turned left, onto a dirt forest road. I went uphill about two kilometres, travelling along the forest and stopped. I got out first and breathed the clean mountain air with relief. “Come out now,” I said to the others calmly, “we have everything we need here.” We could see an abandoned tin hut which, in the past, was used to keep pigs and a little further on, there was a field planted with vegetables, a clear indication that water was available. They all got out of the car. They felt safe and they even started joking and laughing. I was relieved. “Dad,” my little one told me, “it’s nice here.” She is relaxed, I thought, relieved. Throughout the journey, there was something weighing heavily on my conscience, because I considered myself responsible for what happened to us. From our position, we could see Nicosia covered in black smoke rising to the sky. The casualties must be countless, I thought to myself. In the beginning, we all found this place safe. However, as time went by and we could hear the hum of the planes, the thunder of the cannons and the explosions of the shells, we no longer felt the safety we felt when we first arrived and we began considering a safer place. “Andrea, why don’t we go to Paliomilos, where we have a house to stay?” my wife said. It was her birthplace and a godsend. “Bravo Maroulla, why didn’t I think of that?” Without hesitation, I shouted: “Everyone in the car, we are going to Paliomilos.” It was a small village, hidden in ravines, on the west side of Troodos. There, we would see nothing and hear nothing. I reversed and we headed for Troodos. We got as far as ‘Palechori’ where we were stopped by the police, who commandeered our petrol and left us just enough to get to Paliomilos. When we reached the crossing of Karvounas, we came across a guard with his bayonet fixed to his rifle and standing in our way. Before we got near him, I cautioned Sofoclis not to say a word. I stopped. I noticed that the emblem of EOKA- B was embroidered on his cap. “Where are you going?” he asked. “To Paliomilos,” I replied in a calm voice. “And what about him?” he asked pointing at Sofoclis, “he is of military age.” Page 214 of 371

“They are foreigners, Brazilian guests of mine,” I told him with false confidence, “I am taking them somewhere safe.” Thankfully, he accepted my explanation. “That’s fine sir, carry on,” he told me. When we left, Sofoclis asked me with admiration: “Bravo uncle, how did you think of such a thing?” He explained to Ounni what happened and she had a good laugh, full of satisfaction. He also advised her that from now on, Sofoclis would be a Brazilian. For some time now, the radio was calling all men of military age to report to their companies and repeated continuously that a general military conscription had been declared. This was the reason I hatched the plan in my mind without mentioning it to anyone. Among other things, the radio announced another decree, that petrol should not be supplied to private vehicles and that it would be commandeered for military use. I froze. Well, I thought, we have enough fuel to get us to Paliomilos, but what happens after that?” I had reached the highest point in the mountains and was already on my way down to Prodromos. I remembered that a distant relative owned a petrol station. I didn’t mention it. When I entered Prodromos, I turned towards Limassol instead of Paliomilos. The only person who realised it was my wife and I signalled to her to keep quiet. I reached the petrol station and stopped next to the petrol pump. “We are closed sir,” I heard the wild voice of Paraskevas, shouting from the office. I understood. I got out of the car, went up to him and asked him in a friendly tone: “Paraskeva, can you do anything?” At the sound of his name and because I think he recognised my voice, he turned to me. “Andrea,” he said, with joy, “is it you? I only just recognised you.” He hadn’t seen me for eighteen years! “Come quickly,” he said, “before someone else arrives and we get into trouble.” He filled up my petrol tank, whilst welcoming my missus and the others with obvious joy, and we left. “A good friend,” I murmured. Page 215 of 371

“More than good,” added Sofoclis, “a benefactor.” We reached Paliomilos and stopped outside the house of my brother-in-law, Kostas, my wife’s eldest brother, who was away working in Libya. His wife, Mitrodora, and her parents welcomed us warmly. I asked her if they had enough room for us and she pointed to the house: “It’s all yours, what kind of question is that Andrea? I only wish I had my husband here in these difficult times,” she added, before bursting into tears. I consoled her as best I could. “Two sons Andrea left me just a short time ago. Will I see them again, or will I lose them to the war?” And between tears, she explained that Kyriakos, who was studying in Athens, and Nikos, who was studying in the Soviet Union, had come home for the summer holidays, got caught up in the general conscription and left on a coach, just a short time earlier, to present themselves to their respective companies. A few minutes later Demetra, Kyriakos’s fiancée, arrived, with Kostas and Mitrodora’s youngest daughter who, about ten years earlier had become deaf-mute. The young girl was normal until the age of five and science had not been able to explain what happened to her. We had met Demetra in Athens, about 35 months earlier, and she fell into my arms with tears running down her face. “Why, uncle, have all the bad things got together and fallen on our heads all at once?” I knew that whatever I said at that moment would not have been carefully considered, nor would it answer Demetra’s question. So, with a lump in the back of my throat, I just said: “Courage.” Mitrodora asked who our guests were and I told her that they were Brazilian tourists. “What a time they have chosen to visit us,” said pappou and yiayia together, with tears in their eyes. They got busy with looking after us and momentarily forgot about their terrible drama. We sat under the vine and talked until there was nothing more to say. “They must be hungry,” yiayia pointed out kindly to Mitrodora. “You are right mother, I didn’t think of it,” apologised Mitrodora, “my mind went blank.” Page 216 of 371

So, she started setting the table with the help of Demetra and Maria. We sat around the table, but our stomachs would not issue the order to eat. We waited for each other to make the first move. Pappou considered it his responsibility and, taking the first bite, he welcomed us saying: “It’s not right for us to mourn our children, when they are still alive. God will provide. Come on, let’s eat.” Some pretend chewing took place. This atmosphere really left no appetite for food. I tried to lighten the mood with some humour and a false laugh: “Never mind, save the food for tonight, after all we have to look after our supplies.” Everyone pretended to laugh. I left them at home and pappou and I went to the kafenio. I wanted to change environment and I was nostalgic to meet old friends and horianous. Almost everyone had gathered at the only kafenio in the village. They welcomed me with genuine affection. Some old miner colleagues embraced and kissed me. I had been gone so many years. My presence among them came as a surprise to them. The questions were never ending. They wanted to know what I achieved in life, how I overcame the difficulties of emigrating and if it was my intention to live among them, here in the village. They were so carried away with their enthusiasm, that they forgot about the war and shared affectionate smiles. What was missing from this friendly meeting was youth! Our age was well past the age of military conscription. I felt, with deep sadness, this absence when I saw some girls passing by outside. I was the first to calm down from the excitement and pointed out with sadness that this atmosphere was not suited to the events of the day. I became serious and replied to one of the questions on whether I would be staying in Cyprus. “It depends on the outcome of the war,” I said. It was as if they were flying in the skies and some invisible power pushed them down and landed them back to reality. A look of anguish and despair came over their faces and for a moment you would think that they lost their power of speech. “What is your view, my friend Andrea, for the outcome of the war?” Aristotelis broke the silence. He was an old friend and comrade in the army during the second world war. They all hung on my every word. At one time, I was the political leader and guide to almost all of these people. What I said next had to be specific and carefully considered. “Events so far indicate that the Turks, at least for the moment, have no intention of conquering the whole island. They will ensure that they take enough of it and then entrench themselves.” Page 217 of 371

“Will they succeed?” asked Christodoulos, who was now the president of the community. “In the state they found us, I am very much afraid that the answer is yes.” “Will Greece not come to our rescue, koumbare?” asked Panagiotis, who was now the forest warden. “The junta will help others, koumbare,” I replied, leaving much implied. They were all glum. Only one of them tried to reject my statement. “Any minute now, the planes are coming,” – he meant the Greek Airforce – he said with certainty and a superior smile. The debate lit up and they were all against him for having the arrogance to have a separate belief to theirs. Some of them even lost it to the extent that they attributed responsibilities to him. “You and your kind brought this upon us, with your crazy behaviour. You didn’t like Makarios and you tried to kill him. You fix it now!” The debate had become heated and was heading in the direction of violence. I had to restore order. “Listen,” I pleaded. They stopped. “The gentleman may be right. Let’s hope that we do receive support from Greece and we can congratulate him on his opinion.” They smiled ironically but they did stop talking because they realised, I was asking them to understand that this was not the right time to resolve their differences. In order to change the atmosphere, I asked: “Really, what’s happened to Chromium?” The question was addressed to everyone because all the patrons had been, or were still, miners. “Since you left, it has become very bad,” answered an elderly miner. “This job, along with everything else, is down to corruption. If you don’t know someone on the inside, you die.” Another miner, who had been fired from the mine, said: “Those of us who were gotten rid of, are better off away from that torture chamber.” Page 218 of 371

“Those who are left, unprotected as they are, have become pitiful,” added another. “Gone are the days when the miners, under the protection of the organisation, enjoyed some security and good conditions,” someone else added. “In your time, nothing was overlooked. Do you remember the drama of Hambis, may God rest his soul? If it wasn’t for you and the union, his family would not have got a single grosi.” Indeed, he reminded me of a tragic story that was firmly fixed in my mind. “You are right Panagioti, it’s difficult to forget that story.” I remember him, God bless his soul, as if it was yesterday. It must have been around 8pm one evening when Marias’s Panagiotis came running to me, out of breath. He was the first person to realise that there had been an accident. “Hambis from Prodromos,” he told me quickly, “has been crushed by the mountain and he wants you to go to him urgently.” I dropped the hammer I was holding and ran. We got in the mine lift and I asked Christos to take us quickly down to 6th. We moved along the tunnel in the light of the acetylene lamp carried by Panagiotis and in a few minutes, we were near Hambis. “He is here,” Panagiotis stopped me and shone his light upwards. It was a small well about two metres high. Its top was blocked by some timber beams and Hambis was lying face down on them, with his face between the beams, looking at us. I climbed a small ladder and soon I was near him. “Courage Hambis,” I told him and called out to Panagiotis to hand me the saw. Hambis just groaned and his tears fell on my face. I grabbed the saw and hurriedly began sawing through one of the beams. He stopped me. “No, my friend, what you are doing will hasten my end. I have the whole maintain on my back. Do you understand what will happen if you cut the beams?” He was right. He was badly trapped. “Panagioti,” I called out, “Hambis’s lamp has fallen through the beams. Grab it, light it and go fetch Patsalos.” Patsalos was the company engineer who, at that moment, was at the company accommodation about one kilometre away. Panagiotis, who knew his way around, did not bother with the lamp, but just ran off to save time. Hambis and I were left on our own. “Andrea, I called you near me because only you can help. There is no doubt that I will die. What I want from you is to make sure that my family is compensated. I am leaving behind a wife and three young children. I want you to take care of them.” “Don’t overdramatise things,” I answered. I couldn’t believe that this man who was thinking and talking so clearly, would die. Page 219 of 371

“I have been crushed Andrea, I feel nothing from the waist down,” he said. I shuddered. “Fine,” I told him, “the union will do what is necessary. By the way, what are you doing here?” “I came to collect debris, to shore up my work and so that nothing fell through this well and hurt someone below, I placed these beams over it. That was my mistake, because when I saw the mountain crushing down, I ran to the well, but it was blocked by the beams I put there myself. I don’t know if you will be able to take me out of here.” By then, the whole of the next shift had arrived and the tunnel filled with whispering. I climbed down the steps and met the foreman Mastre Vangeli. “What can be done Mastora?” I asked him, “the man is dying.” “It’s a tough one, Andrea, I’ve never had such an accident, I don’t know what to do.” We were all at a loss. You want to help the man, but you don’t know how. Everyone offered an opinion without any certainty. “Patsalos has finally arrived,” I heard a voice call out. They made way for him and he approached me. “Hello Andrea,” he greeted me. “Come,” I told him, “his life is in your hands.” “I will do what I can,” he said and gestured for everyone to move back. He went nearer, saw the situation, carried on a few steps further on from the well and shouted: “Here, boys, bring tools. We will open a new gallery to get to him.” They all ran forward willingly. He issued instructions and the work began in earnest. He came over to me. “It’s the only way Andrea,” he told me. “How many hours will it take?” I asked him. “It depends on the rockface, I estimate 4 – 6 hours.” “The man will be dead by then,” I said. “I can’t think of any other way,” he told me in a friendly (we were indeed friends) and persuasive tone. Page 220 of 371

I noticed that the miners were parting. Someone was coming. “It must be the doctor,” Patsalos told me. “I telephoned him before I left.” Sure enough, the doctor appeared and they guided him to the well. He climbed up and I heard him trying to reassure Hambis. I breathed more easily when I heard the doctor tell him: “Soon you will be fine.” At that moment, I did not take into consideration that the doctor was also a man. He climbed down. He took Patsalos and Vangelis aside and whispered something to them. I intervened. “Do I have the right?” I asked. “Andrea is the secretary of the union,” Patsalos told the doctor. “There is absolutely no hope,” I heard the doctor say. “The only reason he is still alive is because the blood has stopped circulating. As soon as he is freed and the blood starts circulating, he will die from internal haemorrhaging.” “Please keep that between us,” I asked them, “for the sake of the workers’ morale.” They agreed. Around midnight, I asked Patsalos how far we had got. “We are facing difficulties,” he told me, “we came across a huge granite rock and obviously, we can’t use dynamite. We are forced to drill it.” The workers were sweating, making maximum effort to reach him and to free him. In the meantime, the 12am to 8am shift arrived and replaced the exhausted workers of the previous shift. Not a single one of them left to go home. Instead, the two shifts joined together in their struggle to break up this cursed boulder, which seemed to be getting harder in its resistance to the superhuman effort. Two hours passed, then four and then six. Now and then we would hear Hambis ask: “Are you there yet boys?” whilst at the same time Panagiotis wetted his lips with a wet handkerchief, under orders from the doctor. At 8am the first shift of the day arrived. With them came the mothers, children and siblings of the second and third shifts of miners, because they realised that something happened to prevent their relatives from going home. The workers ran to help with the rescue effort, but outside there was a wailing. Everyone was crying for their man, without knowing what had happened. It was around 8.30am when, using jacks, they managed to lift a huge rock off his crushed legs. As soon as they tried to move him, we heard a groan and it was all over. Page 221 of 371

All of the union’s commissioners were present. From where we were standing, we took the decision to call a two-day strike and everyone agreed to abide by our decision. After all, who had an appetite to work after what happened? Whilst the ambulance was taking the doctor and the dead to the hospital of Amiantos – we did not have our own doctor – a mass mixture of grimy men, women and children were heading down to our respective villages. The next day, almost all of us were present at the funeral. “Do you remember?” I addressed the patrons of the coffee shop. “Can anyone forget such moments?” Before anyone could respond, we saw a jeep carrying armed men stop outside the kafenio. They wore EOKA-B caps. They got out of their vehicle and their leader, with the arrogant demeaner of a conqueror, asked: “Where is the forest warden?” I remember him and his long, unkempt moustache well. “I am here,” stood up Panagiotis, sometime miner and now forest warden. “The president?” the character asked. “I think he is at home,” the forest warden replied again. “Go get him,” he ordered. Whilst the forest warden was on his way to fetch the president, a deathly silence full of fear spread in the kafenio. I don’t know why but I had the irresistible urge to smoke, even though I had given it up eighteen months earlier. Next to me was an old friend. “Do you have any cigarettes Aristoteli?” I asked. He took out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches and handed them to me. I lit up. I was sucking in smoke with such mania, it was as if it was my outlet for what was going on around me. “Sit down Mr President,” I heard the character order. “Yes,” Christodoulos replied and sat down. “In your village,” the character began, with a superior attitude, “things are taking place that I don’t like.” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “By tomorrow, I want all signs in support of Makarios to be erased. Greek flags must be raised and Cypriot flags Page 222 of 371

destroyed. You must report anyone who speaks in favour of Makarios. From now on, I am in charge of this area. Do you understand?” “Yes,” replied the president again. I became nauseous. The cigarette? What I was hearing? I didn’t know, but I felt that I needed to be sick. I got up and left for the house. Luckily, they didn’t stop me. I felt resentful, weak and disappointed. The thought of resistance crossed my mind. How would I resist though? We had no arms, not even shotguns. I had better keep quiet for now, I advised myself. When I got home, everyone wanted to know what happened to me. It seems that the pain was evident on my face. I quickly explained and recommended that they stay indoors. The jeep with the ‘heroes’ left. They must be in a hurry, I thought, they must have more areas to terrorise. I went back to the kafenio. Everyone was using the worst possible obscenities to describe the uninvited guests. “They ruined our country,” I heard someone say, “and they have the arrogance to try to terrorise us.” “If they were not afraid of the Turks, they would kill us in cold blood, these scoundrels,” a second added. “Look how they managed to bring Turkey down on us,” said someone else. “Nothing is going to change the look of the village,” said the president decisively and stubbornly. “If they want to, they can do it themselves, it’s their job. As for me, I have neither the inclination nor the obligation to obey such rubbish.” And the debate continued in the same vein until we dispersed. The next day, we heard on the radio a call, by name, for my brother-in-law Emilios to present himself to work without delay. He worked in an oxygen factory. “What do you think Andrea?” he asked me. “They must need oxygen for the wounded,” I observed. “It’s your business.” “I have to go,” he decided. “I will get into trouble if I don’t go. In any case, I consider it my duty. Many people can be saved with oxygen.” Sofoclis took me aside and said: “Uncle, I am going with Emilios to present myself. There will be repercussions for me if I don’t.” Page 223 of 371

This was a problem that troubled me constantly and I agreed with him. “Take Sofoclis with you,” I told Emilios. “But….” he began to say, clearly confused. “Yes, he is Yiannis Sofoclis’s son,” I explained, to everyone’s surprise at the revelation. When they left, I managed to call Yiannis on the telephone. It must have been around 10am. Almost all the villagers were in the small village square, exchanging views on the state of the village and the radio announcements. A Turkish airplane appeared on the horizon, coming towards us, and everyone started running scared, here, there and everywhere, looking for a place to hide. “It’s not for us,” I shouted. I worked out from its flight, direction and height, that it was heading higher, towards Troodos. I stood there watching it. It got near the top of Olympus and I saw it fire its rocket and then begin climbing. After a few moments, we heard the thunder of the explosion. I figured it must have missed. At the top of Olympus was the mast of the broadcasting service. Lower down was the source of the water which supplied all the villages. The shell landed exactly in the middle and the forest caught fire. I heard my wife calling out to me. I turned to see her down in the middle of the road, next to some sand and gravel. In her fear, she ran to hide, tripped and fell. I went over and helped her up. Her legs were bleeding and she felt a pain in her chest. I got her home and gave her first aid. “Didn’t you hear me call out not to be afraid?” I asked her. “I was frightened Andrea,” she replied, obviously still frightened. I went back to the square. My presence helped to encourage others and they started to come out of their hiding places. Luckily, no one else was hurt. The president took me in his arms and we went back to the kafenio for coffee. We didn’t manage to finish it though. The radio announced that the forest of Paphos had been bombarded, causing a huge fire and calling all the occupants of the surrounding villages to help put it out. Paliomilos was among the villages being called. “Panagioti,” said the president to the forest warden. “Go around the village and tell everyone who can work to get ready. They should bring tools and gather here.” Page 224 of 371

“I will go with you,” I offered. “No,” he told me, “you are a foreigner. Anyway, someone has to stay in the village.” I was upset. On the other hand, someone was needed in the village, which was about to be empty of men other than some elderly, who could offer nothing. I remained with the old, the women and children, trying to cheer them up, sometimes seriously and other times with jokes. In the afternoon, Yiannis arrived to collect Ounni and the little girl. He told us various things we didn’t know. The Turks had already taken Kyrenia and they were heading towards Nicosia. The army reserves did not take part in the fighting, because they were not given arms, we had suffered many dead and wounded, the junta in Greece was about to fall and much more. “You are not in any danger here,” he reconfirmed to us, “because the plans are that Turkey will stop at Nicosia, dividing the island in two.” He was in a hurry, he had to be back in Paphos before dark. The next morning, at around 9.00 am, the villagers came back from the firefighting effort. “Is it out?” I asked the president. “Not yet, but we have been relieved. We will be recalled, if necessary,” he told me. Fortunately, they were not required again. The fire in Troodos was under control straight away and it was put out about two hours later. The damage was contained. However, the fire in the forest of Paphos destroyed large areas. On the evening of the third day, there was discussion about a ceasefire. Indeed, the next day a formal ceasefire was declared. I took the opportunity to go back down to Nicosia, together with my wife and daughter, to see what happened to our house and to find out more about the general situation. When we got near Gerolakkos, we came across a Greek patrol of ΕΛ.ΔΥ.Κ. I asked them if we were in any danger by entering Nicosia and they assured us that there was no danger whatsoever. However, when we passed near the airport, I noticed that on our left, only a few metres away from the road, there were Turkish troops. I could tell by the half-moon on the side of the armoured vehicles. Luckily, they hadn’t yet taken the road. However, behind us there was a cousin of my wife’s called Epaminondas, from Prodromos, who was stopped, arrested and taken to the Turkish occupied part, where he was held for three whole months before he was released, although they kept his car. Page 225 of 371

We Leave for London We reached our house and found it intact. We made a plan, taking a decision that if they started up again, we would leave for Limassol with as much luggage as we could fit in the car, find a ship for Piraeus and from there travel by air to London. I called my nephew Zinonas and I told him of my thoughts. My young daughter kept asking me to leave for London. My wife agreed. We made the decision. The next day, we left for Paliomilos. We only just managed to leave before hostilities started up again. On the way, we made a definite plan: We would call Limassol from Paliomilos to find out when there was a ship leaving and we would reserve our passage. We got to Paliomilos with our luggage, ready to depart. They welcomed us again just like the first time. I told them what we had found out on our trip. They were very shaken when I told them that the Turks were so close to the airport and had taken Nicoli. That night I gave the keys to my house to another nephew called Yiorgos, to look after it and tend the garden. Now our problem was to find an opportunity. I called Limassol and one of the ticket agencies confirmed that a ship would be docking in three days. I remember well that its name was “Olympia”. I reserved a cabin and assured them that I would remain in contact with them. Our departure coincided with the second ceasefire. We got to Limassol early in the morning, paid for and picked up our tickets and by 10am, we were ready for departure. When we boarded the ship, we came across Yiannis Sofocli with his wife, as well as Ounni and the little girl. They had managed to get tickets but only on the deck, no cabins were available. We were happy to see each other, but it became necessary for me to give my place in the cabin to Ounni and the little girl and so I spent the trip on my feet. The journey lasted about 30 hours. Most of the passengers were ‘elladites’ (Greeks from the mainland) who had been wounded in the war and were being transported to Athens. Travelling with us was also my friend Ziartides, the General Secretary of Π.Ε.Ο. (see footnote 65 on page 173), for reasons unknown to me. We kept company during the trip. He asked me, confidentially, to help him when we disembarked in Piraeus. He would try to get off first. If his disembarkation was blocked, or if he was arrested, I had to call Cyprus to let them know what happened. I agreed to help willingly. When we arrived, he went to the exit first. He went down accompanied by two policemen. They took him to the port police station. I waited a long time. Finally, I saw him come out by himself and signalling to me that everything was fine. Page 226 of 371

We disembarked too. Ziartides was long gone. We took a taxi straight to the airport. The driver, who realised we were coming from Cyprus, flooded us with questions trying to understand the situation. When he left us at the entrance to the airport, he told me – and I remember it word for word – “The junta sold you out ‘patrioti’, (compatriot) just like it sold us out.” During the whole of our taxi ride, he was trying to secure my confidence in many different ways. He realised that I was being careful. Was I not right to be? The junta was falling, but its remnants were still around. And, as the situation was very fluid, I considered it necessary to be careful. After all, I had an older experience in Greece, during the Karamanlis era! Page 227 of 371

The Experience of My Visit to Athens in 1963 In 1963, I was a member of the Youth Dance Company which travelled from Cyprus to Romania to give several performances. On my return, I stayed in Athens as a visitor, with the traditional desire to see and get to know, up close, all those things I learned in Greek history about Mother Greece. I wanted to see the Parthenon, to admire the statue of Kolokotronis [88], and the other heroes, to see the ‘Inn of Gravia’ [88] and so many other things I kept in my mind from when I was a boy. So, I requested entry to Greece. I was sent to the Foreign Department. I was surprised that I was considered a foreigner. Me, whose Greekness was beyond any doubt? I put my luggage in the flat of a Cypriot friend who was at university in Athens and we went together to obtain my entry visa. We climbed quite a few steps and found the office of the commander, as he was called. We introduced ourselves and after a short search, he found my passport, which was taken from me at the airport. He looked me in the eyes, in a chilling, hateful manner and began bombarding me with questions. “Where have you come from?” I was confused. I was certain that he knew where I had come from, because he was holding in his hands the stamped passport which provided the information. “From Romania,” I replied curtly, determined to resist. “From Romania?” he asked, supposedly surprised. “Yes sir, from Romania.” “And…what business did you have in Romania?” “I took part as a dancer in a company of traditional dancers.” “Romania, from all places, was your choice of places to dance?” he asked me sarcastically. “Nevertheless, I did not catch scabies,” I told him stubbornly. 88. ‘Kolokotronis’ was a hero of the Greek revolution against the Ottoman Empire in 1821 and the ‘Inn of Gravia’ relates to the same period (see the end of the book for more details). Page 228 of 371

He looked me up and down and I felt some satisfaction by the fact that I had irritated him. “Alright,” he said, “you can go, I will look into your case. Come back tomorrow.” Antonis the ‘Raspoutis’, that was the nickname of my friend, swore at me on the way down. “My friend, why did you speak to him that way? We are going to get into trouble.” “He can go cut his own throat, the cuckold, did he take me for a criminal?” I said angrily. “In Romania, they treated us like brothers and here, we are considered enemies.” The next day, I went on my own. Antonis went to the university. They took me to his office. “Ah, the Romanian,” he said, when he saw me. “No sir,” I cut him off, “the Cypriot who is asking for a resident’s permit in order to get to know his homeland closely.” He must have realised that I was a tough nut to crack and wanted to put me in a corner. “Come back tomorrow,” he told me with such apathy that I realised he intended to make things difficult for me. “No,” I said, “I will not come back tomorrow or the day after. You know where I am staying, when you make a decision, let me know.” “You are an illegal, sir,” he shouted at me furiously. “Deport me, in that case, don’t make me suffer,” I told him in exactly the same tone of voice. “Alright, go,” he gestured. That’s what I wanted. I left. From then on, I realised that I was being followed by two guys. Wherever I went, they were behind me. I stayed about ten days. I saw as many sights as I could. I ran out of money and I had to leave, but to do so, I needed my passport. So, I went back to the same character and declared: “I am leaving sir, may I have my passport?” “You can’t leave,” he said, “your case is still being investigated.” Page 229 of 371

“I can stay for as long as you like, sir, but from now on you must undertake my maintenance. I spent what I had, I saw as much as I could and the only thing left is for me to go back to my family, my home and my work.” “And… what work do you do?” he asked me, sarcastically again. “I have a metal workshop with 15 employees and an aggregate factory with 20 workers.” “And a man with businesses, like you, what connection do you have with the communists?” “That’s my business sir.” He turned into an angry beast. He started spouting a load of nonsense, as if he was making a speech. When he calmed down, he called this huge guy and told him: “Here is his passport, take him to the airport and make sure he leaves.” The ‘gorilla’ put me in a police car. We went to the flat to pick up my suitcase and from there straight to the airport. At the entrance, he handed me my passport, whilst swearing at me crudely: “Bastard, bloody communist, go and never set foot here again.” It was this experience which made me careful. Didn’t we have the same Karamanlis in power again now? Not that they could do anything to me, but I didn’t want any complications. However, judging by the driver’s final words, I was convinced that I was wrong not to trust him. [89] 89. The author’s bad experience in Greece was the result of the bad behaviour of a bureaucrat. However, there were other underlying reasons (see additional notes at the end of the book for more information). Page 230 of 371

At Last in London The wait at the airport lasted four days. I managed to communicate with Nikos, my son in London, and I told him that we were arriving. He was delighted. He hadn’t heard from us and he was worried. In the evening, we were in London, in a quiet environment at last. We were among our sons, siblings, nephews and nieces, telling the story of the great calamity. The same night, we were visited by the senior members of the community and we discussed the situation thoroughly. I had formed an impression which I conveyed to them: Although all the political parties and particularly Α.Κ.Ε.Λ. had identified the potential risks, they had not organised any form of defence and therefore the public, which was ready to defend democracy, was left without any kind of organised resistance. The result was that the coup managed to succeed, something which facilitated the Turkish invasion. In addition, I noted that it would be very difficult for the Turks to leave the island. History, sadly, proved me right. The others considered Makarios to be responsible and of course they were right. But I continued and still continue to believe, that the political parties share the responsibility. If at some point there is an inquiry, perhaps it will confirm my belief. It was almost dawn by the time the assembled visitors left. The next day, I was already at the factory. Filippos, the man I had sold my shares in the business to and was now my son’s partner, welcomed me warmly. “Come my friend,” he said, “we have a lot to talk about,” and he took me to the office. We called Nikos and together, we assessed the situation. Although the factory was working nonstop, the company had lost several thousand pounds. It was decided that I would take charge of production immediately. Indeed, within a short time, the company improved and its finances had levelled off. Filippos, who was characterised by his sincerity and honesty, proposed: “My friends, I think you should release me. If I stay, I will destroy the company and Nikos with it, as a result of my inexperience and it would be a pity for the lad. I am not asking for anything. I paid £13,000 for your shares. I leave it to you.” Nikos and I talked it over. Filippos, emotional and relieved, heard our decision. He would receive his money in full and he would be released. So, satisfied, he thanked us and left. I carried on helping Nikos for about a year and I was paid a salary. In the first few days following my return to London, one of our workers, who was a distant relative Page 231 of 371

of Makarios, was spreading the story that Makarios was in a hotel in London, facing problems because he was broke. I told her to keep quiet. Later, I called two of my brothers, whose finances allowed it, and I suggested to them that we give Makarios £1,000 for his immediate needs. They agreed. I requested an audience from his bodyguard and I explained our intentions. The next day he called us. “His eminence will see you at 10pm,” he told us. We put £1,000 in an envelope and went to his hotel. We found him standing and casually dressed. We greeted him and with the simplicity that characterised him, he declared: “Boys, I thankfully accept your contribution, because indeed we came without any money, but I must tell you that I cannot make any promises that you will get it back. I am here just as you see me.” We assured him that we had no such expectation and gave him the envelope. He picked up a piece of paper and wrote in red ink: ‘The receiving Makarios’. “So you will remember me,” he said and gave it to us. We realised that he was very busy, we assured him that he could get in touch with us whenever he needed anything, said our goodbyes and left. He didn’t need us again. It seems that we were not the only ones who went to see him with the same intention. We left with a heavy heart. For me, even though I could see his mistakes, he did not cease to be the idol of the Cypriot people. He was still an honest patriot and an honest fighter. He contributed so much to his homeland and there he was, exhausted and on the run from his compatriots. Those for whom he dedicated most of his life, sought his death. That’s politics, I thought. Page 232 of 371

My Daughter’s Wedding We had a man working in our factory called Kostas who, during the period of EOKA, had been arrested by the occupying forces and had been sentenced to death. His execution had been set, but at the last minute he was saved from hanging. The executioner was putting the rope around his neck when the message arrived that the Governor pardoned him. So, they gathered him up, as he narrated, almost collapsed from the spectre of death. Later, they put him in a ship and exiled him to Rhodes. There, he met and married a Rhodian girl and because he couldn’t make ends meet, he emigrated to London with a foreign passport. He was working with us when he was visited by the mother and siblings of his wife Bibina. One of her brothers, Lefteris, had his eye on my daughter Noulla, who was just sixteen years old. One night, Noulla summoned up the courage to ask me: “Dad, I think I found the right man for me. What do you think of Lefteris?” It took me by surprise, but I managed to control myself. I didn’t want to act cruelly to my only daughter. I discussed it with her, like a friend, over quite a few days. I had my reservations. I didn’t know the man and particularly his origins, his family and generally what kind of person he was. I wanted my daughter to be happy. I kept telling her the Greek saying: “It’s better to have a shoe from the same place you come from, even if it’s in pieces.” She was adamant. I realised that I was wasting my time trying to convince her. I called the boys and my wife and we discussed it. We finally concluded that we owed her a wedding and in view of the fact that she persisted, we had no choice. We notified Lefteris and his family of our decision and a few days later, we celebrated the civil wedding of our children and began making preparations for the church wedding, as was customary in the community. The wedding was magnificent. Very rich. It cost me many thousands of pounds. I had the money and I wanted to make her happy. I gave them the house too, fully furnished. For me, nothing else was left but to take my missus and go back to my homeland again. Page 233 of 371

Return to The Homeland Around that time, the Finance Minister of Cyprus visited London and appealed to those members of the community who wanted to help their country to go back and to help create industries, to promote the economic recovery of the country. I considered it an obligation. I told my family. I arranged for my wife to travel by air and I drove the car through Europe, back to my homeland. The car had its own history. Following the coup and the invasion, when things quietened down, I called Zinonas in Cyprus and asked him to ship the car to Piraeus. From there, my son Nikos went and picked it up and drove it to London. He encountered difficulties, because the car was in my name and the authorities would not release it to him. After several telegrams to confirm it, it was released. So, after my daughter’s wedding and about a year after the invasion, I was back at my house with my missus. We found the garden neglected, even though the house was occupied by one of my brothers in law and his family. They left when we arrived and it took us about a month to take care of the house and garden. I decided that I could not remain unemployed. I had to help. Not for further profits, I had enough for the remainder of my life. In retrospect, this decision proved to be the biggest mistake of my life. I called two of my nephews, Apostolos, the son of my eldest brother Sotiris, and Zinonas the son of my sister Eleni, and I proposed: “Boys, I intend to create and operate a factory, to manufacture jeans.” It was the fashion at that time and there was no one else in Cyprus doing it. “I can’t do it on my own. I will need help. I will invest all the capital required. We will all be paid a salary and I will gift 10% of the shares of the company to each of you, so that you have an interest in the business.” They were delighted. We set up the company with £50,000 share capital. We bought two adjoining plots of land for £13,000 and engaged an architect to prepare drawings. We asked for quotations and the job was awarded to ‘Eracleus’ for £16,000 on condition that he delivered within three months. We ordered the machinery and other equipment from various countries at a cost of £40,000. In January 1976, the factory was ready. We stumbled on finding experienced staff and we had to train them ourselves. We hired, through the unions, some experienced workers and set up a training school for three months. We had problems with fabrics. We had to open letters of credit to Hong Kong. The first shipment arrived safely, about 30,000 yards. However, we were unlucky with Page 234 of 371

the second. The ship sank carrying a further 30,000 yards. We needed additional funds. I took out a personal loan of £12,000 using, as collateral, a property of 30 Stremmata (30,000 square metres) that I bought when I was still in London. We faced difficulties selling our production. The factory could produce about 1,000 pairs of jeans per day. The local demand was very small. Apostolos and Zinonas travelled to the middle east for negotiations but without much success. Zinonas left again for Poland, but again without success. In the meantime, one of my brothers in law joined the company as an additional shareholder. We were just about managing to get by with what we could sell to the Arab countries and the local market. One day, we had a visit from an American called Harold Teach who was producing jeans in Pennsylvania, USA, under the brand name ‘Viceroy’. He proposed that we turn our entire production over to him. We made a contract to supply him with 30,000 pairs of jeans per month and, within six months, to build it up to 50,000 per month. He insisted that 20% of the shares of the company were transferred to him and that we had to increase production to meet his requirements. We thought that with a regular and well organised production line, even with low profit margins, we could make money and therefore, we turned our entire production over to him. In six months, the factory was extended and production was increased substantially. However, whereas we expected the buyer to increase his orders, he was gradually reducing them, which was very worrying. In the meantime, Apostolos withdrew from the business and was released of all responsibility. The insurance company would not compensate us for the 30,000 metres of fabric which was lost when the ship sank, and we handed the case over to the bank to clarify matters. Harold could not sell his own production, and for three months he was not taking our production, coming up with all sorts of excuses. I had to refer the contract to arbitration. It was now 1978. Friction began between the shareholders, something which forced me to buy back their shares and release them from the company. The same with Harold, whose shares I bought back at half the price he paid. So, 1979 found me the sole shareholder and cut out of the markets. The factory, with its huge workload and unparalleled difficulties, became a real headache and a complete nightmare. In order to pay back the shareholders, I had to sell the property in Paphos, something which cost me a great deal. The main buyer of my production now was Bulgaria, but they were difficult payers. In 1980, I clashed with the unions. The wages of the workforce in my factory were 8% higher than other factories. I suggested that they equate me at last, as this difference existed since 1976, when I started and I was the one who offered the higher earnings in the first place. They refused under threat of a strike. Page 235 of 371

I had many sleepless nights, fighting with my conscience. I tried to help my own people to make something of themselves and they stabbed me in the back, leaving me out in the cold at my time of need. I volunteered to help with the restoration of the economy and now I was being threatened with strikes. I considered that the company’s losses were irreversible. So, I decided to sell the factory something which, for me, was a matter of life as well as prestige. If I carried on, I would lose my life. In fact, I had already suffered the first incident, in the offices of the law firm of ‘Skordis & Papapetrou’ when we were compromising with the American’s lawyers. When we were discussing the responsibilities of each side, I lost consciousness and fell to the floor. When I came to, I wondered what happened to me. Apparently, I had suffered hypertension. This was the final straw which led me to get rid of this torment. Several buyers appeared, but they had to be approved by the bank. They needed bank loans. In the meantime, up to 1981, although the bank had earned £63,000 in bank charges and interest, the company still owed £120,000 with the factory and my house, under charge to the bank. The buyers undertook £110,000 of the bank debt, which left £13,000 with the house as collateral. I was hoping to pay off the bank with the money from the insurance claim, which was still outstanding and save the house. The bank, for three whole years since taking charge of the matter, not only did not manage to collect the money, but made no effort to keep us informed. So, in 1981, I had to sue the insurance company in Hong Kong and spend a further £3,000 in costs. In 1983, our lawyers in Hong Kong informed us that the insurance company had gone into liquidation. That was the killer blow. Page 236 of 371

My Involvement in Public Affairs Around 1977, in Anthoupolis, where I lived, huge problems appeared against the residents. We were experiencing shortages of drinking water, unjustified charges by the company which sold us the land, issues with lighting, schools and many others. I led the establishment of the ‘Residents Association of Anthoupolis’ and acted as its president for several years. In 1976, my son Nikos came to Cyprus with his girlfriend, an adorable creature and he asked my opinion about a permanent relationship. I remember saying to him: “When, Niko, you announce to me that this is your wife, I will kiss her like a daughter and that will be that.” In 1978, they came to Cyprus for that reason and we had their wedding. It was a wedding that remained in people’s memory. I was thrilled with my son’s choice and I felt very proud. It was around this time that it occurred to me to write about my life. However, I was too busy and although the idea had become a bit of an obsession, it wasn’t until 1984 when I picked up a pen and began writing. At the end of 1979, I represented the Residents’ Association in a meeting of all the communities within the Lakatamia Municipality, to which Anthoupolis belonged. In the meeting, we tried to form a joint committee of all political parties, to take charge of the newly formed ‘Symvoulio Veltioseos’ (Improvements Board). Despite our efforts, the right refused to participate and we had to call elections, with AKEL, DEKO [90] and me as an independent. At the elections, we trounced our opponents, to the point where they lost their deposits. The other two members of the Board had to come from the refugees displaced by the Turkish invasion and living within the area. The board was not totally democratic. Every decision had to be approved by the president. The president had to be the Prefect (Local Governor) who was not elected but appointed by the government. The effect was that decisions were delayed and at times even got lost in the labyrinth of bureaucracy. Serious matters, such as loans etc. required the approval of the Council of Ministers (Cabinet). In some of the Board’s decisions the delay was considerable. For example, when we took the decision to create a joined water supply between the Parish of Hatjiosif and ours, it took two years and many meetings and negotiations. 90. AKEL was the party of the left, as described earlier. DEKO (Democratic Party) was the party founded by Spyros Kyprianou in 1976. Most people consider it to be centre/left, but it has also been described as centrist and even centre/right. Page 237 of 371

The three of the five members of the Board who worked hard, were Kakoullis of AKEL, Theoharis of DEKO and me. We came to the conclusion that the decisions were not being implemented, firstly because of the hesitation of the Prefect and secondly, because of the different positions taken by the political parties. In addition, the two refugees who participated couldn’t offer anything and, in fact, at times caused us difficulties by their absence. We worked hard in these conditions for five whole years. After I sold the factory, I started a small farm for breeding pigeons and later rabbits. The profits just about kept me alive. Most of my time was taken up by the Residents’ Association and the Board. All the well-meaning residents of the village and particularly for me the residents of Anthoupolis, praised my work. In 1984, national elections were called, with a new electoral system. From ‘First past the Post’ to ‘Enhanced Proportional Representation’. All political parties would now have candidates. Both AKEL and DEKO offered me a candidacy. I declined. I decided to remain president of the Residents’ Association, which automatically put me on the committee of the Improvements Board. This would enable me to continue to offer what many people considered my valuable services to the community and particularly to our Parish. Oddly enough, I was not invited to the meetings of the Board which took place before the elections. I was completely side-lined, even though I was the leading political figure of the Parish. Neither AKEL nor DEKO made any reference to me and therefore I was marginalised. Many residents urged me to attend anyway. I considered it pointless and even counterproductive, because I would create opposition to the cooperating progressive parties. Therefore, my services became useless. If something was holding me in Cyprus, away from my children, it was my valuable contribution to the solutions of the multiple problems of the residents. Now, there was nothing to hold me back. I refused to run for the presidency of the Association, because I had already decided to distance myself. Finally, I notified my decision, something which deeply saddened several good friends and many residents. Naturally, it made some arrivistes very happy because my presence prevented their elevation to political figures in the Parish. The committee of the Association held a gathering in my honour, in which they presented me with a commemorative plaque and declared me an honorary member of the Association. I confess that I was very moved by the address of Mr Michaelides, the president of the association and the behaviour of everyone else who attended, with the notable Page 238 of 371

exception of the secretary of the association and president of the community who, with his silence, exhibited feelings of guilt. I took him aside and told him: “The road ahead is long and difficult for you. I hope you manage to overcome the problems. The past is the past. Try not to be corrupted any further.” Page 239 of 371

Our Stay in Rhodes I sold everything I owned, house, farm, car, furniture etc and I left for Rhodes. Noulla lived there, with my grandchildren, and I chose to go there, despite the pleas from Nikos to go to London to be near them. And so, one morning in November of 1984, my missus and I were among our daughter, our son in law and our grandchildren. My joy was great. We had lived quite a few years on our own and the loneliness had taken its toll. Now, we had our grandchildren and the house was full of life. We spent a few days carefree, but after that we wanted to do something to occupy ourselves. A restaurant was for sale. We bought it. We operated it for about four months. It was opposite the church of Saint Anastasia. It was the first time that I really got to know the mentality of these people. Almost all of them were cunning, without subtlety in their behaviour, irresponsible with their promises and their actions and generally uninformed politically. Their false religious awe made a special impression on me. Young and old, when passing the church, would stand there crossing themselves. However, when church services were taking place, the attendance was small. I found that everyone that I tried to form any kind of relations with, was cheap and useless. So, I decided to isolate myself. We stayed in Rhodes for about nine months. After four months, we sold the restaurant because it was too much work for all of us. I spent the remaining time at the sea, fishing. Page 240 of 371

On the Way to London Together with my missus, we felt the need to visit our other children, Nikos and Robin and their two little girls and Anthoullis, who was still single. So, one day we boarded the “Kamiros” and after crossing the Mediterranean, we arrived at Piraeus. The sea was calm and we enjoyed the journey. During the day, we stopped at three other islands: Kos, Lindos [91] and Patmos and saw them at least from the ferry. The town of Lindos is very impressive, as it dominates the bay that forms the harbour. From the ship, the houses look as if they are built on top of each other forming a huge ladder, in length and breadth. When we reached Piraeus, in the early hours of the morning, we faced a serious problem. Taxis were on strike. Our heavy luggage had to be transported to Athens, to the house of a relative who offered us hospitality for the night. So, I called a porter, we loaded the luggage on his trolley and went in search of some sort of transport. On the way, the porter was blaming the taxi drivers because he considered their demands to be unreasonable. He wanted to present himself as helpful. At some point in our journey, he picked up a packet carried by an islander, carried it a few steps and dropped it off next to a coach, which would take the islander to a suburb of Athens. The islander asked how much he had to pay. “400 drachmas,” answered the porter, calm as you like. I laughed. “But you, my compatriot,” I told him, “are worse than the taxi drivers you are bad mouthing.” “Never mind,” said the poor islander, “this is how we Greeks are,” and paid his benefactor. He then approached, with our luggage, a kind of truck and tried really hard, according to him, to convince its driver to undertake our transport. In the end the porter charged us 600 drachmas and went off. The driver of the vehicle was trying to negotiate his charge, but I paid him 2,000 drachmas which was what he asked for. What is the point of haggling with him, I thought? If the porter charged 600 drachmas for so little, the vehicle driver was undercharging. We spent the remainder of the day and night with Yiorgos, who was married to one of my wife’s nieces. We visited Savvas, who was married to another of my wife’s nieces (the two girls were sisters), and they even took us out for dinner. 91. Lindos is a town on the East coast of Rhodes and a well-known tourist destination. There is no island called Lindos. From the author’s description, it appears that he meant Leros, which is between Kos and Patmos. Page 241 of 371

The next day at 5am, Yiorgos took us to the airport and helped us all the way, until we got to the airport control. Yiorgos was an excellent boy. Although he was an ‘Elladitis’ (from mainland Greece) he was very different and was more like a Cypriot with ‘filotimo’ (see footnote 31 on page 64). We were travelling via Budapest. I had put our tickets in the inside pocket of my jacket and I forgot. I was under the impression that I left them at the ticket office in the airport. Throughout the journey, I was wondering how I would overcome the difficulties I would undoubtedly face. Finally, I took the decision to call Athens to reconfirm our tickets to London. We got out of the plane in Budapest and headed to the transit hall. “Tickets please.” We were stopped by a charming girl who was checking the passengers. “I am sorry,” I told her in English, “but I left them in Athens.” “I am sorry too, but you will not be able to travel without tickets,” she said kindly. I was covered in cold sweat. “Let’s call Athens,” I suggested, “I will pay for the call.” “Alright,” she said, “we’ll see,” and she signalled for us to stand aside and wait. Soon an airhostess in the Athens-Budapest flight came up to us. “Passports and seat tickets,” she said, a little unhappy for being put to this trouble. Nervous, I put my hand in my inside pocket and instead of our passports, I took out our tickets. I breathed a sigh of relief. I asked again and again to be forgiven for my daydreaming. They were all laughing, but in a friendly manner. Everything was fine now. We waited two and a half hours. We boarded on time and after a short delay we took off for London. A little further back, in the next row, there was someone whose face I recognised. We looked at each other. We both became certain at the same time. “But you are….” I tried to say. “Yes Andrea,” he said, “it’s me, Neophytos, how are you?” We stretched out our hands in a warm handshake. He was an old friend, from the war, whom I hadn’t seen for 25 years. We sat next to each other and talked. Page 242 of 371

I knew that he was a salaried member of the movement, in the agricultural sector of Cyprus, and I guided our discussion towards political content. I asked him about the latest developments back home, naturally not expecting to hear anything other than the party’s positions. Afterwards and without realising it, we drifted back to the time of the second world war, reminding each other of many of the events we experienced. “How could we imagine back then,” I told him, “that after forty whole years, from when millions of people gave their lives for a better future, people would still be dying of starvation and most countries of the world would be oppressed by the mania of capitalism? And even more seriously, how could we imagine that after so many sacrifices, humanity would now be under the threat of global annihilation?” “Indeed,” added my interlocutor, “an international conflict, with today’s weapons of mass destruction, would result in irreparable damage to our planet. And young people cannot see the danger?” he concluded, somewhat unhappy. Page 243 of 371

Once Again in London The sign came on, instructing us to put our seatbelts on and the aircraft began its descent. Shortly, it went through a thick cloud and we were above London. We could see it clearly. It wasn’t long before we landed. We got off, went through passport control, picked up our luggage and headed for the exit. And there, in front of us, Nikos and his little girls were waiting for us. We approached full of joy, embraced and kissed each other. We found Nikos’s car, loaded the luggage and headed for the house. There, we found Robin waiting for us, kind- hearted and with open arms. There was so much to say. We talked and talked and there seem to be no end to it. A few days passed without anything to do. I felt an obligation to begin visiting my siblings and other relatives. The first one I visited was Theodoros. He hadn’t been well and in particular a major heart operation, left him a shadow of his old self. There he was, sitting in an armchair, but he still welcomed us full of love and with such courage, as if nothing was wrong. “The end could come at any moment,” the doctor had stated. My brother though, refused to give up. And there he was, fighting death and still producing surprises. It was not the first time the doctor had given up on him, but he constantly proved him wrong which was of great interest to the doctor. We left him, wondering how long he could go on for. At Aristotelis’s nothing special. His two daughters had paired up and his family had grown by two. Here, I met Markos too, my brother-in-law whom I had last seen in Cyprus. He was here helping his son at the factory. We talked. He gave me the idea of early retirement. “As you are over 62,” Markos said, “there is no problem. I investigated everything. You can retire at reduced pension, if you want.” I discussed it with Nikos back at the house and we agreed that he would consult his accountant. The next day, though, we found out that there was no such possibility. I visited my old GP and told him that I had pains in my abdomen. He diagnosed gallbladder disease. As well as that, I showed him the medicines I was taking for my stomach ulcer and I asked him for a further prescription because they were nearly finished. I avoided telling him about my spine issues, so as not to overload him. He took some blood, four little bottles, to send to the laboratory for analysis. A few days later, he called us with the results. “Good news,” stated the doctor, “nothing unpleasant, but I will still arrange for you to go to the hospital for a check-up.” One day, I went with Nikos to the offices and warehouse of fabric and ready-made garments. He was well organised. Although the country was going through an economic crisis – three and a half million unemployed – Nikos’s factory was Page 244 of 371

managing to survive, whilst others in the same industry were declaring bankruptcy, one after the other. I had a quick look around; we had a coffee together and I left him to his work. I knew, from experience, that Nikos was very busy, and I didn’t want to take up his time. Page 245 of 371

Walking Around, in the Area of the Factory I went out and took a stroll around the area. Not far from there was Amhurst road where the old factory was. On the way, I met an old friend called Osman, who had a small kebab shop. We sat down, he offered me coffee and we talked. He had also gone back to the homeland, a little after me, but naturally to the Turkish sector. “I tried to call you many times, but without success,” he told me, cursing. “They ruined everything back home,” he added bitterly. “Why is it that we get on so well here? Here we are not Turks and Greeks. But that’s how it always was. Didn’t we get on back home? For so many years nothing could divide us. What devil came between us? I don’t understand it.” I agreed with him and added: “Foreign interests, my friend. Our land is a valuable area for army bases. The British keep bases there, why not the Americans? They are the ones who caused everything, my friend Osman.” I gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. We talked for a long time. We hadn’t seen each other for ten years. “I will pass by again,” I promised him and left. I got to the road where I had my factory and found myself in front of it. What I saw, inadvertently, shook me. In what was a large building once, which held so much life within it, nothing was left but some bare walls which appeared to be facing upwards, looking for solace. I was told later that it caught fire and nothing was left other than what I was looking at. I remained there, on the opposite side of the road and watched it ecstatically. In my mind flashed many phases of my life spent in this place, over a period of about eight years. I was reminded of the struggle for survival in the beginning and the triumph at the end. It also reminded me of my relationship with the staff. About fifty men and women worked with me in this space and I imagined, nostalgically, that I could meet all of them and shake their hand. So many times, in this building, we celebrated the new year, united as brothers, Greeks and Turks, Indians and West Indians, Moroccans and Jews. The staff of the factory was made up of these and other races. I was also reminded of the time when I had an incident outside the factory. It was a Friday, like all the others – routine. I went to the bank with my car and a piece of paper, listing the different bank notes I needed. So many ten-pound notes, so many five-pound notes, so many pounds etc, to enable me to pay the staff. I stopped, I remember, next to the door and started to get out, with an envelope bulging with £3,000. When I opened the door and had my right foot on the ground, I Page 246 of 371

saw an enormous guy – I remember his stature and his twisted face – reach with his left hand and gesture to me with his fingers, to hand over the envelope. He must have realised that I would react, because he brought a heavy blow down on my head with his right hand. I almost lost consciousness. I pounced on him like a raging dog, punched him hard in the stomach, bit his fingers trying to grab my throat and kicked him hard in the balls. I surprised him. He obviously wasn’t expecting such a reaction. I ran towards the entrance to the factory calling out for help. I never got there. Two others, who obviously were watching, jumped on me from the other side of the road and, grabbing me roughly, threw me on the ground and tried to take the envelope away from me. My right hand turned into a pincer! They were trying to pry the envelope from my hand and it tore in half, with the money pouring out on the asphalt. They let go of me, grabbed what they could and ran in the direction of a car, which was coming at high speed and screeched to a halt to pick them up. I ran after them. I noticed that as well as the three I was chasing, there was a fourth getting into the car from the other side. I reached the last one trying to get in the car and grabbed the back of his shirt. I pulled so hard that a piece of his shirt was left in my hand. Before the car took off, I managed to kick and dent its back door. I read and reread the number plate until it turned the corner. I turned back towards the factory and saw some neighbours picking up the money. They gave it to me in the torn envelope. I didn’t speak, concentrating on remembering the registration number. I went in. Nikos was in the office and was watching my strange behaviour. I picked up a pen and wrote down the letters and numbers. “I’ve been robbed Niko,” I told him, “call the police.” “Where? How? When?” he was saying, upset, picking up the phone. “Just now, here, outside the factory door. I kept shouting, but nobody heard me. If you heard me, we would have caught them.” I got on with counting the money, leaving Nikos free to make the call. “Tell me dad,” he asked me, when he put down the receiver, “how did it happen?” I gave him the short version, whilst we continued counting the money. “How could we not be aware of what was going on?” wondered Nikos, out loud. “How much then?” I asked him. He added up the figures and, smiling with satisfaction, he said: “Don’t worry, they only managed to take £350.” Page 247 of 371

“That’s lucky,” I said, “otherwise we would have difficulty covering the wages.” We heard the police sirens and we went outside. There were three of them, with an inspector in charge. “In which direction did they go?” asked the inspector. I gave them the direction and at the same time I told them the registration number which I could still remember. “It’s a false number plate,” stated the inspector straight away. “They must have changed the number plate by now.” The police car, with two of the policemen, left at high speed in the direction I provided. The inspector came to the office with us, sat down and started asking questions. How many of them, their descriptions, their ages, the colour and make of the vehicle and if there were any witnesses. I described it as well as I could and for witnesses, I suggested the neighbours and also the refuse collectors, who happened to be there collecting the rubbish. “How much did they take?” he asked me. “£350,” I replied, “we just counted it.” “Was it insured?” Nikos and I looked at each other. “Of course,” Nikos replied. “You should apply to the insurance company for what was taken,” the inspector advised us. The next day, I went to the police station to describe the one who hit me, so that a sketch artist could draw his portrait – indeed it was very accurate – and I learned from the inspector that only two people were willing to give a statement. One was a middle-aged woman in charge of a launderette opposite the factory and the other was one of the refuse collectors who, in his statement, said that the fourth robber was holding a shotgun under his coat. The insurance company not only paid us the £350 but thanked us for saving it money. I become so sad when I remember this scene! I wonder why man can degenerate to such a level. Even if someone is unemployed, or not earning enough, this is no way to solve his problems; to rob his fellow man with the danger of killing him or getting killed. Page 248 of 371

I let my mind wander over some pleasant memories from this space and I left, perhaps for the last time, leaving it behind. On the way, I remembered something else that happened to me, which was very important in my life. It was my decision to abandon my active participation in the party. It was in the office of this factory that I rejected the proposal by my friend, Takis Tsioupras, to withdraw my written resignation. The reasons I gave were that I had become tired and that I had health issues. Of course, the comrades did not believe it and that’s why Tsioupras was sent to convince me to change my mind. Indeed, these were not the reasons. The real reason which caused me to make the historic, for me, decision to resign after 35 whole years of organised service, was that I had formed the perception that the party had turned into a party of satisfaction of the peculiar interests of some of its most senior members. I believe that I was not wrong, following the incident I describe below, and which stood out as a landmark in my party life and which was shown, with the passing of time, to be true. It was during the time I was carrying out the duties of the secretary of Ε.Κ.Α. Ενωσης Κυπριων Αγγλιας, (Union of Cypriots of England). The role of the organisation was important in the community, because the teams of our movement had been merged with the Communist Party of Britain and therefore it had a leading role. The organisation did not have a salaried member and all the work was being done voluntarily. One day, I was visited in the office by a young female comrade, who was the daughter of one of the most senior members of the party in Cyprus. She greeted me, I asked her to sit down and she introduced herself. We talked. She needed a job. She had only recently come to London and both she and her husband were out of work. I asked her if she knew how to sew – at that time seamstresses made a lot of money – or something similar to sewing. She replied that she only knew how to type and only in Greek. I suggested that we find her a job in a factory, trimming excessive threads from dresses. It was easy work and the wages were not to be frowned upon. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll talk it over with my husband and we can talk again.” The next day, about the same time, she came back, but this time she was accompanied by comrade Hambis Michael. We exchanged pleasantries and sat around a small coffee table in front of the desk. “This female comrade,” began comrade Hambis, “is the daughter of ………….” and mentioned the name of her father, who was a senior member and in the highest echelons of the party, for many years. “Yes,” I said, “I know, we met yesterday.” “She needs a job.” Page 249 of 371

“I know that too.” “We’ll take care of her here, with you,” the comrade told me sternly and with finality, as if he was giving me an ultimatum. And to justify his demand, he added: “The decision was made back home.” “Here?” I asked, “but the organisation’s funds are only just enough to cover its maintenance,” I said in a tone, which I confess, was somewhat harsh. I really could not believe that in a party with democratic principles and with collective guidance, someone could behave in this way. To avoid further unpleasantness, I suggested that I put it to the committee of Ε.Κ.Α. “There is no need,” comrade Hambis told me, “Comrade …..” and he said her name, “starts work now. As for her earnings, we’ll see to it later.” Well, I thought to myself, it may be helpful to have a typist who would send typewritten, instead of handwritten, letters to the members. On this occasion, I do not want to mention names, because I do not want to cause complications in the party. “Alright,” I said, “if that’s what you want, I don’t see why I should stand in the way.” From that day on, I prepared documents in the evening after work and the next day the comrade would type them and post them out. I have to admit that the comrade’s presence helped me a lot with my work. However, the culmination of this scheme was an unprecedented attack by the father of the comrade when he came to London and as soon as he found the time, he attacked me using foul language which was personal and had nothing to do with policy. Furthermore, when he was invited to attend a meeting of the organisation, as a guest, he used the ability he acquired over many years in the party and with skill, tried to undermine and diminish my value and if it was possible, he would have stepped on me. I put up with it in the interest of the party. I was absolutely convinced that his attacks against me were the result of the position I took when his daughter was placed, as a salaried member, in the offices of the organisation. Inside, I was furious. At one point, I considered standing up, disclosing everything and resigning from all involvement. However, I managed to control myself because I felt that I would damage the movement if I spoke out. Inside, though, I had sworn that for me, the only thing left was to find the right moment to walk away from it all. Page 250 of 371