Four Siblings Together.
In 1986, when I
first conceived the project of writing about our family, I was in Greece teaching as a visiting professor at the Aristotle University
in Thessaloniki Greece
Her own eloquent
voice will speak directly to us about her memories of what her childhood was
like, what our father was like -- the father we so tragically lost in 1944 and
of whom, no matter how hard I’ve tried, I have no memory at all. At the beginning of that particular interview
in 1986, I asked Xanthoula to describe our father and tell me what she could
remember of him in her early years.
“Father was handsome, with beautiful black eyes,
distinctive eyebrows, classical Greek nose.
He used to wear summer hats. Very impressive but not someone you
couldn’t reach. As a child I felt close
to him. Very understanding, warm, very democratic in his handling of family
affairs.
Not a typical Greek man, didn’t come in from work and
put his feet up and ask his wife to bring his slippers and his newspaper. He would help, would work alongside mother,
they worked together and did things as they needed to be done. He tried to involve us kids in decisions
concerning the family. We all got
involved.
I remember he used to go to Athens
Then I asked
Xanthoula to tell me how she remembered our elder sister Eleni and our brother
Stefanos, how she felt about them when they were growing up. What she says is quite revealing about what
she was like as a young girl.
“Mother didn’t pay special attention to Eleni or
Stefanos, but friends and colleagues praised Eleni, how good she was at
school. I always felt Eleni was brighter
than I but I was never jealous of her.
Eleni and I grew very close. When
I grew up enough to do things with Eleni, we did do things together. I used to follow her around, I admired her. I suppose I wanted to learn from her. I don’t
have bad memories from Eleni, she paid attention to me. I admired her because she wasn’t afraid to
try things. I was afraid to climb
tree. She always did. She was the one to go up on the roof of the kitchen
to lay the figs to dry. She climbed up
the mulberry tree to shake the branches while we held the sheet to collect
them. She was steady and brave. She was serious. She didn’t play with dolls. We never had dolls anyway.
Father treated Eleni as someone much older than she
was. Everyone treated Eleni as an
adult. Somehow she grew up before her
time. I was closer to mother than Eleni was. Eleni wasn’t interested much in cooking or
sewing.
Stefanos was very bright, he could read the paper
before he went to school, friends and relatives praised him. He was very active, teasing everyone, very
mischievous, climbing trees, a little crazy, didn’t fear anything. We all had
to watch him He loved sweets, he used to
go to the big cupboard downstairs where mother kept all the sweets, loukoumia
(Greek for Turkish delight), etc. He
used to eat the second row of loukoumia lifting the paper to eat from
underneath. Father never shouted, but he
tried to reason with him, explaining why he shouldn’t do certain things. Mother
spent a lot of her time with Stefanos, he needed watching, you never knew where
he was, he was always climbing somewhere and falling and scratching
himself. He always tried to be in the
middle of things, probably to attract attention.
Grandfather admired Eleni a lot, she was good at
school. Eleni made a name for herself. From childhood, I was the “vain” one, I
liked pretty things. I might have been
better-looking than Eleni and perhaps I was taking advantage of that to make
people notice me.
I was interested in what mother was doing, but I
didn’t feel very close to mother.
Neither of us felt very close to mother, we felt closer to father than
to mother”.
That surprised
me, because I couldn’t compare my two parents.
I have no memories of father, I only remember what it was like growing
up with mother and of course grandfather. When I asked Xanthoula why she didn’t feel as
close to mother, she replied:
“Perhaps because mother herself didn’t have much
confidence in herself. She wasn’t grown
up enough, mature enough, perhaps she felt she didn’t have enough to give
us. She was a lovely mother, she always
made our clothes, made sure we were clean and well dressed. We didn’t have enough money to be always
buying new clothes, so I remember mother cutting father’s shirts to make
blouses for us. I remember mother
putting a lot of care and love to make our school uniforms. Mother was never very demonstrative, never
got angry for example. I don’t remember ever being told off by her. She never
raised her voice to tell off anyone”.
I knew that
Xanthoula went to school in Katerini when father was the headmaster of the
school. So I asked what memories she had
of him as a little school girl.
“I attended the school in which our father was a headmaster,
but at school all kids were equal, and we never had any preferential
treatment. We couldn’t just go to talk
to him at school. He was a busy man, he did a lot of voluntary work, he was
well-loved by everyone. We were very
proud of our school, even the high-school teachers came to borrow some things
from our school.
I can’t remember father doing anything wrong. If there was a perfect man, he was that.
Eleni could go out by herself, she was older, but father used to take me and
Stefanos out for an ice cream on Sundays.
It was a very special time when he did that.
When I was fourteen years old, it wasn’t mother who
prepared me for the pains of period.
Father was the one to explain to me what was going on. Mother felt that he was the most suitable
person to take care of those things. But
mother was firm in her own way. She
never referred to him for discipline.
She didn’t say “wait till your father comes home”. If there was need for discipline and he
wasn’t there, she could take care of that”.
I asked
Xanthoula to tell me anything she could remember about the relationship between
mother and father. Here is what she
said:
“I never heard them argue about anything, except once
– at the beginning of the war, when he sold all the furniture in Thessaloniki
and bought provisions to see us through the war. Mother was upset about that.
We had a very peaceful life at home. I remember him busy around her, I don’t
remember them fighting about anything.
He used to show her: “Glykeria, this has to be done this way”, and she
would do it. Mother was a very shy, not a
talkative person. For ever she seemed to
have sad blue eyes. She was brighter in
the village in the summer. She probably
felt more at home, more people came through the house, she looked happier up
there”.
I then asked her
to give me her perception of the role of our grandfather. In my experience, grandfather was the only
man in the house when I was growing up in the village during the war years. My brother Stefanos was still too young for
me to see him as the man in the family, and he was away at school in Katerini
during the German Occupation.
“Our grandfather never took the place of the boss when
father was around, he always took second place.
He was helpful with mother, he had his things to do, his routine. There were no fights between mother and
grandfather, but grandfather had strong ideas, if he wanted to do something he
would go ahead and do it”.
As for the
relationship between grandfather and father, she says:
“There was an admiration on both sides. I remember father always asked the advice of
grandfather, especially in the village, because it was his “territory” – the
garden, the trees, etc. Grandfather
always left the city before us to go up to Ritini, to clean and whitewash the
house, plant the vegetable garden, prepare everything for the family. I don’t remember any problems or arguments
between them. It was a harmonious
life...”
Xanthoula then
reminisced about our grandfather and about the house in the village, where
almost everything had been made by him.
I too have vivid memories of that house, its garden, the neighborhood, and
our grandfather’s orchard where he and I spent many of our days, especially
during the summers. I lived through the
war and the German Occupation years in Ritini, between 1940 and late 1944, when
the Germans retreated from our area. After
that, even when we all moved into the city, first Katerini in 1944, and then
Thessaloniki in 1946, I still spent many of my summers in the village with
mother and grandfather until I left for Australia in 1955. But for now, I will let Xanthoula speak, as
it is her reality and her memories that are more relevant to her story.
“Grandfather made capes for shepherds, sitting
cross-legged on the floor. He also gave
a lot of love and care to his garden in Agia Paraskevi. He went everyday to work there, and he always
came back with full baskets.
He had constructed a special wooden structure to
support the vine with white grapes.
There was a lower part and a higher part, the latter was more like a
reception area, where we had the gramophone.
The “paranga” (Greek for large shed) was an outside kitchen with big storage
cupboards where flour was kept to make bread.
There was a big wooden table with benches, on the left side there was a
“baoulo” (Greek for big chest) where
the bread was kept. Next to it was the
big oven where bread was baked, and there was also a wash basin”.
And then some
final general comments:
“We had a lot of visitors, especially on father’s name
day. The house was always neat and tidy,
with the traditional “glyko” waiting (sweet made of
fruit, mostly cherries, and served with a small spoon on a special glass plate). We
always celebrated Easter, Mother made it a special occasion. On Eleni’s name day, her friends, and
sometimes their parents, would come to visit.
As teenagers we had the same friends, the same company”.
There is no need
for me to comment. During that whole
interview Xanthoula spoke simply but eloquently: until the war came it was a
“peaceful” and “harmonious” life that she lived with her parents, grandparents
and siblings. She was a happy young
girl.
Cameras weren’t
exactly commonplace in Greece at the time, but we have several photos even from
those early years: some formal school photos, some with father on special
occasions such as school celebrations, some with friends during excursions and
picnics around the village in summertime.
Special school friends of both girls were welcome to come and spend
holidays in our house in the village.
There are enough photos of such occasions and, as in the case of the
Wrigley photos, they tell us quite a lot.
For example, it is obvious that Xanthoula was a pretty girl, with a
smile that lit up her face, big brown eyes under well-defined eyebrows and soft
waves of light brown hair. Later, in the
high school photographs, she wears her hair in two long plaits that come down
on either side of her face according to the fashion then in Greece, reaching
all the way down to her slender waistline.
Already those photos show the promise of a beautiful young woman. That is even more clearly seen in the few
photos taken after the war, when she was in her early twenties. Unfortunately, after a happy and stable
childhood in the village and later in Katerini and Thessaloniki, her life took
a dramatic turn beginning in 1940. From
the age of 14 until the age of 24, that is between 1940 and 1950, she was to
live through the fear and the horror of WWII, the German Occupation, our
father’s arrest, imprisonment and execution, and finally the horror of the Greek
civil war, when our sister Eleni barely escaped the firing squad. These painful events will be described one by
one and as accurately as possible, to give an idea of the kind of life Xanthoula
lived during those ten years and what led her to the decision in 1950 to change
her life so radically.
Xanthoula’s
painful personal journey and that of our whole family began when the Italian
dictator, Mussolini, attacked Greece Albania
The resounding “OXI” (Greek for “NO”) was pronounced
oddly enough by a dictator, Ioannis Metaxas, who had studied military science in
the Prussian Military Academy in Berlin and was an admirer of German
discipline! When the monarchy was restored in 1935, thanks to a suspicious plebiscite, he became Deputy
Prime Minister of Greece and a year later he was appointed Premier by King
George II. Metaxas ran a quasi-Fascist
government and admired Hitler, at least to begin with, but he never became his
puppet or that of Mussolini. When
Mussolini demanded Italian bases on Greek territory, Metaxas refused and
therefore Mussolini declared war against Greece on October 28th 1940. Europeans watched a small country raise its fist
against the Italian army. Metaxas took
command of the Greek army himself and achieved an unexpected victory. The
Italians were driven out of Greece Albania started being
invaded and the Greek army managed to control most of Northern Epirus, which
was about a quarter of Albania
Mussolini was
defeated while Hitler had turned his attention to northern Europe. But now it was obvious to those who were
following the news that sooner or later German forces would strike at Greece
As soon as the
war broke out, the teacher thought of moving his family (grandfather, his wife
Glykeria and the four children) away from the city of Thessaloniki. He thought that the village would provide more
safety from bombardments and from hunger.
He could foresee what was to come, as he had already been through the
havoc and destruction caused by war. As
a young officer in the Russian army during WWI, he had seen the devastation
brought by the Germans. Wanting to protect his family from that experience as
much as possible, he discussed it in his usual “democratic” way with grandfather,
his wife, and the two older girls, who were by now participating in major
decisions concerning the family.
Everyone but our mother thought that moving to the village seemed like
the most sensible thing to do under the circumstances. We had a home ready and
waiting for us in Ritini where we spent every summer, a couple of small fields
and an orchard and vegetable garden that could feed the family. Clean air and a dry mountain climate were
also a plus. The teacher knew that the
city would be devastated by bombardments and very likely infested with
illnesses. (As it happened, mother had
just recovered from a serious illness during which she spent quite a long time
in hospital. After which she was taken,
with me as well, for convalescing in the care of father’s own family in the
village of Sfendami.) If we left for
Ritini, mother would have relatives
close-by and, as far as father’s position was concerned, he would ask for a
transfer as soon as possible back to his very first job as a teacher in the
village school. He knew that school
well. He had worked hard there for eight
years, six of them as Headmaster before he was promoted to Headmaster of the
First Municipal School in Katerini. He had also been involved more personally with
the people of the village: he helped with support and advice, with medicines
and first-aid treatment when necessary, treating wounds, giving injections or
dispensing quinine for malaria. Apart
from having been the only “doctor” most of the village people would ever see, he
helped in many other ways. Father submitted
to the proper authorities the paperwork for widows’ pensions -- the widows and
orphans of the men who had been killed in the disastrous war with Turkey. Those women couldn’t even read and write let
alone fill papers and apply for war pensions. For several years he had been given by local
authorities the responsibility of collecting the money in Katerini and
distributing it to the soldiers’ families. After all that, he felt he knew the people of
the village. Being pure of heart, he
didn’t realize that there also were those who were envious of him. While he was able to predict just about
everything else, he could not foresee that the transfer back to Ritini would
lead to his death.
Here is a good
moment to add a little more information about our father and his life as a
teacher. Being proud of our father and
trying to live up to his example and his principles have been major factors in
shaping all of us, his children as well as some of his pupils, in our lives, in
the professions we chose and in the decisions we made. Xanthoula especially, who loved her father
very deeply, was particularly affected. All
of this is connected to the story of Xanthoula and Bert, because if our father hadn’t
believed in the things he believed and hadn’t lived the way he lived, he
wouldn’t have died the way he did. And
all of our lives, including Xanthoula’s, would have been different...
Through sheer
hard work, dedication, enthusiasm, a progressive vision of a profession he
loved and a profound love for humanity -- a characteristic every true ‘teacher’
should have --, our father, Ioannis Papadopoulos ,
although he had come to Greece as a refugee with nothing but a teacher’s
diploma in his hands, was recognized over the years by his superiors as an
outstanding teacher and administrator.
He received praises and prizes, high evaluations still in my collection
of family documents, and promotions he deserved. He had created in the town of Katerini a
model school when he was transferred there from the village of Ritini in 1929. Within a year of his appointment as Principal,
the First Municipal School of Katerini was unrecognizable. Its grounds were
cleaned up for the children to run and play without fear of hurting
themselves. The piles of rubble and
debris filling the basement were cleared away and previously unusable spaces
were turned into functional rooms. A plan to serve the students milk and bread every
morning in that very basement was soon established and implemented. The poorest were given priority. Xanthoula remembers that she, her elder sister
Eleni and later their little brother Stefanos were not allowed to go down for
that morning treat, or later for the meals served to the children from poor
families through the goodwill of charitable people in the community. The Headmaster considered that there were
many children who needed it more, while his own children had already had
breakfast at home and a meal would be waiting for them when they returned. All
of my siblings remember that the only time they could have such meals was if
everyone who was hungry had eaten, and if there was anything left over they could
pay 2 drachmas to eat. There were no
exceptions.
Within the nine
years of his service at that school he completely transformed it. The stairs to the entrance were rebuilt and
widened, balconies with railings were added all around the classrooms and side exits
with stairs were built as a safety measure.
New furniture was bought for the school, broken desks were replaced,
encyclopedias and other educational materials were added to the library. It was the only school in the area known to
possess a life-size transparent copy of the human body brought from Germany
“Ioannis Papadopoulos: Instructor of exceptional
character. Nature created Papadopoulos
to be a teacher. Indefatigable, he takes the lead in all matters. Work does not
tire him, it is sustenance for him. Of incomparable zeal, and assiduity. He is
studious and follows the new pedagogical methods which he successfully implements.
He has outstanding administrative abilities, and he instills in the school an
atmosphere of love, one in which disagreements are calmly and peacefully resolved
without becoming known outside the school. He has a special genius in organizing
schools. He succeeds in creating resources and thus his school is not deprived
of anything. Papadopoulos is the pride of school teachers. It has been said about him before that he is “Petros
Anezis”.
G. Poullos
Katerini, May
15, 1934.
Reference is
made here to a Greek hero, Petros Anezis – a teacher who had transformed the
life of a small village and took part, together with some of his own pupils, in
the 1912-1913 war of independence when northern Greece was finally liberated
from Turkish rule. The teacher, an
inspiration to his pupils, went to fight with them and died in that war of
independence. The District School
Inspector who wrote the above
evaluation had followed what Papadopoulos had done in the school and the
village of Ritini, and could appreciate what he was doing in Katerini. So the reference to this earlier outstanding
teacher, Petros Anezis, seemed to fit well.
He couldn’t foresee that ten years later Papadopoulos would also die as
a martyr in another struggle for freedom of the Greek people.
The other
teachers too, some young and others older, were inspired anew and began putting
forth their best efforts. By now, when
people said ‘O Daskalos’ (The Teacher), those who knew him understood that this
was referring to Ioannis Papadopoulos .
He enjoyed the esteem of his colleagues
as well as of the people in the town where he lived and worked, and his
activities soon extended into other areas as well. He became an active member
of the church board, organizing events not only for the benefit of the school
but for wider charitable aims as well. He had a way of inspiring others and was
able to mobilize an unprecedented number of ladies in Katerini, who not only
opened their wallets but also gave of their time. They volunteered in order to
help the teacher in his work, serving breakfast and working soup kitchens for
poor school children and needy families.
How did the
teacher find the resources he needed to manage all of this? The inspector who wrote the individual report
quoted above may have known more details but did not write about them in his
brief but highly praising report.
Fortunately, some of the ways the teacher raised funds survived in the memory
of his oldest daughter, Eleni. She
recalled that her father had created, among some of the more affluent residents
of Katerini, a circle of donors whose contributions were honored in various
ways. For example, at school fêtes, the first few rows of seats were reserved
for these benefactors, and bore their names waiting for them to arrive. Even if
deceased, the seats would continue to bear their names and remain empty out of
respect, thus expressing the gratitude the school had for them.
His interest in
promoting education was not limited to Katerini. The villages of the region had
many needs. Indeed some of them had no
school at all. To learn to read and
write, many children had to walk through mud and fields to reach the nearest
village with a school. The village Rachi
(meaning ‘Ridge’), only a few kilometers outside of Katerini, was one of
them. Although there is now a paved
road all the way, one doesn’t reach it quickly even by car, situated as it is
on the ridge of a high and prominent hill.
There is now a bus that goes up there at various times through the week,
but at that time there were no means of transport other than horses, mules,
donkeys, or most often walking.
Papadopoulos heard the plight of the people of Rahi and set out to
establish a school there. With his good
name and fine reputation in the service of the District School Inspectorate, he
succeeded in founding a public school in that village. Ioannis Kourtis, one of the oldest living
residents and a prominent man in the village, now 84 years old, still remembers
the teacher who paved the way for the literacy of their children. He also
remembers receiving private lessons from him, together with Xanthoula who was
of the same age, to prepare for the entrance exam into high school. He was the first boy from his village to be
admitted to high school in Katerini and later made sure that Papadopoulos was
honored and recognized as the founder of the village school. A framed photograph of our father with the
proper inscription still hangs on the new school’s wall. As fate would have it, we are now related to
the Kourtis family by marriage: his son, Nikos, married our brother’s daughter,
and my sisters and I have, as a result, visited the village and discovered our
father’s photo in the school. Rachi is
considered now as one of the most progressive villages in the area. In the younger generations there are people
who distinguished themselves in various fields, and every year the Council of
the village hosts a cultural conference lasting three full days. I attended one of these conferences and was
surprised and moved to hear one of the guest speakers, a University professor,
speak about my father and his contribution to education in the area.
A few pages
cannot sum up such a man and his life and there is a lot more to be said about
him, but this brief outline of the
figure of our father gives an idea of the kind of environment in which
Xanthoula grew up.
Go to 9. "Family moves to Ritini" Blog.
Go to 9. "Family moves to Ritini" Blog.
