Greece and Britain since 1945 Second Edition [1 ed.] 9781443857727, 9781443855341

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Greece and Britain since 1945 Second Edition

Greece and Britain since 1945 Second Edition

Edited by

David Wills

Greece and Britain since 1945 Second Edition, Edited by David Wills This book first published 2014 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2014 by David Wills and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5534-0, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5534-1

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures............................................................................................ vii Chapter One ................................................................................................. 1 Introduction: From “Elusive Spell” to Hollywood Locale David Wills Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 13 Kay Cicellis: The Unresolved Dilemma of the Bilingual Writer Peter Mackridge Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 39 “Mist, Melancholy People, Unemployment and Rapists”: London in Greek Fiction Since 1974 Eleni Papargyriou Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 57 Modern Greek Literature in Britain Since 1945 David Connolly Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 65 Re-imag(in)ing Arcadia: British Intervention in the Post-War Reconstruction of Greece, c. 1945-1946 Alexandra Moschovi Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 103 Truth Will Triumph: The British Council and Cultural Relations in Greece Jim Potts Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 135 Not Enough Tomatoes: The Television Dramas of Michael J. Bird David Rice Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 147 British Reactions to the Military Dictatorship of 1967-74 David Wills

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Table of Contents

Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 155 Belonging to Two Cultures: An Anglo-Greek Identity Crisis Loretta Proctor Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 173 Tear Gas and Petrol Bombs: Civil Discourse in Contemporary Athens Brian Church Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 177 Promoting Greek Culture in Hard Times: The Role of the Hellenic Centre Agatha Kalisperas Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 183 Durrell School of Corfu Richard Pine Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 191 Interpreting the Greek Crisis from a British Media Perspective George N. Tzogopoulos Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 203 British-Greek Research Laboratory William Mallinson Contributors ............................................................................................. 207 Index ........................................................................................................ 211

LIST OF FIGURES

1-1: Stanley Casson’s grave, St Columb Minor, Cornwall. Photograph taken by Victoria Wills, April 2013 ............................................................ 2 1-2: John Craxton’s house in Poros. Photograph taken by Victoria Wills, August 2012 ................................................................................................ 3 1-3: John Craxton’s house in Poros. Photograph taken by Victoria Wills, August 2012 ................................................................................................ 4 2-1: Kay Cicellis, London, 1950-1. Reproduced by kind permission of Lila Palaiologou .................................................................................... 35 5-1: Voula Papaioannou: arrival of the first grain shipment at the Port of Piraeus, 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens ... 70 5-2: Voula Papaioannou: distribution of clothing at the First Cemetery, Athens, 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. .... 71 5-3: Voula Papaioannou: trainee nurses at Hippokrateion Hospital, Athens, 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. .... 74 5-4: Voula Papaioannou: children eating out of tins al fresco, Aspraggeloi, Ioannina, 1946 © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. ... 76 5-5: Voula Papaioannou: “Clothing—children, Greece”, c.1945-6, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens ................................ 78 5-6: Dimitris Harissiadis: factory workers, Thessaly and Macedonia, June 1957, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. ......... 79 5-7: Voula Papaioannou: repatriation, 17th June 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. ................................................... 82 5-8: Maria Chroussachi: Tymfristos [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens ...... 87

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5-9: Maria Chroussachi: medical examination, Tymfristos [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens .......................................................................... 88 5-10: Maria Chroussachi: open-air surgery, Psachna, Euboea [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens .......................................................................... 89 5-11: Maria Chroussachi: medical examination, Tymfristos [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens .......................................................................... 91 5-12: Maria Chroussachi: bathing, Ayios Georgios [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens ......................................................................................... 92 5-13: Maria Chroussachi: camping on the beach [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens ......................................................................................... 94 6-1: Page from the Anglo-Hellenic Review, issue 1, 1946. Reproduced by kind permission of the British Council ............................................... 130 7-1: Michael J. Bird, c. 1983. Reproduced by kind permission of Mrs Olive Bird .................................................................................... 141 7-2: Olympic Airways window display promoting the BBC television series The Dark Side of the Sun, autumn 1983. Reproduced by kind permission of Mrs Olive Bird .................................................................. 143 9-1: Loretta Proctor’s mother and father at their engagement ................. 156 9-2: Loretta Proctor at the Acropolis. This shows how little crowded it was then and how one had a panoramic view of Athens ......................... 160 9-3: Loretta Proctor’s mother’s cousin Petros and her auntie Theodora, Easter 1967, Thessaloniki ........................................................................ 161 11-1: Façade of the Hellenic Centre, Marylebone, London W1. Reproduced by kind permission of the Hellenic Centre .......................... 178

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11-2: Opening of a photographic exhibition “Greece: Images of an Enchanted Land 1954-1965” by Robert McCabe, 7th February 2011. Reproduced by kind permission of the Hellenic Centre .......................... 181 12-1: Seminar leaders Professor David Bellamy, left, and Dr David Shimwell, right, with students at the “Gerald Durrell Week” hosted by the Durrell School of Corfu, 2013. Photograph courtesy the Durrell School of Corfu ....................................................................................... 186 13-1: Interest of British newspapers in Greece from 2005 until 2012 ..... 194

CHAPTER ONE INTRODUCTION: FROM “ELUSIVE SPELL” TO HOLLYWOOD LOCALE DAVID WILLS

Many books have been written about the Athens of classical days, but there are other aspects of her history and associations to which less justice has been done. (Bosanquet 1914:viii)

In 1943, with the Greek people suffering the terrors of Axis occupation, a book by Stanley Casson attempted to reinforce the solidarity between Greece and Britain. The author stressed the culture shared by the two peoples. After the fall of the Roman Empire, it was Byzantium which had acted as a beacon of civilization in Europe, spreading Greek art, architecture, literature and religion via trade routes to the West (Casson 1943:38). By the nineteenth century, cultural dominance had been reversed, with the British giving assistance to the establishment of parliamentary democracy in the fledgling nation of Greece: “from the British, [the Greeks] acquired a knowledge of the workings of the British Constitution, on which, in due course, they based their own” (1943:108). As early as the 1840s, Dr Meryon, editor of Lady Hester Stanhope’s Travels, had argued that “the British were the true inheritors of the imperial Greek past and had become the new naval and colonial masters of the West” (Markidou 2008:46). For Casson, even villages in Cornwall resembled their counterparts in the Mediterranean (1943:20). In Casson’s view, it was inevitable given their shared history that these two peoples would stand together against dictators who threatened civilization and democracy: “in the war of 1914-1918 Greece and Britain were allies . . . and once again in this war the two peoples are fighting together” (1943: cover). In making links between past and present in Greece, Casson had to make the people who lived in that country timeless and unchanging. Throughout the Turkish occupation of their country, lasting

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until the early nineteenth century, “the ancient conceptions of freedom and justice were not dead . . . the Greek nature had not changed” (1943:95). This was a reference to the Greeks with whom the majority of Casson’s readers were believed to be familiar: the ancient people, whose history and achievements formed the backbone of British formal education. Casson’s most famous protégé – both in military terms and as a Philhellene – was Patrick Leigh Fermor. In 1940 Casson, then a military instructor, recruited Leigh Fermor from the Intelligence Corps for the fledgling Greek Military Mission (Cooper 2012:125). Leigh Fermor subsequently operated from Cairo, working with the Greek resistance in Nazioccupied Crete. Casson was to die in a plane crash in 1944 (1-1), but Leigh Fermor became central to the next – post-war – generation of Philhellenes.

1-1: Stanley Casson’s grave, St Columb Minor, Cornwall. Photograph taken by Victoria Wills, April 2013.

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Leigh Fermor was part of a vibrant cultural Anglo-Greek circle in Athens. One of Leigh Fermor’s post-war haunts in Athens, the Platanos taverna in the heart of the old town (the Plaka), still (2012) proudly displays a photograph of him with two Greek literary greats, labelled “a pleasant memory from 1946.” George Seferis, the Nobel prize-winning poet, stands alongside George Katsimbalis, the publisher and raconteur immortalized by Henry Miller as The Colossus of Maroussi (1941).1 Artists Lucian Freud and John Craxton were introduced to the island of Poros by Leigh Fermor (Cooper 2012:208), where a recently-erected plaque identifies the house they lived in from 1946-7, the beginning of Craxton’s long career inspired by Greece (1-2 and 1-3).

1-2: John Craxton’s house in Poros. Photograph taken by Victoria Wills, August 2012.

1

The photograph’s inscription appears to be by Leigh Fermor’s hand. For its translation, I am indebted to Eleana Yalouri. The photograph can also be found in Cooper, Patrick Leigh Fermor, plate 8.

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1-3: John Craxton’s house in Poros. Photograph taken by Victoria Wills, August 2012.

Post-1945, however, many of the cosy certainties which had underpinned and permeated the work of Casson (and, to be fair, many other observers of his time) rapidly dissipated. Political consensus between

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Greeks and Britons collapsed in the face of Civil War, Communism, Cold War, and the future of Cyprus. British education turned away from Classics. Above all, Greece’s appearance over the last sixty-five years has changed. Urban expansion and tourist infrastructure cater for modern needs, whilst drawing censure for offending traditional sensibilities. The recent proliferation of memoirs by British people who have bought houses in Greece reflects and promotes a perception of Mediterranean pleasures very different from that of the earnest pre-war culture-seekers (Wills 2005). In 1954, a postcard of the Athenian Acropolis sent to a Mr and Mrs Trinder catalogued “Mary’s” whistle-stop tour of Greece’s cultural and historical highlights: “We are having a wonderful holiday cruising in the Med. In Athens on Monday, here [Cyprus] today and Rhodes tomorrow.” For many of today’s visitors, the Greek experience is just as hectic, even if it is more sedentary. But the contrast of intent with the travellers of the immediate post-war period could not be more striking, as was suggested by the narrator of a 2012 British television series, Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents: “The Greek island of Zante. Many come for the stunning scenery, beautiful beaches and historic culture. But each year tens of thousands of young British tourists descend on the resort of Laganas, to drink, dance, and party ’til dawn.” (BBC 2012) Attendant stories of drunkenness, misbehaviour and scandal surface in the press each summer. In 2009, for example, seventeen male Bristolians found themselves before a Cretan court for (allegedly) exposing their backsides whilst dressed as nuns (Ekathimerini 2009). If anything, the present Greek need for foreign tourist income has led, since the first edition of this book, to an even greater focus on budget - rather than cultural - tourism. In 2009, the Greek National Tourist Organization changed the focus of its advertising from 2005’s “Live your Myth in Greece” to “A Masterpiece You Can Afford” (Basea 2012:205). Greece’s identity within Europe and the world has been transformed since the 1940s. As a longstanding member of the European Union and the Euro currency, Greece attracted inward investment and foreign media scrutiny. Hosting the Olympics in 2004 hastened the modernization of transport links, but also led to accusations of tardiness in the completion of facilities and criticism of the white elephants which many venues became. International commentators blamed the 2008 Athens riots on old-fashioned political corruption and incompetence. Helena Smith, correspondent for The Guardian, attributed the rioters’ actions to despair born of “the knowledge that so much of the state apparatus, the levers of power that govern daily existence, are ossified, corrupt and rotten to the core” (Smith 2009:58).

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The recent Greek financial crisis has led to tensions between Greeks and the wider world. In the summer of 2011 protestors were encamped in Athens’ Syntagma Square, seeking to influence those who worked in the adjacent parliament building against the austerity measures imposed as a requirement of a European Union bailout. In search of blame for their predicament, some Greek critics attacked the world banking system; others, their countrymen’s laziness, corruption or wastefulness (Theodossopoulos 2013:203). Anglo-Greek relations were affected, even though Britain was not involved in dictating the financial terms, as is shown by the sweeping reaction of one Greek interviewee: “The foreigners are worried that we will not return the borrowed money. They don’t really care about Greece. They never did. History has proven that, again and again: the nations of the West use Greece for their own interests” (Theodossopoulos 2013:207). The anti-austerity protests in turn attracted internal criticism for sullying Greece’s image presented to the wider world: “All this in front of the hotels, the tourists, the parliament” (a Greek observer quoted in Theodossopoulos 2013:205). Members of the British anti-fascist movement had apocalyptic visions that Greece’s economic woes would lead to a rise in right-wing extremism: At this time all those who care about combating Nazism and hate should come together to ensure postwar history in Europe is not repeated, with the destruction of whole sections of society such as under the rule of the Colonels in Greece from 1967 to 1974 and the mass genocidal killings in the Balkans in the early 1990s (Gable 2013).

This book explores the relationship between Greece and Britain since Casson’s writing of the 1940s. The authors have not followed his structure or ideas, but seek, as he did, to chart the enduring cultural and political ties between the two countries and peoples. This is a multi- and interdisciplinary study, covering, amongst others, literature, tourism, politics, photography, and television drama. There is no attempt to present a definitive history, but, rather, to investigate the parameters of this complex topic. Similarly, the editor has not sought to impose uniformity: whether upon such apparently mundane but complex matters as the transliteration of names from Greek, or views about modern Greece expressed. Peter Mackridge opens this volume with a masterly examination of the life and work of Kay Cicellis, a writer of prose fiction and radio drama in both Greek and English. Cicellis was much-admired, an early sponsor being Vita Sackville-West, but struggled to find her literary identity. Cicellis lived for significant periods in Manchester, Karachi, Athens and Cephalonia, yet her work is curiously placeless, a feature which

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Mackridge relates to her sense of not belonging to any one country or culture. On two occasions, however, Cicellis was confronted with political or natural disasters which forced their way into her work. She became a strong opponent of the Colonels’ seizure of power in Greece, and she had earlier been in Cephalonia shortly after it was ravaged by an earthquake. Mackridge describes how Cicellis chronicles this latter disaster as the loss of “orientation and social identity”. Another observer, British writer Evan John, similarly observed how the people of Cephalonia were taken from social stratification to uniform poverty. John found a “bourgeois and respectable couple”, formerly wine importers, pushing through the streets of Argostoli “an amateurish-looking handbarrow” containing what was left of their possessions (John 1954:50). Eleni Papargyriou identifies the Greek novel as a very post-war development. Its rise coincides with increased urbanisation in Greece. In Chapter Three, Papargyriou shows how a foreign city—London—has been used as a literary space where issues of Greek identity are explored: class distinction, urban life, and Greece’s relationship with “the West”. David Connolly is the translator of numerous books by Greek authors. He is therefore responsible for introducing the English-reading public to the work of, amongst others, Petros Markaris, whose tales of Inspector Costas Haritos are to be recommended as revealing more about the modern city of Athens than most guidebooks (e.g. Markaris 2009). This makes Connolly uniquely qualified to survey the rather mixed fortunes of Modern Greek literature in the English language. In doing so in Chapter Four, Connolly gives some fascinating explanations for the rise, fall, and rise again in the numbers of Greek authors finding their way onto Britain’s bookshelves. He suggests that increased tourism and literary awards have a part to play in raising international awareness of a country’s literature. But so too, he demonstrates, does war and conflict: Britons felt a connection with Greece in the immediate aftermath of 1940s hostilities, and in 1967 interest was renewed by the arrival of the military junta. The work of British humanitarians in Greece in the wake of the 1945 armistice is examined by Alexandra Moschovi in Chapter Five, viewed through the work of two local photographers. Moschovi shows how politics, ethnographic trends, and “Western” views of Greece, are as integral to understanding the photographic record as they are to the motivation behind the relief work itself. Photographs of the Greek plight keyed into existing images of “timeless” Greece. This is true also of a book published in 1944 to raise funds for the relief efforts of the Greek Red Cross, The Glory that is Greece, edited by Hilda Hughes. In his contribution to that volume, the great classical scholar Maurice Bowra

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wrote that a visitor “will soon see that the Greek islanders keep alive the ancient and noble traditions of their race” (Hughes 1944:19). British humanitarian fundraising was therefore inspired as much by the glory of Greece’s past as its devastated present. The editor of the 1944 volume was quick to point out—on the first page of her introduction—“the priceless gifts to civilisation made by such a small nation and such a great people” (Hughes 1944:11). In Chapter Six, Jim Potts presents an astonishing list of eminent authors who have been employed, sponsored by, or otherwise associated with, the British Council in Greece: John Fowles, Lawrence Durrell, Dilys Powell, Philip Sherrard, Yannis Ritsos, and Nikos Kazantzakis, amongst others. As its former Acting Director in Greece, Potts is understandably proud of the Council’s record. He is dismayed at some recent episodes he considers inglorious, such as the dispersal of its library and the effective closure of a regional office in Thessaloniki. Potts regards the work of the Council as being vital in building trust, not least in Greece where relations with Britain have not always been harmonious. He argues that, at a time when the international reputation of Britain can no longer be taken for granted, re-establishing “trust” is more important than ever. An insight into the close relationship between fiction set in Greece and the burgeoning tourist industry of the 1970s and 80s is offered by David Rice in Chapter Seven. Greece was seen by producers as uncharted television territory, and the promise of warm sunshine and friendly locals had the desired effect of attracting increased numbers of visitors. But, as Rice explains, Michael J. Bird, the creator of such series as The Lotus Eaters, felt anxiety for the changes which tourism might bring. This was a familiar refrain for many observers during the post-war period. As Peter Bull wrote in his late-1960s travel memoir about Paxos, “the newspaper public is avid for suggestions and will react as strongly to an article as they do to an effective advertising campaign” (Bull 1967:161). Since The Lotus Eaters, several Hollywood productions have used Greece as a backdrop, with predictable media histrionics about the consequences. Nobody goes there any more for the marvels of antiquity, or to see where Alexander fought or Aristotle thought; they go to see where Shirley Valentine copped her epic shag. They go to learn how Meryl Streep felt when she first heard Pierce Brosnan’s godawful singing in Mamma Mia! Where Nic Cage strummed dolefully in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. And no doubt Nia Vardalos’ latest, the Greek road movie Driving Aphrodite, will do the same for whatever trail of towns and villages she passes through. Picture living in a country where your most serious immigration debate will soon be about how to rid your lands of an annual million

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matron march of squealing, drunken hen party coach tours (Patterson 2009).

Though allies during the Second World War, Anglo-Hellenic political relations had become more complex by the 1950s. Even long-established cultural institutions were affected by the crisis in Cyprus. Arriving at the British School at Athens in 1956, Brian Sparkes found that archaeological excavations had been suspended and students advised to live within its protective walls (Sparkes 2009:8). Nevertheless, Sparkes experienced a warm reception in Crete, being “assured that the trouble over Cyprus was really only between governments, not between ordinary individuals” (2009:11). Of course, British troops faced real danger in Cyprus. Army musician “Raj” Goodrich’s local, Greek, girlfriend begged him to change their plans to go dancing. Fortunately for him, Goodrich complied. In the morning he discovered the reason for her entreaties: the dance hall had been destroyed by a bomb that night.2 Many who served in Greece or Cyprus in the 1940s and 50s—and survived—left believing that they had preserved freedom for the Greeks. This view was challenged by the takeover of the Colonels in the 1960s. In Chapter Eight I show how British residents of Greece, and other observers, struggled with the concept of dictatorship in the land of democracy. The book continues with two memoirs. Of Anglo-Greek stock, novelist Loretta Proctor in Chapter Nine describes coming to terms with her parents’ countries during the post-war period, offering an insight into literary and personal dilemmas similar to those faced by that earlier writer Kay Cicellis. Proctor’s portrayal of Greece will be familiar to those who have analysed the many accounts of British travellers from the 1950s and 60s: hospitality and generosity, pagan survivals in religion, and apparently “oriental” traditions. Ultimately, Proctor is disappointed with many of the changes which have occurred in Greece; though, unlike some other writers, she recognises that such “progress” often benefits the people who live there. She portrays Athens as noisy and smelly, complaints which many travellers of the 1980s and 90s might share (Wills 2006). Brian Church is a veteran observer of life in the Greek capital. His wry, often satirical, column was eagerly devoured by readers of Athens News for many years. Here, in Chapter Ten, Church takes rioters’ attacks on Exarcheia police station as his starting point for musings on the character of Greek discourse and democracy. Antonis Karakousis, of newspaper To Vima, has noted that “Greece has a tradition of such clashes”. Karakousis 2

The source for this story was my late father, John Wills, Goodrich’s fellow tuba player in the Alamein Band of the Royal Tank Regiment.

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argues that “hard core left and leftist cells within the universities and youth circles in general” have existed since the 1960s, and opposed the Junta during the 1970s (2009:29-30). Now resident in Britain, Church’s affection for Greece shines through as strongly as ever; though it is reassuring that he cannot resist another swipe at his bête noire, the Syntagma post office. For this new edition of Greece and Britain Since 1945, four new chapters have been commissioned. Agatha Kalisperas, for Chapter Eleven, considers how the Hellenic Centre in London has become a vital source of support to the Greek community, and a way of preserving Hellenic prestige during difficult times. Richard Pine follows this with an account in Chapter Twelve of how the Durrell School has, for over a decade, promoted British interests and culture, focusing on the legacy of novelist Lawrence and naturalist Gerald, in the former UK protectorate of Corfu. In Chapter Thirteen, George Tzogopoulos offers a survey of how Greece’s current economic problems have been represented in the British media. He discovers an immense collection of newsprint, reflecting Greece’s long-established place in Britain’s cultural and touristic heritage. British journalists are shown to be unflinching as they reveal Greece’s ugly underbelly of nepotism and tax-evasion, and unflattering in their portrayal of the competence of Greek politicians. Finally, as Chapter Thirteen, an outline by William Mallinson of an optimistic development in the face of such negative publicity about Greece: an institute founded in Corfu to bring together and promote research into Anglo-Hellenic relations. Mallinson concludes with his reflections on the highs and lows of this sometimes stormy relationship since the formation of the Modern Greek state. In the 1960s, Alan Wace, archaeologist and former head of the British School at Athens, wrote that Greece has “an elusive spell which is felt only by sensitive experience” (Wace 1964:8). Tourism, movies, musicals and literature have democratized the Greek experience for the British, even as observers have criticised the condition of Greece’s governmental democracy. Nevertheless, as this volume demonstrates, there is much of Greek literature and character which many Britons have yet to discover. The understanding of (Modern) Greece still has a long journey in Britain.

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Bibliography and References Basea, Erato. 2012. “My Life in Ruins: Hollywood and Holidays in Greece in Times of Crisis.” Interactions: Studies in Communication and Culture 3(2):199-208. BBC television. 2012. Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. Series 2, Zante, first broadcast 29th February 2012, BBC3. Bosanquet, Mrs R.C. [Ellen]. 1914. Days in Attica. London: Methuen. Bull, Peter. 1967. It Isn’t All Greek to Me. London: Peter Davies. Casson, Stanley. 1943. Greece and Britain. London: Collins. Cooper, Artemis. 2012. Patrick Leigh Fermor: An Adventure. London: Murray. Ekathimerini. 2009. “Brits in Cretan Court for Bare-Faced Cheek.” 26th May. www.ekathimerini.com Gable, Gerry. 2013. “Editorial: A Dangerous Time for Europe and Democracy.” Searchlight 452:4. Hughes, Hilda, ed. 1944. The Glory that is Greece. London: Hutchinson. John, Evan. 1954. Time After Earthquake: An Adventure Among Greek Islands in August, 1953. London: Heinemann. Karakousis, Antonis. 2009. “Saint Nicholas Night.” In The Return of Street Politics? Essays on the December Riots in Greece, ed. Spyros Economides and Vassilis Monastiriotis, 27-31. London: The Hellenic Observatory, London School of Economics. Markaris, Petros. 2009. Che Committed Suicide. Translated by David Connolly. London: Arcadia. Markidou, Vassiliki. 2008. “Travels Off-centre: Lady Hester Stanhope in Greece.” In Women Writing Greece: Essays on Hellenism, Orientalism and Travel, ed. Vassiliki Kolocotroni and Efterpi Mitsi, 39-54. Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi. Patterson, John. 2009. “Will Driving Aphrodite Drive Greeks up the Wall?” The Guardian, 26th September. Smith, Helena. 2009. “Greece, December 2008: A Tragedy in the Waiting.” In The Return of Street Politics? Essays on the December Riots in Greece, ed. Spyros Economides and Vassilis Monastiriotis, 57-61. London: The Hellenic Observatory, London School of Economics. Sparkes, Brian. 2009. “Recollections of Greece in the 1950s.” The AngloHellenic Review 39:8-12.

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Theodossopoulos, Dimitrios. 2013. “Infuriated with the Infuriated? Blaming Tactics and Discontent about the Greek Financial Crisis.” Current Anthropology 54(2):200-21. Wace, Alan J.B. 1964. Greece Untrodden. Athens: privately printed. Wills, David. 2005. “British Accounts of Residency in Greece 19452004.” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 23:177-97. —. 2006. “Ancient Sites, Modern Eyesores? The Transformation of the City of Athens in English-Language Accounts (1945-2005).” KȐȝʌȠȢ: Cambridge Papers in Modern Greek 14:103-27.

CHAPTER TWO KAY CICELLIS: THE UNRESOLVED DILEMMA OF THE BILINGUAL WRITER1 PETER MACKRIDGE

“My childhood was rather ordinary, bourgeois and dull,” wrote Kay Cicellis in the blurb for her first novel, written in English and published in 1953.2 Bourgeois and dull it may have been, but it was by no means ordinary, for her upbringing enabled this Greek girl to become an English writer before ever setting foot in an English-speaking country. Her prosperous bourgeois parents spoke French with her and employed English governesses to educate her at home, and she took to the English language like a duckling to water. As well as writing fiction, she became one of the leading translators of literary and other texts from Greek into English and in general acted as a cultural ambassador and interface between Greece and Britain from the date of her first published work in 1943 until her death in 2001. Other Greeks, such as Demetrios Capetanakis, C.A. (Constantine) Trypanis (whose broadcasts on the BBC Third Programme in the 1960s first fired my interest in modern Greek poetry), Nikos Stangos, and Panos Karnezis, have performed a similar mediating role between Greece and Britain during the same period by straddling the frontiers between the relevant languages and cultural traditions.3 Kay Cicellis is unusual in that, 1

I am grateful to Kay Cicellis’ daughter Lila Paleologou for supplying me with the photograph and some biographical information, and to David Ricks and Karen Van Dyck for reading through a draft of my chapter and suggesting some improvements. 2 Text on back of dust jacket of US edition of Cicellis 1953. 3 On Capetanakis (1912-44) see Capetanakis 1947, Ricks 1996, and Papanikolaou 2006. Trypanis (1909-93) wrote poetry in English, four volumes of which were published by Faber and Faber; his English translations of Sophocles were performed on BBC radio and at the National Theatre in London. Stangos (1936-

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whereas the other authors I have just mentioned wrote in English while they lived in England, Cicellis wrote in English (as well as Greek) while living in Greece. Her case is rather more like those writers from British colonies or ex-colonies who write in English, the difference being that for Cicellis English was not the language of a present or former colonial master; the British “protection” of Cephalonia from 1814 to 1864 was too far in the past to be relevant to her case. The title of my chapter gestures towards the titles of two texts by Cicellis, one (“The Unresolved Past”) a talk about the situation of young Greek writers at the time, broadcast on the BBC Third Programme in 1951, the other (“Translation: The Unresolved Dilemma”) an article published forty-five years later (Cicellis 1951b, 1996). Her bilingual writing and her activities as a translator made her feel that she was the servant of two masters, as she put it in the title of a review article on translations (Cicellis 1996). The unresolved split within her between the Greek and English languages and their associated cultures (possibly along with other splits) was no doubt one of the chief sources of her artistic inspiration. Catherine-Mathilde Cicellis (to use her official name) was born in Marseille in 1926. Her parents had their origins in widely separated Greek islands: her mother was from Chios in the extreme east, while her father’s family was from Cephalonia in the extreme west, though he himself was born in France. In 1936, at the age of ten, she settled with her parents in Athens. She had never visited Greece before this, and it was then that she learned Greek during three years of private tuition. She then attended high school at the American College for Girls in the seaside Athens suburb of Elliniko (later moved to the northern suburb of Agia Paraskevi and renamed Pierce College); this was the first time she had been to school. At the age of thirteen she also began to write literary texts in English (Cicellis 1956a). After the German invasion of Greece in April 1941, her family’s Athens home was requisitioned by the Germans and her school was turned into a hospital. For that reason her parents decided to move the family to Cephalonia: “we have an old country house there, which I love passionately,” she wrote in 1953. As she reminisced later, “I lived in a house that stood on a hill by itself, looking out to sea. The nearest village was three miles away.” (Cicellis 1977) The three years she spent in 2004) was poetry editor of Penguin and then art and history editor at Thames and Hudson, where he became “one of the outstanding figures of art publishing in the English-speaking world” (Bell 2004). Karnezis (b. 1967) has written four books of fiction in English, beginning with Little Infamies (2002), and the fourth (The Convent) published in January 2010.

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Cephalonia were “the most wonderful in my life. It was a very primitive life, sea and salt and sun, fruits and bare-footedness in the summer, solitary storms, thick books and candle-light writing in the winter— extraordinary years that influenced me permanently, for it was the first time I was left completely to myself.”4 After the Second World War Cicellis settled again in Athens, where she worked for Radio Athens, also travelling to Italy, Iraq, Lebanon and Nigeria. In 1950-1 and 1955-6 she spent two extended periods in London, but she soon met her future husband Nikos Paleologos on a boat travelling between Greek islands. Like Kay, Nikos was born outside Greece of Greek parents; born and bred in Romania, he continued to speak to his sister in Romanian for the rest of his life. Nikos was working for the import-export firm of Ralli Brothers, and at the time that they met he was posted to Karachi in Pakistan.5 After they married in 1957, Kay accompanied Nikos to Karachi, where they spent several months, but Nikos managed to have himself transferred to Manchester, and they lived in the nearby dormitory town of Altrincham from 1958 to 1962. In 1964 they settled permanently in Athens, where Kay went back to work for Greek radio, this time initiating a highly successful, albeit brief, career as an agony aunt.6 Cicellis’ first published works were two stories that appeared in 1943, when she was only sixteen, under the pen-name Helen Diamantis in the magazine Orientations, published by a group of British servicemen in Cairo. These pieces, which were smuggled out of German-occupied Greece to Egypt, most probably by the diplomat and art historian Alexandros Xydis, present vivid depictions of the people of Athens starving during the great famines resulting from the German occupation (Diamantis 1943a and 1943b).7

4

Most of the information in this paragraph is based on the blurb referred to in note 2. The Greek firm of Ralli Brothers, founded in the 1820s, employed a number of prominent figures in Greek literature and culture, including Alexandros Pallis, K. K. Michailidis (who published under the name Argyris Eftaliotis) and Petros Vlastos in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. 6 The correspondence she received from listeners in this capacity was later handed by Cicellis to the writer Thanasis Valtinos, who made extensive use of this material in his 1989 book Stoicheia gia ti dekaetia tou ’60 (Valtinos 2000). 7 In a much later manuscript note attached to the first of these publications, kept in the Cicellis archive at Princeton University, the author refers to Xydis but places a query after his name. It is almost certain that the messenger was indeed Xydis (1917-2004). 5

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Cicellis’ first six books were written and published in English. The first stage of her writing career was marked by phenomenal success: she published five books of fiction and at least eight individual short stories within ten years, between the ages of twenty-four and thirty-four. Her early books were all published in London, and some of them almost simultaneously in New York. All of her first five books were translated into other languages: by 1964, no fewer than four had appeared in German, translated, among others, by Heinrich Böll, who went on to receive the Nobel Prize in 1972, while one each had appeared in French, Spanish and Portuguese. The early stages of her writing in Greek are shrouded in uncertainty. In later life she let it be assumed that she did not start producing literary work in Greek until the 1970s. Yet a story of hers in Greek was published in 1948 without being presented as a translation, and in 1950 she published a story in two versions, one English and one Greek, with quite different titles, within three months of each other (Cicellis 1948, 1950a, 1950b). Her visit to England in 1950, immediately after the end of the Greek Civil War, to publicize her first book was her first visit to this country. A month after her arrival she gave a talk on the radio in which she explained why she had come to England: to study broadcasting, since that was her job in Athens, but chiefly “to hear the English talk”. She went on to reminisce about how she had taken part in a performance of Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral in Athens, which was produced by an Englishman.8 Through learning the words off by heart, she says, she became intimate with them for the first time. This was when she felt capable of writing her first book. After this, however, the old intimacy only came rarely . . . Instead of feeling the taste of the word I was going to say against my palate, I merely saw the letters that composed it, written in my imagination in a terrible silence. I found out that I was hopelessly ignorant of the colloquialisms that help to make living speech . . . With horror, I realized that soon English would be nothing more than a book-language, a dead language. And it would mean the end of writing. Like a painter whose hands have been cut off.

She concluded by saying that she had at last found the living language in England.

8

The producer was probably the actor and writer Robert Speaight (1904-1976), who had performed in radio plays since 1927 and played Becket in the first production of Murder in the Cathedral in 1935.

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This first stay in England, which lasted about a year, initiated an amazingly productive phase in Cicellis’ career. Between 1951 and 1957, apart from her books and stories, she published seven articles in magazines (mostly in Britain), and the BBC broadcast three talks and two dramatic dialogues by her. One of her articles of this period, entitled The Living Springs of Greece, begins: “I have often felt the obscure urge to scoop up in one handful the spirit, the living matter, of this city of Athens which has been my home for over fifteen years now.” The article consists chiefly of an evocation of the national 28th October parade, commemorating the refusal by prime minister Metaxas to allow the Italians to occupy Greece without a fight in 1940. Full of praise for the controversial figure of Queen Frederika in the wake of the Civil War, this article is nevertheless full of insights into a city that Cicellis knew intimately and loved deeply without being a native. Another article is a description of a village wedding in Steiri on the slopes of Mount Helicon. This is a piece of superior travel writing, this time about a place with which the author was not intimately familiar (Cicellis 1951a, 1955a). While this pair of articles conveyed an understanding of aspects of Greece to a British and American readership, in other works of this period the Greek writer is transported to unfamiliar environments in Britain, from where she reports her impressions. In her radio programme When Greek Meets Gael she compares and contrasts life in the Hebrides with life on her own island of Cephalonia, while in a pair of articles entitled Two Englands Apart she reports on visits that reveal two sharply contrasting aspects of Yorkshire life: tea at Castle Howard and a tour of factories in Leeds (Cicellis 1955b, 1956b, 1956c). Given the class distinctions that characterized her own island, it was natural that Cicellis was fascinated by the contrasting life-styles of the different social classes in 1950s England. Much of her early fiction is set on the island of Cephalonia. So, when it comes to the representation of Cephalonia in English literature, before Captain Corelli there was Kay Cicellis.9 Her first book, a collection of short stories entitled The Easy Way, caused a sensation on both sides of the Atlantic when it appeared in 1950, with a foreword by Vita Sackville-West and with enthusiastic reviews. Sackville-West wrote that Cicellis’ work embodies “an original vision linked to a poetic idiom”, while she ended her preface by saying: “Critics and reviewers should be on the look-out for a real discovery.” Ominously, however, she quotes Cicellis as having told 9

At the end of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (1994), Louis de Bernières acknowledges his debt to Cicellis’ The Easy Way. It is curious that, while he describes the earthquake that struck Cephalonia in 1953, he does not refer explicitly to her text The End of a Town.

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her that she “will never be accepted in England as an English writer, only as a foreigner who writes in English” (Sackville-West 1950:viii, x, ix). The story entitled The Excursion contained in this volume is the kind of story one might expect from such a young writer. It is narrated from the viewpoint of a girl who isolates herself from her classmates during a school outing to the sea. The story is an intricate analysis of new and inchoate feelings, a fresh sense of being herself, of being independent, but also of her relationship with others. By contrast, some stories in this first volume evoke the subtle modulations or violent transformations of feelings within a relationship and read like the work of a mature writer. Here and in her later work a few words spoken by one spouse, lover or relative to another changes the whole world, which is no longer the world it was, nor the world it would have been had these words not been uttered at that moment. Aegean Storm is a powerful story of the relationship between an unnamed husband and wife, disturbed by the death of a friend, a peasant and fisherman bearing the symbolic name Anghelos [Angel]. The story is told from the woman’s point of view as she struggles to understand her emotions. This death has forced her to think about her relationships and her feelings in a new way. The situation is somewhat similar to the one in James Joyce’s story The Dead, while the style, with its evocation of powerful feelings, is sometimes reminiscent of D.H. Lawrence. The woman realizes she has been in love with the dead Anghelos, who represents freedom from the spatial and moral restrictions unintentionally imposed on her by her husband. Finally they both abandon their house separately. In this story Cicellis depicts conflicts of class and gender, and the antithesis between being housebound and the freedom to roam. Another story in the same collection, Turn of the Tide, is a poetic firstperson narrative of a dreamlike scene. The narrator conveys impressions, sensations, contradictory feelings of joy and sorrow, carefreeness and apprehension, but always beauty; there is no ugliness. But at the end a body is washed ashore, and, in the final words of the story, the rows of houses, the people and the days stand “desolate as black rocks emerging on the shore after the ebbing of the tide” (Cicellis 1950c:156). In this ending the narrator seems to have returned to reality. In a brilliantly perceptive comment on her own fiction, written twentyfive years later, Cicellis writes: I think I write more about situations than about “characters”. I’m attracted by the schematic face of situations and the structure hidden within them, and the sudden clashes, through which this structure can be illuminated (Cicellis 1975:313-4).

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As is the case with all her work, none of the stories in The Easy Way is set in an English-speaking country. In the stories set in Greece, all the characters are Greek, yet all the dialogue is conveyed in English. The language of her narratives is confidently English. There are some powerful and original poetic sentences, e.g. “In the centre, muffled and blunt, there existed the memory of the cold, and of raw, naked death congealed and walled up in it, like a frog enclosed intact in a piece of ice” (Aegean Storm, Cicellis 1950c:78). There are some occasional foreignisms, such as “oscillate” where she means “teeter” or “totter” or “swing”; or “I won’t be late” instead of “I won’t be long” (no doubt translated literally from the Greek phrase “Den th’ argiso”). Sometimes the verb tenses aren’t quite right, as in the sentence: “Gregory suspected that she tried to turn Maya against him”, instead of “was trying” (Cicellis 1950c:207). No doubt one of the features that intrigued British and American readers of Cicellis’ first books was precisely this sense of estrangement created by a writer who was writing in English about non-Englishspeaking characters living in non-English-speaking countries. Indeed, this is perhaps one of the chief characteristics of her writing, whether in English or in Greek: a sense that the characters and the language do not belong in any particular place; indeed, they are all in some subtle sense out of place. Even the landowning characters in the Cephalonia stories seem not to belong in their native place in the way that the peasants, servants and fisherfolk do. This can then be seen as symptomatic of a general sense of placelessness and alienation that characterizes the modern world, and it stands in contrast to much of the mainstream Greek literary tradition of the mid-twentieth century—take major poems of the 1940s and 1950s such as Yannis Ritsos’ Romiosyni (written 1945-7) or Odysseus Elytis’ To axion esti (1959), for example—which is based on confident assertions of ithageneia (nativeness), of rootedness and belonging within the Greek landscape.10 In the novel No Name in the Street (1953) there are no specific references to the country in which the action takes place, although many of the characters’ names could well be Greek. In addition, the dateline at the end of the book, “Athens, March 3rd, 1952”, emphasizes that there is much of Athens in the setting and situations (Cicellis 1953:38, 109). Despite their relationships and conversations with each other, the characters in this novel live in their own private worlds, and their utterances are oblique. A group of friends discuss revisiting the Round 10

Romiosyni was first published in Ritsos’ collection Agrypnia (1954). An English translation was published in Bold 1970; To axion esti has been published in an English translation by Keeley and Savidis (1980).

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Island, in search of “the land of Lost Happiness”. They want to relive the experiences they had had on an earlier visit there, when they were forced to go there because of the war: it was the discovery of the beach there that had brought the members of the group close together in the first place.11 There are some reminiscences here of Kosmas Politis’ novel of adolescence, Eroica (1937), which Cicellis translated into English in the 1950s but (alas) never published, and perhaps even of Enid Blyton’s “Famous Five” adventure stories for girls; this series began appearing in the 1940s, and three of the early volumes in Blyton’s series involve adventurous trips to islands. At the same time, the style of Cicellis’ novel resounds with echoes of Virginia Woolf’s The Waves. The characters seem to be trying to make an impression on others, to be remembered, to alter the world in subtle ways; only then can they be sure they exist. Gregory, the chief character, and Marietta talk about that expedition to the Round Island years ago: “‘So that was your first memory,’ said Gregory, ‘that was the first time you reached out a hand backwards and found something there to touch, a response, a resistance, an existence’”, and he contrasts this with what he calls “coexistence by chance”, as in a concert hall. Such experiences—what Sartre, in La Nausée (1938), called “privileged moments”—transform life “from a flat stretch into a meaningful landscape”. “Once that landscape is created, you can go on unfolding it, continuing it as far as you go, from that beginning to the end of your life.” After such experiences, which don’t happen until adulthood, you can be in control of your existence, making it up as you go along. The characters are constantly searching for some meaning in life and in specific situations; they crave certainty in what one of them calls “the acrobatic game” (Cicellis 1953:112, 110, 113, 219). In No Name in the Street, once again, there is a sense of not belonging, but also of the future transforming the past, even to the extent of erasing it. The characters’ emotions are constantly changing, often suddenly and violently, as if they are moving inside a fluid that carries them along with its currents, but often buffets them unexpectedly and painfully. When Gregory, after many postponements, eventually goes off to Germany, the rest of his group “had all they needed to carry on without him. He did not leave an empty place behind him” (Cicellis 1953:244). This seems to be because he has subtly altered the world—yet, ironically, he has done so in such a way that his presence is no longer necessary; in the words of the 11

In the blurb for this novel (see note 2 above) Cicellis states that the Round Island is Cephalonia. It is characteristic of the unspecificness of the geographical setting in much of Cicellis’ fiction that the island remains unnamed in the text of the novel.

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book of Job which Cicellis quotes as an epigraph to her novel, “His remembrance shall perish from the earth, and he shall have no name in the street”. Cicellis’ third book, Death of a Town, published the following year, marks a new departure in her writing. Before this, historical events had merely lurked in the background of her fictional worlds. But in August 1953 the life of her family island was violently and radically changed for ever by the irruption of geological and historical time in the shape of an event that found her ready to evoke it in her writing. This was the series of catastrophic earthquakes that destroyed most of the towns on all of the Ionian Islands except Corfu and Paxoi. Cicellis was in Athens when the earthquakes occurred, but she visited Cephalonia two months later. She was present when her family house, where she had spent many of her childhood years and all of her summers, was blown up by the army because it was in danger of collapsing. In this way Cicellis lost the only stable place that she could call home. The first of the four texts in this book, with the same title as the volume, Death of a Town, begins with a description of a photograph of Lixouri, Cephalonia’s second city, taken on the morning of 8th August 1953. Then the world within the photographic frame begins to move, and the characters begin to appear and speak. While the fictional Elvira, a member of the gentry, is preparing to move to her country house for the summer holiday, the servants talk about an earthquake that has happened earlier that morning but is now over. Later Elvira learns that this earthquake has destroyed the nearby island of Ithaca. The following day passes uneventfully, and Elvira goes off to her country house late that evening. The first preliminary tremors that precede the great earthquake are felt at 5.30 a.m. on 11th August, and the characters are gripped by a sense of unreality. They hear that disaster has struck Sami, another town on their island, where thirty-four people have been killed and not a single building has been left standing except the public lavatories. As the definitive earthquake strikes at 11.25 a.m. on 12th August, we are shown what various characters are doing at that split-second moment, as though time has suddenly come to a standstill before the catastrophe. Then the event is viewed through the consciousness of these characters, as buildings collapse in clouds of dust. Apart from the vivid descriptions in Cicellis’ text, what is remarkable is the fact that, along with their homes and their possessions, the characters lose their orientation and their social identity. With buildings and streets destroyed, people lose their ability to navigate their habitual itineraries, which had previously been second nature to them. At the same time, the

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class distinctions that had been so fundamental to Ionian Island society have collapsed along with the buildings, and the grand landowners are now on a par with the labourers. Elvira, now living in a wooden hut, laments the fact that she and her family have become gypsies. Very soon, many of the characters return to their jobs, which they carry out as best they can. Yet it is symptomatic of the way that place is effaced by the earthquake that the postman can only deliver the mail at church services, because nobody has an address any more; nobody has their own place. The title of Cicellis’ previous novel (No Name in the Street) turns out to have been prophetic. Death of a Town ends with each character frozen in time—some of them in incongruous situations—as if caught by the camera in a new photograph taken after the earthquake. The text ends: “A picture of destruction . . . Yet in spite of it all, the picture of a town. Therefore I shall not frame it yet.” (Cicellis 1954:98) Death of a Town is much more of a chronicle than her earlier work. Time and place have suddenly become important—the names of real places, dates and times are specified—yet the events that occur in time serve to destroy place. The dramatis personae are a whole community, with its social and economic relations, rather than individuals or groups of characters, as they are in Cicellis’ earlier and later work. There is also some humour to be found in the characters’ eccentric behaviour. Here, then, she is writing “the tale of a town”, rather like certain leading Greek authors such as Pandelis Prevelakis and Dimitris Hatzis, who wrote about traditional social situations that were rapidly disappearing under the impact of historical modernity. The title of Prevelakis’ book Chroniko mias politeias, published in 1938, means “Chronicle of a Town”, while Hatzis’ title, To telos tis mikris mas polis [“The End of our Small Town”], published the year before Cicellis’ book, would have fitted her text perfectly.12 The Royal Navy played a major role in the rescue and relief operations in the wake of the disaster, and the British interest in these events is indicated by the fact that in 1954 the BBC broadcast an adaptation of Death of a Town as a radio play by the author herself, with music by Elizabeth Lutyens and with Fay Compton playing Elvira. The BBC thought so highly of the play that it submitted the broadcast as its entry for the prestigious Italia Prize in 1955. Cicellis wrote a foreword to the script when it was submitted for the prize. Here she explains that Elvira is based on her aunt, who told her her own story of the earthquake. Then Cicellis

12

For English translations see Prevelakis 1976 and Hatzis 1995.

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asked various local people to talk to her about their experiences. She writes that the facts, impressions, descriptions in the programme were taken from the mouths of the people I interviewed. The only tampering on my part has been that I have changed the names of the characters, to make them easier to the ear, and to save people’s feelings.13

In one of the other texts in the volume entitled Death of a Town, with the ironic title Open House, Cicellis plays childhood make-believe against adult reality, suggesting that she is obliquely referring to the contrast between her childhood memories of Cephalonia and the present situation. Three children, who had more than once stayed with their mother in a huge hotel in Deauville in France, are now reduced by financial difficulties to living with their uncle Athanasius in a big house in the country. Living on the upper floor, the children drift into timelessness and indulge in surrealistic fantasies, rather like the characters in Jean Cocteau’s Les Enfants terribles (the novel was published in 1929, and Jean-Pierre Melville filmed it in 1950). One day the children go on an expedition downstairs to see if it is still there. All they can see through the keyhole is “eternity’s night”, which is “still there to keep the upper floor afloat” (Cicellis 1954:131). In her next novel, Ten Seconds from Now (1957), Cicellis draws on her experience of working in Greek radio: the title is the phrase that is spoken when broadcasters are about to go on air. The novel is narrated by the male receptionist at the Second Broadcasting Service, “a little man, the lowest among the low,” as he describes himself, “a little short man, with a lame leg” (Cicellis 1957:7). The rest of the characters solidify around this narrator, a solitary observer in whom everyone confides. They come to him to answer their questions, and he does so, acting like an agony columnist—a job that Cicellis herself carried out on Greek radio, as we have seen. He courts obscurity: unambitious, he sits in “this still point” and listens to stories, and in this way he is introduced to various worlds by his colleagues. The radio station in which the novel is set consists of various cubicles—each one containing a single employee—arranged round a central courtyard. Sometimes the narrator sees people talking behind glass screens in the cubicles but can’t hear them; on other occasions he 13

Quoted from the script submitted for the Italia Prize, a copy of which is kept in the Cicellis archive at Princeton. The play was broadcast on the BBC Third Programme, 18th and 20th January 1954, and repeated on the BBC Home Service, 23rd August 1955.

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hears voices without seeing the speakers; people seem to be alienated from themselves, their voices dislocated from their bodies. What takes place in each cubicle could be a one-act play, suggests the narrator. In fact, the spatial structure of the novel is cinematic, the panoptic narrator tracking back and forth like a camera between the courtyard and the cubicles; it is no coincidence that one of the scriptwriters writes a play for television, which will have to wait for the time when television enters the country. Perhaps Cicellis was ironizing her own hopes that her novel might one day be adapted as a television serial. No scene that is actually depicted in the novel takes place away from this film set. This is a self-contained world; although the narrator is nominally a receptionist, he is never depicted receiving any visitors. Linguistically, it is significant that one of the characters, Vivi, is assigned the difficult task of translating Greek songs into English. “Tell me how on earth am I to translate ‘golden heart’ into English!” she cried in exasperation. “Does ‘golden heart’ mean anything in English? ‘Nowhere will I find a golden heart . . .’ Oh, these Greek songs!” “You’re unfair [replies the narrator]. Try translating the ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ into Greek, and you’ll see how silly that looks. ‘And Gigolo and Gigolette—Wake up to find their eyes are wet’”.14

Yet, the narrator continues, “for Vivi American songs will always reign supreme” (Cicellis 1957:42). In the same novel, one of the narrator’s tasks is to type letters and other documents in English for his colleagues. Clearly these phenomena are indications of the increasing American political and cultural influence in Greece during the Cold War period. At the same time the Italian and Romanian announcers talk to each other “in that fluent but imperfect French which is the common tongue of all refugees and exiles” (Cicellis 1957:58). Fragments of songs in English, French and Italian that are played to be broadcast on the radio are heard by the characters and quoted to the reader. Since the cubicles are not fully soundproof, the music from one cubicle can be heard in another; this interpenetration of songs perhaps suggests the interpenetration of languages in the modern world. By contrast, the few Greek songs that are mentioned are always quoted in English translation. Some places in the town are given by English names: e.g. when Cicellis mentions a place called “Daybreak” she probably has in

14

The song in question is from the 1934 film Moulin Rouge.

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mind the Athens suburb of Haravgi.15 Occasionally Greek expressions are translated literally into English, e.g. “Eyes not seen are eyes forgotten” (“Matia pou den vlepontai grigora xechniountai”). At other times, we are reminded that the characters are not speaking in English to each other by foreign tinges in their English discourse, e.g. “he doesn’t mind being the last alternative” (= the last resort), “an advertisement for soapsuds” (= soapflakes), and “Records Library” (= Record Library) (Cicellis 1957:123, 126, 132). However, it is impossible to tell whether these foreignisms are intentional on the author’s part. Amid all the somewhat unreal and sometimes ridiculous emotional affairs involving the members of staff, a real misfortune suddenly occurs offstage when the adopted child of one of the employees is accidentally killed. A colleague tries to console her by getting the barman to make her an ice-cream following an American recipe which she insists the narrator translate into Greek: “I’m not sure I can translate it,” says the narrator. “It’s very technical.” However, he provides her with an oral translation— yet we only get to read the English original. Meanwhile one colleague wonders who invented the text displayed in the staff lavatories (this too is quoted only in English in the novel): “Will you please leave this place as you wish to find it.” “It’s a beautiful phrase,” he comments, “balanced, elegant, and what perfect economy! I’m sure it’s not Greek” (Cicellis 1957:198). It is ironic that the phrase seems incongruous to the characters because it is written in Greek on the sign, whereas the readers of Cicellis’ novel read it only in English, where it is quite normal. This character mistakenly believes he makes no difference to the world. He listens to other people’s stories and gives them advice on that basis, but he doesn’t think he has his own story: he lives not for himself but for others. Yet his narrative turns out to be precisely his own story, and it reveals the delicate, complex and beneficial influence he has had on others. Cicellis began writing her next book, The Way to Colonos, subtitled A Greek Triptych (1960), in Karachi in 1957.16 It consists of three separate texts, “a contemporary reconstruction of three Greek tragedies—Oedipus at Colonos, Electra and Philoctetes”, as the blurb on the back cover of her book informs us. All of these are the subjects of tragedies by Sophocles. Cicellis here attempts something new in her oeuvre, though a similar “contemporary reconstruction” of a Greek mythical story had already been 15

Unless I am mistaken, the only real Athens place name given in Greek in this novel is the Pnyx. 16 Letter from Karachi to Barney Rossett, 21st August 1957, in Cicellis archive, Princeton.

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carried out by Jean Cocteau in his film Orphée (1949/50), set in contemporary Paris, and another one was being undertaken at the same time by Jules Dassin in his film Phaedra, which was made in 1961-2 and was set in modern Greece. Whereas Joyce fashioned modern Dublin according to the patterns of Homer in his novel Ulysses, Cicellis refashions the ancient myths and the ancient texts in order to bring the stories into the modern world. In the Foreword to her book Cicellis explicitly refers to what she calls the problems of “translating the myths into a modern setting” and “translating from theatre to prose”—the passage from a timeless archetype to a particular modern “prose-world”. Thus the pieces that make up this book are translations in place, language, time and genre. All three of these texts are about journeys. The first story, with the same title as the whole volume, depicts a voyage to a kind of Colonos; it doesn’t take place at Colonus as Sophocles’ tragedy does. In Cicellis’ story the widowed father and his daughter try to escape from their shattered family life by travelling to a ransacked ancestral home on an island. In the Electra text the brother returns to put a rotten family situation to rights; while the Philoctetes text is about a young man who visits a remote island in order to persuade a political exile to return to the fight for social justice during a civil war, but finds himself in an unfamiliar, challenging and frightening physical and moral environment. Antigone’s attitude to herself in the first of these pieces is typical of Cicellis’ early writing: “She did not count. She was just there.” She lies about her actions so as to preserve her father’s image of her, so that “she would resume her place in the void that existed between her father and herself” (Cicellis 1960:20). Here we see clearly a situation that is characteristic of Cicellis’ fiction: the character feels she is out of place and takes up little or no space. After The Way to Colonos was published in 1960, Cicellis’ writing career entered a long fallow period. She didn’t publish a book of fiction between 1961 and 1984 (apart from The Day the Fish Came Out, an adaptation of Michael Cacoyannis’ film script with the same title, which doesn’t display her talents to the full, to say the least). Two of her dramatic dialogues were rejected by the BBC in 1960, and no more of her works for radio were broadcast from then on. During the last forty years of her life, she published no volume of original writing in English, and only about ten short stories in English-language magazines. During this period she was busy running her household and bringing up her two children, and from 1973 until well into the 1980s she and her husband were running a fashionable restaurant named Balthazar in an old

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neoclassical house in Athens. But I can’t help feeling that the fact that she was cut off from the English-speaking world created tremendous problems for her writing. What she had written in 1950 about losing “the old intimacy” with English, which “would be nothing more than a booklanguage, a dead language” seemed to be coming uncannily and painfully true, even though it certainly didn’t lead to the end of her writing. Apart from continuing to produce short stories, she was working on new novels. By 1965 she had completed a short novel involving a brother and sister named Jojo and Hermengilde, although she was unable to decide on a title. It was submitted to a number of British publishers under the title After the Event, but it was rejected by all of them. In a later interview she described this novel as “frivolous”. In 1966 she began planning another novel entitled The Split, which remained largely unwritten. It concerns a pair of identical twins named Valentino and Valentina, who eventually merge into a single individual named Valentine. This situation is reminiscent of the story told by Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium (189d-e), that there were originally three kinds of human beings: male, female and androgyne (hermaphrodite), “a unity in form no less than name, composed of both sexes and sharing equally in male and female”. It is also significant that the notes and fragmentary drafts for this projected novel contain references to the mythical Tiresias, who partook of the male and the female.17 The fact that the three names of the characters differ from each other by a single letter may have been suggested to Cicellis by the sex difference between males and female mammals in terms of X and Y chromosomes (XX for females and XY for males, but with the possibility of other alternatives such as X, XXY, XXX and XYY). Here, then, Cicellis shows an intense interest in the split between genders, just as she had always been exercised by the split between languages in her own life. In both cases she manifests a conscious or subconscious desire for the split to be resolved into a whole. The chief reason why Cicellis abandoned work on The Split may have been the worsening political situation in Greece as the country gradually but seemingly inevitably descended into political chaos that ended in dictatorship. During the Colonels’ dictatorship from 1967 to 1974, Cicellis became one of the leading figures in the intellectual resistance against the 17 A typescript of After the Event and manuscript notes and drafts for The Split are to be found in the Cicellis Archive at Princeton. The project for Cicellis’ novel may have been influenced by Virginia Woolf’s Orlando (1928), especially if we bear in mind that Woolf’s friend Vita Sackville-West was one of Cicellis’ early patrons.

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regime, and particularly its censorship policy. On seizing power, the military junta imposed preventive dictatorship, which meant that all publications had to be passed by the censorship office in advance. Most of the leading Greek authors responded by refusing to publish their work. On 28th March 1969 the BBC Greek Service broadcast the public denunciation of the dictatorial regime by the Nobel-prizewinning poet George Seferis. A few days later, Renos Apostolidis, son of the editor of bestselling anthologies of modern Greek poetry and fiction, persuaded the Colonels to demonstrate their cultural and political openmindedness by getting newspapers to publish a selection of short stories from one of these anthologies—one story every weekend for almost two and a half years— on the understanding that the texts were not to be subject to censorship. There were two problems with this scheme. First, all newspapers were obliged to publish the stories, whether they wanted to or not, and, secondly, permission to publish was not sought from the authors or their heirs. Eighteen Greek writers signed a declaration against both the censorship policy of the military junta and its failure to gain permission to publish from the authors of the stories. Cicellis played a leading role in collecting signatures for this declaration. The “declaration of the eighteen”, which offered an opportunity to Greek writers to express their opposition to the regime, put a stop to the compulsory publication of the short stories.18 In November 1969 the regime abolished preventive censorship; from then on, authors, publishers and printers could be prosecuted after the event for any publication that was deemed censorable. The following year eighteen authors decided to defy the Colonels’ censors by publishing a joint volume entitled Dekaochto keimena [Eighteen Texts] to which each of them contributed a poem, story or essay. Only ten of the authors had been among the signatories of the protest declaration, but the number eighteen was no doubt used again for this volume because it had gained symbolic significance. A new story by Cicellis (under the Greek form of her name, Tsitseli) was placed second in the volume, immediately after a

18

Nikos Kasdaglis, who provides an account of the events leading up to the publication of the declaration (1988:21-85), claims that the “state anthology” idea was a direct response by the regime to Seferis’ statement. An English translation of the declaration by the eighteen was published in the volume Free Greek Voices (Vlachos 1971:138). An English translation of Seferis’ statement appeared in the same volume (1971:137).

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poem by George Seferis (Cicellis 1970a).19 This volume was followed by Nea keimena [New Texts], which included another of Cicellis’ stories, inspired by the predicament of Alexandros Panagoulis, who was briefly in hiding after escaping from prison, where he had been held for attempting to assassinate the dictator Papadopoulos. It suited the placelessness of much of Cicellis’ writing that two of the contributors to Eighteen Texts, Rodis Roufos and Th. D. Frangopoulos, had invented a fictional country called Boliguay, which was supposed to be a Latin American state ruled by a military dictatorship but acted as an alibi for Greece. Although Cicellis didn’t mention the name Boliguay in these two stories, she used Spanish names for streets and squares in the first of them. It has often been assumed that Cicellis’ contribution to Eighteen Texts was her first published work of fiction to be written directly in Greek. Yet, as we have seen, she had already published two short stories in Greek magazines in 1948 and 1950. Her story in New Texts, published in Greek with no indication that it is a translation, is in fact a version of a story that she had published in English the previous year (Cicellis 1971; Cicellis 1970b). In the absence of evidence to the contrary, it is probable that she wrote both of the versions herself. These stories were soon followed by Cicellis’ involvement in a small group of texts against the dictatorial regime which were published in English in England (Anon [Cicellis] 1972, and some translations of Greek colleagues’ texts in the same issue). Before the Colonels’ dictatorship, Cicellis had given the impression of being a writer who was either apolitical or politically conservative, inward-looking, and focusing on the inner life of her characters. It is striking that during the period 1955-9, which coincided with her period of literary success in Britain, she made no public reference to the struggle by Greek Cypriot partisans to eject the British occupiers and unite their island with Greece. Nor have I found any such reference in the private documents kept in her archive. She must have found it difficult to be so closely associated with Britain and yet to be living in Greece, where public opinion tended to support the aspirations of the anti-British Cypriot freedom-fighters. A decade later, on 1st May 1967, a few days after the imposition of the dictatorship, Cicellis wrote a letter to Barney Rosset, owner of her American publisher, Grove Press. The letter was smuggled out of Greece by a friend and posted abroad. Here Cicellis vividly describes her feelings on the first day of the dictatorship: 19

An English translation of the whole volume was published, including Cicellis’ contribution (Cicellis 1972). For the response of Greek writers to the Colonels’ censorship policies see Van Dyck (1998, especially pp. 21-8).

30

Chapter Two Never in my whole life have I gone through such crucial and sustained soul-searching, re-examination, re-appraisal of what we used to call laughingly—sophisticatedly!—“the things that matter”. For a person like me, who had lived perhaps too selfishly, too privately, the shock, the upheaval was immense.20

It is striking that the Colonels’ dictatorship led her simultaneously to a keener awareness of the importance of politics in her own life and to a greater awareness of herself as a Greek and, ultimately, as a Greek writer. Her English translation of the trilogy of novels by the left-wing Egyptian Greek writer Stratis Tsirkas, Akyvernites politeies [Drifting Cities], which imaginatively plots the fate of the anti-monarchist Greek troops in Egypt during the Second World War and the frustration of their aspirations by the British, was published in the USA in 1974. With this translation, which could be seen as a symbolic protest by Cicellis against foreign intervention in Greek affairs such as was obvious in the American involvement with the Colonels, she more or less inaugurated a highly successful career as one of the foremost translators from Greek into English. Between 1974 and 1996 she published translations of four novels and at least ten other translated volumes, most of them concerned with art and archaeology. When she began to explore new ways of original writing in English during and after the Colonels’ dictatorship, she confined herself to short stories rather than novels. She received a series of rejections from publishers and literary agents in Britain. By the 1970s British publishers (and possibly American ones too) were not keen on volumes of short stories, which didn’t sell as well as novels. Yet by this time Cicellis seems to have been unable or unwilling to write a full-scale novel. In addition, British and American publishers were increasingly demanding realistic novels that were easy to read, and they were finding her writing rather too austere and demanding.21 Cicellis must have been deeply demoralized by the way her early success had failed to be revived. In the late 1970s and the 80s she failed to find a British or American publisher for a collection of thirteen new short stories entitled The Sculptor and his Model. After reading these stories himself, Barney Blackley of the London publisher Bodley Head urged her in 1981 to “take the plunge” and write “a novella at least, and preferably a full-scale

20

Letter to Barney Rosset, 1st May 1967; copy in the Cicellis archive, Princeton. See, e.g., letter from Ursula Owen of Virago publishers in London, 6th November 1985 (Cicellis archive). 21

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novel”, but she doesn’t seem to have done so.22 Most of the stories intended for this collection were translated into Greek by the poet Nikos Fokas and published under the title To chameno patoma [The Lost Floor] in 1984 (Cicellis 1984b). It is significant that she chose this title, and that the title of a book of essays by Zissimos Lorenzatos that she had recently translated was The Lost Center (1980) since they both suggest a sense that she has no place to stand. Greek publishers and readers in the 1980s seem to have been more open than their British and American counterparts to experimental prose such as Cicellis’ new pieces: short prose pieces that combined narrative with essayistic discourse, out-and-out fiction with reminiscence and the relaxed, humorous and seemingly direct expression of thoughts, feelings and opinions, where the author plays with language and philosophizes about language, thus undermining the authority of his or her own discourse. Nevertheless, after her initial success with her stories written in Greek in the early 1970s—which was due partly to the anomalous political situation—she did not continue to write much in Greek (apart from two pieces included in To chameno patoma) until she suddenly produced a spate of original short stories in Greek during the 1990s. Eleven of these were published in Greek magazines between 1990 and 1997, and they and others were collected in 1998 in the volume O choros ton oron [The Dance of the Hours]. In the blurb on the back cover of this volume Cicellis wrote that, “writing in Greek . . . I discover that I write very differently from what I wrote in the other language”; indeed, she continues, “it’s as though I was writing for the first time.” I would like to conclude by making some general observations about Cicellis’ bilingualism, or indeed trilingualism (since some of her working notes are in a mixture of English, Greek and French), and her engagement with the practice and the theory of translation. The conclusions of her meditations on language and translation seem to be that all discourse is in some sense an act of translation, and that no single language on its own is adequate to express all our thoughts, feelings and intuitions. In these conclusions she enthusiastically aligned herself with another polyglot writer, George Steiner, whose books Extraterritorial (1971) and After Babel (1975) she read with profound fellow-feeling. In her reading notes on Steiner’s books when preparing a major 1983 lecture on translation, she abbreviates Steiner’s title Extraterritorial as E/T. This is a tongue-incheek reference to Steven Spielberg’s 1982 film ET—The Extra22

Letter from J. B. Blackley, undated [1981], in the Cicellis archive. Thirty years earlier, Vita Sackville-West had already urged her to write a full-length novel, for which her stories would be an apprenticeship (Sackville-West 1950:x).

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Terrestrial, implying that she feels like an extraterrestrial being who has no specific place on earth in which she properly belongs, even though, unlike Steiner, she lives in the land of her ancestors (Cicellis 1984). The general problem of linguistic expression and the specific mismatch between the language in which she wrote and the environment in which she placed her characters and plots were matters that constantly exercised her from her early career to her later years. In 1956 she published a remarkable article Journey into Language. This superb text ranks with the relevant passages in Elias Canetti’s memoirs (Canetti 1977) as the linguistic autobiography of a multilingual and ferociously intelligent writer who is painfully aware of the way that different functions of linguistic communication in her life have been allocated to different languages.23 Cicellis begins her article by saying: “A large number of people, especially in England, seem to believe that to be a polyglot means being at home everywhere. I think it is the other way round: being a polyglot means being a foreigner everywhere.” She goes on to say that she is a foreigner in three ways: a foreigner in the country where I was born (France), a foreigner in my own country (Greece), because when I first went to live there, at the age of ten, I couldn’t speak a word of Greek, and . . . a foreigner in the country (England) in whose language I have chosen to write.

At around the age of thirteen, she writes, “at the very moment when I recognized the English language as my language, I also recognized Greece as my country, my element. These two discoveries, though simultaneous, were irreconcilable.” Because her linguistic practice was split between two or even three languages, she never felt that any of them was “complete and self-sufficient”. For a writer, she continues, “each word must be irreplaceable”; indeed, she claims, “I often wish words could be not only irreplaceable but untranslatable” (Cicellis 1956a). Perhaps Cicellis was somewhat consoled by the knowledge that the national poet of Greece, Dionysios Solomos, who was bilingual in Italian and Greek, faced a similar dilemma, even though her situation was even more complex. The composition of Solomos’ Greek literary works involved an interplay between his two languages, yet he aspired to achieve a literary discourse in which every phrase would be the one and only way of expressing his meaning and would ultimately be untranslatable into any other language—a discourse that would, paradoxically, be so profoundly specific to the language in which he was writing that it would be as close 23

The first of three volumes of autobiography. English translation: Canetti 1999.

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as it is possible to be to some Ursprache, the original and originary language through which God created the world (“Let there be light, and there was light”)—the language that all men and women spoke before the destruction of the Tower of Babel.24 Like Solomos, Cicellis had an intense awareness of the materiality, the substantiality of linguistic form. In 1977, in a letter to the director of the East German publisher Verlag Volk und Welt, which was about to publish a German translation of one of her stories in an anthology of short stories by Greek women writers, Cicellis declared that “my kind of writing does not lend itself very well to translation”. “I am also a translator (from Greek to English),” she wrote in another letter to the same recipient, “and so I know how easy it is to distort, unwillingly, the meaning and the flavour of a literary text. I have learnt to fear translators!”25 For a translator, this realization of the near impossibility of translation must have been acutely painful. In her 1956 article Cicellis talks about the mismatch between the language she writes in and the setting in which her characters live, think, feel and speak. When writing her early stories, she says, she didn’t know what to call her characters. She couldn’t give them English names like Charles Brown or Mary Jones, because she didn’t know anybody called Brown or Jones. On the other hand, she couldn’t use Greek names: “They couldn’t be called Charalambos and say simple things like ‘can you pass me the salt?’” (Cicellis 1956a) For this reason, she continues, she avoided dialogue altogether and set her stories in a no-man’s land outside time and place. Much of her later writing is concerned with problems of communication. Thirty years after her 1956 article, in the blurb on the back cover of To chameno patoma, she wrote that the texts contained in that volume are “attempts at measuring the distance between words and things, between the word and the world”. In 1980, in an interview to mark the publication of a Greek translation of her book The Way to Colonos, she talks again about her relationship with language and her cultural environment: My situation—you call it unique, I shall call it anomalous, spurious and fundamentally painful, despite its advantages—forces me to choose my material differently from my fortunate monoglot colleagues . . . I’m forced to move in a more neutral space, a sort of no-man’s land . . . where external features and national characteristics don’t play such a significant role. 24

Cicellis mentions the concept of the Ursprache in her preparatory notes for her lecture on translating Lorenzatos (published as Cicellis 1984). 25 Letters to Jürgen Grunner, 8th March 1977 and 26th December 1977, in the Cicellis archive.

34

Chapter Two Indeed, I find that the older I get I’m moving towards a greater abstraction, 26 beyond history and geography. (Cicellis 1980)

It is telling that she uses the English term “no-man’s land” in two texts written almost twenty-five years apart, one in English and one in Greek. The sense of the unresolved (and unresolvable) dilemmas of identity (linguistic, national and sexual)—where the individual is pulled in opposite directions by different facets of their identity—is a major theme in Cicellis’ work. Taking my cue from that adjective “anomalous”—not “unique”—in the passage quoted above, I will conclude by suggesting that, just as Freud believed he was teaching us about normal ways of being human by studying pathological behaviour, Cicellis’ anomalous work has some universal lessons to teach us about normal linguistic expression and communication. Moreover, it challenges the notion of national literatures. To which national literature does Cicellis’ work belong? Does her work in English belong to English literature and her work in Greek to Greek literature simply because of the language it is written in? If so, then where are we to place the stories she appears to have written on both languages? Finally, we have no option but to accept that Kay Cicellis’ writing is transnational and extraterritorial.

26

The adjective I have translated as “spurious” is actually bastardi [bastardly], which suggests both illegitimacy and hybridity.

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2-1: Kay Cicellis, London, 1950-1. She sits cross-legged on the windowsill, a liminal space between the interior of the room and the natural world outside, and between the floor and the ceiling. This seems to be symbolic of her sense that she does not belong in any particular place, any particular language and any particular culture. Reproduced by kind permission of Lila Paleologou.

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Bibliography and References Anon. [Kay Cicellis]. 1972. “The Clockwork Show.” Index on Censorship. 1(1):58-64. Bell, Julian. 2004. “Nikos Stangos: Editor with a Love of Art and Poetry that Transcended National Borders.” The Guardian, 30th April. Bold, Alan, ed. 1970. The Penguin Book of Socialist Verse. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Canetti, Elias. 1977. Die gerettete Zunge: Geschichte einer Jungend. Munich: Carl Hanser Verlag. —. 1999. The Tongue Set Free: Remembrance of a European Childhood. London: Granta. Capetanakis, Demetrios. 1947. Demetrios Capetanakis, a Greek Poet in England. London: John Lehmann. Cicellis, Kay. 1948. “To fortio” [“The Burden”]. O aionas mas, series 2, no. 6:165 —. 1950a. “A Complete Success.” Life and Letters 65(154):205-16. —. 1950b. “Ta anthi tis anias” [“The Flowers of Boredom”]. Stachys 1:1727. —. 1950c. The Easy Way. London: The Harvill Press / New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. —. 1951a. “The Living Springs of Greece.” Harper’s Bazaar 2870:87, 150. —. 1951b. “The Unresolved Past: Kay Cicellis Talks about the Situation of Young Greek Writers Today.” Broadcast on the BBC Third Programme, 8th August, typescript in the Kay Cicellis archive, Princeton University. —. 1953. No Name in the Street. New York: Grove Press. —. 1954. Death of a Town. London: The Harvill Press. —. 1955a. “Greek Village Wedding.” The Geographical Magazine [London] 28(2):83-5. —. 1955b. “When Greek meets Gael, by Kay Cicellis. A writer from the Ionian Islands visits the Hebrides for the first time, with Martina Mayne as Kay Cicellis.” Broadcast on the BBC Home Service, 20th December. —. 1956a. “Journey into Language.” International PEN Bulletin of Selected Books 7(1)3-8. Reprinted in Modern Languages XXXVIII(2):52-5, 1957. —. 1956b. “Two Englands Apart: I. Teas in the Grecian Hall.” The Geographical Magazine [London] 29(6):299-303.

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—. 1956c. “Two Englands Apart: II. Leeds Leads.” The Geographical Magazine [London] 29(7):349-53. —. 1957. Ten Seconds from Now. London: The Harvill Press. —. 1960. The Way to Colonos: A Greek Triptych. London: Secker & Warburg / New York: Grove Press (1961). —. 1970a. “Mikros dialogos”. In Giorgos Seferis et al., Dekaochto keimena. Athens: Kedros, 17-21. —. 1970b. “The Mark.” Mundus Artium (West Chester, PA) 4(1):14-8. —. 1971. “Sarka mia” [“One flesh”]. In A. Argyriou et al., Nea keimena, 134-9. Athens: Kedros. —. 1972. “Brief dialogue”. In Eighteen Texts: Writings by Contemporary Greek Authors, ed. Willis Barnstone, 5-9. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. —. 1975. Note on “Analogies” [“Proportions”]. In Ellinides pezografoi [Greek Women Writers] ed. Ersi Lange, 313-4. Athens: Synchroni Epochi. —. 1976. “To metafrastiko provlima: ta dyo afentika” [“The Problem of Translation: The Two Masters”]. Review article on three recent Greek translations of George Orwell, Kathimerini, 9th May. —. 1977. “Cephalonia the First.” Descant XVIII [Toronto], special issue Contemporary Greek Literature, ed. Donna McDonald, 8(2):64. —. 1980. Mesimvrini, 30th May, 5. —. 1984a. Zissimos Lorenzatos, “The lost Center and other essays in Greek Poetry.” In Ta keimena apo glossa se glossa [Texts from language to language], ed. Nasos Detzortzis et al., 68-87. Athens: Etaireia Spoudon Neoellinikou Politismou kai Genikis Paideias. —. 1984b. To chameno patoma [The Lost Floor]. Translated by Nikos Fokas. Athens: Kedros. —. 1996. “Translation: The Unresolved Dilemma.” The Seattle Review 18(2):34-9. Diamantis, Helen [Kay Cicellis]. 1943a. “Bread.” Orientations 6:34-6. —. 1943b. “Twilight in Athens.” Orientations 9:40-1. Elytis, Odysseus. 1980 (1959). The axion esti. Translated by Edmund Keeley and George Savidis. London: Anvil Press Poetry. Hatzis, Dimitris 1995. The End of our Small Town. Translated by David Vere. Birmingham: Centre for Byzantine, Ottoman and Modern Greek Studies, University of Birmingham. Kasdaglis, Nikos. 1988. To elos [The Swamp]. Thessaloniki: Diagonios. Lorenzatos, Zissimos. 1980. The Lost Center and Other Essays in Greek Poetry. Translated by Kay Cicellis. Princeton and Guildford: Princeton University Press.

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Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2006. “Demetrios Capetanakis: A Greek Poet (Coming Out) in England.” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 30:201-23. Prevelakis, Pandelis. 1976. The Tale of a Town. Translated by Kenneth Johnstone. London: Doric Publications. Ricks, David. 1996. “Demetrios Capetanakis: A Greek Poet in England.” Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora 22(1):161-75. Ritsos, Yannis. 1954. Agrypnia. Athens: Pyxida. Sackville-West, Vita. 1950. Preface to Kay Cicellis, The Easy Way. London: The Harvill Press / New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Valtinos, Thanasis. 2000. Data from the Decade of the Sixties: A Novel [Stoicheia gia ti dekaetia tou ’60]. Translated by Jane Assimakopoulos and Stavros Deligiorgis. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Van Dyck, Karen. 1998. Kassandra and the Censors: Greek Poetry since 1967. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Vlachos, Helen, ed. 1971. Free Greek Voices. London: Doric Publications.

CHAPTER THREE “MIST, MELANCHOLY PEOPLE, UNEMPLOYMENT AND RAPISTS”:1 LONDON IN GREEK FICTION SINCE 1974 ELENI PAPARGYRIOU

The city and the novel have long been regarded as going hand in hand as explicit manifestations of modernity. For theorists like Benjamin the city encapsulates social totality, because it encompasses the essential features of modern economic and social structures. Similarly, the novel has been regarded as a polyphonic construct that reflects in an enclosed narrative system conflicts in voice and social class, ideology and subjectivity. And like the city, which in spatial terms entails a topography extended far beyond the intimate space of a single community, the novel needs an extensive narrative breath in order to amply demonstrate the interaction as well as the disparity among its agents.2 As if to prove this rather schematic but essential correlation between the city and the novel, Greece was neither heavily urbanised for the greater part of the twentieth century, nor did it demonstrate a novelistic tradition comparable to that of

1

The phrase is taken from Amanda Michalopoulou’s novel īȚȐȞIJİȢ [Wishbone] (1996), which I discuss at length in the body of this article. I am very much indebted to Peter Mackridge for his invaluable remarks on an earlier draft of this article and to Dimitris Tziovas and Anastasia Natsina for suggesting recent novels relevant to the topic. I would like to thank Maria Christina Chatziioannou for recommending useful historical references regarding the presence of Greeks in London. Needless to say, I am responsible for any mistakes and omissions. 2 An increase in recent scholarly output examining cities and urbanity in fiction makes this all the more obvious. See, among others, Alter 2005, Wirth-Nesher 1996, Harding 2003, Lehan 1998, Resina 2003. For London in nineteenth century fiction see Wolfreys 1998. For post-war London in fiction see Phillips 2006. On the city in Greek literary output see Gotsi 2004, Tsirimokou 2000.

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countries with a strong urban past, such as England, Germany, France or Russia (Gotsi 2004, Tsirimokou 2000). By the fall of the military dictatorship in 1974, a landmark that has determined Greek historical as well as literary periodisation, Athens had evolved into a proper city with complex metropolitan features. Urban growth which had gradually been taking place since the late nineteenth century had accelerated considerably since the 1920s and particularly during the 1950s and 60s, when incentives were given to people to transfer to the city from the countryside, and the building industry started to expand rapidly. The sudden urbanisation of the Greek capital meant it had difficulty responding or indeed absorbing more intense or more established urban phenomena, particularly those occurring in cities outside the Greek borders.3 The focus of this article is on the city of London, a metropolitan centre well-known to Greeks since the eighteenth century (see Harris 2009 and Chatziioannou 2009). London is here taken to exemplify the intricacies of urbanity in the late twentieth century; it is also seen as a Western metropolis, with all the complexities this poses for a peripheral society like the Greek. This approach is not free of difficulty; extracting individual cities from the urban continuum where they belong is problematic. There is so to say the urban as an overarching totality of cultural and theoretical traits that exceeds one city or the other as monads. The theoretical complexity of cities defies singularity. Thus, one might wonder why authors have chosen to write about London over Paris or Berlin. Accordingly, one might extend the question to critical analyses of cities in literature: how is London’s presence in fiction to be assessed against that of other cities? For Benjamin the urban as an analytical category is not incompatible with individual cities. He traces the singularity of cities in their physiognomy, reading their character in particular features of the metropolitan environment. Benjamin states that “‘living means leaving traces’ and these traces left behind by the modern city dweller must be carefully preserved by the urban physiognomist, and their meaning deciphered. For Benjamin, the urban physiognomist is part archeologist, part collector and part detective.” (Gilloch 1996:6) In Benjamin’s view, the city’s physiognomy is not a contemporaneous surface; it demands to 3

The 1930s saw a digression of prose fiction from exclusively rural concerns towards urban themes. Novels such as George Theotokas’ ǹȡȖȫ [Argo] (1933), Kosmas Politis’ ǼțȐIJȘ [Ekate] (1933) and Angelos Terzakis’ ȂİȞİȟİįȑȞȚĮ ʌȠȜȚIJİȓĮ [Violet city] (1937) displayed this new urban orientation. Yet, the new trend would establish itself in Greek fiction only in later decades, particularly from the 1950s onwards.

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be probed deeply underneath the visible for the historical. London’s physiognomy can be discerned, among many others, in the traces of its former capacity as an imperial capital, in its vast and constantly transforming social discrepancies, in its expansion over hundreds of square miles, and, more recently, in its investment in the multi-ethnic, multicultural and multi-lingual potential offered by millions of immigrants, and in its central position in the arts and pop culture.4 Consequently, the specific focus of this article is not London as merely a paradigm for the urban, although this will come widely into the discussion; I am rather interested to see how Greek novelists have responded to London’s exclusive traits, namely those features that have distinguished it from other European metropolises. Before the late 1970s London had hardly appeared in Greek prose fiction. Prose writers of the so-called “generation of the 1930s”, who were more cosmopolitan than their predecessors of the 1920s, preferred to set their novels in Paris, and then, among others, in Rome and Venice, Geneva and Budapest (Mackridge 1985:2-3). George Seferis and George Theotokas had spent time in London on several occasions and they both recorded vague impressions of the city in their correspondence and diaries.5 The Seferis of 1931 was introverted and more or less entirely detached from his surroundings. He showed a genuine interest in the Thames, but he would also often make derogatory comments about people in London, who he thought must have “smelled of bacon and beer” or “have bad blood in their veins” (Seferis 1975:16, 74). In 1946 George Theotokas notes of post-war London: The main value of this city, I believe, is that it materialises grandeur by means which are not colossal, by means which are almost at human measure. Some aspects of the city indeed surprise us with their modesty, their humbleness. The general impression is nevertheless dominated by the element of grandeur. A gravitas of old nobility that would not tolerate any arrogance, that would not feel the need to boast of itself, but has a strong presence.6 4

Ackroyd (2000) envisages the city of London as a body, as a living thing which deserves a bios rather than a history. 5 Seferis had spent time in London in 1924 to improve his language skills and again in 1931 as an employee of the Greek Embassy. Theotokas had spent time in London in 1928. His second visit of 1946 was organized by the British Council. 6 “Ǿ țȣȡȚȩIJİȡȘ ĮȟȓĮ ĮȣIJȒȢ IJȘȢ ʌȠȜȚIJİȓĮȢ, ȞȠȝȓȗȦ, İȓȞĮȚ ȩIJȚ ʌȡĮȖȝĮIJȠʌȠȚİȓ IJȠ ȝİȖĮȜİȓȠ ȝİ ȝȑıĮ ʌȠȣ įİȞ İȓȞĮȚ țȠȜȠııȚĮȓĮ, ȝİ ȝȑıĮ ʌİȡȓʌȠȣ ıIJȠ ȝȑIJȡȠ IJȠȣ ĮȞșȡȫʌȠȣ. ȅȡȚıȝȑȞİȢ ȝȐȜȚıIJĮ ȩȥİȚȢ IJȘȢ ʌȠȜȚIJİȓĮȢ ʌĮȡĮȟİȞİȪȠȣȞ ȝİ IJȘ ȝİIJȡȚȠijȡȠıȪȞȘ IJȠȣȢ, IJȘ ıİȝȞȩIJȘIJȐ IJȠȣȢ. ȀȚ ȦıIJȩıȠ Ș ȖİȞȚțȒ İȞIJȪʌȦıȘ

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Theotokas may have been attracted by the grandeur in the colonial features of the British capital, but he certainly recognised the traces left by the recent war. Kazantzakis’s account of the city, written in 1939, leaves a similar aftertaste of old grandeur combined with the perils of war which is about to start.7 In the political turbulence of the late 1960s and early 1970s London came to be regarded as a free zone. Liberals who had fled Greece used the city as a base for resistance against the dictatorship. Again, this meant that they were interested in the city only to the extent to which it was their temporary home and a springboard for political action.8 Our analysis of literary representations of London in post-1974 Greek fiction might begin with two short stories by Kostas Tachtsis, ȂȚțȡȒ ȤȡȚıIJȠȣȖİȞȞȚȐIJȚțȘ ȚıIJȠȡȓĮ [Little Christmas story] (1979) and DzȞĮȢ DzȜȜȘȞĮȢ įȡȐțȠȢ ıIJȠ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠ [A Greek rapist in London] (1985), which are all the more relevant to our topic because their author had first-hand experience of London from the 1950s onwards.9 In Little Christmas Story įİıʌȩȗİIJĮȚ Įʌȩ IJȠ ıIJȠȚȤİȓȠ IJȠȣ ȝİȖĮȜİȓȠȣ. ȂİȖĮȜȠʌȡȑʌİȚĮ ʌĮȜȚȐȢ ĮȡȤȠȞIJȚȐȢ, ʌȠȣ įİȞ ĮȞȑȤİIJĮȚ țĮȝȚȐ ȟȚʌĮıȚȐ, ʌȠȣ įİȞ ĮȚıșȐȞİIJĮȚ IJȘȞ ĮȞȐȖțȘ ȞĮ İʌȚįİȓȟİȚ IJȠȞ İĮȣIJȩ IJȘȢ, ʌȠȣ ȩȝȦȢ ȣʌȐȡȤİȚ ȑȞIJȠȞĮ.” (Theotokas 1987: journal entry for 25th August 1946). London very briefly appeared in Theotokas’ novel ȉȠ įĮȚȝȩȞȚȠ (1938), as a place of business for the young narrator Pavlos Damaskinos, who was from a shipping family on an unnamed Greek island, and in short stories such as Westminster (1937). 7 Other more peripheral figures of Greek modernism include the poets Dimitrios Kapetanakis and Nanos Valaoritis. Kapetanakis made the British metropolis his home before the outbreak of the Second World War. There he became associated with a circle of homosexual authors, and found space for queer expression (Ricks 1996, Papanikolaou 2006, and see the chapters by Mackridge and Potts in this volume). 8 Unlike Paris, during the military dictatorship London was a destination for liberals who set themselves apart from the left. The tone was set by the editor of the newspaper ȀĮșȘȝİȡȚȞȒ Eleni Vlachou (see Chapter Eight by Wills in this volume), Takis Lambrias and the reporter Maria Karavia. In Karavia’s recently published ǾȝİȡȠȜȩȖȚȠ IJȠȣ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠȣ [London diary] (2007) the city is reduced to a scenic backdrop for Greek politics. The overall impression is metropolitan tolerance, not free of a certain indifference towards the Greek cause. The indifference seems to be reciprocal. On the contrary, in the second edition of the short story collection ȉĮ ȡȑıIJĮ [Small change] (1974) Kostas Tachtis includes the short story TĮ ʌĮʌȠȪIJıȚĮ țȚ İȖȫ [The shoes and I], in which Londoners are aware of the declaration of the Dictatorship in April 1967 and show their sympathy to the Greek protagonist. 9 Tachtsis is better known for his novel ȉȠ IJȡȓIJȠ ıIJİijȐȞȚ [The Third Wedding] (1962), situated in Athens and revolving around a petit bourgeois family much resembling Tachtsis’ own. The Third Wedding is the only Greek novel ever to have

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a man who may well be Tachtsis himself, wanders through the streets of London on Christmas Eve in 1954 in search of lodgings. The man, who narrates in the first person, has come from Athens to London to stay for a couple of months. His very limited means suggest that he has to save every penny, and this economising habit proves to be a pitfall when he decides to leave his cheap attic room in Chelsea to save on the rent before going on a trip to Yorkshire. Naturally, when he returns the room has been taken by another lodger, and he is unable to find any affordable accommodation. He becomes a flâneur out of necessity: he roams the streets of the festive foreign capital exploring his possibilities, but also feeling lost and abandoned. He contacts his wealthy Greek and English friends who offer him entertainment at their Christmas parties, but no hospitality. In the end he meets James, a Jamaican immigrant in a similarly wretched position, and they decide to share a room. During James’ temporary absence the narrator suspects that James has changed his mind and has left him to pay the bill, which he cannot afford. But James does return, proving his honesty, and the narrator rewards him by sticking with him for Christmas, rejecting offers to stay at a much more comfortable place. The narrator, an educated Greek petit-bourgeois, affiliates himself with the Jamaican immigrant, who is also described as educated, rather than with his rich Greek and English friends, suggesting that class is a stronger bond than ethnicity, language or friendship. For Tachtsis urbanisation and class are associated. As opposed to Athens, which in 1954 remained more or less provincial and friendly,10 London was heavily urbanized and its segregation into rich and poor areas reflected an inhuman class system. As described by Tachtsis, the streets of London staged the inequality of the two countries; one was rich, indifferent and enlightened, the other poor, involved and provincial. Tachtsis frequently notes that even in the heart of Athens Greece was a single-class country; Greeks could be either rich or poor, but they could not help being petit-bourgeois. The multi-layered British class system consequently poses a threat to the Athenian single-class subject. The been published by Penguin, in a translation by Leslie Finer. The two short stories examined here were commissioned by newspapers and magazines and were later included in collected volumes. Little Christmas story was commissioned by newspaper To Vima (Christmas 1978) and was included in the collection Ǿ ȖȚĮȖȚȐ ȝȠȣ Ș ǹșȒȞĮ [My grandmother Athens] (1979). ǹ Greek rapist in London first appeared in Playboy (1985) and in 2002 lent its title to a compilation of stories, interviews and essays. 10 The law concerning ĮȞIJȚʌĮȡȠȤȒ, the exchange of land for building services, was passed in 1955, one year after the narrative of Tachtsis’ story is set.

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topography of London, with its exclusive neighbourhoods and grandiose buildings, provokes animosity in Tachtsis’s narrator, who cannot afford to enter them. Urban topography and class division are eventually translated into sexuality: although not stated explicitly, there are homoerotic undertones in the bonding between the narrator and James, which suggest an attraction formed in the confines of class. In the story A Greek rapist in London written for the magazine Playboy in 1985 the narrator returns to the London of the early 1950s. According to this story, in the decade that followed the end of the Second World War London is a place of sexual promiscuity, and couples would freely make love in parks, often even next to one another, eager to revel at their joie de vivre. This time the narrator is not lodging in shabby rooms, he is housesitting for a friend in the posh neighbourhood of Sloane Square. One evening he discovers an English girl who has passed out drunk on his doorstep. He takes her in to offer her help, but he is so taken by her immaculate beauty, her pale skin, blond hair and the scent of English soap, that he ends up raping her repeatedly while she is unconscious.11 One possible way of reading this story is as a sequel—and a response—to the previous. The girl’s inexpensive clothes reveal a working-class background. On the other hand, the narrator, who is presented as being identical to that of the previous story, has acquired a kind of superiority accentuated by his temporary sojourn in a respectable and wealthy area of London. The girl’s appearance is quintessentially English, a fact appreciated not just in her pale features, but more essentially in the smell of English soap on her body. The narrator takes sexual advantage of the girl and thus penetrates—at least in metaphorical terms—the city’s exclusiveness and class system. Whereas in the previous story the narrator falls victim to the city’s hostility, a hostility related to its class system, here it is the city that falls prey to the Greek rapist. The story’s title may have been intended to underline the fact that the power relations between the two nations, the Greek and the English, have been reversed by means 11 It certainly comes as a surprise the fact that Tachtsis, a notoriously gay author, wrote a story which features a heterosexual liaison. Tachtsis, who often assumed different narrative personas and was often playful with the concepts of veracity and fiction, may have intended this digression as a game with the heterosexual male readers of Playboy. This assumption is corroborated by the fact that the next story ȀȦʌȘȜȐIJİȢ [Rowers], included in the same collection and initially published in the same magazine, also features a heterosexual male. On Tachtsis’ subversions of autobiography, see Iakovidou 2002, and the afterword by Dimitris Papanikolaou in the forthcoming new edition of the short story cycle ȉĮ ȡȑıIJĮ [Small change] (Athens: Gavriilidis, 2009-10).

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of sexual assault; the previously stronger component has to succumb to the Greek įȡȐțȠȢ, a “sex criminal”. However, given the content of the story, its use is not free of irony and humour. A sex criminal would have multiple victims, he would be sought by the police and would terrorise one or more areas of the city. None of the above happens in this case. At the end of the story, when the narrator makes a third advance towards her, the girl wakes up and gently protests by muttering “wasn’t twice enough already?”, which proves that she had been aware of his actions all along. London as scene of sexual assault is also featured in Faidon Tamvakakis’ novel ȉĮ IJȠʌȓĮ IJȘȢ ĭȚȜȠȝȒȜĮȢ [Philomela’s landscapes] (1988). This time the perpetrators are a group of skinheads and the victim a Greek mute girl, Philomela, a talented pianist who has travelled to London to perform a concert. Due to her handicap Philomela is sexually repressed; she lost her virginity on a Greek beach to an old man, who essentially raped her, mistaking her lack of verbal resistance for consent. From that point on Philomela starts initiating sexual activity with unknown men on several occasions, and it is her who allegedly provokes the London incident by walking naked in a subway late at night. The novel is interspersed with postcolonial hints. Philomela has been adopted by a Greek-Egyptian family that moved from Alexandria to Athens in the mid 1960s. She is coached by the father, Leon, a formerly well-known pianist who adopts her after both her parents have been killed in a car accident. It may well be that the sexual attack against Philomela by the London skinheads is meant to suggest Britain’s colonial aggression in Egypt, an aggression which played a role in the eventual expulsion of GreekEgyptians in the 1960s. The narrator, Philomela’s adoptive brother, identifies Philomela with Greece (Tamvakakis 1988:131). The fact that Philomela is mute obviously links the story to the ancient myth of Philomela and Procne, but also points to the political disempowerment of Greece after the Second World War.12

12 Tamvakakis’ novel is strongly linked to the work of Stratis Tsirkas, another Greek Egyptian who left Alexandria for Athens in 1963. Philomela’s landscapes bears resemblance with Tsirkas’ Ǿ ȃȣȤIJİȡȓįĮ [The Bat], which is the third part of his trilogy ǹțȣȕȑȡȞȘIJİȢ ȆȠȜȚIJİȓİȢ [Drifting cities]. Like in Philomela’s landscapes there is in The Bat competition between two adolescent boys; the story is told from the perspective of the weaker of the two, who is also in love with an unattainable girl, in Tsirkas’ case Julia, nicknamed “bat”, and in Tamvakakis’ case Philomela. There is also a certain zoomorphism concerning the two girls: Julia dresses up as a bat and Philomela is paralleled to a nightingale, illustrated in her talented piano performance.

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It has been widely argued that until the 1980s Greek authors displayed introspection in their exclusive concern with Greek issues and based their plots within the boundaries of the Greek state. However, in the 1990s they began to open up to Europe and the European idea and set their novels’ plots outside the Greek borders. Thus, as has been noted, during the 1990s Greek fiction exchanged a centripetal attitude for a centrifugal one (see Tziovas 2004). The increase in Greek youths immigrating to the British capital to study or work brought London closer to Greek everyday life. From the mid 1990s onwards there is a high concentration of Greek novels that are either set in London or concerned with its various cultural aspects. These include Amanda Michalopoulou’s novels īȚȐȞIJİȢ [Wishbone] (1996) and ȆĮȜȚȩțĮȚȡȠȢ [Stormy weather] (2001), George Zarkadakis’ ǹȞĮIJȠȜȚțȩȞ ȉȑȜȠȢ [East End] (1996), Alexis Stamatis’ ȅ ȑȕįȠȝȠȢ İȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ [The seventh elephant] (1998), Argyro Mandoglou’s Virginia Woolf Café (1998), Soti Triantafyllou’s DZȜȝʌĮIJȡȠȢ [Albatross] (2004) and ȁȓȖȠ Įʌȩ IJȠ ĮȓȝĮ ıȠȣ [Some of your blood] (2008), Angela Dimitrakakis’ ȉȠ ȝĮȞȚijȑıIJȠ IJȘȢ ȒIJIJĮȢ [The manifesto of defeat] (2006) and the recent novel by Christos Chryssopoulos, Ǿ ȜȠȞįȡȑȗȚțȘ ȝȑȡĮ IJȘȢ ȁȫȡĮȢ ȉȗȐțıȠȞ [Laura Jackson’s London day] (2009).13 Most of the above authors reside in Athens, but have first-hand experience of London; consequently, they are well acquainted with the city’s topography and, at least to some extent, they all engage with the city’s intense urbanity in their fiction. However, they do not explore or interact with the city’s exclusive traits that define its physiognomy; they rather see it through the eyes of a foreigner who is detached and alienated from his/her surroundings, and with a few exceptions they use London as a counterpoint to Athens. In Amanda Michalopoulou’s novel Wishbone thirty-year-old Athena spends four weeks in London visiting her brother Ilias, a doctorate candidate in psychology. Ilias has written a novel on their family history in English, which he entrusts to his sister to translate into Greek and publish. When publishers reject his novel as being too short, Athena decides to complete it with her own more cynical version of the events. Athena feels trapped in her mundane life in Athens: she works as a professional translator for a daily newspaper, earning just enough to make ends meet, she has a lukewarm affair with a colleague, and because she cannot afford her own place she has to share a house with her aged father, a retired professor of linguistics, with whom she can hardly communicate. Her trip to London offers her temporary escape from her life as well as a 13

Locating all texts relevant to this topic was not an easy task, and I am well aware that there may be some I have inevitably missed. However, there is adequate material here to make the point.

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perspective on it. But this is where her interest in the city ends. On closer inspection it becomes obvious that Athena’s experience of London is that of the typical tourist; she visits Camden Town and Portobello Market and she takes walks by the Thames. Her brother has an apartment in Bayswater, the hub of London’s Greek community. Athena retrospectively thinks of London as a city full of “mist, melancholy people, unemployment and rapists” (Michalopoulou 1996:118), recycling urban clichés that widely circulate in popular fiction and cinema. The only thing she appreciates in the city is anonymity; the comfort she finds in not bumping into acquaintances in the street or not having to confront people on the phone. Athena reduces London to a buffer zone, where she can reconsider her Greek life and regain self-awareness. But she does not relate to the city as a real place. Athena identifies London with her brother’s version of the family history, which is detached and idealised, and Athens with her own, which is cynical and real: “Two opposite forces. The fairy tale and the translation. London and Athens”14 (Michalopoulou 1996:200). In her novel The Manifesto of Defeat Angela Dimitrakaki presents a similar image of London as a buffer zone for a troubled young female previously residing in Athens. The narrator, thirty-year-old Meryl15 has been “moved” to London by her parents, who keep her under close watch during an extended stint of psychiatric treatment. About six years before the move has Meryl survived the mysterious death of nine of her closest friends during a winter holiday on an Aegean island. While in London she writes a text, initiated by her psychiatrist Zoe, who urges her to relate her version of the events. Her dead friends were Fine Art students from universities all over Europe, who came to Greece on exchange programmes. While being on the island the group were imprisoned for weeks on end in a basement; the person responsible for their captivity was their ferocious friend Katerina, who kept videotaping their tribulations for a cruel art project. Meryl was born in London where her parents had moved for political reasons in the early 1970s. When they return in the early 1990s, they rent a two-storey house in Highgate, a posh North London area which naturally reflects their bourgeois mentality. Meryl is detached from the urban surroundings and her life in the British capital in general; it is telling that her watch is set two hours ahead of British time, at the Greek time zone. This detachment could be interpreted as part of her condition: initially Meryl has very limited experience of London, as she is 14

“ǻȪȠ ĮȞIJȓȡȡȠʌİȢ įȣȞȐȝİȚȢ. ȉȠ ʌĮȡĮȝȪșȚ țĮȚ Ș ȝİIJȐijȡĮıȘ. ȉȠ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠ țĮȚ Ș ǹșȒȞĮ.” (Michalopoulou 1996:200) 15 Meryl is a compromised attempt to render into English the narrator’s name ȂĮȡȓȜȘ.

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mostly confined to the house. But when she befriends Gillian, a mature Fine Arts student who cleans their house, she does venture out to the city more only to discover her detachment from its rhythm and buzz: In the taxi that brought me I was observing the streets of London, full of utterly overwhelmed people. It is the joyful hysteria of the long days, multiplied by the electric clouds and the consumption of cheap alcohol in open air spaces. (Dimitrakaki 2006:396)16

Meryl is reserved, if not suspicious, of the city. Although the novel abounds in theoretical complexity, urban action is very limited and Meryl’s experience of the metropolis is one-dimensional and curiously simplistic. Since she and her friends have engaged in heated aesthetic debates that often revolve around cities and urbanity as a concept, such as the Situationist International,17 it is surprising that she does not engage more in the urban context from which these theories emerged. While one would expect a more extended narrative exploitation of London’s topographic and cultural material, the most effective parts of the novel are indeed those which take place on the Greek island. A similarly detached impression of London appeared in Dimitrakaki’s first novel ǹȞIJĮȡțIJȚțȒ [Antarctica] (1997), where twenty-four-year-old Vera duly notes the posters in the underground advertising nearly everything, from movies to best-sellers and she does mind the gap between the train and the platform. In contrast to these rather schematic representations of London, one gets a fuller picture of life in the metropolis in George Zarkadakis’ East End (1996) and in Soti Triantafyllou’s Albatross (2003). Zarkadakis’ novel presents a multi-dimensional and fascinating involvement in city life. The narrator, named Hunter, comes to London as a student, but he decides to stay after graduation to make a career in the music industry. He fantasises becoming the first bouzouki player to be part of a successful rock band. He then meets Martin, a Welsh musician with whom he forms a band, and moves with him to a flat on a council estate in a deprived area of the East End. It is implied that Hunter comes from a middle-class 16

“ȈIJȠ IJĮȟȓ ʌȠȣ ȝ’ ȑijİȡİ ʌĮȡĮIJȘȡȠȪıĮ IJȠȣȢ įȡȩȝȠȣȢ IJȠȣ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠȣ ȖİȝȐIJȠȣȢ ĮȜĮȜȚĮıȝȑȞȠȣȢ ĮȞșȡȫʌȠȣȢ. ǼȓȞĮȚ Ș ʌȡȩıȤĮȡȘ ȣıIJİȡȓĮ IJȦȞ ȝĮțȡȚȫȞ ȘȝİȡȫȞ, ʌȠȜȜĮʌȜĮıȚĮıȝȑȞȘ Įʌ’ IJĮ ȘȜİțIJȡȚțȐ ıȪȞȞİijĮ țĮȚ IJȘȞ țĮIJĮȞȐȜȦıȘ ijIJȘȞȠȪ ĮȜțȠȩȜ ı’ ĮȞȠȚȤIJȠȪȢ ȤȫȡȠȣȢ.” (Dimitrakaki 2006: 396) 17 Situationist International is a political and art avant-garde movement which started in France in the late 1950s and became involved in the uprising of 1968. Influenced by Marxism which they nevertheless critiqued, the artists and architects involved were widely concerned with utilitarian space in city planning and issues of urbanity.

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background in Athens, but by moving to the East End he breaks the social ties to his family and delves into the lowest strata of British society. His experience of city life is far different from the middle-class comforts of Bayswater or Highgate. The East End flat is basic, money is never enough and he has to find a job as a delivery man. At the same time he experiences street violence, not just as an onlooker, but also as a victim; in the opening pages he provokes a gang of Asian youths with his skinheadlike appearance and he is attacked on the tube. Later he is beaten up and thrown out of a club in Soho. Zarkadakis is one of the few Greek authors concerned with London’s ethnic and sexual diversity. Hunter falls in love with Donna, a girl from Burma. Among his closest friends are Frank and Winston, two gay men living in Earl’s Court. He hangs out with a Goth named Kate. He follows the London club scene and experiments with magic mushrooms. He does not socialise with Greeks and his command of English, particularly colloquial, is next to perfect. All in all, Hunter feels like a native in the British capital, “a city that tourists name ‘London’, whereas we, its abandoned and lost infants, simply call it ‘the town’” (Zarkadakis 1996:13).18 And he goes on to declare his unreserved love. I was looking about the traffic in the streets and thinking how much I liked this city, how much I loved it, how close to my heart it was. I was thinking that perhaps I could never live in another place in the world except London (Zarkadakis 1996:160).19

Given the intensity with which Hunter is immersed in London life, it comes as a surprise that in the end he decides to leave, feeling homesick for Athens. The novel ends with what may look like a touch of banal nationalism: a mermaid-like figure who asks Hunter the way home. Soti Triantafyllou’s novel Albatross concerns itself with the issue of social mobility; despite being born in the late nineteenth century to a poor working-class family in Bermondsey, South London, Molly Yarrow decides to go to school and then to university. She is the first and last member of her family to receive an education. Around the same time, the baronet Edmund Matthewsheld drops out of Cambridge and is disowned 18 “ȈIJȠ ıȒȝİȡĮ, ıIJȘȞ ʌȩȜȘ ʌȠȣ ȠȚ IJȠȣȡȓıIJİȢ ĮʌȠțĮȜȠȪȞ «ȁȠȞįȓȞȠ», ĮȜȜȐ İȝİȓȢ, IJĮ ȑțșİIJĮ țĮȚ ĮʌȠȜȦȜȩIJĮ ȕȡȑijȘ IJȘȢ, ĮʌȠțĮȜȠȪȝİ ĮʌȜȐ «ʌȩȜȘ».” (Zarkadakis 1996:13) 19 “ȋȐȗİȣĮ IJȘȞ țȓȞȘıȘ ıIJȠȣȢ įȡȩȝȠȣȢ țĮȚ ıțİijIJȩȝȠȣȞ ʌȩıȠ ȝ’ Ȑȡİıİ ıIJ’ ĮȜȒșİȚĮ ĮȣIJȒ Ș ʌȩȜȘ, ʌȩıȠ IJȘȞ ĮȖĮʌȠȪıĮ, ʌȩıȠ IJȘȞ İȓȤĮ ȕȐȜİȚ ıIJȘȞ țĮȡįȚȐ ȝȠȣ. ȈțİijIJȩȝȠȣȞ ȩIJȚ ȓıȦȢ ȞĮ ȝȘȞ ȝʌȠȡȠȪıĮ ȞĮ ȗȒıȦ ʌȠIJȑ ıİ ȐȜȜȠ ȝȑȡȠȢ IJȠȣ țȩıȝȠȣ İțIJȩȢ Įʌȩ IJȠ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠ.” (Zarkadakis 1996:160)

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by his family for his radical socialist ideas. While Edmund becomes active in the labour movement, Molly is militantly involved in the struggle for women’s emancipation. The two are brought together by their mutual concerns for the basic human rights absent from the colonial Britain of the late Victorian era, such as the right to social care, equal rights between the two sexes, votes for women, as well as education for all. Subsequently, their controversial marriage shocks London’s conservative circles. Triantafyllou’s period novel is meticulously researched and accurate regarding the topography of London after the 1880s, as well as its politics, fashions and everyday life.20 London is socially segregated in areas whose populations rarely mix; Molly’s father has never been outside South London and he has never seen the newly-built train station St Pancras (Triantafyllou 2003:74). There is extreme poverty and extreme wealth and no social mobility. But, as the novel’s moral pronounces, as long as there are people determined to disregard their background and seize opportunities to educate themselves, the seemingly watertight social boundaries can be penetrated. Triantafyllou is fascinated by the history of the suffragette movement in Britain, a movement with no equivalent in Greece. She is also fascinated by the history of the British labour movement, which, again, was very different from the Greek, partly because in Britain there was a more oppressive capitalist system to react against. Most of all, she is fascinated by the enormous potential offered by the city: London is already a populist myth, a spectacle, and a city haunted by its literary representations. Dickens receives ample mention, not least because the England he described in his novels of the 1850s was still a reality at the turn of the twentieth century (Triantafyllou 2003:164).21 Albatross is the closest Greek example to concern itself with London’s physiognomy as a totality of features that reflect socials norms and structures. Like Triantafyllou, a substantive number of Greek authors are attracted to London’s central position in literature and set their plots in the city to connect with its literary tradition. Two such examples are Argyro Mandoglou’s Virginia Woolf Café and Christos Chryssopoulos’ Laura Jackson’s London Day. Virginia Woolf Café is concerned with issues of .

20

In the subsequent novel entitled Some of Your Blood (2008) Triantafyllou returns to London, this time in the jazz age. I do not discuss this for reasons of brevity. 21 In her recent autobiographical novel ȅ ȤȡȩȞȠȢ ʌȐȜȚ [ȉime again] (2009) Triantafyllou contends that some of her choices have been dictated by her readings. In the novel ǹȪȡȚȠ ȝȚĮ ȐȜȜȘ ȤȫȡĮ [Tomorrow a different country] (1998) a Greek family settles in a house near Dotty Street in London, where Dickens wrote The Pickwick papers, Oliver Twist and The life and adventures of Nicolas Nickleby (Triantafyllou 2009: 30).

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female voice and literary identity, and directly alludes to Woolf as a literary authority on these matters. The title refers to a [real?] café in Bloomsbury, where Anna, a Greek expatriate and aspiring author, and another Greek friend meet and discuss their lives. The novel starts in the streets of Brixton, where Anna receives a curious phone call at a telephone booth. The caller proves to be the author Thomas Hardy, who urges Anna to deliver a message to Ella, a character in an “unfinished” story of his. Although not specified in Mandoglou’s novel, one recognises this story as Hardy’s An Imaginative Woman, completed in 1894, and the character as Ella Marchmill, a middle class married woman who writes verse under the male pseudonym John Ivy.22 In Hardy’s story Ella’s thoughts are presented to the reader in a precocious kind of interior monologue, particularly her growing infatuation with the poet Rober Trewe, whom she never met, thus offering the reader a rare insight into the heart and mind of a woman with literary aspirations. Whereas Hardy’s story focuses mostly on Ella’s fantasies about Trewe and the way she is perceived by her husband, in Mandoglou’s novel she goes more deeply into confessing her inner thoughts about her art. Anna visits Ella in her nineteenth-century world, and their rapport helps her find her own literary voice. By placing Hardy and Woolf side by side, Mandoglou acknowledges the influence the Dorset-born author had on Woolf’s feminist concerns. In a similar fashion, Mandoglou sees herself as a frequenter of Woolf’s literary salon and an immediate descendant of her feminist poetics. This might suggest that for a Greek female writer concerned with such issues, Greece may have failed to provide adequate role models. Chryssopoulos’ novel Laura Jackson’s London Day also revolves around London’s modernist circles. His object of interest is Laura (Riding) Jackson, an American poet born and raised in New York, who settled in London sharing a house with her lover Robert Graves and his wife. A central member of the Fugitives’ group in the 1920s, Jackson has been recently rehabilitated notably by feminist critics who have brought her out of Robert Graves’ shadow; she is nevertheless relatively unknown in Greece. In his text Chryssopoulos focuses on the day Jackson attempted suicide by jumping from the third floor of the Hammersmith house she shared with Graves. The attempted suicide took place in April 1929 and was followed by a long period of treatment in various London hospitals, from which she would often escape. During her recuperation Jackson was administered large doses of morphine to help her endure pain. 22 On this novel as a sample of literary cosmopolitanism see Yannakakis 2004. The source is discussed for the first time in my chapter.

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Chryssopoulos follows Jackson in her wanderings about the city in a state of sedation, which has an obvious effect in the alienated way she perceives herself and her surroundings. Jackson becomes highlighted as a peripheral figure of Anglo-American modernism, not least because her presence in London is circumstantial and temporary. Chryssopoulos sees affiliations between Jackson’s detached urban attitude and her gradual abandonment of poetry. Laura Jackson denounced poetry—in a memorable statement— and abandoned city life after 1940, settling in a ranch in Florida. In his novel Chryssopoulos follows her wanderings in a city she does not recognise to be her own while she starts questioning the basic principles of her own art. The city of London is equally alien to Chryssopoulos, both as topography and as a complex system of significations regarding the modernist movement. Through Jackson he becomes a flâneur in London and then in a major literary movement, with which the city has been associated. The book can be read as an allegory for the untimely, minor and indeed peripheral modernist figures whose presence is more or less forgotten by the canon, an allegory which directly correlates to the Greece case. There are several features and cultural traits of London with which contemporary Greek prose writers have chosen to converse, but rarely with the city as a total phenomenon. As I hope to have shown, most references to London are anchored to a Greek interest. This observation, sketchy as it may be—London is after all only one metropolis among many—suggests that the cosmopolitanism that has enthusiastically been attributed to Greek fiction since the 1990s should be regarded with caution. When Greek fiction writers set their novels outside the Greek borders, it does not necessarily mean they intend to explore life outside the borders; they rather intend to position Greece in the continuum of Western societies. Their attraction to foreign topographies does not entail authentic curiosity, which would result in a more impassionate involvement with “otherness”, it entails a point of comparison: “who are we in relation to them”. Novels such as Wishbone and The manifesto of defeat discuss London as a counterpoint to Athens, as a city that does not exist in its own right, but is only there to problematise Greece. Others, such as Virginia Woolf Café and Laura Jackson’s London Day, explore London as a literary centre, known and appreciated by Greek authors in its prominence in modernist movements, which inevitably result in a fragmentary treatment of the city. Cosmopolitan as it may seem, the attraction to the metropolis could in fact be a revamped attempt to consider Greece from a different, Western perspective. Appropriately, in a later novel entitled

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ȆĮȜȚȩțĮȚȡȠȢ [Stormy weather] (2001)23 Amanda Michalopoulou sets a group of youths on a fictitious Greek island to contemplate Greece’s position in the Western world. The title refers to bad weather as an essential feature of Western European countries, such as England, and a standard theme in pop songs. Right on cue, the characters are stranded on the island during a particularly bad spell of weather, which becomes an allegory for Greece’s westernisation. As noted by one of the characters: “To align with the West [Greece] acquired a high standard of life, a northern climate, American heat waves, even novels.”24

Bibliography and References Ackroyd, Peter. 2000. London: A Biography. London: Chatto & Windus. Alter, Robert. 2005. Imagined Cities: Urban Experience and the Language of the Novel. New Haven: Yale University Press. Bradbury, Malcolm. 1991. “London 1890-1920.” In Modernism: A Guide to European Literature 1890-1930, ed. Malcolm Bradbury and James McFarlane, 170-90. London: Penguin.

23

The title may refer to the song “Stormy weather”, written by Grime MC Wiley in 1933, but can be seen as generically embracing the whole of western pop music. As a purely western phenomenon, pop music is appealing especially to younger Greek novelists, who thus problematise their country’s position in the Western world. One of main characters in Michalopoulou’s text writes a novel about the Rolling Stones, which he describes as follows: My hero’s dad is a fan of the Rolling Stones, which means the hero has to react to the established figure of the old rocker, if you know what I mean. At the beginning he is his dad’s son, he knows when Ronnie Wood tunes his guitar, when Mick Jagger takes a leak. As he goes along he feels the need to create something of his own. He develops into a devoted fan of Brian Jones and makes up conspiracy theories. He spreads rumour that Richards and Jagger got him. He called the Stones ‘grassy stones’ in his radio show. (Michalopoulou 2001:85-6). London is here a cultural rubric that penetrates Greek life through popular music. See also Alexis Stamatis’ novel The seventh elephant (1998), where London is associated with pop culture, notably that of the 1960s. The characters in Konstandinos Tzoumas’ recent autobiographical novel ȍȢ İț șĮȪȝĮIJȠȢ [Miraculously] (2008) identify themselves with the pop scene of London in the late 1960s, without having physically been there. 24 “īȚĮ ȞĮ İȣșȣȖȡĮȝȝȚıIJİȓ ȝİ IJȘ ǻȪıȘ, ĮʌȑțIJȘıİ İȣȘȝİȡȓĮ, ȕȩȡİȚȠ țȜȓȝĮ, ĮȝİȡȚțȐȞȚțȠȣȢ țĮȪıȦȞİȢ, ĮțȩȝĮ țĮȚ ȝȣșȚıIJȠȡȒȝĮIJĮ . . .” (Michalopoulou 2001: 204).

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Chatziioannou, Maria Christina. 2009. “Greek Merchants in Victorian England.” In Greek Diaspora and Migration Since 1700, ed. Dimitris Tziovas, 45-60. Farnham: Ashgate. Chryssopoulos, Christos. 2009. Ǿ ȜȠȞįȡȑȗȚțȘ ȝȑȡĮ IJȘȢ ȁȫȡĮȢ ȉȗȐțıȠȞ [Laura Jackson’s London day]. Athens: Kastaniotis. Dimitrakaki. Angela. 1997. ǹȞIJĮȡțIJȚțȒ [Antarctica]. Athens: Oxy. —. 2006. ȉȠ ȝĮȞȚijȑıIJȠ IJȘȢ ȒIJIJĮȢ [The manifesto of defeat]. Athens: Estia. Gilloch, Graeme. 1996. Myth and Metropolis: Walter Benjamin and the City. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gotsi, Georgia. 2004. Ǿ ȗȦȒ İȞ IJȘ ʌȡȦIJİȣȠȪıȘ: șȑȝĮIJĮ ĮıIJȚțȒȢ ʌİȗȠȖȡĮijȓĮȢ Įʌȩ IJȠ IJȑȜȠȢ IJȠȣ 19Ƞȣ ĮȚȫȞĮ. Athens: Nefeli. Harding, Desmond. 2003. Writing the City: Urban Visions and Literary Modernism. London: Routledge. Harris, Jonathan. 2009. “Silent Minority: The Greek Community of Eighteenth Century London.” In Greek Diaspora and Migration Since 1700, ed. Dimitris Tziovas, 31-44. Farnham: Ashgate. Iakovidou, Sofia. 2002. “Ǿ IJȑȤȞȘ IJȘȢ ĮʌȩıIJĮıȘȢ: Ƞ ȉĮȤIJıȒȢ țĮȚ Ș ĮȣIJȠȕȚȠȖȡĮijȓĮ.” ȃȑĮ ǼıIJȓĮ 1742:270-96. Karavia, Maria. 2007. ȉȠ ȘȝİȡȠȜȩȖȚȠ IJȠȣ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠȣ: ıȘȝİȚȫıİȚȢ Įʌȩ IJȘȞ İʌȠȤȒ IJȘȢ įȚțIJĮIJȠȡȓĮȢ [London diary: notes from the times of dictatorship]. Athens: Agra. Lehan, Richard. 1998. The City in Literature: An Intellectual and Cultural History. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mackridge, Peter. 1985. “European Influences on the Greek Novel During the 1930s.” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 3(1): 1-20. Mandoglou, Argyro. 1998. BȚȡIJȗȓȞȚĮ īȠȣȜij Café [Virginia Woolf Café]. Athens: Apopeira. Michalopoulou, Amanda. 1996. īȚȐȞIJİȢ [Wishbone]. Athens: Kastaniotis. —. 2001. ȆĮȜȚȩțĮȚȡȠȢ [Stormy weather]. Athens: Kastaniotis. Papanikolaou, Dimitris. 2006. “Demetrios Capetanakis: A Greek Poet (Coming Out) in England.” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 30:201-23. —. 2009. “Afterword in Kostas Taktsis’ ȉĮ ȡȑıIJĮ [Small change], 173-89. Athens: Gavriilidis. Phillips, Lawrence. 2006. London Narratives: Post-War Fiction and the City. New York: Continuum. Resina, Joan Ramon. 2003. After-Images of the City. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Ricks, David. 1996. “Demetrios Capetanakis: A Greek Poet in England.” Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora 22(1):161-75.

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Seferis, George. 1975. ȂȑȡİȢ Ǻǯ. Edited by D.N. Maronitis. Athens: Ikaros. Stamatis, Alexis. 1998. O ȑȕįȠȝȠȢ İȜȑijĮȞIJĮȢ [The seventh elephant]. Athens: Kedros. Tachtsis, Kostas. 1979. H ȖȚĮȖȚȐ ȝȠȣ Ș ǹșȒȞĮ [My grandmother Athens]. Athens: Ermis. —. 2002. DzȞĮȢ DzȜȜȘȞĮȢ įȡȐțȠȢ ıIJȠ ȁȠȞįȓȞȠ [A Greek rapist in London]. Athens: Kastaniotis. —. 2009. ȉĮ ȡȑıIJĮ [Small change]. Athens: Gavriilidis. Tamvakakis, Faidon. 1988. ȉĮ IJȠʌȓĮ IJȘȢ ĭȚȜȠȝȒȜĮȢ [Philomela’s landscapes]. Athens: Estia. Theotokas, George. 1987. ȉİIJȡȐįȚĮ ǾȝİȡȠȜȠȖȓȠȣ [Journal notebooks]. Edited by Dimitris Tziovas. Athens: Estia. Triantafyllou, Soti. 1997. ǹȪȡȚȠ ȝȚĮ ȐȜȜȘ ȤȫȡĮ [ȉomorrow another country]. Athens: Polis. —. 2004. DZȜȝʌĮIJȡȠȢ [Albatross]. Athens: Patakis. —. 2008. ȁȓȖȠ Įʌȩ IJȠ ĮȓȝĮ ıȠȣ [Some of your blood]. Athens: Patakis. —. 2009. ȅ ȤȡȩȞȠȢ ʌȐȜȚ [ȉime again]. Athens: Patakis. Tsirimokou, Lizzy. 2000. “ȁȠȖȠIJİȤȞȓĮ IJȘȢ ʌȩȜȘȢ/ʌȩȜİȚȢ IJȘȢ ȜȠȖȠIJİȤȞȓĮȢ”, ǼıȦIJİȡȚțȒ IJĮȤȪIJȘIJĮ: įȠțȓȝȚĮ ȖȚĮ IJȘ ȜȠȖȠIJİȤȞȓĮ, 73-119. Athens: Agra. Tzoumas, Konstandinos. 2008. ȍȢ İț șĮȪȝĮIJȠȢ [Miraculously]. Athens: Kastaniotis. Tziovas, Dimitris. 2004. “Centrifugal Topographies, Cultural Allegories and Metafictional Strategies in Greek Fiction since 1974.” In Contemporary Greek Fiction in a United Europe: From Local History to the Global Individual, ed. Peter Mackridge and Eleni Yannakakis, 24-49. Oxford: Legenda. Wirth-Nesher, Hana. 1996. City Codes: Reading the Modern Urban Novel. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolfreys, Julian. 1998. Writing London: The Trace of the Urban Text from Blake to Dickens. Basingstoke, Hampshire: Macmillan. Yannakakis, Eleni. 2004. “Geographical and Ideological Wanderings: Greek Fiction of the 1990s.” In Contemporary Greek Fiction in a United Europe: From Local History to the Global Individual, ed. Peter Mackridge and Eleni Yannakakis, 81-93. Oxford: Legenda. Zarkadakis, George. 1996. ǹȞĮIJȠȜȚțȩȞ ȉȑȜȠȢ. Athens: Kedros.

CHAPTER FOUR MODERN GREEK LITERATURE IN BRITAIN SINCE 1945 DAVID CONNOLLY

It is quite remarkable that, for the majority of British readers, the term “Greek literature” or any reference to “Greek authors” almost invariably calls to mind Homer, Sappho, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides and a whole host of other Classical and Hellenistic Greek writers, as if Greece’s literary output had somehow come to an end in the ashes of the ancient library of Alexandria and, unlike the mythical phoenix, was never to arise again. The burden of Greek antiquity is such that we are obliged, today, to talk of “Modern Greek literature” and “Modern Greek authors” in order to avoid confusion, and it goes without saying that very few British readers would be able to name even one “modern” Greek author. Even the award of two Nobel Prizes for Literature to Modern Greek poets—to George Seferis (1963) and to Odysseus Elytis (1979)—did little for their reputations in Britain and failed to stimulate interest in Modern Greek literature in general. It might be thought that the problem has to do with a lack of (good) translations. Yet, particularly in the period since the end of the Second World War, a sizeable number of works by contemporary Greek writers have been translated and published in Britain, where, regrettably though not surprisingly, translated literature represents only a very small percentage of annual book production. The fact remains, however, that these translated works rarely reach the major bookstores, let alone the reader, and generally fail to make any impact in the British book market. Translations of Modern Greek literature begin to appear regularly in the early nineteenth century, undoubtedly fuelled by interest in Greece’s War of Independence against Ottoman Rule and the prevailing Romantic concepts of Greece as the cradle of democracy and of contemporary Greeks as the direct descendents of Pericles. It is indicative that the translations in this period are, for the most part, collections of Greek folk

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songs, in an attempt, perhaps, to emphasize the unbroken Greek tradition stretching back to antiquity. One of the first such translations by Charles Brinsley Sheridan was entitled The Songs of Greece (1825) and contained a translation of the Hymn to Liberty by Dionysios Solomos, the Greek National Poet. Numerous other anthologies of folk songs appeared throughout the nineteenth century with titles that emphasized Greece’s struggle for independence, such as Greek Folk-songs from the Turkish Provinces of Greece, Ǿ įȠȪȜȘ ǼȜȜȐȢ: Albania, Thessaly (not yet wholly free) and Macedonia (1885) or Greek Folk-songs from the Ottoman Provinces of Northern Hellas (1888), both translated by Lucy M.J. Garnett. The latter part of the nineteenth century, however, also sees translations of works by some of the leading Greek authors of the time, for example: Loukis Laras: Reminiscences of a Chiote merchant During the Greek War of Independence (1881) by Demetrios Vikelas; Amaryllis (1891) and The Herb of Love (1892) by Georgios Drosinis; and The Stepmother: A Tale of Modern Athens (1897) by Gregorios Xenopoulos. Particularly of note are the two translations (1886 and 1900) of Pope Joan by Emmanuel Royidis, a work that was re-translated and re-published throughout the twentieth century and that became quite a publishing success in the rather free translation by Lawrence Durrell (1947). The first half of the twentieth century sees something of a lull in translation activity, though notable translations in this period include a retranslation of parts of Solomos’ Hymn to Liberty by Rudyard Kipling (1918) and the first translations into English of major works of Cretan Renaissance Literature (Erotocritos, The Sacrifice of Abraham, Erophile and Gyparis were all published in English translation in 1929). Similarly, the interest in Greek folk songs continues in this period with, for example, an anthology of Klephtic Ballads translated by John W. Baggally (1936). It was after the Second World War, however, that translations of Modern Greek literature began to appear more systematically and in greater numbers. The interest in the Greek popular tradition continues with two anthologies of Modern Greek folktales by R.M. Dawkins in 1953 and 1955, and the translation of the Epic of Digenes Akritas by John Mavrogordatos in 1956 (all Oxford: The Clarendon Press). But it is during this period that we get the first published translations of major twentieth century Greek authors, for example: of George Seferis in 1948 (London: John Lehmann, translated by Lawrence Durrell, Bernard Spencer and Nanos Valaoritis), 1960 (London: Bodley Head, translated by Rex Warner), and 1969 (editions from London: OUP, translated by Walter Kaiser, and London: Jonathan Cape, translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard); of C.P. Cavafy in 1951 (London: Hogarth Press, translated

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by John Mavrogordatos) and 1968 (London: Chatto and Windus, translated by Rae Dalven); of Yannis Ritsos in 1971 (London: Cape Goliard Press, translated by Nikos Stangos), 1973 (Rushden: Sceptre Press, translated by John Stathatos), and 1974 (Harmondsworth: Penguin, again translated by Nikos Stangos). This same period also sees the first anthologies of Modern Greek poets: in 1960 (London: Thames and Hudson, by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard), 1966 (Harmondsworth: Penguin, again by Keeley and Sherrard), and 1971 (Harmondsworth: Penguin, by C.A. Trypanis). This period is mainly characterized by translations of major twentieth century Greek poets, but there is also a sizeable number of translations of well-known Greek novelists. The first translations of the work of Nikos Kazantzakis, by far the most translated Greek writer, first appeared in the period after the Second World War. Alexis Zorbas, translated by Carl Wildman, appeared in 1952 (London: John Lehmann) and was twice republished, first in 1959 (Oxford: Bruno Cassirer) and then in 1974 (London: Faber and Faber), while Kazantzakis’ epic poem The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel, in Kimon Friar’s translation, was published in 1958 (London: Secker and Warburg). We also have the publication of translated works by numerous other Greek novelists in this period, for example: of Ilias Venezis’s Aeolia in 1949 (London: William Campion, translated by E.D. Scott-Kilvert); of Yorgos Theotokas’s Argo in 1951 (London: Methuen, translated by Margaret E. Brooke and Ares Tsatsopoulos); of Stratis Myrivilis’s The Mermaid Madonna in 1959 (London: Hutchinson, translated by Rick Abbot) and The School-mistress with the Golden Eyes in 1964 (London: Hutchinson, translated by Philip Sherrard); of Pandelis Prevelakis’ The Sun of Death in 1965 (London: John Murray, translated by Philip Sherrard); of Kostas Taktsis’ The Third Wedding in 1967 (London: Alan Ross, translated by Leslie Finer), and republished in 1969 (Harmondsworth: Penguin); of Antonis Samarakis’ The Flaw in 1969 (London: Hutchinson, translated by Peter Mansfield and Richard Burns); of Alki Zei’s Wildcat Under Glass in 1969 (London: Victor Gollancz), and Petro’s War in 1972 (London: Victor Gollancz, both translated by Edward Fenton); of Vassilis Vassilikos’s Z in 1969 (London: Macdonald, translated by Marilyn Calmann), and The Photographs in 1971 (London: Secker and Warburg, translated by Mike Edwards). It was in this thirty-year period after the war (1945-1974) that most of the major Greek poets and novelists were discovered and translated. It was a period of good fortune not only for Greek authors, but also for their translators as Greek literature was, so to speak, virgin territory for them in the sense that almost all the works were being translated for the first time. Both the Greek authors and their translators were also fortunate in that the

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translations were, in the main, published by large publishing companies with the means of distribution and promotion, something which, unfortunately and inexplicably, changed after 1974. Perhaps one reason for this increased interest in Modern Greek literature after the Second World War is the fact that Greece had once again come into the limelight because of its role in the war and the tragic events in Greece that followed, and certainly not without significance is the fact that a number of the translators had served in Greece during the course of the war and had come to know its language and literature. It is a fact that extraordinary political events in a country tend to stimulate interest in its literature and this post-war interest in Greek literature was no doubt prolonged by the coup d’état in 1967 and the imposition of the military dictatorship (19671974), when, once again, eyes in Britain were focused on Greece and its struggle for freedom and democracy.1 But neither should one overlook the fact that this was also the period when Greece was growing in popularity as an exotic tourist destination, which no doubt stimulated interest in its literature and culture. This same period, for example, saw a growing interest in Modern Greek Studies at British universities. Among the many translations published in Britain were two histories of Modern Greek literature: one by Linos Politis in 1973 and another by C. Th. Dimaras in 1974. After 1974, the flourish in translation activity of the previous period somewhat fades. Translations, still mainly of poets, are more sporadic and are published by small and often short-lived publishing companies with limited marketing and distribution. Greek poets translated during this period include: Alexandros Baras, Odysseus Elytis (three books), Michalis Ganas, Nikos Gatsos, Yannis Kondos (two books), Yorgis Pavlopoulos, Yannis Ritsos (five books), Miltos Sachtouris (two books), George Seferis, Angelos Sikelianos, Takis Sinopoulos (two books), Nasos Vagenas (two books), and Eleni Vakalo. Notable are the five books of poetry by Yannis Ritsos, in whose politically committed work there was increased interest during and immediately after the military dictatorship. Also of note are the three books of poetry by Odysseus Elytis, all published following the award of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1979. However, a number of these books by Ritsos and Elytis, together with the ones by Seferis and Sikelianos, were, in fact, re-publications of translated works originally published in the U.S.. Notable among the translations of Greek prose fiction during the same period are the translations of two 1 As one commentator has noted: “dictatorships are good for [book] sales; steady progress toward the EMU is not” (Calotychos 1999:174).

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more works by Kazantzakis, the translation of Myrivilis’s Life in the Tomb, two translations of Papadiamantis’s The Murderess and four republications of Pope Joan by Emmanuel Royidis (all in Lawrence Durrell’s translation). Following this period of translation recession (1975-1990), translations of Greek literature begin to appear in greater numbers once again at the beginning of the Nineties. Perhaps this was due, in part at least, to the Greek State’s policy for promoting Greek books abroad that began with numerous literary symposia and events organised by the Greek Ministry of Culture and the Greek National Book Centre and that culminated in the presence of Greece as Guest of Honour country at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 2001. Also instrumental in promoting Greek literature in Britain during this period were the extremely successful events in the Greece in Britain Series organised by the Greek Embassy in London. During this period, important anthologies of Modern Greek writing were published in Britain, together with three special Greek issues of well-known British literary magazines. If the first major period (1945-1974) of translation activity in Britain is mainly characterized by the translation of contemporary Greek poets, this second major period of activity (1991-present) is mainly characterized by the translations of contemporary novelists. Among the Greek novelists published in this period are: Rhea Galanaki, Sotiris Dimitriou, Stratis Doukas, Michel Fais, Eugenia Fakinou, Vangelis Hatzigiannidis (two books), Dimitris Hatzis, Nikos Kavvadias, Menis Koumandareas (two books), Petros Markaris (three books), Pavlos Matesis (two books), Andreas Mitsou, Andreas Staikos, Alexis Stamatis (two books), Yoryis Yatromanolakis (four books), and Alki Zei. Poetry continues to be translated and published in this period, albeit on the fringes of the book market. Poetry in translation brings little or no profit to publishing companies and is dependent almost exclusively on the awarding of grants. Greek poets whose work appeared in Britain during this period in book form include: Katerina Aghelaki-Rooke (three books), Demosthenis Agrafiotis, Manolis Anagnostakis, Constantine Cavafy (two books), Zefy Daraki, Nikos Davettos, Tasos Denegris, Nikos Fokas, Andreas Kalvos, Nikos Karouzos, K.G. Karyotakis, Nikos Kavvadias, Yannis Kondos, Kleitos Kyrou, Byron Leontaris, (two books), Athina Papadaki (two books), Yannis Ritsos (two books), Dionysios Solomos (two books), Alexis Stamatis (three books), Lydia Stefanou, Takis Varvitsiotis, Yorgos Vafopoulos, Haris Vlavianos, and Spyros Vrettos. The fact that most of these books, particularly books of poetry, are published by small or specifically “philhellenic” presses means that very

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few of them make it onto the shelves of major bookstores and are confined to the libraries of Modern Greek Studies departments. The fact that most of the authors listed had only one book published is perhaps indicative of any lack of commercial success. Overall, only Nikos Kazantzakis (Faber and Faber), who continues to sell steadily, and Constantine Cavafy, who regularly appears in new translations (for example, OUP 2007, Penguin 2008), are the two Greek authors readily found in major bookstores.2 Some success has also been had in recent years by the crime fiction of Petros Markaris (Harvill Press 2004, Harvill Secker 2006, Arcadia Press 2009). The reasons, however, for the lack of impact by Greek authors in translation are not limited to the lack of interest by large publishing companies or the lack of any effective policy on the part of the Greek State for promoting Greek books abroad. The promotion of Modern Greek literary works abroad is not helped by the fact that it is written in what is a language of limited currency or by the fact of Greece’s position, literally and metaphorically, on the fringes of Europe. Similarly, most foreign readers, as stated earlier, still associate Greece with its glorious past or with its image as an “exotic” tourist destination, factors which create certain expectations among the foreign readership. The international success of books by foreign writers on Greek themes or with Greek settings which meet these reader-expectations provides ample evidence of this. A further aspect of this same question of reader-expectation is that foreign readers exhibit a certain wariness when it comes to Modern Greek writers. It is not without significance, for example, that Colin Wilson, writing in 1962, remarked that Kazantzakis’ name remained almost totally unknown despite five of his major works having been published in translation in England, and even more in America. He attributes this curious situation to the fact that Kazantzakis wrote in Greek, and that modern readers do not expect to come upon an important [modern] Greek writer. He adds, somewhat ironically, that if Kazantzakis had written in Russian and been called Kazantzovsky, his works would no doubt be as universally known and admired as Sholokov’s (Wilson 1976:218). Despite the unavoidable comparison with its glorious past, despite the lack of currency of its language, despite its fringe position as a political 2

It is somewhat ironic that neither of these two Modern Greek writers who did achieve international recognition in the twentieth century were considered in their lifetimes as being representative of Modern Greek writing. Constantine Cavafy was born and lived most of his life in Alexandria and made only three short visits to Greece, while Nikos Kazantzakis, who also lived a great deal of his life abroad, received little recognition in Greece until after his international success.

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and economic power, contemporary Greece possesses, nevertheless, a notable literary output and significant writers who are engaged in a cultural dialogue with their international counterparts, and who bring their individual contributions to that dialogue on the basis of their own perceptions, sensitivity, experiences and traditions. Greek writers deserve a place on the international stage by virtue of being good writers and not simply as representatives of an “exotic literature” or a “glorious past”. Greece’s accession to the European Union almost thirty years ago and its role as an equal European partner has done something to change older, stereotypical conceptions and to present a new and contemporary face of Greece. Recognition, however, of its contemporary literature, at least in Britain, will apparently require a much longer period of time.

Bibliography and References Beaton, Roderick. 1994. An Introduction to Modern Greek Literature. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Calotychos, Vangelis. 1999. “Kedros Modern Greek Writers Series.” Journal of Modern Greek Studies 17(1): 170-9. Connolly, David, ed. 1999. “Greek Poetry: New Voices and Ancient Echoes.” Agenda (special Greek issue) 36(3-4). —. 2000. “The Fortunes of 20th-Century Greek Poetry in English Translation.” Poetry Greece 1:4-6. —. 2000. “Modern Greek: Literary Translation into English.” In Encyclopedia of Literary Translation volume 1, ed. O. Classe, 575-7. London: Fitzroy Dearborn. —. 2000. “Odysseus Elytis in English Translation.” In Encyclopedia of Literary Translation volume 1, ed. O. Classe, 404-6. London: Fitzroy Dearborn. —. 2000. “Odysseus Elytis.” In Encyclopedia of Greece and the Hellenic Tradition, ed. Graham Speake, 540-1. London: Fitzroy Dearborn. —. 2002. “ǹțȩȝĮ įȑțĮ ȤȡȩȞȚĮ ȝȠȞĮȟȚȐȢ: Ș ʌȠȜȚIJȚțȒ ʌȡȠȫșȘıȘȢ IJȠȣ İȜȜȘȞȚțȠȪ ȕȚȕȜȓȠȣ ıIJȠ İȟȦIJİȡȚțȩ (1991-2001)” [“Another Ten Years of Solitude: The Policy for Promoting Greek Books Abroad”]. In ȈȪȖȤȡȠȞȘ ǼȜȜȘȞȚțȒ ȆİȗȠȖȡĮijȓĮ: ǻȚİșȞİȓȢ ȆȡȠıĮȞĮIJȠȜȚıȝȠȓ țĮȚ ǻȚĮıIJĮȣȡȫıİȚȢ, ed. ǹ. ȈʌȣȡȠʌȠȪȜȠȣ and Ĭ. ȉıȚȝʌȠȪțȘ, 253-84. Athens: Alexandria. —. ed. 2003. Greek Writers Today: An Anthology volume 1. Athens: Hellenic Authors’ Society. Constantinidis, Stratos E. ed. 2000. Greece in Modern Times: An Annotated Bibliography of Works in English in Twenty-Two Academic

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Disciplines during the Twentieth Century volume 1, Lanham, Maryland, and London: The Scarecrow Press. Dimaras, C. Th. 1974. A History of Modern Greek Literature. Translated by Mary P. Gianos. London: University of London Press. Mackridge, Peter, 1982. “ǼʌȚıțȩʌȘıȘ ȝİIJĮijȡȐıİȦȞ țĮȚ ȝİIJĮijȡĮıIJȫȞ: ȂİȖȐȜȘ ǺȡİIJĮȞȞȓĮ țĮȚ ǿȡȜĮȞįȓĮ” [“Survey of Translations and Translators: Great Britain and Ireland”]. ȂĮȞIJĮIJȠijȩȡȠȢ: ǻİȜIJȓȠ ȃİȠİȜȜȘȞȚțȫȞ ȈʌȠȣįȫȞ 20:49-61. Panorama of Greek Books Translated into other Languages During the Past Ten Years: From Greek into English. www.ekebi.gr Philippides, Dia M. L. 1990. Census of Modern Greek Literature: Checklist of English-Language Sources Useful in the Study of Modern Greek Literature (1824-1987). New Haven, Conn.: Modern Greek Studies Association. Politis, Linos. 1973. A History of Modern Greek Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ricks, David, ed. 1998. Modern Poetry in Translation. New Series 13: Greece. —. 2000. “Modern Greek.” In The Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation, ed. Peter France, 391-4. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. ed. 2003. Modern Greek Writing: An Anthology in English Translation. London: Peter Owen. Ross, Alan, ed. 1996. London Magazine: Greece, New Series 36(1-2). Stavropoulou, Erasmia-Louiza, 1986. Vivliografia Metafraseon Neoellinikis Logotechnias [Bibliography of Translations of Modern Greek Literature]. Athens: Greek Literary and Historical Archive Society. Wilson, Colin. 1976. The Strength to Dream. London: Abacus 1976.

CHAPTER FIVE RE-IMAG(IN)ING ARCADIA: BRITISH INTERVENTION IN THE POST-WAR RECONSTRUCTION OF GREECE, C. 1945-19461 ALEXANDRA MOSCHOVI

On 18th October 1944, British troops escorted Georgios Papandreou and the Government of National Unity back to Greece. The cry “Welcome Liberators”, painted onto streets, pavements and walls, echoed around central Athens as citizens of every political feather gathered outside the hotel Grande Bretagne on Syntagma Square to meet and greet the British officers that resided there, to shake their hand and offer them flowers (Kedros 2003:388-90). For the majority of Greeks that suffered savage reprisals during the German, Italian and Bulgarian occupation and who were crippled by malnutrition, disease and poverty, the British appeared as some kind of messiahs. On the one hand, their role in the Military Mission in the Middle East and their collaboration with EAM-ELAS in the coordination of the activities of the Greek Resistance was thought to have precipitated liberation. On the other hand, the promise to assist the country’s full reconstruction gave the destitute population hope and a future to aspire to.2 Winston Churchill—the Greeks’ heroic philhellene—was notoriously instrumental in orchestrating, almost single-handedly, Greece’s political affairs during and right after the war, and manoeuvring the country’s place 1

The author would like to cordially thank Dr Marilena Cassimati (National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum, Athens), Aliki Tsirgialou, Fani Constantinou and Olga Hardalia (Benaki Museum, Athens), and Emily Oldfield (The British Red Cross Museum and Archives, London) for their assistance and advice. 2 For the British, the liberation of Athens was not of prime strategic importance at the time. Yet, it was of great significance “by whom this liberation would be accomplished” (Papastratis 1984:211).

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in the Western Block through the “percentages agreement” that he and Joseph Stalin consented to in 1944 (Clogg 2002:17).3 It may be that Greek politics was seen as “a hot and sticky porridge” that nobody was willingly prepared to put their finger into, as Anthony Eden had remarked in 1941 (quoted in Smith 1988:18). But the economic (and political) stakes of securing Britain’s commerce in the East—and Greece’s continued financial dependence on British high-interest loans and investments (Kofas 1989:5-8)—was far too high to leave Greece to its own devices. Thus, despite the Foreign Office’s programmatic statements for no interference in the internal politics of a “friendly and allied country” and the intention to control the situation “by kindness” (Wallace 2002), British intervention in Greek affairs was far from being at arm’s length (Clogg 2000). The endorsement of “amicable” and dialectic republican and pro-monarchy governments—a familiar colonial strategy4—not only played a catalytic role in the outbreak and evolution of the bloodiest civil conflict in modern Greek history. It also rubber-stamped the “rightist political conspiracy” (Edson 2000), the anti-communist propaganda and “white terrorism” that would haunt Greece’s political landscape—with a brief interval in the mid 1960s—until the collapse of the military junta in 1974, if not the parliamentary elections of 1981 (Mazower 2003). The overwhelming £100,000,000 expense of establishing Greece as a base for British East Mediterranean and Middle East operations seemed to have had, after two years, little or no tangible benefits for Britain and was already causing a major headache at home. It would not be long before a request for shouldering the economic responsibility of Greece’s reconstruction would be passed to the Americans, who, as voiced by their President Harry Truman before the Congress in March 1947, would commit to make available immediate economic and military aid so that the country would not perish behind the Iron Curtain. The war devastation of Greece was colossal when compared with other occupied countries. The material cost of the destruction of infrastructure (transport, roads, bridges, railways, ports, public utilities, power plants, ships, etc) and the accommodation and housing stock during the occupation 3

Like a true “offspring of the Victorian era” and his class, Churchill was an ardent imperialist and unreservedly against “bolshevism”; positions that defined his intervention in Greek politics in the 1940s (Sfikas 2007:109-63). 4 Although there were constant suggestions by Reginald Leeper, the British Ambassador in Athens, that Greece was integrated in the Commonwealth with Dominion status, the Foreign Office maintained that it should be treated as a colony for it was too unreliable and backward to become a Dominion (Sfikas 2007:169-70).

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was estimated to reach 85,000,000,000 pre-war drachmas. Out of 6,900 villages, 1,600 were destroyed and 1,200,000 out of 7,300,000 people were left on the breadline.5 The rural sector that fed the Greek economy sustained great losses, too: only 20% of land could be cultivated; there was 80% depletion of animal stock; and less than 20% of farming machinery was operable. Most of the country’s major industrial plants were dismantled by the Germans and the shipping industry suffered a loss of 72%. Coupled with high unemployment and hyperinflation, the economic plight of Greece after liberation seemed uncontrollable. In 1944, the drachma’s exchange rate in relation to gold was 170,000,000,000,000 to one and depreciated even further in 1945. As a consequence, the cost of living skyrocketed as opposed to declining wages: a loaf of bread would cost almost half a day’s earnings. Transport, both motor and horsed, was non existent whilst the production of essential commodities, like oils, dairy, textiles, and building materials was still considerably lower than pre-war (Sheppard 1949:9, 18-21). Owing to the generally dysfunctional administrative structure, indirect taxation of commodities and direct taxation burdened more heavily the lower strata, namely farmers and workers, thus widening the societal polarization. This was evocatively described by a foreign observer: While the people of Greece shiver in their roofless houses and walk through snow without shoes and overcoats, fortunes [are] amassed in Athens . . . In the swank shops luxury goods from the far corners of the globe are brilliantly displayed . . . Swiss watches, French silks and perfumes, American cosmetics, fountain pens and cigarettes. And there are enough people around to buy them . . . 132 brand new high-priced automobiles [have been shipped] for the use of bureaucrats and politicians in mule-and-buggy Athens (quoted in Sheppard 1949:20).

With the ruling class refusing to assist and at points actively fighting any reforms that could potentially address these problems, the subsequent Greek governments would have no choice but to resort, once again, to external funding to start the process of reconstruction (Kofas 1989:18-31). Since the famine of the winter 1941-2, the sufferings of the Greek people had captured the humanitarian imagination abroad (Lang 1989). Among the educated bourgeois classes of Europeans—whose cultural capital included Classical studies and who had often appreciated first hand the masterpieces of ancient Greek art and architecture—Greece stood for 5 “UNRRA at Work: UNRRA in Greece”, February 1946, European Regional Office in London, PB 38/6 (445), Imperial War Museum Archive.

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the eternal motherland of Europe. Echoing the chants of nineteenth century philhellenism that had led affluent Europeans like Lord Byron to support the Greek War of Independence in 1821, a writer for the British Survey would assert in 1943: Greece is the home of European civilization, the birthplace of our philosophy, the cradle of our democracy. Nowhere in Europe does the past live so vividly; the very approaches to Greece follow the course of voyages whose stories live for ever.6

It was this old philhellene ethos, which romanticized Greekness as an idealization of ancestral heritage rather than being informed by an awareness or appreciation of the modern-day state of affairs as well, that mobilized affluent Europeans, and more so the British,7 to come to the rescue of Greece in the mid 1940s. This paper will be looking at the different ways the British intervention in Greece’s post-war reconstruction was pictured by local photographers, focusing on the relief and rehabilitation operations that took place in the months after the liberation, until the British authorities handed over responsibilities to the American mission. This will be pursued through the work of two women photographers: Voula Papaioannou (1898-1992), who was formally employed by the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration; and Maria Chroussachi (1899-1972) who, being a voluntary nurse embedded with the British Red Cross, recorded as an amateur photographer the health care operations in Northern Greece. Formulating and at the same time reflecting the picture of the reconstruction that was to be used towards political ends by local and 6

Still, the author could not trace a sense of, mainly racial as it proves, continuity between modern Greeks and their ancestors: The Greeks today cannot claim to be blood descendants of the heroic age. Once in a while one catches sight of a pure straight profile, beneath hyacinthine curls, which might have come from the hand of Praxiteles. In the main, however, the modern Greek is a short alert person, who bears no physical resemblance to the tall warriors of Hellas (Fordham 1943:528). A disjunction between the philhellenic West’s expectations and real encounter with modern Greeks that was (and still is) also commonplace in mainstream travel literature. 7 By the end of the 1940s, there were in place fifteen British organizations bearing aid for different beneficiaries in Greece, ranging from The Anglican and Eastern Churches Association, the Anglo-Hellenic League and the Friends’ Service Council (Quakers), to the National Council of Women of Great Britain and the Oxford Committee for Famine Relief (Clogg 2008:10).

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foreign governmental bodies, Papaioannou’s photographs appear now as the official historical documents of that era. In contrast, Chroussachi’s informal-in-nature imagery offers a more personal interpretation of the historical condition, that also yields an insight into the common sentiment about foreign intervention. It should be noted here that, due to the political turmoil, material that was opposed to “the commonplace that was appropriate to the country’s new cultural physiognomy” (Houliaras 2003:437) was suppressed and even destroyed by photographers themselves out of fear of prosecution. This new physiognomy that was, it will be argued, an ideological construct based on foreign organizations’ expectations, old fashioned philhellenism, cultural imperialism and middle-class tourist imagination, would constitute a uniform picture of Greekness for the decades to come.

Feeding “The Hungry Ones”8 The United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA hereafter) was established by the Allies in 1943 in order to allot relief supplies of bare necessities, health care and welfare services to countries devastated by the war and assist their rehabilitation by restoring infrastructure and production operations. UNRRA’s gratis aid was limited to United Nations countries, which, like Greece, did not possess the means or exchangeable resources to afford their populations with these services. UNRRA began its relief work in Greece in autumn 1944, originally in collaboration with the Anglo-American Military Liaison, but the civil unrest in the winter 1944-45 delayed its autonomous relief and rehabilitation function. An agreement was signed with the Greek government in March 1945, according to which UNRRA was to become the only organization responsible for the rehabilitation of Greece, providing foodstuffs, clothing, medical and sanitation supplies, which were disseminated by the Greek government to the general population, as well as agricultural and industrial supplies for farmers and industries and support towards the restoration of the country’s infrastructure.

8

Alaric W. Rowntree, “The Hungry Ones: A True Story of Blitz, Siege, and Postwar Feeding in Britain, Malta and Greece”, Part II (Greece, August 1945November 1946), transcript memoir prepared in the 1960s from contemporary diaries 02/8/1, Department of Documents, Imperial War Museum Archive, London.

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5-1: Voula Papaioannou: arrival of the first grain shipment at the Port of Piraeus, 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

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5-2: Voula Papaioannou: distribution of clothing at the First Cemetery, Athens, 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

Between April 1945 and February 1946, UNRRA shipped to Greece 1,910,000 tons of supplies valued at £75,000,000. During that period, the monthly wheat import amounted to 73,000 tons, which, in turn, translated into 2,182,000 loaves of bread (Fig. 5-1). It was estimated that almost 7,000,000 people depended on UNRRA supplies for 50% of their basic food. Until the end of 1945, 7,200,000 garments and 2,000,000 yards of textiles were supplied to the general population and almost 5,000 tons of clothing, shoes and blankets were distributed to the “destitute” (Fig. 5-2). In parallel to these provisions, £800,000 worth of medical supplies and 1,350 tons of hospital equipment—and mobile X-ray units for the screening

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of tuberculosis in particular—were provided to hospitals whilst nurses and doctors were flown into the capital to train Greek medical staff. Significant provisions were also made for agriculture and the fishing industry: seeds, pesticides, fertilizers (approximately 70,000 tons), livestock (12,000 mules and donkeys), modern farming machinery (1,430 tractors) and breeding animals for dairy herds were made available to farmers; 50,000 grey mullet were flown from Egypt to restock the lakes; and two fishing fleets were equipped with echo mine detectors for safer fishing. Within six months of the implementation of UNRRA’s rehabilitation scheme, 588 miles of destroyed railway track were rebuilt, with sixteen freight locomotives sent from military surpluses in Egypt and five thousand trucks and repair equipment provided for building works. In order to get Greek industries back into operation, tools, spare parts, oil, raw wool, cotton, hemp, rubber, chemicals, and iron were also supplied. By the end of 1945, UNRRA had repatriated 50,000 Greeks from Middle East and German camps.9 UNRRA’s work in Greece was documented on an ad hoc basis by those UNRRA officials that happened to be photography enthusiasts and officially by two local photographers, Costas Emmanouil and Voula Papaioannou, who worked under the guidance of specifically appointed UNRRA personnel. Being in charge of the organization’s photographic department, Papaioannou managed to keep for herself copies of the material she produced for UNRRA, now held at the Benaki Museum in Athens, a privilege that was not always granted to professional photographers working with other foreign missions. Apart from occasional instruction offered by different amateur and professional photographers in her circle, Papaioannou did not have formal training in photography. Neither, given her middle-class upbringing and comfortable financial status, did she consider working professionally with photography before her divorce from the renowned writer and art critic Ioannis Zervos. It was only in the mid 1930s that Papaioannou fully indulged in photography when she was asked to photograph the exhibits in the National Archaeological Museum and the Acropolis Museum for the purpose of commercial publications, and later to record the monasteries around Attica. Some of those early photographs featured in the prestigious journal En Gréce, a publication that was initiated by the Ministry of Press and Tourism in order to promote the country as an attractive destination to European travellers, by highlighting—not surprisingly given the developing 9

Information compiled from “UNRRA at Work: UNRRA in Greece”, op.cit. and UNRRA Weekly Interim Activity Reports, 1945, R 11301/52/19, The National Archives, Kew.

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nationalist zeitgeist and the philhellene tenor they were supposed to appeal to—the continuities between ancient and modern Greece (Constantinou 2006:14-15). Having photographed the early stages of the war in Athens and the first wave of wounded soldiers returning from the Albanian front, Papaioannou recorded the 1941-42 famine in Athens at the request of the Hellenic Red Cross and the humanitarian aid organization ȃear Ǽast Foundation. Her soon-to-become iconic photographs of fading-away children in the city hospitals were to illustrate the plea for aid that was sent to the allies through diplomatic channels and the International Red Cross Committee in Geneva. The images of emaciated Athenians queuing at open-air soup kitchens and the Red Cross feeding centres—as well as before and after records of the effects that the aid had upon the starving population—were circulated in Britain and America through the publications Revue Internationale de la Croix-Rouge and News Letter (of the International Red Cross and the Greek War Relief respectively), and featured in the book Starvation in Greece, which the Greek government in exile published in London in 1943. It was this presence in the international humanitarian front—as much as the distance that she methodically kept from the political events of the period10 and her linguistic proficiency in English, French and Italian—that enabled Papaioanou, after the liberation, to work on behalf of different foreign rehabilitation organizations: initially for UNRRA and later for AMAG (American Mission for Aid in Greece) and ECA / Greece (Economic Cooperation Administration), which was to manage the implementation of the Marshall Plan (Constantinou 2006:2528).11

10

In the spirit of anti-communist propaganda, leftist personnel in the public sector were specifically excluded from any relief and rehabilitation committees. This is, most likely, why more experienced documentary photographers like Spyros Meletzis and Costas Balafas, both of whom had recorded the Resistance, would not be commissioned by those organizations. 11 Owing to different confidentiality rules set by the American organizations—and perhaps the fact that these were taken during the peak of the Civil War—none of Papaioannou’s photographs made on behalf of AMAG and ECA were deposited to her archive in the Benaki Museum (Constantinou 2006:28).

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5-3: Voula Papaioannou: trainee nurses at Hippokrateion Hospital, Athens, 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

Not long after photographing the arrival of UNRRA officials in Athens, Papaioannou would be entrusted the directorship of the organization’s photographic department, which was meant to cater for their local and international publicity needs and provide visual documentation for the United Nations Archive. Papaioannou would document all aspects of the relief aid, recording the first shipments of supplies arriving at Greek ports, the distribution of aid in major cities and the provinces, but also measures that targeted the reconstruction of the agro-industrial areas of the economy and the training of the population in new technologies, all neatly grouped in thematic categories (e.g. “Foodstuff Distribution”, “Tuberculosis”,

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“Livestock”, “Medical Care”, “Children”, “Orphanages”, “Repatriation”, “Shipping”, “Farm Machinery and Equipment Instruction”). Although she was never an aficionado of the picture story as such, Papaioannou meticulously outlined the different stages involved in the distribution of aid. For instance, her epic photographs of the mega-ships arriving at the Port of Piraeus and the long lines of ant-like workers carrying sacks of wheat on their shoulders were succeeded by images picturing the production and distribution of bread to the general population. The caption read: “Food, and primarily bread, was the urgent need for Greece in UNRRA ships. This flour was distributed to local bakers who made it up into bread to sell at controlled prices to the people of Greece”.12 Numerous photographs in the archive illustrate the dissemination of foodstuffs and clothes to beneficiaries of the less privileged classes of the population, through specifically established centres or in open air assembly areas, capturing the recipients’ excitement at the sight of tinned food, a winter coat or a new pair of shoes. The health care sector and the resuscitation of industry and agriculture appear as areas of specific focus: the installation and use of the new X-ray equipment was painstakingly documented in different hospitals as was the training of medical staff in advanced methods of nursing and of farmers and factory workers in operating new automated machinery (Fig. 5-3).13 Papaioannou was also asked to escort UNRRA teams to the Greek countryside to document their relief operations in war-afflicted areas in Northern Greece, Epirus, the Peloponnese, and Crete. In this, she worked closely with Sidney B. Carter, who was specifically assigned by UNRRA to select the themes to be photographed and report back to the headquarters. With the majority of the population living in squalid shacks and shoeless orphans rambling around looking for food, with the sick queuing outside makeshift clinics and children studying al fresco, the region offered ample photogenic material for the organization’s purposes (Fig. 5-4).14

12

See UNRRA/5316, United Nations Archive, No. 180, V. Papaioannou Archive, The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. 13 Much of this material is not properly labelled or dated by the photographer, nor is there sufficient accompanying contextualizing material relating to UNRRA; a condition which can make cross-referencing with contemporary sources problematic. 14 The photographs from all over Europe that were included in the UNRRA News Photo Sheet are indicative of how uniform, conceptually and aesthetically, the illustration of post-war rehabilitation was. See for instance, UNRRA News Photo

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5-4: Voula Papaioannou: children eating out of tins al fresco, Aspraggeloi, Ioannina, 1946 © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

Serving a dual purpose as archival records and illustrations for mass publication, those photographs were required to demonstrate a set of prerequisite qualities, which ranged from: precision, in terms of the factual information they imparted (e.g. the organization’s logo on the packaging of foodstuff and on workers’ arm bands had to be easily discernible); immediacy and conceptual accessibility, in order to get the message across instantly to the widest audience possible (e.g. close-ups of undernourished children in ragged clothes receiving food and/or clothes); to compositional Sheet 1(10), June 1946, V. Papaioannou Archive, The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

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dexterity, to allow for all necessary elements to be included in the frame in an aesthetically pleasing manner (e.g. the shoeless children walking on iced snow were photographed from a distance so that the mountainous set looms ominously behind them and were positioned on the diagonal axis of the frame, which disrupts the rigidity of the square format)(Fig. 5-5).15 Carter’s account of the team’s visit to Epirus in February 1946 is most telling of the kind of narrative that these photographs were expected to form and the extent to which they were contrived. In Strouni, a local man was asked to stand as the “teacher” of the village school, for it was Saturday when the team arrived and the teacher happened to be away. In Ioannina, “farmer Carter” wearing an arm band would pose working with mules provided by UNRRA against the idyllic setting of the lake. Outside the village of Ligiades, an old woman was photographed leaning forwards carrying a big sack of UNRRA wheat on her back, a shot that Carter admitted he had been after since the beginning of the trip (Carter 2006:590, 592, 593). In order to achieve maximum pictorial efficacy, Papaioannou used the medium’s intrinsic pictorial lexicon (i.e. the close-up, the lower viewpoint, the squareness of the frame) but also painterly qualities (i.e. the accentuated chiaroscuro of the black and white) to emphasize the dramatic dimension of the situation. For Papaioannou and her contemporaries, from the American photographers who worked for the Farm Security Administration in the United States a decade earlier16 to Dimitris Harissiadis (the ardent supporter of the “plain” but nonetheless staged to look “unadulterated” photography who would record the implementation of the Marshall Plan [Moschovi 2009a]), this contrived “naturalness” achieved through staging and dramatization did not imperil the photograph’s matter-of-factness or informative value (Fig. 5-6). This was the ideological mainstay of documentary photography since the 1930s: the document was not singularly perceived as a detached record of facts but had to be moving, making the facts “credible and vivid to people at the time” (Stott 1973:14). 15 UNRRA No 6558, “Clothing–children, Greece”, V. Papaioannou Archive, The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. 16 Roy Stryker, who led the Farm Security Administration documentary project in the United States in the 1930s, closely instructed his photographers—Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, Arthur Rothstein, and Russell Lee among others—so that they portrayed rural poverty in a manner that could attract and reflect the sympathies of the urban middle-classes that these photographs were targeted at. As such, manipulation, in the sense of arrangement and staging of scenes, calculation and stylization were encouraged if these were to make a photograph more persuasive (Curtis 1989).

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5-5: Voula Papaioannou: “Clothing—children, Greece”, c.1945-6, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

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5-6: Dimitris Harissiadis: factory workers, Thessaly and Macedonia, June 1957, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens.

Papaioannou’s images present the countryside coming back to life as the immediate needs of the population are seemingly being catered for, as peasants return to their traditional occupations and reclaim their daily routine. The title of the article in The Illustrated London News in June 1946 that was accompanied by Papaioannou’s photographs is explicit: “Reconstruction Starts in Greece”.17 Still, after the Treaty of Varkiza in 1945 and the official demise of ELAS, the Greek countryside was to become the main theatre of the later two rounds of the Civil War. Despite the general amnesty that was granted by the treaty, the National Army and 17

Anon., “Europe’s Housing Problem: Reconstruction Starts in Greece”, The Illustrated London News, 1st June 1946, 595.

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right-wing extremist and paramilitary gangs reigned in the region, hunting down EAM/ELAS partisans and terrorising leftist peasants.18 What was more, as was the case in 1944 when relief supplies disseminated by the Military Liaison were not delivered in areas controlled by ELAS, UNRRA’s supplies, which were effectively controlled in the countryside by the Security Legions, were withheld from the pro-communist population despite the watchwords of the organization being “impartiality and political neutrality” (Tsilaga 2008). Even after overt accusations in the national and international press, neither the Service Governments nor UNRRA itself enforced measures to distribute relief supplies on the basis of need.19 The collateral damage of World War II—widows and orphans, burntto-the-ground houses and schools, destroyed farming equipment and ruined infrastructure—featured quite prominently as dramatic elements in the imagery commissioned by UNRRA. But this other scene of war—of terror and profiteering, of corruption and Cold War politics—was silenced. The situation in the countryside was depicted as grim, but the needs of the people were shown as being catered for.20 Neither could the photographs of UNRRA’s supplies in the Greek warehouses indicate that these were being kept in storage in order to force an increase in the local market, resulting in the population receiving goods that were out of date, or worse that $75,000,000-worth of supplies and equipment remained undistributed in 1947 (Kofas 1989:29). In the same vein, under the conceptual umbrella of the “starving Greece” theme there was no room for photographs which could visually verify the social inequalities and antinomies in the urban centres that foreign visitors spoke of, nor any flexibility that would allow for others sides of everyday life to be represented. Papaioannou was not employed to simply record the organization’s operations. She was expected to produce indisputable “documents” of the 18

When the Civil War escalated in late 1946, peasants in rural areas were to be caught in the crossfire. Whatever their political affiliation they would often have to provide supplies to the newly formed Democratic Army and then be punished by exile, imprisonment or even forced evacuation by the National Army. Houses and, at times, whole villages were burnt by both factions in hit-and-run or retaliation raids (Margaritis 2000/2001). 19 See Dudley Barker, “Greeks are Starving but Food Shops Filled”, The Herald, 3rd April 1946 and Anon., “UNRRA Complains to Greece: Unfair Distribution of Supplies”, The Times, 11th July 1946. 20 Papaioannou avoided talking about her photographs of the Civil War. It was only recently discovered by mere chance that the photographs of the hostages returning in 1945 concerned, in actual fact, hostages held by ELAS (Constantinou 2007).

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aid being appropriately used and to “paint” the image of Greece as a country being gradually reborn out of its own ashes, overcoming the hardships of the war and looking forward despite the civil unrest. Not far, that is, from the governmental propaganda that used relief aid and reconstruction monies as a political weapon. Besides, as Carter explained when synopsizing the main objective of his job, “there should be visual proofs of how grateful Greece is for UNRRA’s aid” (Carter 2006:596) and this is exactly the picture that was exported by UNRRA and the British authorities. Such concerns seem to have become determinant factors in Papaioannou’s dramaturgy, which would, more often than not, verge on the tragic to achieve the iconic. For example, when she approached the barbed wire at the Port of Piraeus to render the longing in the face of adults and children waiting for their loved ones to be repatriated (Fig. 5-7). Or when she closely framed a family with obvious signs of malnutrition waiting for food to be distributed in Kalambaka. Whether in pleas for support, political propaganda or archival documentation, human suffering and desperation had become unavoidably the iconographic commonplaces of the era, and this may perhaps justify why it is usually under the light of humanism rather than against their political context that Papaioannou’s photographs from that period are discussed (Moschovi 2009b:59). Maria Chroussachi’s depiction of the Greek countryside through the relief operations of the British Red Cross in 1945-46 offers a much less formally fashioned take of history in its making.

Humanitarians in Action A private agency with public dimensions, the Red Cross had been, since its inception in 1863, an organization that pursued liberal goals with regard to the welfare of individuals. “First of all [is] the moral principle, which is the core of the Geneva Convention: the same care for the wounded and the sick, whether friend or enemy”, stated Max Huber, President of the International Red Cross Committee in 1945. “The Principle of Neutrality is first and foremost. This, together with the principle of humanity, dominates all true Red Cross work throughout” (Huber 1945:139). Yet, as David P. Forsythe has argued, Red Cross claims to being a “non-political” humanitarian body tend to overlook that it is by definition part and parcel of humanitarian politics. “It [the Red Cross] professes impartiality and neutrality, but it calculates how to advance humanitarian policies that are in competition with other policies”

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(Forsythe 2005:2). Thus, notwithstanding that the Red Cross’ generic aim was to help people once need appeared and not after the military liberation as was the case with UNRRA (Lang 1989), when the Greek Red Cross made a plea for immediate assistance in the winter 1941-42, the British Red Cross had to hold back as the Ministry of Economic Warfare did not allow, in the context of the blockade, the distribution of aid to persons in occupied Europe.21

5-7: Voula Papaioannou: repatriation, 17th June 1945, © The Benaki Museum Photographic Archive, Athens. 21

See Red Cross and St. John Organization, 1937-1947, Official Record, Confidential Supplement, Vol. II, London 1949, 696-704, The British Red Cross Archive, London.

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It would be in late January 1945 when the British Red Cross unit arrived in Athens. Numbering forty-nine embedded and unattached workers, this consisted of two Mobile Hygiene and First-aid teams, one Relief and Refugee team, a Mobile Medical Clinic unit and one Mobile Supply and Transport unit, which were to be reinforced by another three teams four months later.22 Just a month after “the troubles”, the teams found themselves in a “bewildered” city in which “buried bodies [were] still being found stuffed away in odd places” and despite the curfew “rifle shooting [went] on during the hours of darkness, all around”. There was, not surprisingly, a general sense of unease among personnel, particularly so as Athenians, who being, as stated, fairly well-nourished and reasonably well clad, tended to regard the British Red Cross teams “with complete indifference, not to say a slightly suspicious hostility”.23 In Athens, the staff were originally occupied in hospitals, prisons and homes for the elderly, but also taking part in the occasional tasks of disinfestation and immunization of the persons that UNRRA was repatriating. Other officers would staff medical supplies and clothing depots in major urban centres and surgeries in displaced populations camps and remote areas until the teams left the country in March 1946. However, it was in the regions that the British Red Cross work was mostly appreciated. For fourteen months, the British teams were to tour the country, from Sperchias Valley and Epirus, to Drama, Edessa and the islands of Syros, Naxos, Corfu, and Crete, to provide public health services in isolated areas plagued by scabies, malaria, anaemia and avitaminosis. Consisting of two nurses and a doctor, each team offered medical examinations, minor surgical services, dental treatment, ante-natal checks and instruction on infant care, breast-feeding and issues of general hygiene. They would also disinfect children for lice and scabies and make nutritional reviews and disability reports as appropriate for the children that had suffered battle— or more frequently mine and grenade—injuries (Oliver 1966:443-4). As roads, rail and sea communications were destroyed, many villages, particularly those in the mountains and islands, whose population tended 22

See “Civilian War Relief” in Sixth Annual Report of the Work of the Red Cross and St. John War Organization, 1944-45, London, 1946, The British Red Cross Archive, London. 23 Hamilton Des Quartiers, “Dorothy Hamilton Des Quartiers during her Service with The British Red Cross (Refugees and Civilian Relief) in Palestine, Sinai, Egypt, Western Desert, Northern Greece and Malaya, from May 1943 to March 1946”, typed memoir, T2, 27 January 1945, 21, The British Red Cross Archive, London.

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to be most in need, were inaccessible apart from mule and donkey or navy vessels respectively. Having to hand-deliver parcels using mules to out-ofthe-way villages, often with a couple of soldiers for security when travelling in the wilds, sleeping out in the open or in makeshift shelters with no access to washing facilities or other comforts, those primarily middle-class, well-bred voluntary nurses had a “terrifically strenuous time”, a British colonel reported back to the Red Cross headquarters (Cambray et al. 1949:387).24 Staff were indeed stunned by the impoverished and dilapidated conditions in which the homeless of peasant populations were forced to live through a long winter of cold and snow. With disparagement giving way to empathy, Marjorie Low, a medical officer working with one of the British Red Cross teams in northern Greece, commented on how “the countryfolk make tremendous efforts to maintain cleanliness, a difficult matter after four years of no soap, shortage of fuel, and intensely cold winters passed without adequate shelter and in ragged clothes” (Low 1945:10-11).25 It was reported that, lacking bare necessities and tormented by political terrorism, there was an overall feeling of hopelessness and of being forgotten by the government in Athens. It was in this context that “the presence of the British Army and British Relief workers [had] a strong moral influence on the people’s recuperation from the influences of the occupation”, Low wrote in her diary. She continued, “but this influence [was] not likely to endure unless it were followed up by more substantial help” (Low 1945:11). From an official point of view, the British Red Cross operation in the Greek provinces was also deemed “inestimable” not only because the teams offered medical care and supplies that “bridged the gap between starvation and sufficiency”, but also because “they provided the army with a means of close and philanthropic contact in remote country villages.”26 24

This statement is verified by several nurses’ accounts as well. Hamilton Des Quartiers described a horrendous sea trip to Thessaloniki on 23rd February 1945, Hamilton Des Quartiers op.cit., 48. See also Marjorie Low’s accounts of visiting mountain villages in the winter of 1945, Marjorie Low, “Recollections of Medical Relief Field Work in the Middle East”, memoir, winter 1945, 9, 12, T2, The British Red Cross Archive, London. 25 Dr Marjorie Low undertook medical relief work between 1944-45 in refugee camps at El Shatt and Khataba (Egypt) and Sperchias Valley, Euboea, Ioannina, Macedonia (Greece). 26 News Sheet, No. 20, 28th February 1946, British Red Cross, Civilian War Relief, Allied Commission Headquarters G.M.F., The Red Cross Archives, London. Hamilton Des Quartiers reported how she and her team were used by the army in March 1945 to collect information about a remote village on the Yugoslav border,

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In tandem with the British teams and for sixteen months after the liberation, 140 mobile teams of the Hellenic Red Cross, in cars provided by the Crown Princess Fund, toured the country to accommodate the medical needs of 1,787,925 people. According to official statistics, “during 26,264 working hours [those teams] examined 422,036 sick persons and served 2,487 villages representing 44% of the villages of Greece and 23.84% of the total population of the country”.27 It was through her service in one of these teams that Maria Chroussachi, life-long voluntary nurse of the Hellenic Red Cross, would join her British counterparts in their mission in the Greek countryside. Born in a family of wealthy entrepreneurs from Smyrna, Chroussachi was introduced to the arts and letters from early on, attending together with her sisters private painting classes under the tutelage of Pavlos Mathiopoulos, the celebrated painter of Athenian society and Court portraitist. This first encounter with art and the incentive for memorialization during the family grand tour in the European cultural capitals of the 1920s triggered her initial interest in photography, which as a pastime was particularly popular among young women of means in the interwar years. Likewise, a class-specific philanthropic sentiment for the less fortunate must have been what led all Chroussachi sisters to join the Voluntary Nurses Corps. Chroussachi graduated from the Hellenic Red Cross Voluntary Nurses’ School in 1926, and although she was not, as was her contemporary Papaioannou, expected to work professionally, she soon pursued nursing responsibilities in outpatient clinics for refugees in Athens and Red Cross expeditions (e.g. catering for the victims of the earthquake in Ierissos in Macedonia in 1932); experience that proved indispensable when she joined the Red Cross units that escorted the Greek troops to the Albanian Front.28 Her activities during the Occupation were not recorded, but after for being Red Cross personnel and a woman she could escape potential ambush, Hamilton Des Quartiers, op. cit., 57. 27 “Greek Red Cross Relief Work”, c. 1946, album, ACC. 411/2, The British Red Cross Archive, London. 28 The Hellenic Red Cross Voluntary Nurses’ School was established at the aftermath of the Balkan Wars by Royal Decree on 18th May 1914. The first round of the sixty five nurses that obtained the Diploma of Hellenic Red Cross Voluntary Nurse consisted primarily of married women and young ladies of means, the majority of whom were already involved with charitable organizations. By 1922, with the settlement of the Asia Minor refugees, voluntary nursing acquired new urgency. On the onset of the Second World War, all hospital nurses and the voluntary, auxiliary and assistant nurses of the Hellenic Red Cross were mobilized to treat wounded soldiers at the military hospitals on the Albanian front and

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the liberation—perhaps owing to her earlier cosmopolitanism and linguistic skills—she was among the nurses who were selected to work with the British Red Cross teams (Stathatos 2000:36-38). The earliest photograph that appears in her albums is dated “1917”. However, Chroussachi’s more systematic preoccupation with photography seems to coincide with her graduation from the Voluntary Nurses School in the late 1920s. From then onwards, her photographic practice would be directly linked to her service as a voluntary nurse, which afforded her with photographic opportunities of different sort and freedom privileges, which for a young woman of her social stature were hard to attain at the time. Equipped with a basic Kodak box (Brownie Bull’s Eye) camera (Cassimati 2009), Chroussachi—like most amateur photographers of her generation who followed the physiolatry craze and renewed interest in the national heritage and folk culture that swept the Athenian middle-classes in the 1930s (Stathatos 2004)—would look into the Greek countryside for images of natural beauty, local customs, costumes and architecture, traditional occupations, folk arts and crafts. This quasi-ethnographic interest would punctuate, if somewhat more interspersedly, her later documentary practice, too. Whether she was attending refugee camps or the Greek troops on the Albanian front, she did not miss the opportunity to take a photograph of a peasant woman, a shepherd or a relic of folk architecture (Fig. 5-8). Wavering between the function of the archival record and that of the memento, coupled with the need for creative expression, the photographs that she took in the course of the brief GrecoItalian war (of soldiers and nurses moving to the front, in batteries, camps and hospital wards), and later of the operations of the British Red Cross in northern Greece, are odd hybrids whose value vacillate across different uses, areas and practices.

civilian victims of the air raids in hospitals and camps all around northern Greece. During the German occupation, nurses helped establish feeding stations for children and infants and provided medical services in anti-trachoma centres, sanatoria and prisons. After the war, under the financial support of UNRRA and the British Council, sixteen nurses were sent to London to be trained in public health care, whilst the British Red Cross granted scholarships to the teachers in nursing schools to study at the Royal College of Nursing in London (Messolora 1959:8, 31-40, 41-6).

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5-8: Maria Chroussachi: Tymfristos [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens (inv. no. ĭ/ȋȇ.ǹȁȂȆ.14.216).

Between spring 1945 and winter 1946, Chroussachi was embedded with a British Red Cross team that visited Lamia, Euboea, Tymfristos, Chalkis, Ioannina, Florina, Kastoria and Thessaloniki. Undated but meticulously labelled with hand-written captions, the photographs pasted in the album No. 14 aim to recreate a linear narrative of these visits. This is exemplified in the photographs of the village of Ayios Georgios: the discussions with the local authority (the priest, as was most often the case), an enthusiastic mob of shoeless children, the preparations for the disinfestation, preliminary examinations al fresco, the clinic in the village

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school, the bathing, drying and salving of the children, the sterilization of clothes in the fields, the vaccination (Fig. 5-9).29

5-9: Maria Chroussachi: medical examination, Tymfristos [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens (inv. no. ĭ/ȋȇ.ǹȁȂȆ.14.214).

29

Albums Nos 14 and 21 contain photographs taken while Chroussachi was touring with the British Red Cross, M. Chroussachi Archive, National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens.

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5-10: Maria Chroussachi: open-air surgery, Psachna, Euboea [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens (inv. no. ĭ/ȋȇ.ǹȁȂȆ.14.246).

Although thematically similar imagery may be found in the illustrated Quarterly Review issued by the British Red Cross in the period in question, Chroussachi’s photographs do not seem to have made it to London. Neither do they seem to have been used by the Hellenic Red Cross for archival or publication purposes. An album of photographs that shows “how donations were used by the Greek Red Cross campaign in the provinces after the liberation”,30 and which survives today in the British 30

This album is undated and unauthored bearing only the title “Greek Red Cross” on the front page and the aforementioned note on the opposite page. The photographs are accompanied by typed explanatory captions in English, intersected

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Red Cross Archive, contains photographs that follow the same logic of documentation as Chroussachi’s series but serve an additional aim as the aforementioned opening statement pronounces. The arrival of the mobile medical team on mules, the distribution of Ovaltine to children, the clinics in the village school besieged by long queues of outpatients, the lessons on hygiene and clothing of infants to mothers, the distribution of clothing supplies to people dressed in tatters, are indeed aspects that were treated thoroughly by Chroussachi, too. Still, aiming to illustrate that the Greek Red Cross operations were taking place in a most orderly and systematic fashion that met European standards, the unknown author of the photographs overtly posed their sitters as appropriate and even staged some of the scenes to “make” (rather than “take”) the “right” picture. Before and after images, close-ups of grinning faces and people showing off their new clothes or tins of food, and side-by-side juxtapositions of ruined houses and a brand new, fully-equipped clinic, complement the otherwise fairly deadpan and insipid records. Chroussachi’s images depart from the descriptive rigidity and matterof-factness of such (pseudo-)documentary images. Unlike the precise and thoughtful depiction of the reconstruction that her later close friend Papaioannou produced in the same period, these photographs denounce the representational mannerisms and iconographic stereotypes associated with this kind of imagery and afford us a consciously less histrionic impression of the situation. Not having a clear agenda, or a brief to follow, Chroussachi encapsulated the Greek countryside and its people unguarded, evoking a joie de vivre rooted in the everyday in an attempt to overcome the bleakness of the historic events. For instance, while village children attending the open-air surgery at Psachna in Euboea gather for a customary group portrait, another group of naked school boys playfully run past in the foreground and out of the frame (Fig. 5-10). The succeeding image shows that the boys were about to be weighed. In the by short texts with factual information in English and Greek. Closer observation reveals that the same sitters appear in different frames, thus denoting that these were taken in the course of the same visit. Signs that show the provenance of the supplies—a common practice for photographs taken on behalf of or in gratitude to the benefactors—seem to have been purposefully omitted, a fact that further connotes that this was an album devised to be sent to different relief organizations. “Greek Red Cross Relief Work”, op.cit. In Chroussachi’s album No. 21, one may find similar stereotypical pictures of nurses in Chaliotata distributing foodstuffs and clothing with signs declaring the benefactors dominating the image. See nos 259, 271-4, album No. 21, M. Chroussachi Archive, National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens.

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same vein, in Ayios Georgios, the photographer aimed to capture the children unaware while they were being treated in the village school (Figs. 5-11 and 12). The ambient light bathing the room from the open windows gives the scenes an ethereal quality that aesthetically merges classical ideals of the body with iconographic devices borrowed from European, namely German, Romanticism, as Marilena Cassimati notes (2009), and which prevails over the images’ documentary use value.

5-11: Maria Chroussachi: medical examination, Tymfristos [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens (inv. no. ĭ/ȋȇ.ǹȁȂȆ.14.203).

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5-12: Maria Chroussachi: bathing, Ayios Georgios [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens (inv. no. ĭ/ȋȇ.ǹȁȂȆ.14.207).

In the same spirit of optimism, Chroussachi depicted the team’s behind-the-scenes routine (e.g. bathing in rivers, washing clothes in the sea, camping and sleeping in open air, breakfasting under the trees), as well as short moments of repose (the picnics, impromptu theatre performances, local festivities and dances), which were not included in the mainstream picture of relief activities as inappropriate (Fig. 5-13). Her images do present the British being warmly welcomed by local people going to all lengths to express their gratitude, but they also show the former enjoying their time there as well, appreciating the scenery, the sights and their encounter with local traditions and customs.

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It is perhaps this re-appreciation of the Greek character through the eyes of foreigners that sparked Chroussachi’s return to landscape and folk culture themes, a shift that becomes apparent from her albums during the course of her time with the British team. From peasant women working in the fields and shepherds in Mantoudi, medieval castle houses in Avlonari, cloud reflections on the lake of Ioannina, the sunrise in Kymi, and the sunset over the isles of Panayia, to young girls in local costume in Metsovo, snow-capped houses in Florina, and an open-air wedding in Skopies, Chroussachi depicts the Greek countryside with the curiosity of the informed traveller and a strongly empathetic sentiment. And these are the concerns that infused and sustained her preoccupation with photography throughout her life, for unlike Papaioannou, she made no claims to the professionalism of the photojournalist or the methodical approach of the formal ethnographer or historian.31 All the same, she equally retreated, consciously as her later work would prove, from the honeyed picturesqueness of pictorialist exemplars and mainstream chocolate-box views of Greece. Despite her aesthetic kinship to Romanticism, her photographs still retain the rawness of a forbidding actuality, of the melancholy of the place and time that penetrates the surface of aesthetics. Chroussachi was not technology minded and had little to do with the chemical process of developing and printing that fascinated many amateurs. Nonetheless, compositional exactitude and an idiomatic amalgam of painterly and photographic aesthetics consistently informed her views of the Greek countryside. John Stathatos has argued that this mode of aestheticization together with her cultural disposition and class acted as determinants that distanced Chroussachi from her subjects, whom she approached “as the Other, in other words, as something exotic” (Stathatos 2000:41). It is indeed this issue of distance and proximity, whether physical or metaphorical, that always defined the documentation of Otherness, more so in anthropological / ethnographic photography in which the focal length was—almost without exception—“an analogue of cultural distance” (Macintyre et al. 1992). It is not just a truism that the personal and class habitus, as Pierre Bourdieu would put it, generated practices and perceptions that played a formative role in the way that middle-class city31 Although Chroussachi painstakingly arranged her negatives, slides and photographs in thematic and geographical categories, providing hand-written labels with the place they were taken, she, like Papaioannou, omitted dates altogether. Neither did she keep any detailed notes that could point to ethnographic objectives.

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dwellers like Papaioannou and Chroussachi perceived rural folk and poverty, and regardless of the empathy they may have demonstrated, culturally colonized their image. Yet, it will be argued that the culturally hegemonic “Western gaze” (Panayotopoulos 2009:189) over Greek culture and landscape with which both photographers had first hand contact at the time would be equally influential.

5-13: Maria Chroussachi: camping on the beach [British Red Cross Mission], 1945, © National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Archive, Athens (inv. no. ĭ/ȋȇ.ǹȁȂȆ.14.269).

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Arcadia Revisited From topography and commercial portraiture to anthropometric studies, photographs played a determinant role in the shaping of colonialist/imperialist/Occidental ideology in the nineteenth century as “a rhetoric that essentialized both peoples and places”, allegedly offering a visual insight into the “Orient” but, at the same time, concealing the complex nature of race and ethnicity as “a cultural, social and political fabrication” (Hight et al 2004:7, 10). Being part of a wider cultural system that has all along been informed by and based on historically and socially specific preconceptions, the travel photograph when it first appeared in the late nineteennth century was imbued with colonial values and clichés, the ideological residues of which may be traced in tourist photography as this developed in the twentieth century. Reflecting and catering to the cultural presuppositions of bourgeois Europeans, the iconographic commonplace of Greece promoted by the Hellenic Ministry of Tourism in the late 1930s was a pastiche of bucolic ideal(s) and the myths of sorcery in the realm of Pan, the echoes of Maenads, Dionysus’ satyr companions and the Delphic Oracle—what Roland Barthes called a “charming mythical stage-set” devised to frame the country’s monuments (Barthes 1979:98). This “system of attractions”, which as a cultural process mediates between the traveller/tourist/foreigner and the “Other”, influenced the ways in which the otherness of Greece materialized before the eyes of the humanitarians and relief aid workers who arrived there in the mid 1940s. Alaric W. Rowntree’s films and photographs, which now belong to the collection of the Imperial War Museum in London, are paradigmatic of this process. He affords us an interesting example of an amateur imagination which, on the one hand, being intrigued by the new and the exotic, succumbs to the travelling memoir genre. On the other hand, he pursues a (pseudo-)ethnographic goal, which is instigated by personal and professional interest. Rowntree, Director of the Food Division of UNRRA’s Greek mission and photography enthusiast, recorded in film his activities during his tenure in Greece from August 1945 to November 1946.32 Interchanging black-and-white scenic views with colour shots of everyday life, his amateur film UNRRA Greece 1945-46 is a dense mosaic 32 Alaric Rowntree, a Quaker and Conscientious Objector, was appointed District Officer in charge of Food Front Publicity in the Ministry of Food for the North West of England in 1941, before taking up his post as Director of the Food Division in the UNRRA mission in Greece in 1945. Information compiled from entry MGH 5095, The Imperial War Museum Film and Video Archive catalogue.

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of all those elements that constituted the essence of “Greekness” in the white, middle-class British consciousness: charcoal burners, sun-burnt fishermen and sponge-men in situ; peasant women washing clothes in rivers and lakes, working in the fields or carrying loads on their backs and heads; close-ups of local elderly folk in traditional costume; panoramic views of olive groves and poppy fields; old stone mills and cobbled village alleys; and, as one would expect, urban views of Athens and the Acropolis, the ancient Theatre of Epidavros and the Minoan Palace at Knossos. These are occasionally intersected by scenes of war destruction, UNRRA shipments at the Port of Piraeus, underfed children in summer camps, repatriation of displaced persons, and the celebratory re-opening of the railway to Chalkis.33 The brief written commentary, which in lieu of titles accompanies selected scenes, is at times tautological, simply descriptive of the scene, as for instance, “A simple outdoor oven is used for baking while the cradle hangs from a bough”. At other times, it provides contextualizing information such as “Every village has its patron saint to whose name day a dance and feast are held”. A true Philhellene, Rowntree was absolutely mesmerized by the Greek scene(ry), which offered him and his team an escape route from the grimness and devastation of the war. His description of his journey to Lake Stymphalia for duck shooting in December 1945 is telling: I set off in the morning, driving past Daphni with its beautiful little Byzantine Church, through Eleusis, and then on up to the narrow cliffhanging road that winds along the coast for a number of miles with many hairpin bends and sheer drops to the sea, some hundreds of feet below . . . Dropping down to the level plain approaching Corinth, I stopped to admire a wonderful carpet of St Bridget anemones, all colours of the rainbow, dappling the grass between the road and the seashore.34

Despite the wretched state it was in, in the eyes of Rowntree and other relief workers, Greece remained a mythic land, the lost Arcadia that British idealists had described in their utopian visions of the perfect place since the nineteenth century, and which had acquired renewed urgency in 33

The second part of the film pictures the recreation time of the Food Division staff during outings around Attica (Sounion, Rafina, Marathon) and Corfu. Alaric W. Rowntree, UNRRA Greece, Aug 1945-Oct 46, film, std 8mm, 60 min, black and white/colour, silent, MG H 5095, Imperial War Museum Film and Video Archive. Similar themes feature in the selection of photographs, most probably taken concurrently with the making of the film, which animates his typed memoirs from his time in Greece: Rowntree, “The Hungry Ones”, op. cit., 386-91. 34 Rowntree, “The Hungry Ones”, op. cit., 352.

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the years following the Great Depression and the rise of fascism (Hardy 2000). The idealized vision of rustic scenery and peasants as noble savages leading a simple but happy life in perfect harmony with nature, which was long associated with Arcadia as a utopian place of pastoral bliss, a kind of paradise on earth as pictured in Virgil’s writings or romantic painting, had become part and parcel of the popular picturesque at home and abroad. Describing her team’s tour to Volos, Dorothy Hamilton Des Quartiers, another British lady of means who joined the British Red Cross as a voluntary nurse during the war, was almost ecstatic before the “uncanny” sight: A perfect day, hot sunshine, snow mountains behind and in front of the Gulf with the lovely blue sea curling round the coastline calm as a mirror. Flocks of sheep and herds of goats under the olive trees, and Pan playing his pipes somewhere near . . . at least he almost did.35

Eager to capture the genius loci in a symbolic act of possession and proof of the instant, Hamilton Des Quartiers took a photograph of that view from Ano Volos, which she later used as illustration in her diary. Apart from their use as tourist memoirs, a necessary process “to the tourists’ engagement with the moment” (Osborne 2000:118), such photographs also had an exhibition value as exotica when taken back home, very similar to the kind that fed the colonial imaginary. On the way to Epidavros we stopped to photograph a picturesque little farm house together with the farmer, his wife and family. Cigarettes and sweets were handed round and then by signs I indicated that I wanted to buy some sheep bells. Two of the youngsters raced off hell-for-leather and soon returned with two beautifully toned bells for which I had difficulty in persuading the wife to accept 5,000 drachmae (5/-).36

Rowntree’s photographs of smiling peasants posing au naturel are not, as the above statement indicates, ideologically very different from the representations that constituted the Victorian “Other”—the natives of the colonies or other exotic destinations as photographed in Turkey by James Robertson and Felice Beato, in the Middle East by Francis Bedford or in Egypt by Francis Frith in the late nineteenth century. They submit to the same politics that defined the distance from and proximity to the exotic “Other” (Moschovi 2007); a location which determines, as Edward Said 35 36

Hamilton Des Quartiers, op. cit., 15 February 1945, 33. Rowntree, “The Hungry Ones”, op.cit., 367.

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put it, the themes and motifs that form the narrative of otherness (the orient) and the ways these may be used to “[speak] on its behalf” (1991:20). “Discovered by the Western gaze” (Panayotopoulos 2009:191), the country’s natural and cultural “treasures”—“the grandeur of the Greek mountains, the boundless light of the blue Greek sky reflected in the Greek seas and lacy coastline, the imperishable charm of the Greek isles . . . the life of the shepherd, the farmer and the fisherman, the Greek village, the immortal monuments of ancient and Byzantine art” (Papakyriakou 1954:10)—would be discovered anew by the local middle-classes and would furnish the newly circulating illustrated magazines and national tourist publications as the epitome of Greekness. As the wave of urbanization and emigration would devastate the provinces in the late 1940s and early 1950s, Greek photographers—and particularly those who clustered under the umbrella of the Hellenic Photographic Society, of which Papaioannou and Chroussaki were founding members—would return time and again to the countryside to record folk culture and local traditions before they were “westernized” or become extinct. For Papaioannou, “the priests, the donkeys . . . the snowcapped mountains . . . the Greek labels” that Carter saw as prime insignia of a “good” photograph (2006:588) were clichés of Greekness. Standardized and simplified as stereotypes are by definition, these served to synopsise the message and achieve immediate recognition. The countryside offered this abstract familiarity for the rendering of Greekness37 but also allowed Papaioannou to look into the details of a history that was far from peripheral, as this was being registered on tombstones and people’s homes, in school yards and out in the fields, and which would re-appear more consistently in her later body of work. On the other hand, in a time of political turbulence and transition, the refuge to the eternal Arcadia, the simplicity and stability (and neutrality as it seemed) of tradition, must have presented Chroussachi with some kind of “clean slate” (Hardy 2000:20) upon which to draw her own picture of post-war optimism—soon in seductive colour.

37 See for instance Papaioannou’s albums La Grèce à ciel ouvert (1952) and Iles Grecques (1956).

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Bibliography and References Barthes, Roland. 1979. Mythologies / Mathima. Translated by K. Hadjidemou and I. Ralli. Athens: Rappas Editions. Cambray, P.G. and G.G.B. Briggs. 1949. The Official Record of the Humanitarian Services of the War Organization of the British Red Cross Society and Order of St John of Jerusalem, 1939-1947, London. Carter, Sidney B. 2006 [1946]. “Visit to Epirus, 5-22 February 1946.” In I fotografos Voula Papaioannou: Apo to Fotografiko Archeio tou Mouseiou Benaki, ed. Fani Constantinou, Johanna Weber, Stavros Petsopoulos, 581-97. Athens: Agra / Benaki Museum. Cassimati, Marilena. 2009. “The Maria Chroussachi Photographic Archive in the National Gallery.” In National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum Calendar 2009, np. Athens: National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum. Clogg, Richard. 2000. Anglo-Greek Attitudes: Studies in History. Oxford: Macmillan. —. 2002. Introduction to Greece 1940-1949: Occupation, Resistance, Civil War, ed. Richard Clogg, 1-21. Basingstoke: Palgrave. —. 2008. Introduction to Bearing Gifts to the Greeks: Humanitarian Aid to Greece in the 1940s, ed. Richard Clogg, 1-13. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Constantinou, Fani. 2006. “Gyro apo ti zoi kai to ergo tis Voulas Papaioannou.” In I fotografos Voula Papaioannou: Apo to Fotografiko Archeio tou Mouseiou Benaki, ed. Fani Constantinou, Johanna Weber, Stavros Petsopoulos, 11-38. Athens: Agra / Benaki Museum. —. 2007. “Oi diaforetikes anagnoseis tis fotografikis eiconas: Me aformi ti seira ‘Omiroi-Ianouarios 1945’ apo to arxeio tis Voulas Papaioannou”, Archeiotaxio 9:31-41. Curtis, James. 1989. Mind’s Eye, Mind’s Truth: FSA Photography Reconsidered. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Edson, Charles F. 2000. “The British and the Greek Right in the Aftermath of December 1944: An American View.” In Greece 1940-1949: Occupation, Resistance, Civil War, ed. Richard Clogg, 191-97. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Fordham, Eugenie. 1943. “Greece Yesterday and Today: Europe in Chains.” The British Red Cross Quarterly Review 29(14):528-31. Forsythe, David P. 2005. Introduction to The Humanitarians: The International Committee of the Red Cross, 1-9. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Hardy, Dennis. 2000. Utopian England: Community Experiments 19001945, London: Spon. Hight, Eleanor and Gary D. Sampson. 2004. Introduction to Colonialist Photography: Imagining Race and Place, ed. Eleanor Hight and Gary D. Sampson, 1-19. London: Routledge. Houliaras, Giorgos. 2003. “Politismos kai politiki: Emfylios Polemos kai ‘Politistiki Anasygkrotisi’ stin Ellada.” In I Ellada 1936-46: Apo ti Diktatoria ston Emfylio, ed. Hagen Fleischer, 428-38, Athens: Castaniotis Editions. Huber, Max. 1945. “Three Aspects of the Red Cross: Its Neutrality, its Independence, its Non-Political and Humane Character.” The British Red Cross Quarterly Review 32(4):139-43. Kedros, Tryphon. 2003. “Protes Entiposeis kai Epafes ton Agglon.” In Martyries 1941-44: I Athina tis Katohis, Vol. II, ed. Costas Hatzipateras and Maria Fafaliou-Dragona, 388-90. Athens: Kedros. Kofas, Jon V. 1989. Intervention and Underdevelopment: Greece during the Cold War. University Park: Pennsylvania State University. Lang, Clarence R. 1989. “Red Cross Humanitarianism in Greece, 194045.” The Journal of Historical Review 9(1):71-88. Macintyre, Martha and Maureen MacKenzie. 1992. “Focal Length as an Analogue of Cultural Distance.” In Anthropology and Photography, ed. Elizabeth Edwards, 158-63. London / New Haven: Yale University Press. Margaritis, Georgios. 2000/2001. Istoria tou Ellinikou Emfyliou Polemou, 1946-1949, Vol. I & II. Athens: Vivliorama. Mazower, Mark. 2003 [2000]. Introduction to Meta ton polemo: I anasygkrotisi tis oikogeneias, tou ethnous kai tou kratous stin Ellada, 1943-1960, ed. Mark Mazower, 11-31. Athens: Alexandria Editions. Messolora, Athina J. 1959. A Brief History of the Evolution of Nursing in Greece, Athens. Moschovi, Alexandra. 2007. “Distance and Proximity.” In Work, ed. Alex Moh, 24-35. Kuala Lumpur: National Gallery of Malaysia. —. 2009a. “The Plain and Unadulterated Photography.” In Dimitris Harissiadis, ed. Georgia Imsiridou, 23-34. Athens: Benaki Museum. —. 2009b. “From the Representation of Politics to the Politics of Representation.” In Greece through Photographs, ed. Alexandra Moschovi and Aliki Tsirgialou, 50-73. Athens: Melissa Publishing House. Oliver, Beryl. 1966. The British Red Cross in Action. London: Faber and Faber.

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Osborne, Peter. 2000. Travelling Light: Photography, Travel and Visual Culture. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Panayotopoulos, Nikos. 2009. “On Greek Photography: Eurocentrism, Cultural Colonialism and the Construction of Mythic Classical Greece.” Third Text 23(2):181-94. Papakyriakou, Costas. 1954. “Oi skopoi mas.” Helliniki Fotografia (1):10. Papastratis, Prokopis. 1984. British Policy Towards Greece During the Second World War, 1941-1944. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Said, Edward. 1991. Orientalism. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Sfikas, Thanassis D. 2007. To Holo Alogo: Oi Diethneis Synthikes tis Ellinikis Krisis, 1941-1949. Athens: Vivliorama. Sheppard, A.W. 1949. Britain in Greece: A Study in International Interference. London: The League for Democracy in Greece. Smith, E.D. 1988. Victory of a Sort: The British in Greece, 1941-46. London: Robert Hale. Stathatos, John. 2004. “Erastai toy kalou kai tis fyseos.” In “Yorgos Vafiadakis: Periigitiki forografia”, Kathimerini supplement, 22nd February, 2-7. Stathatos, John. 2000. “Maria Chroussachi.” In Maria Chroussachi, ed. Marilena Cassimati, 22-47. Athens: National Gallery and Alexandros Soutzos Museum. Stott, William. 1973. Documentary Expression and Thirties America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tsilaga, Flora. 2008. “UNRRA’s Relief Efforts in late 1944 Greece: Political Impartiality versus Military Exigencies.” In Bearing Gifts to the Greeks: Humanitarian Aid to Greece in the 1940s, ed. Richard Clogg, 189-211. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Wallace, D.J. 2002. “British Policy and Resistance Movements in Greece.” In Greece 1940-1949: Occupation, Resistance, Civil War, ed. Richard Clogg, 117-52. Basingstoke: Palgrave.

CHAPTER SIX TRUTH WILL TRIUMPH: THE BRITISH COUNCIL AND CULTURAL RELATIONS IN GREECE1 JIM POTTS

Writing in 2009, the seventy-fifth anniversary of the foundation of the British Council (1934) and the seventieth anniversary of the establishment of the British Council in Greece (1939), the year that also marks 175 years of diplomatic relations between Britain and Greece, it’s hard to envisage the feasibility of any kind of cumulative or summative evaluation of the impact of the Council’s work in Greece from 1945 until the present day. The retrospective Evaluation of Long-Term Outcomes (“ELTO” in the jargon) over decades is not made easier in the absence of a rolling professional evaluation process for all the Council’s programmes during the earlier years of its existence, or by changes in strategies, objectives and definitions. In spite of the fact that its main seventy-fifth anniversary publication is entitled A Story of Engagement: The British Council 19342009 (Fisher 2009), “a more robust articulation” of the word engagement was applied in the most recent Annual Report (British Council 2009a:20). This chapter is being published in 2010, the final year of the British Council’s major, decade-long repositioning strategy (“Strategy 2010”). Since I retired from the British Council in November 2004, after thirtyfive years’ service, I make no attempt to evaluate the success of that 1

“Truth Will Triumph” was the motto of the British Council until the 1970s, and was to be found stamped on all its library books. Thanks are due to Dr David Close, of Flinders University, South Australia, for permission to use material from his father, Reg Close’s, book; and to Nick Wadham-Smith, Deputy Director of Counterpoint, for permission to quote from British Council publications, including Rose and Wadham-Smith (2004). This chapter is reproduced as written for the first edition of this book and does not include updates relating to developments in the British Council since 2009.

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strategy, or of FABS (the new financial and business system which underpins it). Nor do I claim that this chapter adequately covers the full range or impressive diversity of the Council’s current work in Greece, in teaching, exams, education, science, issues around migration and identity, governance and the environment. This survey does inevitably reflect some of the concerns of Council staff, the media, interested stakeholders and members of both Houses of Parliament. It attempts to engage in some of the wider issues discussed by Counterpoint (the British Council’s cultural relations think-tank that carries out research and promotes debate about pressing issues) by focussing on past perceptions of the Council’s operations and work in a single country over a long period. In March 2009 the British Council in Athens held a party to celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary. But it was a very different British Council, in terms of its approach to South-East Europe, to European Union member states, to libraries and to the arts, than it was at the time of its celebrations for the fiftieth anniversary of 1984 (in which I participated as Regional Director, Northern Greece), or during the Athens Cultural Capital of Europe Festival in 1985, when I was Acting Director of the British Council in Greece. In 1984 the Council still operated, in parts of Europe, within the limits and constraints of formal reciprocal cultural agreements and the Cold War, and there were few opportunities for regional projects, as there was deep suspicion of neighbouring countries like Bulgaria and Albania. As Lord Kinnock of Bedwellty, Chairman of the British Council, wrote of the organisation’s purpose and momentum over seven decades: “We will sustain that vitality as we mark our seventy-fifth anniversary in 2009 by celebrating the past in order to inspire fresh advances for the future.” (British Council 2008a:3). The Council’s Corporate Plan (2008-11) confirms its strategy for shifting resources: “We are moving thirty percent of our grant funding out of EU Europe by 2010-11. This shift is a result of our Europe strategy, which involves fundamental changes to the way we work within Europe.” (British Council 2008b:25). When giving evidence at the House of Commons on 27th June 2007, Lord Kinnock answered a question from Mr Pope concerning the effect that this thirty percent shift of the grant-in-aid out of European operations would have. Kinnock distinguished between three different categories of European operation. In the third category, which included Spain and Italy (and presumably Greece), he said that, in addition to a plexus of cultural and other activities, “we have strong English language teaching programmes, which generate substantial revenue and work to the benefit, of course, of our students, but also to the benefit of our budget.” As Lord Kinnock stressed

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in the Annual Report, the staff of the Council has always innovated in order to sustain relevance (British Council 2008a:2). Innovation is essential, but the corporate goal-posts can seem to change every few years, even though the 1940 Royal Charter remains the definitive statement of the Council’s purpose (a supplemental charter was granted in 1993).

Trust and the British Council The British Council is a registered charity, an executive nondepartmental public body and a public corporation, operationally independent of government. The 2008-9 Annual Report states “our cultural relations work builds international trust and understanding, generates opportunities for individuals to fulfil their potential and fosters the co-operation that contributes to a stable world” (British Council 2009a:iii). In a section of its website on Vision, purpose and values, we are told that “cultural relations is the building of engagement and trust between people of different cultures through the exchange of knowledge and ideas”. In his foreword to A Story of Engagement, Neil Kinnock writes “put simply the British Council exists to build trust between the UK and other countries and people and thereby win lifelong friends for Britain” (Fisher 2009:2). In 2009 the Council also issued a little booklet called The Year Ahead. Inside the front cover is Our Vision: “The future for the UK in this crowded, dangerous, beautiful world depends on people of all cultures living and working together on foundations of education, mutual understanding, respect and trust” (British Council 2009b). Thinking of the implications of the word trust in the British-Greek context, I am reminded of something I wrote in my book The Ionian Islands and Epirus: A Cultural History concerning an undated edition of the collected works of the Greek poet, Andreas Kalvos. The editor offers a five page commentary on Kalvos’ poem The Wishes or The Vows (Oi Evchai, Sixth Ode) (Kalvos n.d.:94-8). I wrote that: Greek attitudes of hostility and resentment towards Britain are undisguised in this study of the poem, in which the British are described as heartless, devious, cynical, murderous, traitorous, devils, as political game-players, full of diabolic plots and machinations; allies like snakes, with no understanding of friendship or loyalty, but people who mistreated the Greeks in Asia Minor, who offer and offered the terrible, murderous hand of help and protection, which caused such harm, disaster and calamity during the War of Independence of 1821 and throughout the period of the free existence of the Greek nation. The British are accused of digging the graves of the Greeks: in short, dry colonials, from a murderous hornets’

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Whatever Zervos chose to read into that poem, the fact is that the Anglophile Kalvos (1792-1869) himself chose to settle and live in England, married two British women and wrote warmly of London and Albion, where “rays of most sweet freedom nourished me and gave me comfort”! (Ode, The Patriot). I do not wish to suggest that attitudes of mistrust towards Britain were widespread in Greece at the time (the original I. Zervos edition seems to date to 1911, but the reprinted edition in my possession must date to the 1960s). There have been tense periods, such as December 1944, and the Cyprus problems of the 1950s, when distrust reached new peaks, in at least a significant percentage of the population. However, Professor Nicholas Cull, in his article Propaganda? on the Council’s website, writes of the astonishing transformation of Britain’s image, thanks to the efforts of the Council and the BBC’s external services, “from its pre-war image of perfidious imperialist manipulator into a new incarnation as truth teller and fount of fair play” (Cull [2009]). With the financial crisis and global recession, people have no longer been able to trust banks and major financial institutions, even within their own countries. Recent controversy about the inflated expenses claims of British MPs has provided further evidence of the public’s disillusionment. How can an organisation like the British Council tackle toxic perceptions of “Anglo-Saxon risk-taking and greed” (in what some perceive as an increasingly low trust, “dog-eat-dog” society), or create the perception that Britain is still “punching above its weight”? The financial crisis exacerbated an existing crisis of trust, which could arguably be dated to the Blair government’s unconvincing spin concerning justifications for the invasion of Iraq. In a document for Counterpoint, Martin Rose and Nick Wadham-Smith (2004) argued that “perceptions of the UK have suffered from the Iraq war, and trust, where it existed, is often threatened.” Justifiable pride in British know-how and confidence in the UK’s creative and knowledge economy will take time to recover. A consistent emphasis on “trust” within an organisation like the British Council—itself prone to varying levels of trust amongst staff as a result of programmes of reduction and redundancy, communication problems and efforts to influence people to “sign up” to culture change—may have done little to inspire trust; or to enhance the relations between teachers and managers, between locally-engaged (country-appointed) and Londonappointed staff, between specialist departments and generalists, or between

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private sector language schools and the British Council’s own teaching institutes. The authors of Mutuality, Trust and Cultural Relations, stress the lack of trust, particularly, but not only, between ‘the West’ and ‘the Islamic World’, requires massive attention to trust-building . . . Cultural relations organisations cannot of course step between the car-bomber and his target: but they can contribute to the conservation and the patient rebuilding of trust, both by working across fractures in zones of conflict like Cyprus, Palestine / Israel and elsewhere, and by the building of mutual trust through ordinary, workaday activities like language-teaching, exams, youth exchanges, co-productions, library and e-information provision. (Rose and Wadham Smith 2004)

When trust gives way to mistrust or suspicion, whether of the motives of a government or of an organisation’s management strategies (in contradistinction to its stated values or mission statement), attempts to build trust externally, bilaterally or internationally, whether by means of public or cultural diplomacy, or an ethical foreign policy, may be met with growing cynicism. Only a coordinated, multi-organisational “NewIMAGES”-type campaign, such as the pioneering two-way project mounted in and with Australia throughout 1997, could effectively begin to deal with such a range of issues as the UK and other countries have faced since the financial crisis, to set out to change perceptions, and to restore trust. But there would first have to be true, positive stories to tell and genuine improvements and reform in many areas. As far as the UK’s financial sector is concerned, it would need to involve the British Council, the FCO, the Department for Business, Enterprise and Regulatory Reform, the City of London, and one would anticipate that the banks and other financial institutions would wish to sponsor it. Such campaigns also need to be supported by patient, long-term cultural relations activity. Hoffman (2006:1) cites Karl Deutsch’s description of trust as “the cement that held peaceful interstate relations together”. For seventy-five years the British Council has tried to help mix that cement. Most of the academic work on the topic of trust (outside the Council’s own Counterpoint think-tank unit) has been concerned with the political (Cold War, Palestine-Israel) and economic rather than the cultural or educational fields. Sometimes political and cultural relations issues become confused, as with Russia and Iran in recent years. Trust is also a serious issue with regards to the administration of English Language or Cambridge ESOL examinations in Greece. Problems of cheating, perceived by some as being tolerated within Greek culture,

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have been mentioned by writers like John Lucas (2007) and Barry Unsworth (1967). The problem of the security of exam papers led to draconian new security measures in the British Council in 2005. Exams in Greece have always had to be organised like a military operation, at least since the early 1980s. The British Council Greece website informs us that in 2004-5 the Council (worldwide, one assumes, or in over one hundred countries) administered 1.2 million professional and academic exams. Around 55,000 Greeks took examinations administered by the Council in 2008 (the figure has been much higher in the past). The Council employs experienced and hawk-eyed invigilators and ensures strict and proper examination conditions. Overall, it is a huge organisational and educational success story, beyond reproach when compared to John Lucas’ description of exams held at the University of Athens in the mid-1980s, and the allegations he makes about the widespread circulation of skournakis, tiny pieces of paper containing hundreds of words. At first I could hardly believe what I was seeing. This was cheating on an industrial scale. Moreover, it was entirely without any attempt at a coverup. Pieces of paper were being passed from hand to hand, along rows, across rows, from front to back. Students leaned over to check each others’ papers, offer whispered comments, suggest revisions, nod in confirmation, shrug in response to enquiries they couldn’t answer. (Lucas 2007:69-70)

Is there then a different examination culture in Greece? Education and qualifications are highly valued in Greece. Foreign language exams are taken at a young age, and there is great pressure on parents and frontisteria teachers to enter children early. If this is so, are attempts to cheat in exams (almost as a norm) an indirect result of what some social scientists have described as “familism” or “amoral familism”? Does it derive from an assumption that everybody else, in a highly competitive race for scarce university places and jobs, will also be trying to score an unfair advantage by such means? It is alleged to occur regardless of the Greek sense of filotimo or self-respect. Although Greeks have a strong sense of shame, it might seem that they do not see anything intrinsically shameful or immoral in such practices. The wider question for British organisations operating in Greece, before they start trying to build up trust towards the UK, may be whether they trust the Greeks (bearing or receiving gifts, or otherwise). It has to be a matter of mutual trust and respect. A Greek academic colleague of Professor Lucas argued that the students were quite justified to despise the examination system, and excused them on the basis that they cheated co-operatively and helped one another (Lucas 2007:70).

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Martin Rose and Nick Wadham-Smith, in Mutuality, Trust and Cultural Relations, consider that the British Council’s primary objective is the building of trust. Rose and Wadham-Smith argue that the British Council’s “Unique Selling Proposition” or qualification is mutuality-based trust-building, as a result of its independent status, global presence and long history as a specialist in cultural relations in the broadest sense. “In this role we represent not the government of the UK, but the people of the UK” (Rose and Wadham-Smith 2004). What one can suggest is that practices such as suspicious examination behaviour have occasionally undermined the culture of trust in the past, and continue to take scarce human resources away from the “real business” of cultural relations, although surplus revenue generated from the administration of examinations (around $20m worldwide) can be and is directed towards higher priority cultural exchange and public diplomacy activities. How can one be sure which countries harbour a widespread feeling of trust and understanding towards Great Britain (or “perfidious Albion”)? People are fickle and people’s attitudes can change when the tide turns. Events are unpredictable, the political mood and bilateral relations can quickly turn sour (e.g. as between the UK and Russia), which is not to suggest that propaganda, media spin or short-term public diplomacy fixes can be as effective or credible as sustained, long-term cultural relations work. Even issues like the Elgin or Parthenon Marbles can create feelings of distrust. Victor Theofilopoulos writing in Athens News soon after the opening of the New Acropolis Museum, felt driven to give vent to a long rant about the “deliberate arrogance, conceit and pompous British stiffupper-lip mentality . . . Isn’t it time the British did something good for this world and its culture . . . ?” (Theofilopoulos 2009). It is not my intention to attempt to answer Theofilopoulos’ question or to defend the British record here. I will let the record of events and comments which follows speak for itself. It is an annotated and selective chronology, but in spite of significant gaps and an inclination towards literary history, I believe it is impartial. I would only remark that it can take years to build trust, but it can be lost very quickly. A more modest and achievable aim, less dependent on political events, changes in the tide and unresolved bilateral issues, and more in accord with intelligent (national rather than nationalistic) selfinterest, might be to build mutual respect, friendly interest and dialogue, greater cultural understanding and tolerance.

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Perhaps the first step is for us all to become better, more active listeners, to try to appreciate the other person’s perspective? This is a point that Martin Davidson makes in Cultural Relations: Building Networks to Face Twenty-First Century Challenges. He undermines the power of his argument to some extent by pointing out one of the less altruistic sidebenefits of cultural relations work to the UK. He argues that the participation of future leaders and opinion formers in cultural relations projects gives them “an instinctive understanding of the UK’s position” and helps them to develop contacts “which may be useful to diplomats in the future, and creates the space for persuasion and influence” (Davidson 2008). The work of the Council can contribute to the creation of life-long Anglophiles and Philhellenes, and reinforce such feelings of empathy and commitment, but that is not a realistic or measurable objective when dealing with large numbers of people (the population of Greece is over eleven million; it is often said that every individual in the country has a different opinion or point of view), or when some Greek perceptions of the British are formed largely by the behaviour of the large number of British tourists who visit Greece each year. Even a three-year period of study in another country does not guarantee positive attitudes as an outcome. It does remain to be seen whether the British Council can reduce its “physical footprint” in Europe without reducing impact, any more than the Greek government can ensure growing numbers of foreign undergraduates studying Modern Greek if foreign university departments have to close. When I was Regional Director in Northern Greece (1980-5), the Council in Thessaloniki operated from a busy eight-storey building, with two floors for the reference and lending libraries, four floors of classrooms, a large hall for regular cultural events and over two thousand students. The office has moved and is now no longer open to the public. The British Council Greek website informs us of some of the reasons for the changes that have been made in the Thessaloniki office: We are re-shaping our services with the emphasis on making our services more convenient for our customers. We are making increasing use of technology to become more efficient and customer friendly. We are shifting our focus from where we are located to where our customers are located. (British Council 2009c)

It seems that the British Council’s physical “footprint” in Northern Greece has almost disappeared. One hopes that the customer service from its call centre has a positive impact. It is ironical that the authors of the report The British Council: Achieving Impact criticised the Council for

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failing to reach learners outside capital cities (National Audit Office 2008:6, 19). It may seem like a disappointing outcome and a poor return on a seventy-year investment, but priorities, policies and resources, like rivers, are always in a state of flux. It must be particularly sad for several generations of loyal and dedicated locally engaged members of staff and teachers (both groups deserve a much more central role in this chapter), but their contribution has not been forgotten. One thinks particularly of Diana Economidou, the Council’s Athens librarian, who lost her life in the terrorist shooting incident in which Ken Whitty was killed, and of Vasso Panayotopoulou, who was travelling in the back seat of the same car. One legitimate aim of the British Council might be to try to change the stereotype or image of the British as arrogant, superior, condescending and pompous. There is still work to be done. The linguistic imbalance makes it hard, as well as provocative concepts like “spheres of influence”, “soft power” and “hard power”, which were overused in the past. If we look back over the last seventy years, what has really lasted in Greece from all the work of the British Council? What has lasted over the last two hundred years, if we go back to 1809, the year of Byron’s first visit to Greece? If you took away the works of people like Lawrence Durrell, Patrick Leigh Fermor, Steven Runciman, Rex Warner, let alone Lord Byron, Edward Lear, Nicholas Hammond, C. M. Woodhouse, Philip Sherrard and George Seferis, how strong would the cultural relationship and intellectual ties have been? Such matters cannot be reduced to questions of statistics, i.e. how many Greeks now speak English, have passed English language examinations, have studied in the UK, but those are crude indicators of cultural orientation and trends, post World War II. Likewise, the popularity of Greece as a destination for British tourists may satisfy some Greek ministers, but it is not necessarily an indicator of the depth and strength of the cultural relationship. Who or what has made the greatest impact? Personalities? Writers and scholars? Programmes, projects, policies? English teaching? Surplus revenue? Education information? Official entertainment? Efficient examinations administration? Libraries? Websites? Arts events? Scholarships, bursaries or study in the UK? Financial grants or highly selective and active co-organisation? Academic exchanges and travel grants, visits and “specialist tours”? Scientific collaboration in areas like climate change? Work in governance and social policy? The targeting of established elites or outreach to young people? Small-scale local / bilateral projects or large-scale regional / multilateral projects? Cultural relations or

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public diplomacy? The targeting of “high-level decision-makers and leaders”, “key influencers”, or “people with potential”? Nicholas Cull ([2009]) states that “there can be little doubt that the British Council facilitated the post-war emergence of English as an international language”, and that must be as true of Greece as of other countries where the Council has been active in the direct teaching of English.

History Reg Close ([1990]:91-2) recalls the rationale for opening in Greece in 1939. Britain’s prestige—some thought her very security—was in jeopardy because public opinion was being turned against her by Nazi and Italian Fascist propaganda . . . Britain’s voice was silent. The Greeks were being persuaded that England, the land of Byron who had died in the cause of Greek independence, was finished.

Lord Lloyd had negotiated directly with General Metaxas, the Prime Minister. Metaxas gave his full agreement that the Council should make the truth about Britain available to those who wanted to know it. We were to do that through the teaching of English, through lectures on English literature and British institutions, through British books in general, and above all through personal contact. (Donaldson 1984:88-9)

The British Council was criticised for its non-political stance and unwillingness to engage in political propaganda. To be trusted and effective, it needed to maintain its integrity, at arms length from embassies and legations (C.A.F. Dundas, quoted in Donaldson 1984:89). The British Council was “England’s reply to Goebbels”, a sarcastic comment by John Cromer Braun, poet and intelligence officer (MacNiven, 1998:222). Neil Kinnock comments: At that time [1934], some European states were manifesting their approach to international relations with the aid of rearmament, marching songs and aggressive declarations about mare nostrum and Lebensraum. By contrast, British establishment genius thought that a more desirable way of spreading and strengthening influence would be through the development of cultural relations. (Fisher 2009:1)

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Donaldson (1984:88) states that in 1939 Lord Lloyd had visited both General Metaxas and the King and had negotiated a cultural agreement, which was signed on the entry of Greece into the war. Donaldson (1984:90) also cites a message that the dictator Metaxas sent shortly before his death (January 1941) in which he said that the Council’s work had contributed largely to the Anglophile spirit of the Greek people. Donaldson also quotes the Annual Report for 1940-1: eight thousand young Greeks applied to register at the Institute of English Studies in Athens (half had to be disappointed). Before discussing the Council’s post-war work, it would be useful to remind ourselves that there was pre-war activity. In the spring of 1936, for example, Rebecca West was asked to go to Yugoslavia to give some lectures in different towns before universities and English clubs, and this I did in the spring of 1936. It was unfortunate that at the end of my journey I went to Greece and was stung by a sand-fly and got dengue fever, which is also known, and justly so, as breakbone fever (1942: prologue).

Naturally enough, she preferred to return to Yugoslavia, not Greece, in 1937. To mark the centenary of the University of Athens, the Byron Chair was founded in 1937, subsidised by the British Council until 1963. The British Council’s Institute of English Studies opened in a fourstorey building at 9 Hermes Street, Athens, in January 1939. According to lecturer Reg Close [1990], a huge crowd applied to register. Four thousand were registered and graded. There was a London-appointed staff of nine. When Italy entered the war against Britain, the Athens Institute received reinforcements from the Council’s London-appointed staff in Rome, including Terence Spencer . . . Another refugee from Rome was Douglas Dakin, the historian, who enriched the Athens Institute’s curriculum by adding British history to it. (Close [1990]).

Spencer used the library to prepare his book Fair Greece, Sad Relic (1954). Demetrios Capetanakis was awarded a British Council scholarship to study at Cambridge (he died in Westminster Hospital of leukaemia on 9th March, 1944, aged 32). Panayotis Canellopoulos observed that “when I escaped from occupied Greece, in 1942, I found him transformed into an English poet. English had become his own tongue. It was as if the English language had chosen him—as if she had need of him.” (Canellopoulos 1944:174)

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In 1939 Lawrence Durrell had found employment as an English teacher at the British Institute, Athens (as did Bernard Spencer and Robert Liddell): “In the meantime I am teaching English with abandon and circumspection at the British Institute; in May the institute closes for a holiday and I am off to the islands to hide out” (letter to George Wilkinson, 1940; Durrell 1969:63). Having applied for a Council job in Corfu, Durrell subsequently wrote to Henry Miller in spring 1940: I have finally got Corfu, where we shall retire in May to lose the world I hope and be lost to it . . . But I’m in exile now; my age has been called, and I can’t go home for fear of being called out. (Durrell and Miller 1963:162)

However, Paul Gotch—who had been recruited for the British Institute in Athens in early 1940, having travelled there on his bicycle—was successfully interviewed by the British Council at the same time as Durrell. Gotch was told to go to Corfu. Gotch replied, “But you’ve got Lawrence Durrell there.” The Council Representative said, “Well, we’ll send him to Kalamata.” So, as Gotch has recently reminisced, “Larry was at Kalamata and I was posted to Corfu.” (Waterhouse 2009:4) Durrell was thus sent to Kalamata in August 1940, to start a school at the Institute of English Studies, and to counter German propaganda. He wrote to Ann Ridler, “I am a peripatetic teacher of English in a Greek factory town” (1969:68). In 1940 C.A.F. Dundas (British Council Middle East Representative), writing to Lord Lloyd, claimed that some of the Council’s Greek staff had gained a reputation for being “pansies”, “longhaired”, or “soft”, as well as irresponsible in financial matters (Donaldson 1984:95). Maladministration and public immorality were also alleged. In spite of such views, the British Council was granted a Royal Charter in 1940: The objects for which the Council is established and incorporated are to advance any purpose which is exclusively charitable and which shall: (a) promote a wider knowledge of Our United Kingdom; (b) develop a wider knowledge of the English language; (c) encourage cultural, scientific, technological and other educational cooperation between Our United Kingdom and other countries; or (d) otherwise promote the advancement of education.

In February 1941, the British Council and its schools were closed, and the staff were soon evacuated. After the war, the Council reopened in 1944, just at the time that British troops were on active service in the Greek capital, and the soldiers

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reluctantly became involved in the Battle of Athens (December 1944). The Council was opened by Colonel K.R. Johnstone, also on active service at the time. The British Ambassador, who was anxious to see a resumption of British Council work in Greece, was Sydney-born Sir Reginald Leeper, who had played a formative role in the creation of The British Council in 1934. In spite of the Battle of Athens and the tragic events of the Greek Civil War, “the intellectual life of Athens after the war was formed by the British Council” (Donaldson 1984:147).2 It is often considered the high point of the British Council’s work in Greece, and the reputation of the British Council rode high for a decade, until the Cyprus problems, which lost many friends for Britain. Maurice Cardiff was summoned to Athens in 1945 by Colonel Johnstone, to serve as Acting Representative (Cardiff 1997). Instructed by Johnstone to find a building in the centre of Athens suitable for use as an Institute of Higher English Studies, he found a house. The owner asked fourteen thousand pounds sterling, to be paid in gold. “We spent an agreeable afternoon drinking cups of Turkish coffee as we counted the gold and arranged it in little piles on the lawyer’s desk.” Cardiff writes of innumerable packing cases arriving from London: “Among these was a vast consignment of British government service lavatory paper which, with its harsh texture, when displayed for use, prompted aggrieved protests, especially from our Greek colleagues and visitors.” (Cardiff 1997:13). March 1945 saw the launch of Anglo-Elliniki Epitheorisi (The AngloGreek Review), based in the same building as the British Council, Plateia Filikis Etairias 17. Edited by George Katsimbalis until around 1953, then by George Savidis, who had been a student of Classics at Cambridge, it was published for ten years (the last issue appeared in 1955, ceasing due to the Cyprus Troubles). Authors included Bertrand Russell, Elizabeth Bowen, C. Day Lewis, Dilys Powell, Odysseas Elytis, Nikos Gatsos, Harold Nicolson, Rex Warner, Steven Runciman, Angelos Sikelianos, George Seferis, Robert Liddell, Maurice Bowra, Henry Reed, Roy Campbell, Philip Sherrard, Stephen Spender, Nanos Valaoritis and Nikos Hadjikyriakos-Ghikas. Issue 1 of 1946 (Fig. 6-1) contained a significant article about the work of the British Council, stating that it was ten years since the Council had

2

Donaldson attributes this quotation to a conversation she had in 1982 with “a leading Greek citizen, at one time Minister of Culture”.

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been founded, no doubt because it was in 1936 that the organisation was renamed as the British Council. The aims of the British Council are neither political, nor economic, nor propagandistic—unless we are using the word propaganda in a different sense . . . In order to be able to define its purpose we should use the term “humanistic aims”, an expression with a wider meaning, because any other term fails to capture the variety of the Council’s pursuits and activities. Today, an organisation that helps strengthen international friendship without political or economic motives, but in the wider arena of mutual understanding and mutual respect, can play an important role in the postwar world. If Peace is not based on the general recognition of the worth of individuals and the peoples of the whole world, it’s difficult for anyone to say on what else it can be based except some form of tyranny. The main purpose of the British Council is to give the inhabitants of the other countries of the world the opportunity to understand British civilisation and the British way of life, and to give the British the opportunity to understand the cultures of other countries . . . 4000 students are learning English at the Athens Institute, nearly 2000 in Salonika . . . The representative of the British Council in Athens is the distinguished Byzantine specialist, Mr Steven Runciman. Last month it was decided that a British Institute should be established, with a library of works of English literature and scientific, medical, legal and economics books. Mr Rex Warner, the poet and novelist, is the Director of the Institute, and the Deputy Director is Major Patrick Leigh-Fermor, DSO, OBE, well-known in Greece as leader of the Resistance in Crete during the period of the Occupation . . . What needs to be remembered above all the details is the ultimate aim of the Council’s activities; that is, the spreading of mutual understanding, respect and love between the peoples of the world. And that, above all is the Propaganda of Peace.

The British Council, Thessaloniki was also re-established in 1945. John Elliott, Director of the British Institute, Salonika, arrived from Baghdad. When students were registered in October 1945, 2,717 enrolled. The Record, a bilingual publication published each academic year, served as the chronicle of the Salonika Institute (the founder and first editor was W.J. Ball; he was succeeded by John Press): In those days there were no tables, few textbooks and candle light was the rule rather than the exception. Aided by a devoted staff, working all hours of the day and night, the Institute began to find its feet. When the second British body arrived early in 1946 John Elliott was free to begin his travels which were to result in the opening of schools of English in Castoria, Verreia, Kavalla and Xanthi. In Cozani and Florina the A.G.I.S. had already paved the way and the existing schools now came under Elliott’s

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aegis. All these schools originated at the request of the Greek people themselves, but the indefatigable energy of the Salonika Director in paying them frequent visits materially assisted their sturdy growth. (The Record 1948:3).

The Institute had a reference library, concerts were organised and gramophone record recitals of British music. There was a discussion group, which started in April 1947, which usually addressed local government problems in Britain and Greece, with senior academics and members of the Northern Greece administration taking part. The Literary Club held regular readings of plays and poetry for advanced students and outside visitors. The Library contained 3600 books, and membership was free to all whose mother tongue was not English. There was a weekly film show. There were distinguished visiting lecturers in science and medicine. Dilys Powell, in An Affair of he Heart (1957), writes about giving British Council lectures in Athens and Salonika in 1945: It was easy to cause political mischief in the Salonika of 1945. Every phrase uttered was quoted on behalf of one or other of the parties, and after a lecture in which, remembering the loyalty I owed when abroad, I had spoken with respect of the policy of the Labour Government then in power in Britain, I was startled to find myself hailed as a supporter by the Communist newspapers. Once again I was out of my depth in a savage political current . . . In the streets, on the quayside, the eyes were hostile . . . Nobody in Salonika smiled back . . . For the first time in Greece I felt I was taken for an enemy. The drum-beat in the air grew louder (Powell 1957:45).

John Press, writing from the Salonika Council office in December, 1949, (Editorial, The Record) commented: Here, in Salonika, we cannot cloister ourselves in an academic paradise. This does not mean that we should dabble in political speculation. The Record, by its very nature, is precluded from expressing any formal views on political affairs. Yet even those who fancy that their interests are purely literary or aesthetic find, sooner or later, that political implications lie folded in their subject . . . We can hope to exert little or no influence upon the jungle-world of barbed-wire frontiers, manipulated currencies, passports, visas and preparations for destruction in which we find ourselves. We can at least remind ourselves that there are other worlds, less hideous and more permanent, worlds in which science is not the agent of

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In Athens, however, it may have been less complicated. For the westward looking, sophisticated literary community of Kolonaki, Maroussi and Kiphissia, this was the period in which cultural ties between Greece and Britain were strongest. A galaxy of literary figures served after the war at the British Council in Athens. They were headed by the historian of Byzantium Steven Runciman . . . and included Patrick Leigh Fermor and the writer Rex Warner . . . These men were friends of George Seferis, George Katsimbalis . . . and Ghika . . . Later the city and its environs continued to attract the brighter literary stars in and outside the British Council firmament, including Robert Liddell, Francis King, John Fowles and Barry Unsworth. (Llewellyn Smith 2004:205-6).

Seferis and Sikelianos lectured at the British Council Institute. 1948 saw the publication of George Seferis’ The King of Asine and Other Poems, translated by Bernard Spencer, Nanos Valaoritis, and Lawrence Durrell, with an introduction by Rex Warner. In 1946 Nikos Kazantzakis visited Britain (a British Council visit; his travel journal England was written after a tour in 1939). When he arrived on 8th June, 1946, there was no one to meet him at the station, but after that bad start he was taken care of very well. He loved Cambridge, much more than London. On 24th June he went to a poetic evening, “where three Harpylike magpies with huge jawbones made in England shook themselves from their lethargy and began reciting verses with pathos. And then they fell back into their lethargy. I believe there is nothing more ridiculous than mediocre poetry” (Kazantzakis 1968:445-6). At the end of August the British Council man was annoyed that their guest had cabled his vote (in the Plebiscite) in support of the Republic. “You promised us not to get involved in politics during your stay in England”. Kazantzakis was forced to explain that he had not given up his civil rights when he accepted their amiable invitation. “To take part in a plebiscite on which the future of one’s country depends is, it seems to me, the foremost duty of any responsible person!” (Kazantzakis 1968:453-4) Rex Warner’s novel Men of Stones (1949) was a disturbing and thought-provoking political and philosophical allegory set on an island prison (formerly a medieval castle). The novel, inspired no doubt by events in Greece, explores concepts of totalitarianism and freedom. Mr 3

At the end of his editorial, Press wishes readers a happy Christmas “and, in the New Year, the peace which they have so long desired”.

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Goat, “a young lecturer in literature attached to one of the foreign cultural missions” (a little like Guy Pringle in Bucharest) goes to the island, with his liberal ideals, to assist the Governor with his disguised prison reform project, directing the prisoners in a production of King Lear. Once there, he has an affair with the prison governor’s wife, Maria. Finally, he himself is obliged to perform the role of Lear, and Maria the part of Cordelia. At the end of the performance, her dead body is placed in Lear’s arms. She has been killed by the governor, a mad dictator intent on seizing power. Attending the performance is the director of the foreign cultural mission, Colonel Felson, who has responsibility for Mr Goat. Felson thinks only of the Mission’s role, “more important than all else was his simple directive—to be non-political”. Mr Goat is killed in the ensuing bombardment of the island by the Governor’s political rival, which marks the beginning of civil war. Colonel Felson reflects that “this temporary discouragement should not be allowed to affect in any way the existing arrangements for the future of the Mission.” (Warner 1949:223) A year later Rex Warner published Views of Attica and its Surroundings (1950), with a chapter on The British Institute in Athens. In 1950 the British Institutes were re-amalgamated with the British Council offices in Athens and Thessaloniki and the Council moved into new buildings in Kolonaki Square. Francis King had begun working for the British Council as lecturer abroad in 1949 in Florence. From 1950-52 he was in Thessaloniki, and then moved to the British Institute, Athens, to teach English language and literature (1953-7). His Yesterday Came Suddenly (1993) is a goldmine of gossip and information. King wrote: There was a time when it was common for the British Council to recruit distinguished writers or scholars for limited periods of service. Such people often either knew nothing of administration or, if they did, could not be bothered with it. This was irritating to the administrators of the London office, so that gradually a “career structure” came to be created, with council staff all too often being recruited from the sort of people who were either too undistinguished to become diplomatists or too adventurous to become civil servants. These bureaucrats were dab hands at submitting estimates and writing reports; unlike so many of the amateurs before them, they were hard-working, punctilious and efficient. But whereas, in Greece, a whole succession of these bureaucrats have been instantly forgotten on their departure from the country, it was a long time before people forgot such “characters” as Steven Runciman, Rex Warner, Louis MacNeice and, after my own day, Peter Levi. (King 1993:128)

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Of MacNeice, who was on secondment to the British Council, Athens, from the BBC, King wrote, “he had even less to do than I had, and unlike myself, he could not be bothered to do it” (King 1993:127). The title story of Francis King’s collection of short stories, So Hurt and Humiliated (1959) conveys the atmosphere of the British Council in Greece at that period. In 1952 John Fowles, recruited as a teacher by the British Council, arrived in Athens, en route to Spetsai. “I found the British Council, met Ball, the Educational Representative, a bespectacled, balding, brushmoustachio’d civil servant, frigid and unhelpful” (Fowles 2003:145). He met Denys Sharrocks (Senior English teacher), on 2nd January 1952 in Athens. I was fortunate in my chance-brought colleague, and now old friend, Denys Sharrocks. He was exceptionally well-read, and far wiser in the ways of the Greeks than myself. He first took me to the villa [on Spetsai]. He had recently decided to kill a literary ambition of his own . . . The Greece of the islands is Circe still; no place for the artist-voyager to linger long, if he cares for his soul (Fowles 1997 [1977]:7, 9).

In 1955 the British Council’s Corfu branch closed, Marie Aspioti submitted her resignation as Director of the Corfu Institute, and returned her MBE. The list of British Council events in Corfu marked an impressive contribution to the development of Corfu’s intellectual and artistic activities, including lectures, literary readings, drama, musical and film events. As Charles Climis writes in The Illustrated History of Corfu: “The British Council hosted a major post-war effort to keep the intellectual standards to a level, if not raise them, considering always the dire circumstances.” (Climis 1994:127) I was able to inspect part of the archive of the British Council, Corfu, at the home of Ioanna Desylla, on 7th August 2009. Some of the visitors’ signatures included Patrick Leigh Fermor (1953), Anthony Blunt (23rd November 1953), Queen Frederika and King Paul, and Mountbatten of Burma. A letter of 30th November 1944 from Marie Aspioti, as Director of the British Council Corfu Institute to the British Council in Athens states: We shall not be using our Zld8b5 Allocation this year. The reason is that I do not want to put our friends in a difficult position. Recently I asked one

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of our former contributors to give us a short story for the 10th issue of Prospero. He refused because of the Cyprus situation.4

A bomb exploded at the British Institute in Athens: “On one occasion, I gave a New Year party for my students, soon after a bomb had exploded at the Institute (planted over the Christmas holiday). It killed no one but caused extensive damage” (King 1993:141). 1955 saw the publication of My Son is in the Mountains, a novel by Daniel Nash (W.R. Loader, 1916-1973, who had joined the British Council in 1946), involving Derek Gordon, a lecturer at the British Institute, Salonika in the period of the Greek Civil War. It describes the Communist underground and guerillas against the Monarcho-Fascists and plutocrats, killings, acts of sabotage and bombings, including the attempted bombing of the British Consulate-General, and attempted strikes by the Democratic Army against Edessa and Salonika. Chapter Eight is of particular interest in terms of the pretensions of cultural relations work. The Director of the Council, “a shortish, plump man, with a shining pink face and a head that was developing a tonsure of baldness” stands at the lectern in the library, with his back to the grand piano, and finishes his lecture to a small audience, on “Aspects of British Culture”, with the words: It would be improper for me to reflect on the political cleavage which now divides this country, but may I say what a great joy it is to me that here in the Institute we have one piece of, as it were, neutral territory where political opponents may come together and forget their differences in a common act of worship before the shrine of culture. Here we do not know politics. We know only the purpose of truth and the love of beauty (Nash 1955:126)

Reggie Smith and Olivia Manning had been in Athens in 1940-1941. Lord Dunsany (Edward J.M.D. Plunkett), appointed to the Byron Chair at the University of Athens in 1940, may have provided the model for the character of Professor Lord Pinkrose, in Olivia Manning’s The Balkan Trilogy. The Greek novel, Friends and Heroes, was published in 1965. Olivia’s husband, R.D. “Reggie” Smith—Guy Pringle—is often seen as the old, but abiding, image of the British Council lecturer. In 1938 Reginald Smith was, allegedly, recruited by Anthony Blunt into the 4

On Aspioti, including her contribution as Director of the British Council, Corfu, see the special section within the Greek-language Corfiot literary journal Porfyras (number 102, 2002, especially Papanastasatos 2002).

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Communist Party of Great Britain. He was apparently kept under surveillance and bugged by MI5 from 1947, as “a secret member of the CPGB” and as part of a communist cell within the BBC, which he joined after the War. John Fowles’ novel The Magus was published in 1966. I heard that the British Council were recruiting staff, so in early August I went along to Davies Street and was interviewed by an eager lady with a Third Programme mind and a Roedean voice and vocabulary. It was frightfully important, she told me, as if in confidence, that “we” were represented abroad by the right type; but it as an awful bore, all the posts had to be advertised and the candidates chosen by interview, and anyway they were having to cut down on overseas personnel, actually.

Fowles later explained that “The British Council had been appointed the agent of a boarding school in Greece, supposedly based on Eton and enshrining the spirit of Byron” (Fowles 1998:65). Barry Unsworth’s 1967 novel, The Greeks Have a Word for It, revolves around intrigues at the Athens Cultural Centre and the English language examinations. H. Jennings, the Director: Our position here is a delicate one. It calls indeed for something of the qualities of an, ah, diplomat. We are representing our country abroad, Mr Willey, in our persons England is being judged. It is, to use a rather distasteful modern term, our image that we must be concerned with. (Unsworth 1967:146)

Willey, a locally-engaged member of staff, is desperate for a permanent, pensionable, London-appointed contract, with annual increments. In order to attain this goal, he’s persuaded to arrange to have examination papers copied and sold to a handful of Greeks desperate to pass the exams. Barry Unsworth was recruited by the British Council as Lecturer in English at the University of Athens (1960-3). The same year that his novel appeared (the year of the military coup of 21st April 1967), I was in Corfu. In a letter of 29th December, Sir Maurice Bowra, Warden of Wadham College, Oxford, wrote: “Nobody could blame you for teaching at a school in Greece. What I rather dislike is people going there for a holiday and saying how splendid it all is.” In 1970 came the cancellation (or rather, postponement) of a lecture by Peter Levi, on George Seferis. In his book The Hill of Kronos, Levi criticised the actions of the Council Representative, Mr Ball (Peter Naylor, later Representative in Greece, told me he could never forgive Levi for his

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unfair treatment of Ball). The lecture eventually took place. Levi later wrote of the British Council in Athens: In the past, when it was staffed with poets and historians of great distinction, it had been a platform for most of what was new and good in the intellectual life of the country. Under the Colonels, it was mostly its German equivalent, the Goethe Institute, that played the part. The British were losing their old friends with a spend-thrift energy . . . The British Embassy, whose policy with George Brown at the Foreign Office was a devious combination of appeasement and commerce (Levi 1983:143, 157).

The British Council in London was less circumspect. It hosted a concert by Maria Farandouri on 11th June 1971, called Maria Farandouri sings Theodorakis, at the British Council Students Centre, 11 Portland Place. Two Greek secret policemen (spies for the regime) were present. The programme notes stated that “following the military coup d’état in 1967 and the subsequent banning of Theodorakis’ music, Maria left Greece and, to the cultural movement to promote Greek music, she has added an inseparable political dimension.” Songs that evening (I still have a cassette recording) included: Ena to Helidoni from To Axion Esti, Silva; Kleise to Parathiro (from Ta Tragoudia tou Agona [Songs of Strife]); Oi Evchai (The Vows, Sixth Ode of Andreas Kalvos); To Yelasto Paidi (from The Hostage and later The Theme from Z); the English folk song The Trees, They Grow so High (“My bonny boy is young, but he’s growing”); and Zavarakatranemia, the antiDictatorship protest song (with largely nonsense words aimed to bypass censorship) by Yannis Markopoulos, who had first gone to Britain in 1967, after the coup, to study modern music under Elizabeth Lutyens. Some of the Theodorakis songs dealt with the torture of political prisoners and, by association, with the assassination of a politician. From 1977-80 Peter Lloyd was Representative in Greece. “The days of the English cultural library would soon end, but it was still necessary when we were in Greece” (Lloyd 2005:292). He writes of antagonism in Salonica against the Council’s resumption of teaching English in that city. The Frontisteria Owners’ Association hinted at “undefined threats”. John Lucas, visiting professor in the English Department of the University of Athens 1984-5, notes sadly in his book that a year or two later, “the library was virtually dismantled at the whim of a Thatcher-inspired diktat: books were out, computers were in”. He was in fact appalled at “the cultural vandalism that led to the break-up of so valuable a collection” which was “especially rich in holdings by British writers who had spent time in

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Greece. Many of these were in fact inscribed copies, made out to the Council Library” (Lucas 2007:51-2). The early 1980s saw a series of distinguished lecturers at the British Council, Thessaloniki. These included Tony Harrison, Yannis Ritsos, William Golding, D.M. Thomas, Willy Russell, Alan Sillitoe and Ruth Fainlight, Malcolm Bradbury, David Lodge, Francis King, Zoi Karelli, Klitos Kirou, Jina Politi, Ruth Padel, Glyn Hughes, George Savidis and Christopher Logue. Musical events included concerts by Stan Tracey, Graham Collier, Martin Carthy, Magna Carta, Courtney Pine, Aliki Kayaloglou, and The Yetties. Seminars, with the Council as co-organisers, took place on the Conservation and Rehabilitation of Traditional Buildings and Urban Complexes, and Environmental Pollution. Theatrical performances included Donald Sinden in The School for Scandal. On 27th May 1981 a bomb, presumed to have been planted by the ELA (Popular Revolutionary Struggle), destroyed the British Council library and offices, Thessaloniki, after a showing of the film Death on the Nile. No one was killed by the blast in Proxenou Koromila Street. On 28th March 1984 two members of staff in Athens (Ken Whitty, Deputy Director, and Diana Economidou, Librarian) were assassinated by the Abu Nidal organisation or by the domestic Greek terrorist organisation called November 17. In an interview for the Diplomatic Oral History Programme, Sir Peregrine Rhodes, ambassador to Greece from 1982-5, stated: Two members of my staff were murdered. British Council people. They were all on our diplomatic list, which is one way to get round the bureaucracy. We knew them. Ken Whitty was the best known . . . It was a political murder. It was done because the Queen was in Jordan at the time and they didn’t like that, these people, 20th of November I think they call themselves [sic]. They wanted a British victim. So they caught our staff. You advised staff not to choose the same route on the way to the office, but if there was only one route you couldn’t do much about it. I’m afraid that is what happened to the brigadier recently. So they were just shot . . . We took a little precaution here and there but there wasn’t much we could do. (Rhodes 2003:42-3).

Peter Naylor, who was then British Council Representative in Greece, later commented about the killings and the gunman: “He was never caught. He was described as being of Middle Eastern appearance but he

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might equally have been Greek. The police showed little interest in pursuing the case.” (Waterhouse 2009:60)5 Although it proved on occasion to be a soft target for extremists, the British Council had won many friends, of all political persuasions. Yannis Ritsos generously agreed to give a reading for the British Council, Thessaloniki, to celebrate the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Foundation of the British Council (1934-1984). Roots of Romiosyni took place at the large Radio City cinema, on 23rd October 1984. Apart from his own work, Ritsos read a poem by Lord Byron, in Greek translation. It was also an occasion to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of his own first published collection of poems. There had been a close relationship between the British Council and the Benaki Museum from 1974. 1985 saw the publication of Thomas Hope (1769-1831: Pictures from 18th Century Greece, with a preface by Peter Naylor. 1984 is the Fiftieth Anniversary of the creation of the British Council and we are delighted to be able to commemorate the event in Greece in a way which we hope will be of lasting scholarly value. The seed of the idea for a joint publication with the Benaki Museum to mark the occasion was first planted in my mind by my colleague Kenneth Whitty whose apparently random assassination on 28th March 1984 appalled all right-minded people. He in turn had caught the enthusiasm of Fani-Maria Tsigakou of the Benaki Museum, a former British Council scholar (Naylor 1985:11).

A decade later the Foreign and Commonwealth Office published Vretania kai Ellada, including an English version Britain and Greece by Richard Clogg (1995). Clogg recorded that Britain was hosting seven thousand Greek students, about 2500 at postgraduate level. Every year there were some 70,000 enquiries about educational opportunities in Britain. The British Council has always promoted cultural ties between the two countries, and brings to Greece the finest of what Britain has to offer in the arts, through a wide range of events in music, drama, dance, cinema, literature and the visual arts. These are often staged in collaboration with Greek institutions such as the Megaron Mousikis, the Greek National Theatre, the University of Athens and the municipalities of Athens and 5

The Council’s Oral History Project, started by the British Council Staff Association and the British Council, reached an agreement with the British Library that interviews with former officers would be lodged in the British Library Sound Archive (sound archive catalogue www.cadensa.bl.uk, collection reference C1083).

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Chapter Six Thessaloniki. Through an extensive interchange programme the Council gives support to Greek academics and professionals in many fields of science, education, the arts and social sciences. It also assists their British counterparts to visit Greece (Clogg 1995:10).

1997 saw the beginning of a writers’ campaign against the closure of the Athens Library. Sir Michael Llewellyn Smith, who was British Ambassador to Greece from 1996-9, wrote that the Council “came to believe in information technology rather than books, and decided to close its excellent library in the mid-1990s, but was pushed into reverse by a vigorous campaign by local expatriate book lovers” (Llewellyn Smith 2004:199). But the issue did not go away. The newspaper Kathimerini published an interview with the British Council’s visiting Director-General, David Green, on 6th May 2001. Called Education, A New Form of Diplomacy, it was conducted in question and answer format: Q What’s the purpose of your presence in Greece? A The British Council has defined a new strategy. We’ll give special weight to our development in countries where there’s a strong interest in learning our language and more broadly for British universities . . . In Greece we have about 2,100 students of English . . . There are around 30,000 Greek students in British universities.

At a 2003 Stockholm conference on The Future Role of European Cultural Institutes in the EU, I gave a paper Mutuality, Partnership and Dialogue: The Long Term. I used to enjoy it when we had our own cultural institute building, as in Thessaloniki. At first we had a two-storey library, four floors of classrooms, a large lecture hall/exhibition floor, a floor of offices. Eight storeys. The library has now closed, the lecture hall has been subdivided, classrooms have been halved, I believe: no more itinerant pianists or chamber groups, no more lectures to the regular group of British Council ladies or circle of faithful Anglophiles and expatriates; no books to lend to the faithful borrowers (even though half the items in the book-stock were never borrowed even once, never ever left the building) . . . I became more interested in planning more ambitious, externally focused, nation-wide “theme campaigns” over a period of six to twelve months. In spite of that, as I am a bit old-fashioned, I believe we should have maintained libraries in towns where a comprehensive and up-to-date collection of books in English and about Britain is not readily available elsewhere. IF there is evidence that there is a real demand! The fashion is

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now for KLCs, high-tech Knowledge and Learning Centres . . . I believe in the importance of lectures and art exhibitions and seminars like this. But why maintain a large building to accommodate such events? Why not organise it in partnership with someone else, or in the context of a festival?

I cannot claim that my personal views about cultural relations work are generally accepted. The needs of every region, country, institution and individual are different. Therein lies the strength of the British Council. As an organisation it has proved to be responsive, innovative, creative and adaptable. The KLC programme was intended to create a global network of enhanced conferencing, learning and knowledge opportunities, targeted at young professionals and providing internet access, videoconferencing facilities and distance learning zones . . . but before very long most young people professionals had access to their own computers. In 2005 a leading Greek newspaper carried a feature by Stavroula Papaspirou on I diplomatia tou politismou. I am translating from an undated cutting in which Desmond Lauder, the British Council’s director in Athens from May 2003, is quoted as saying that: the strategy we follow these days is completely different from what it was in the past . . . From the end of the nineties, and mainly after 11th September 2001, the British government set an objective: not to push established British culture to every local elite—that had succeeded—but to cultivate relations of mutuality with youth, young people between the ages of 18-35, as they’re the future of every country. We’re trying to influence them, listening in to their concerns and anxieties and opening a dialogue with them. It sounds like we’re trying to lead them by the hand or to counsel them, but it’s only putting in practice the basic rules of psychology! . . . We have a slogan now, “less is more”, and we’re organising fewer events, but with as great an effectiveness and impact as possible . . . we’re not operating any longer as financial grant-givers, but as co-organisers with Greek authorities. But first we chose what subjects or themes we’re going to get involved in: in 2006 we will be giving priority to the question of the social inclusion of immigrants.

Three years later, on 9th May 2008, Athens News published a profile, by Mike Sweet, of Richard Walker (the new director of the British Council Greece, now Regional Director for South-East Europe), entitled Rebel with a Cause: The Council website had 330,000 hits in the last year. As many as 55,000 young Greeks will take UK exams coordinated by the council in 2008, and resources in its Athens and Thessaloniki headquarters are in constant demand . . . Over the past quarter of a century, Richard has witnessed the

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Chapter Six council’s transformation from an institution that largely promoted Britain and “British values” internationally to an agency providing a wide range of educational and cultural services in partnership with government and the private sector. The year 2009 will be the 75th anniversary of the British council and its 70th anniversary in Greece. Richard reminds me that the council, founded in the 1930s, was a response to fascism in Europe, an arm to promote British culture and values in the face of the growing extremism in Germany, Italy and Spain. “There’s still a small element of that,” he notes, “but today we’re about sharing the British experience. Now it’s a conversation rather than a lecture that we’re involved in.”

On 27th June 2007, Martin Davidson, Chief Executive of the British Council, and Lord Kinnock, the Chairman, gave evidence to the House of Commons, as recorded in Hansard: Martin Davidson: We are about to close our library in Athens, as you know. That has cost us between £40,000 and £50,000 a year for about 300 members. Lord Kinnock: With noble antecedents and great necessity twenty-five years ago. Martin Davidson: Exactly. It has filled a very important role for many years, but it no longer does so. We are moving away from that style of work and recognising that a very large number of young people in Europe with whom we are seeking to work get their information in a variety of ways. I think that making that shift and taking the money out and putting it into other things is critical.

In oral evidence before the Committee of Public Accounts on 23rd June 2008, Martin Davidson commented on the library closure and mentioned the large number of English language bookshops in Athens: “It would actually have been cheaper for us to give the books way in Athens rather than to lend them. We made a decision, which seemed to me entirely appropriate, not to continue with the library” (House of Commons Public Accounts Committee, 17th November 2008). In July 2007, eight thousand British Council library books were transferred to Athens University English Department. On 5th August 2007, Helena Smith reported in The Observer: the first visible sign of a cultural earthquake. Last week eight thousand books—the entire literary heritage of the British Council in Greece—were carted off to the English department of Athens University. Many of them are works by British hellenists, including poets such as Byron, or celebrate those who forged the bond between Britain and Greece.

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On 12th August, 2007, Martin Davidson responded (“Your Letters”, The Observer) as follows: The British Council is not “quitting Europe”, as Helena Smith claimed. It is simply doing what it has always done: using the most effective means to strengthen the relationships that matter most to the UK in the 110 countries in which we work worldwide. Libraries are no longer an effective way of reaching large numbers of people in western Europe. In Athens, we were paying for a library that lent just two literature titles a day. Our collection of 9,000 books, CDs and DVDs will now be available to thousands of Greeks through libraries and institutions rather than for the exclusive use of the old library’s 300 members. Far from winding down in Europe, we are engaging with more people by working with partners on larger education, science and arts programmes. Through our offices and programmes across the broader Middle East, we have experienced a growing appetite for engagement with UK culture and education. It is inconceivable that the British Council could ignore this desire for contact or the need to bridge gaps. (Davidson 2007)

Writers, artists, journalists, members of staff, former advisory committee members and other stakeholders, MPs in the House of Commons, auditors from the National Audit Office, language school owners and Russian politicians have all had something to say in recent years about the Council’s policies concerning libraries, the arts, public diplomacy, Europe, Russia, English language teaching, geographical and funding priorities and resource allocation, staff morale, communication, the achievement and measurement of impact, regional projects, strategic focus, the speed of change, repositioning and that old chestnut, cultural imperialism. The arts world was “in turmoil” at the end of 2007 (Dorment and Christiansen 2007). On 12th January 2008, over one hundred artists (including Freud, Hockney, Riley, Hirst, Hodgkin, Gormley, Kapoor and Whiteread) signed a letter, published in The Guardian (“Dismay at British Council Art Cuts”). The Council listened and consulted. Truth and trust can still triumph. Perhaps the Council itself has learned that “the first step is for us all to become better, more active listeners, to try to appreciate the other person’s perspective”. I am proud to have worked for the British Council for thirty-five years.

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6-1: Page from the Anglo-Greek Review, issue 1, 1946. Reproduced by kind permission of the British Council.

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Bibliography and References British Council. 2008a. Annual Report 2007-08. www.britishcouncil.org/annual-report/index.htm —. 2008b. Corporate Plan 2008-11. www.britishcouncil.org/home-aboutus-corporate-plan.pdf —. 2009a. Annual Report 2008-09. www.britishcouncil.org/new/about-us/annual-report-2009-09 —. 2009b. The Year Ahead, 2009/10. London: the British Council. —. 2009c. “Thessaloniki Office Changes.” www.britishcouncil.org/greece-about-us-thessaloniki-officechanges.htm. Accessed 2009, no longer accessible. —. 2013. Influence and Attraction: Culture and the Race for Soft Power in the 21st Century. http://www.britishcouncil.org/sites/default/files/documents/influenceand-attraction-report.pdf Canellopoulos, Panayotis. 1944. “My Friend Demetrios Capetanakis.” New Writing and Daylight. London: Hogarth. Cardiff, Maurice. 1997. Friends Abroad, Memories of Lawrence Durrell, Freya Stark, Patrick Leigh-Fermor, Peggy Guggenheim and others. London: Radcliffe. Climis, Charles. 1994. The Illustrated History of Corfu. Corfu: privately published. Clogg, Richard. 1995. Britain and Greece. London: Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Close, Reg. [1990] The Barrier. Privately published. Cull, Nicholas J. [2009] Propaganda? http://www.britishcouncil.org/new/Global/History_Propaganda.pdf Davidson, Martin. 2007. Letter to The Observer, 12th August. —. 2008. “Cultural Relations: Building Networks to Face Twenty-FirstCentury Challenges.” In Engagement: Public Diplomacy in a Globalised World. www.fco.gov.uk/en/about-us/publications-anddocuments/publications1/pd-publication/cultural-relations# Davin, Dan. 1947. For the Rest of Our Lives. London: Nicholson and Watson. Donaldson, Frances. 1984. The British Council: the First Fifty Years. Jonathan Cape. Dorment, Richard and Rupert Christiansen. 2007. “British Council: These Crass Bureaucrats are Placing the Arts in Real Danger.” 19th December, The Telegraph.

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Durrell, Lawrence and Henry Miller. 1963. A Private Correspondence. London: Faber and Faber. Durrell, Lawrence 1969. Spirit of Place, Letters and Essays on Travel. London: Faber and Faber. Fisher, Ali. 2009. A Story of Engagement: the British Council 1934-2009. Counterpoint: London. Fowles, John. 1997 [1977]. The Magus. London: Vintage. —. 1998. Wormholes: Essays and Occasional Writings. Edited by Jan Relf. London: Jonathan Cape. —. 2003. The Journals, volume 1. Edited by Charles Drazin. London: Jonathan Cape. Green, David. 2001. “Education, A New Form of Diplomacy.” Kathimerini, 6th May. Hoffman, Aaron M. 2006. Building Trust: Overcoming Suspicion in International Conflict. New York: State University of New York. Jordan, R.R. 2006. Writers and their Other Work: Twentieth-Century British Writers and English Teaching Abroad. Cambridge: Lutterworth. Kalvos, Andreas. n.d. Apanta Kalvou. Edited by I. Zervos. Athens: Papadopoulos. Kazantzakis. Helene. 1968. Nikos Kazantzakis: A Biography Based on His Letters. Translated by Amy Mims. G. Faber / Simon and Schuster. King, Francis. 1959. So Hurt and Humiliated, and other stories. London: Longmans. —. 1993. Yesterday Came Suddenly: An Autobiography. London: Constable. Levi, Peter. 1983. The Hill of Kronos. London: Zenith. Llewellyn Smith, Michael. 2004. Athens: A Cultural and Literary History. Oxford: Signal. Lloyd, Peter. 2005. Destinations Over Water. Stanhope, Co. Durham: Memoir Club. Lucas, John. 2007. 92 Acharnon Street. London: Eland. MacNiven, Ian. 1998. Lawrence Durrell: A Biography. London: Faber and Faber. Nash, Daniel. 1955. My Son is in the Mountains. London: Jonathan Cape. National Audit Office. 2008. The British Council: Achieving Impact. http://www.nao.org.uk/publications/0708/the_british_council_achievin g.aspx Naylor, Peter. 1985. Preface to Thomas Hope (1769-1831: Pictures from 18th Century Greece. Text by Fani-Maria Tsigakou. Athens: the British Council / Melissa Publishing House.

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Papanastasatos, Tasos. 2002. “Maria Aspioti (1909-2000).” Porfyras 102:513-22. Potts, Jim. 2010. The Ionian Islands and Epirus: A Cultural History. Oxford: Signal. Powell, Dilys. 1957. An Affair of the Heart. London: Hodder and Stoughton. The Record. 1948. 1(3). —. 1949. 2(1). Rose, Martin and Nick Wadham-Smith. 2004. Mutuality, trust and cultural relations. Counterpoint: London. Rhodes, Peregrine. 2003. Diplomatic Oral History Programme. Interview with Virginia Crowe. http://www.chu.cam.ac.uk/archives/collections/BDOHP/Rhodes.pdf Seferis, George. 1948. The King of Asine and Other Poems. Translated by Bernard Spencer, Nanos Valaoritis, and Lawrence Durrell, with an introduction by Rex Warner. London: Lehmann. Smith, Helena. 2007. “Outcry as British Council Quits Europe to Woo Muslim World.” The Observer, 5th August. http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2007/aug/05/helenasmith.theobserver Spencer, Terence. 1954. Fair Greece, Sad Relic, Literary Philhellenism from Shakespeare to Byron. Chivers: Bath. Theofilopoulos, Victor. 2009. “An open letter to UK.”. Athens News, 3rd July, 17. Unsworth, Barry. 1967. The Greeks Have a Word for it. London: Hutchinson. Warner, Rex. 1949. Men of Stones: A Melodrama. London: Bodley Head. —. 1950. Views of Attica and its Surroundings. London: John Lehmann. Waterhouse, David, ed. 2009. “As We Were: Excerpts from the Oral History Project”, New Horizons (The British Council Staff Association), November. West, Rebecca. 1942. Black Lamb and Grey Falcon. London: Macmillan.

CHAPTER SEVEN NOT ENOUGH TOMATOES: THE TELEVISION DRAMAS OF MICHAEL J. BIRD DAVID RICE

Despite having written more than two hundred scripts, and contributed to countless British television series in a career spanning three decades, writer Michael J. Bird will forever be associated with a handful of BBC drama productions set in the Greek islands and screened in the 1970s and early 80s. The phenomenal popularity of series like The Lotus Eaters, Who Pays the Ferryman? and The Dark Side of the Sun prompted some in the industry to dismiss Bird’s work as populist travel writing, and indeed he was once dubbed “the man who invented the Greek island holiday” (Wakeley 2003). Although clearly an overstatement, Bird’s creations did give the tourist industry in Greece a tremendous boost and not entirely by accident. Interestingly Greece was not the first, or even second, choice of location. In his original proposal, penned in the late 1960s, Bird had suggested setting The Lotus Eaters on Malta. He had written for a BBC series called Brett, which filmed extensively on Malta, as did a number of television productions around the same period. By the time The Lotus Eaters was accepted, Ibiza was being suggested, but with filming due to start in November it seemed the weather on Ibiza was not good. Tenerife was considered, briefly (Glynn n.d.; Bird 2002). As the discussions were taking place, Michael Glynn, the assistant producer, was going on holiday to the Greek island of Rhodes, and it occurred to him that Greece might be a better setting. Not often seen on British television, and not the choice of many tourists, Greece in the early 1970s was governed by a right-wing political and military regime—the infamous Colonels. Glynn says:

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Chapter Seven I was no sympathiser to their cause, I just genuinely felt the locale would be different and exceptionally good for the project. Everyone agreed . . . the Greek Tourist Board was contacted. They reacted with tremendous enthusiasm, realising immediately what excellent exposure and publicity they would obtain for potential tourism—an industry they were trying hard to develop and establish. They suggested that we should have a look at the big and beautiful island of Crete. (Glynn n.d.)

In May 1971, Bird flew to the island. The writer told Radio Times that he had taken a taxi along the coast and “as we turned the corner round a narrow headland, my heart lurched. In front of me was a town which exactly matched, in every detail, the town I had described in my script.” Bird asked the driver to stop and he got out. There was a shot in the script of a high-level view of the town—it was as if I had written it from where I was standing. When we went down into the town, it was almost no surprise to discover there was a bar with a pepper tree outside, exactly like Shepherds’ Bar in my script. There was even a lake just where I had put one in my imaginary town. Although I didn’t really believe in that kind of rubbish very much, it was hard to escape from the feeling that I must have been there before, perhaps in another life. (Miller 1978)

In October 1971, with location filming due to start the following month, the Association of Cinematograph, Television and Allied Technicians (ACTT) announced that it would “black” the production unless the BBC abandoned plans to film on Crete. They cited a rule preventing members from working in Greece or in the Greek dependencies while the Athens government continued to keep political prisoners. The BBC did not recognise the ACTT, but a number of camera operators were members. Ironically, Bird was himself a member, “though I don’t suppose I shall be for much longer,” he told a Daily Telegraph reporter. He went on: The whole thing makes me very angry. I don’t think unions have the right to make this sort of political decision, but even if they do the technicians are being wildly inconsistent in picking on Greece. There is apparently no objection to filming in Spain, Portugal, Morocco or Yugoslavia though they also keep political prisoners—in fact Spain more or less keeps the film industry going. Really if the technicians’ association was consistent it would ban filming almost everywhere. Certainly it should ban it in Britain in view of the large number of internments in Northern Ireland. (DayLewis 1971)

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The BBC was unequivocal in its response, and issued a statement saying: We reserve the right to undertake location filming anywhere, whether at home or abroad, wherever we judge to be the most suitable and appropriate in relation to the needs of the programme concerned and to our programme policy. It cannot be influenced in these matters by such political considerations. We therefore see no reason to alter the location filming plans for The Lotus Eaters. (Day-Lewis 1971)

Filming began as scheduled on 27th November and continued through most of December 1971. Michael Glynn recalls that the problem was overcome by using a BBC staff cameraman and other BBC staff personnel. Glynn says the decision created a few waves but the filming proceeded without any further attempts to boycott it (Glynn 2005). The Greek authorities took no chances and the cast and crew were shadowed the whole time by secret police. On one occasion, they returned from filming to find that their luggage had been searched (Ventham 2006). Shortly after their arrival, the Governor of Heraklion invited the production team to a reception. The star of the series, Ian Hendry, got drunk and told his one-legged golfer story, which involved an elaborate mime culminating in a spectacular pratfall. A video-screen was relaying film of the head of the military junta. The rest of the team were horrified when Hendry sauntered over, pointed to the screen and said, “He’s a barrel of laughs isn’t he?” Bird was relieved when one of the officials whispered in an aside, “He is a very amusing fellow, Mr Hendry.” (Bird 2005) Many people assume from the depth of his knowledge that Bird had some sort of history with Greece. In fact, there was nothing obvious in his past connecting him there, although he quickly developed a fondness for the country and its people, which explains why he kept returning. He and his wife shared an interest in mythology, but primarily Bird was a historian, and he had an extensive library of history books. The writer always immersed himself in a location and befriended the locals. Interviewed in 1977, Bird described how on an early visit to Crete, searching for locations, his guide took him to a little village high in the mountains. It was a hot day and as we sat under the shade of a tree an old man approached us from his house nearby with a jug of wine and a plate of bread, feta cheese, cucumber and tomatoes freshly picked from his garden. We were strangers, and his guests, and he apologised for not being able to offer us anything better.

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As they sat and ate together, Bird complimented the old man on his delicious tomatoes and the man asked what they were doing in the mountains. The guide told him and added that if they found the location they were looking for, then, once the television series was shown, the village could expect many visitors from England. The old man frowned. “How many?” he asked. “Well,” replied the guide. “If the kyrie’s programme is the success I think it will bring very many tourists to Crete.” “How many?” persisted the old man, “a hundred?” The guide laughed and shook his head. “More likely thousands,” he said. The old man’s worried frown deepened. “They will come here?” The guide nodded. The old man sighed and shook his head. “But I do not have enough tomatoes,” he said sadly (Bird 1977). The guide was not wrong. For many years after The Lotus Eaters, tourism in Greece generally, and on Crete in particular, reaped the benefits. After the series was screened the number of British visitors to the location, Aghios Nikolaos, increased by 180 percent (Miller 1978). As the series sold around the world, the initial upsurge in British tourists was mirrored by an influx of visitors from every country in which it was shown. When it was screened in Australia so many people wanted to visit Greece that Qantas had to lay on extra flights (Wakeley 2003). The Greek Tourist Office was situated in Regent Street near the offices of Bird’s literary agents, and the Greeks were keen to have a follow-up series, offering artistic and financial assistance (Wakeley 2003). Bird told Radio Times that it was on a return visit to Aghios Nikolaos that the idea for his next creation virtually fell into his lap. He was talking to tourists who were there because of The Lotus Eaters and a man told him it was the first time he had been back since the war, when he fought with the resistance. From that chance remark, and Bird’s incredible imagination, grew the plot for his next creation—Who Pays the Ferryman? (Miller 1978) The political climate in Greece had changed with the ending of the military junta in 1974, so when filming for the new series began in 1977 the cast and crew were not shadowed as they had been previously. The Greek Film Centre appointed Petros Raptis to oversee their involvement in the production and his presence helped considerably (Bird 2005). Raptis says he first met Bird when he came to Crete seeking locations and they became good friends. They took time out to visit the grave of Greek author Nikos Kazantzakis on the Venetian city wall in Heraklion, and Raptis says: Michael was moved by viewing the final resting place of his favourite author and he read and re-read, in a whisper in Greek, the phrase, which

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was inscribed on the marble: I believe in nothing. I am frightened of nothing. I am free. (Raptis 2004)

Who Pays the Ferryman? was screened in the autumn and winter of 1977. In the days before British television became saturated with travel series and programmes about people selling up to live abroad, it gave viewers a taste of Mediterranean sunshine when the weather was at its most bleak. It was a scheduling ploy that would be repeated with future Michael Bird creations, and almost certainly contributed to the show’s popularity. The soundtrack, by Greek composer Yannis Markopoulos, became a phenomenon in its own right. The theme made the British music charts in December 1977, reaching number eleven, and its popularity was repeated throughout Europe, in Canada and Australia when the series was screened there. From the Greeks’ point of view, it was another great success and the location, the Cretan village of Elounda, became a place of pilgrimage for viewers from all over the world, many of whom have returned year after year. The BBC was also pleased. The series sold around the world and made them a great deal of money. It spawned book, record and video spinoffs (the only one of Bird’s creations to be released on BBC video). Sales of the book earned the writer more than his scripts (Wakeley 2003) and over thirty years later the book is still in print, published by the Greek Efstathiadis Group. In 2000 the soundtrack album was re-released on CD by EMI Greece and when the series was finally released on DVD in Holland, in February 2006, it sold out within the first week. For his next creation, The Aphrodite Inheritance, Bird switched his, and the viewers’, attention to Cyprus for a more light-hearted, romantic tale in which the gods made a plaything of the young hero to extract their revenge on those who meddled where they had no business. The series was well received and further bolstered Bird’s reputation for putting holiday destinations on the map. With two major drama series to his credit, and production of The Aphrodite Inheritance well advanced, Bird must have felt that, if not the world, then the Aegean at least was his oyster when, early in 1978, he pitched his most ambitious proposal yet to the BBC. It was for a ten-part action thriller about the hijack of a luxury Greek hotel by gunmen who demand the release of terrorists imprisoned around the world and fifty million in uncut diamonds. The writer called it Hotel Armageddon. The BBC had covered a third of the cost of Who Pays The Ferryman? with sponsorship, in cash and kind, from the National Tourist Organisation of Greece (NTOG). Since the BBC’s charter prohibited co-production with a tourist organisation or government agency, Bird had set up a company,

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Gryphon Productions, specifically to broker such deals. In return, Gryphon took a share of the overseas distribution rights. Bird wrote to NTOG seeking a similar arrangement in return for setting Hotel Armageddon on the Greek mainland. After the success of The Lotus Eaters and Who Pays The Ferryman? the Greeks were receptive to another project. Bird flew to northern Greece and visited Thessalonika to view a new luxury complex at Porto Carras on Sithonia—the central prong of the Halkidiki Peninsula (Wakeley 2003). It seemed the ideal location: isolated and including two hotels, a marina, a golf course and riding stables, all of which Bird would later work into his scripts. With NTOG backing, Bird approached the resort management and outlined the project. They were keen: the potential television exposure made it an attractive proposition. All the preliminary arrangements were in place and, in late September 1978, Bird flew to Cyprus for the filming of The Aphrodite Inheritance confidently believing he had his next project in the bag. However, in November 1978, just as it was all coming together, Hotel Armageddon suffered a major setback when NTOG inexplicably pulled out (Wakeley 2003). From the outset the Greeks had expressed interest but no great enthusiasm for the project; there had been concerns that the story might give ideas to real terrorists; but in the end they may simply have decided that a drama featuring wealthy visitors terrorised, held hostage and in some cases killed was not the ideal vehicle to promote tourism. Whatever the reason, there was little Bird could do. Encouraging noises are not the same as a signed contract, and he had no wish to alienate the Greeks. Not a man to give up easily, Bird kept the project alive for most of the following year trying to convince the BBC that Hotel Armageddon was still a viable proposition. He secured a £60,000 contribution from Australian Television, and by January 1980 it looked as though he had pulled it off. The Gryphon sponsorship wagon rolled into action. During February and March Bird negotiated with Olympic Airways and with Grand Metropolitan, who managed the hotels at Porto Carras. Olympic agreed to provide air travel for cast and crew for the location filming— forty round trip tickets, London / Salonica / London valid for six weeks. Gryphon guaranteed them a minimum six minutes, up to a maximum eight minutes, coverage of Olympic Airways services spread throughout the serial.

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7-1: Michael J. Bird, c. 1983. Reproduced by kind permission of Mrs Olive Bird.

In return for identification of the Porto Carras location both in the dialogue and on signs, notices etc. Grand Metropolitan granted the BBC filming facilities in and around the Sithonia Hotel, around the Meliton Hotel and elsewhere within the Porto Carras complex. They also agreed to accommodate the technical reconnaissance party for a maximum of fourteen days during June or early July 1980, and the actors and crew throughout the six-week filming period commencing in September, as well

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as providing rooms for a production office, make-up, wardrobe, storage of equipment, transport to and from the airport and use of electricity. Having invested so much time in the project, no one was more disappointed than Bird when the BBC appeared to get cold feet and started imposing more and more restrictions. When budgetary restraints began to lead to, as he saw it, artistic interference Bird’s patience finally snapped. After a heated exchange of letters with the BBC’s Head of Series Drama the writer himself pulled the plug and the project finally died. Bird told his literary agent Richard Wakeley that he was finished with Greek locations (Wakeley 2003). Success in brokering foreign sponsorships depended on the writer’s credibility, which he felt had taken a serious knock. It was important to him that when he said something would happen, it happened, and happened exactly as he said it would. Having been let down first by the Greek Tourist Organisation and then by the BBC, his comment was understandable. However, in January 1980, while looking at possible locations for Hotel Armageddon, Bird had visited Rhodes as the guest of the Hotel Owners’ Association. He had been very impressed with what the island had to offer. On his return Bird wrote to the president of the Association thanking him for his hospitality and saying that, although the BBC had decided that Hotel Armageddon would be filmed elsewhere, he was: most anxious to put all that we saw on Rhodes on to the screen, and I have drafted another entirely original romantic thriller in six parts specifically designed to be filmed on your island and to present all the locations, such as the old city, Lindos, the mountains and the countryside in general, to the fullest extent and as an integral part of the story rather than as mere background. (Bird 1980)

The series Bird subsequently created and pitched to the BBC was The Dark Side of the Sun, a tale of supernatural terror concerning the legacy of the Knights Templar on Rhodes. Bird’s interest in, and passion for, history made a story involving the Templars almost inevitable. No one who visits Rhodes can fail to be impressed by their influence on the island. Add to that the potential offered by locations such as the Grand Master’s Palace, the knights’ castle at Lindos and its Acropolis, and the story could hardly have been about anything else. Bird’s company, Gryphon Productions, once again handled the foreign sponsorships—hotels, flights etc. It was another co-production and Bird’s old friend Petros Raptis acted as Greek production manager. The Dark Side of the Sun proved immensely popular with viewers when it was screened in the autumn of 1983. Olympic Airways gave over

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the windows of their London office to a display promoting the series (Fig. 6-2). Bird was particularly pleased. He did not usually claim to be a writer with a message. “I am a storyteller”, he said in a contemporary interview, but added, “With The Dark Side of the Sun I tried to say something but it’s not important if people don’t see it. If they find it an entertaining fifty minutes that’s enough.” (Hunt 1983) And fifteen years later, looking back over his career, the writer singled out The Dark Side of the Sun as his favourite creation (Bird 1997).

7-2: Olympic Airways window display promoting the BBC television series The Dark Side of the Sun, autumn 1983. Reproduced by kind permission of Mrs Olive Bird.

Having ended his Greek period on a high, Bird continued to write. He worked, increasingly, for Yorkshire television, employing settings that were considerably more prosaic. But several years after, as he thought, setting his face firmly against further stories about Greece, the Fates drew Michael Bird back for what was to prove his final television credit. In March 1988 a friend and film producer, David Cunliffe, rang to say that he had a cast and crew in Athens to make a film but the script was terrible

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and he had fired the producer. Cunliffe asked if Bird would fly out to Athens and rescue the project. Bird loved a challenge. His widow, Olive, recalls that a week later they were sitting together in a suite in the King George II Hotel in Athens while he dictated the outdoor scenes to me. I typed them, one of the crew collected them, had them copied and distributed them to the cast. We were in Athens and then on the island of Hydra for a few weeks. When we returned to England he had to work out and write all the studio scenes. I don’t know how he did it but he did have an incredible imagination. It was quite a tortured production in one way or another and it is amazing it turned out as well as it did. (Bird 2003)

The film, called Out of the Shadows, was a routine romantic thriller based on a novel by Andrea Davidson. It lacked the magic of a true Michael Bird creation, but it did reunite actors Wanda Ventham and Antony Stamboulieh from The Lotus Eaters. It was a shame that it did not represent a better swansong to the remarkable career of a writer who had taken viewers on exotic adventures around the Greek islands, bringing prosperity to the Greek people and pleasure and enjoyment to the thousands who subsequently chose to holiday there. But for every winner there is a loser. Michael Glynn summed it up: I see photos of Aghios Nikolaos . . . heavily developed, in holiday brochures and each year hear of thousands of holidaymakers going there. I feel somewhat guilty for being partly responsible for spoiling the tranquillity, simplicity, beauty and charm when I first set eyes on it so many years ago. (Glynn n.d.)

The anxiety of the old man in his mountain village on Crete all those years before, worrying that he might not be able to grow enough tomatoes, is even more poignant when one considers how much things did change. On a recent visit to Rhodes it struck me that the plethora of souvenir shops in the old town selling foot-shaped pumice stone, Colossus fridge magnets and sachets of dried herbs were little different to the kiss-me-quick hats, saucy postcards and candy floss sellers of Blackpool. And it was somehow unsettling to drive past branches of McDonald’s, Marks and Spencer and British Home Stores on a Greek island.

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Bibliography and References Bird, Michael J. 1977. “Island of the Warm Welcome.” 5th-11th November 1977. Radio Times 217(2817):85. —. 1980. Letter to the President of the Rhodes Hotel Owners’ Association, in the author’s possession, dated 4th March 1980. —. 1997. “Another Viewpoint.” March 1997. Heads On, 21. Bird, Olive. 2002. Interview by David Rice. 6th August 2002. —. 2003. Interview by David Rice. 17th February 2003. —. 2005. Interview by David Rice. 9th May 2005. Day-Lewis, Sean. 1971. “BBC Threatened with ‘Blacking’ of Film Work in Crete.” 20th October 1971. Daily Telegraph, 17. Glynn, Michael. n.d. “Melting the Living Room Walls: The Golden Years of Television.” Unpublished memoir. —. 2005. Interview by David Rice. 15th November 2005. Hunt, Pauline. 1983. “Man Behind the Mask of Menace.” 15th October 1983. Cambridge Evening News, 9. Raptis, Petros. 2004. Interview by David Rice. Miller, Russell. 1978. “Myth and Mystery.” 23rd December 1978-5th January 1979. Radio Times 221(2876/7): 115. Ventham, Wanda. 2006. Wanda Ventham Remembers “The Lotus Eaters.” DVD produced and directed by Marcus Hearn. The Lotus Eaters: The Complete First Series. DD Home Entertainment. Wakeley, Richard. 2003. Interview by David Rice. 26th April 2003.

CHAPTER EIGHT BRITISH REACTIONS TO THE MILITARY DICTATORSHIP OF 1967-74 DAVID WILLS

Early in the morning of 21st April 1967, well before dawn, tanks trundled down Athenian streets. The nightmare of the political left in Greece had finally come true—a military coup was underway. Accusations of foreign governmental complicity rapidly surfaced. In particular it was alleged that America was comfortable with the idea of a right-wing junta on the eastern flank of the European Cold War battleground. Seven years of the Colonels’ rule resulted, with attendant restrictions on press freedom, as well as the incarceration and mistreatment of those regarded as threats to the regime. American writer Herbert Kubly had left Greece in 1966, observing what he called the “oncoming storm” (1970:vii). But many foreign writers were caught unawares, and struggled to make sense of the situation and how it should be inscribed. I have argued elsewhere (Wills 2007) that the majority of travellers since 1945 have compared what they found in Greece with the ancient past. One manifestation of this was that modern Greeks were considered to be politically aware and democratic, as befitted the cradle of European democracy. During and immediately after the Second World War, the Greeks were commonly portrayed as noble defenders of Western freedom. In 1940 Greece had been the only country besides Britain officially resisting the forces of Nazism. Once their country fell under Axis occupation, Greeks were heroic, most famously in Crete, in their efforts to harbour and assist fleeing Allied soldiers. This is extensively recorded in scores of British accounts: memoirs such as W. Stanley Moss’ Ill Met by Moonlight (2001); the travel writing of Dilys Powell (1973); and Who Pays the Ferryman?, Michael J. Bird’s novelisation of his 1970s television series (2006; see David Rice’s chapter in this volume). The statement made by the main character of Helen MacInnes’ novel Decision at Delphi is not untypical: “there were hundreds and hundreds of stray British

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soldiers left stranded here after the German invasion and not one of them was betrayed.” (1961:156) When relations between Britain and Greece became complicated during the Cold War, the Greeks continued to be seen as natural democrats, though the classical learning that had helped create and underpin this image was steadily disappearing as a feature of British education. The emphasis within travel writing on the democratic and therefore anti-authoritarian instincts of the Greeks reflected the attitudes of British and American governments, anxious to keep Greece from the clutches of international communism. In describing the Civil War of the late 1940s, Sir Reginald Leeper, Britain’s ambassador to the wartime Greek government, emphasised that the British army fought “some Greeks” on the streets of Athens (Leeper 1950:88). Leeper argued that “the great majority of the population” were opposed to a communist coup, and that “Great Britain would have been shamed in the eyes of Greece and the world . . . had we stood by and watched an armed minority seize power” (Leeper 1950: 113, 137). Tim Salmon, writing much later about his travels, laid the blame for the Colonels’ coup firmly on the victory handed to the Right by the Americans and British during the Civil War (Salmon 1995:8). With the perception of Greece as a location for the contest between the forces of democracy and communism, it was a natural setting for fictional espionage. In Hammond Innes’ Levkas Man a Greek government agent is obsessed with the idea that “we are ringed with Communist enemies” (1971:88). Such activities were sufficiently credible for the British readership of the 1960s that they formed the entire plot of some popular novels. The protagonist of Dennis Wheatley’s Mayhem in Greece, for example, uncovers a Czech plot to cause earthquakes that would “knock out every US submarine in the north-eastern Med” (1962:357). In the less sensationalist world of travel literature, some writers gave scant notice to political developments. Many had arrived in Greece in order to retreat to a “timeless” rural landscape. On the islands in particular, political turmoil seemed far away and transient. As the news from Athens finally filtered through to Corfu in 1967, Emma Tennant was reassured that “the feeling that things have been like this for uncountable ages will be as strong as ever it was here” (Tennant 2002:131). For Carola Matthews, the dictatorship affected Greek life only on the surface, literally: she noted the slogan “Long live April 21st!” on walls (1971:16). Matthews even expressed sympathy with the coup, finding merit in its imposition of the “peace and quiet” which in her view had been lost elsewhere in the world (1971:145). In contrast, John Waller recalled being

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“aghast” to find Greeks who were “resigned to the loss of democracy” (Waller 2004:51). The explanation the locals gave for this attitude was “at least the military have given us stability” (Waller 2004:51). Colin Simpson offered a more sympathetic version of why the Greeks had accepted the coup. They were faced with a situation where they had to give allegiance to existing political indiscipline with rampant chicanery, or to the neoCromwellism of the Church-backed Army offering what looked liked stability, or to Communism. What sort of choice is that, and what would you or I have done in those circumstances, knowing that the Colonels had what revolutions are always won with, the guns? (Simpson 1969:46)

Simpson refused to accept the claim made by the Colonels that they had averted a communist takeover. Too many Greeks suffered in the internecine strife with the Communists after World War II, too many Greeks are too individualistic to make Communists, too many are too wedded to the Church, too many owed too much to political influence in one form or another for Greece to go Communist. (Simpson 1969:47)

This was an opinion shared by Herbert Kubly, who pointed out that communists had gained only twelve percent of the vote in the elections of 1964 (Kubly 1970:viii). Peter Levi, filming for a documentary shortly after the fall of the regime, found “very little genuine support for the Colonels even in the remotest villages” (Levi 1983:188). Historian S. Victor Papacosma wryly characterised the American government’s response as a “dearth of pressure” (1977:185). This inaction was roundly criticised even as events unfolded. Kubly, for example, noted with disapproval the US-influenced loans to the Junta by the World Bank (Kubly 1970:viii). Nevertheless, Kubly recognised that it was unlikely the US had had encouraged the Colonels’ plans (1970:ix). Later commentators have agreed that “there is no evidence of American complicity in the coup” (Iatrides 2003:92). The realisation that the US would not intervene no doubt increased the sense of futility within Greece about resistance to the regime. Mass resistance was also headed off by economic measures, as Willard Manus noted in his travel memoir: “subsidies and tax breaks eased the pain of working the land; money was poured into construction projects to provide jobs” (Manus 1998:144). Yet there was resistance, some in unusual forms and from unexpected sources. Eleni Vlachou was alone amongst the editors of major newspapers in refusing to publish from the first day of the coup. The

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offices of Kathimerini remained resolutely closed, despite the pressure Vlachou was put under to return to the newsstands, as she relates in her memoirs (Vlachos 1970). Lady Fleming, formerly Amalia Voureka, widow of the penicillin pioneer Sir Alexander, also refused to conform. “Tourists, remember: we would rather that you did not come to Greece now, that you did not help the Colonels.” (Fleming 1972:46) Fleming was subjected to imprisonment, repeated questioning, a trial and conviction, before her deportation to Britain was secured due to her ill health and the dual nationality acquired through her husband. Fleming took the opportunity afforded by exile to document stories of torture in custody. Despite the risks, student opposition to the regime gathered pace. This culminated in the occupation of the Athens Polytechnic in November 1973. The Times reported on the brutal suppression of this student uprising: “riot police and men in civilian clothes beat the students with staves and lengths of pipe when they tried to run away. Many students were kicked and beaten as they were bundled into police vans.” (The Times 1973) University teachers also faced violence. John Lucas later told the story of a left-wing lecturer who was spirited away to London by a Junta insider in order to spare her the “torture, rape, starvation, ‘suicide’” of prison (2007:109). The BBC, a bastion of the UK establishment, was accused of complicity with the political crimes of the regime. As David Rice has shown in Chapter Seven, the BBC’s plans to film a drama serial in Crete were met with refusal by a trades union representing camera crews. Filming eventually took place, with cast and crew finding their activities monitored and their luggage searched by local representatives of the security services (Rice 2006:40-41). Unlike island-dwellers, travel writers who lived in Athens found themselves at the centre of political events. One of the most sustained accounts of life under the Junta was given by Glyn Hughes, who entered Greece in 1974 in order to marry in an Orthodox church. Hughes immediately noticed the changes to the capital city: signs celebrating 21st April, tanks in the streets, military propaganda on the television, and police camps. He linked the attitude of the generals with those of successive British governments: the former had a slogan “Greece is not yet ready for democracy”, in the same way that foreign powers had consistently treated Greece as though “tidying up after a quarrel in a children’s nursery”, including forcing a German king upon them in the nineteenth century (Hughes 1976:143). When the invasion of Cyprus began, Hughes encountered weeping girls in the streets, panic buying, and the cancellation of all flights. With the collapse of the Junta, Greek newspapers reported

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that all Greeks were really against it, including the soldiers (1976:154-5). Whilst not approving of the dictatorship, Hughes criticised the West for its condescension, and he understood the frustrations with the previous Athens governments which had led to a coup. Similarly, Neil Macvicar laid the blame at Greek politicians who “put party and personal ambitions before country” (1990:137). Like Hughes, Peter Levi lived through the period in the “grim city” of Athens (1983:177). He describes himself as “a witness to what happened, to the dignity and obstinacy of the Greeks, to their gallantry and their decency in a period of nightmare and of darkness” (1983:11). From the galleries of the National Archaeological Museum, he heard the screams of torture victims outside. Constantly followed and occasionally questioned by the security police, Levi, as a volunteer for Amnesty International, assisted those on the run to flee the country. He claims that British officials disapproved of his actions, characterising the attitude of the Embassy as “a devious combination of appeasement and commerce” (Levi 1983:143). Levi praised the Polytechnic protestors as “responsible for the liberty of their country . . . their courage worked in everyone’s mind” (1983:181). Renée Hirschon, then a student of anthropology, found herself trying to conduct fieldwork in Athens under the Junta. She recalls that her “foreign presence in a disreputable urban slum, well known as a left wing and Communist stronghold, inevitably provoked suspicion”. As a result, she “was visited by security police on two occasions” and she took elaborate precautions to preserve her fieldwork notes: a carbon copy of each page was eventually smuggled to Manchester for safe keeping by a colleague from the British School at Athens (Hirschon 2009:193). There is truth in David Roessell’s recent claim that “the idea of Greece as lotus land was challenged by the military coup of 1967” (2003:275). But UK tourists were quick to affect a collective amnesia. Monty Woodhouse noted that “there was naturally a drop in the tourist influx immediately after the coup, but it was not long before numbers rose again, as it was seen that the country was safe for foreigners who were not too inquisitive.” (Woodhouse 1985:59). Subsequently, travel writers have continued to portray the country as timeless and idyllic. In 2004, for example, a book by John Mole was advertised as “sun, sheep and sea; ruins, retsina—and real Greeks” (2004: cover). Movies, such as Shirley Valentine in the 1980s and more recently Mamma Mia!, show Greece as a place of escape, self-discovery and fulfilment. During the Second World War, a conflict which defined Britain as the defender of the free world, Greece had stood strong against totalitarianism. Yet, in the late 1960s,

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Western observers had to come to terms with the idea of (certain) Greeks committing “systematized tortures [which] evoked the forgotten nightmares of Nazi Germany” (Kubly 1970:x). Travel writers emphasised that the existence and policies of the Junta were anathema to most Greeks. In an interview with Peter Levi, an unnamed Cretan schoolmaster who had plotted to capture the King and so cause the downfall of the regime stated that “I was born a democrat and I am a democrat and I want to die one” (Levi 1983:189). Yet the 2008 Athenian riots, the largest violent protest in Greece since 1974, resurrected the spectre of Greece as a fragile democracy. For the academic George Pagoulatos, “the failure of the state apparatus to provide effective fundamental enforcement of the rule of law has created an image of state powerlessness which further emboldens violent, criminal and terrorist groups” (2009:48). Writing for The Guardian, Antonis Papasolomontos reacted to other commentators who had contrasted Greece with Western European countries allegedly more stable in their political institutions and therefore more advanced. Greece is, so the argument goes, really just a third world country . . . But this view has no substance. Are riots in France that last weeks on end a demonstration that France lacks a viable democracy? Do race riots in Bradford herald the end of British society? Describing the trouble in Greece as an inevitability is a dated view. (Papasolomontos 2008)

Indeed: this was the same condescension countered by Glyn Hughes in the 1970s. Other journalists went further by arguing that more than politics was sick in the Greece of 2008: “one death has concentrated the rage of a dysfunctional country and the result is chaos” (Howden 2008). Many correspondents made connections with the period of the Junta: “the latent Greek contempt for the police, which has now erupted so volcanically, has its roots in the dictatorship, when the police were regarded as the colonels’ enforcers and traitors to the people” (Brabant 2008). The Colonels may, therefore, have been dismissed by Peter Levi as “the Marx brothers without the talent” (1983:135), but anxiety persists about what they revealed in Greek politics.

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Bibliography and References Bird, Michael J. 2006. Who Pays the Ferryman? Athens: Efstathiadis. Brabant, Malcolm. 2008. “Rebellion deeply embedded in Greece.” 9th December 2008. www.bbc.co.uk Fleming, Amalia. 1972. A Piece of Truth. London: Cape. Hirschon, Renée. 2009. “‘Home from Home’: The Role of the BSA in Social Anthropological Fieldwork”. In Scholars, Travels, Archives: Greek History and Culture Though the British School at Athens, ed. Michael Llewellyn Smith, Paschalis M. Kitromilides and Eleni Calligas, 189-99. London: British School at Athens. Howden, Daniel. 2008. “No Obvious Solution to Climax of Long-Running Crisis.” The Independent, 10th December. Hughes, Glyn. 1976. Fair Prospects: Journeys in Greece. London: Gollancz. Iatrides, John O. 2003. “The United States and Greece in the Twentieth Century.” In Greece in the Twentieth Century, ed. Theodore A. Couloumbis, Theodore Kariotis and Fotini Bellou, 69-110. London: Frank Cass. Innes, Hammond. 1971. Levkas Man. London: Collins. Kubly, Herbert. 1970. Gods and Heroes. London: Gollancz. Leeper, Reginald. 1950. When Greek Meets Greek. London: Chatto and Windus. Levi, Peter. 1983. The Hill of Kronos. London: Zenith. Lucas, John. 2007. 92 Acharnon Street. London: Eland. MacInnes, Helen. 1961. Decision at Delphi. London: Collins. Macvicar, Neil. 1990. A Heart’s Odyssey. Salisbury: Russell. Manus, Willard. 1998. This Way to Paradise: Dancing on the Tables. Athens: Lycabettus Press. Matthews, Carola. 1971. At the Top of the Muletrack. London: Macmillan. Mole, John. 2004. It’s All Greek to Me! London: Nicholas Brealey. Moss, W. Stanley. 2001. Ill Met by Moonlight. London: The Folio Society. Pagoulatos, George. 2009. “Some Thoughts on the 2008 Riots in Greece.” In The Return of Street Politics? Essays on the December Riots in Greece, ed. Spyros Economides and Vassilis Monastiriotis, 45-8. London: The Hellenic Observatory, London School of Economics. Papacosma, S. Victor. 1977. “The Military in Greek Politics: A Historical Survey.” In Greece in Transition, ed. John T.A. Koumoulides, 173-89. London: Zeno. Papasolomontos, Antonis. 2008. “Greece is Ashamed of its Rioters.” 9th December 2008. www.guardian.co.uk

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Powell, Dilys. 1973. The Villa Ariadne. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Rice, David. 2006. Michael J. Bird: The Life and Work of the Man Who Created “The Lotus Eaters.” Krasakis Press. Roessel, David. 2003. In Byron’s Shadow: Modern Greece in the English and American Imagination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Salmon, Tim. 1995. The Unwritten Places. Athens: Lycabettus. Simpson, Colin. 1969. Greece: The Unclouded Eye. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Tennant, Emma. 2002. A House in Corfu. London: Vintage. The Times. 1973. “Tanks used to Crush Athens Student Revolt.” 17th November. www.timesonline.co.uk Vlachos, Helen. 1970. House Arrest. London: Deutsch. Waller, John. 2004. Greek Walls: An Odyssey in Corfu. Twickenham: Yiannis Books. Wheatley, Dennis. 1962. Mayhem in Greece. London: The Book Club. Wills, David. 2007. The Mirror of Antiquity: 20th Century British Travellers in Greece. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Woodhouse, C.M. 1985. The Rise and Fall of the Greek Colonels. London: Granada.

CHAPTER NINE BELONGING TO TWO CULTURES: AN ANGLO-GREEK IDENTITY CRISIS LORETTA PROCTOR

What has the double-descended Greek taken from his father, what from his mother? (Kazantzakis 1966:167)

Caught Between Mother and Father: Elements of War There is always a question put to a person like myself whose origins take in two different cultures, in my case Greece and England. What if there was a war between these two countries: which side would you fight on, who would you support, who would you die for? It isn’t a hypothetical question at all. Inside me are two distinct and dissimilar people, two diverse and unique nations blended with effort into one personality and living under one English name. My mother the Greek, my father the Englishman, myself the blend of them both, their only child. These two were always at war with one another in life, uneasy truces made and alliances forged most of the time, as between all warring nations. They fought and tormented one another with a longing for each other’s company and yet a dislike that could at times amount to the hatred of Hera for Zeus. Which side would I support in a war? As a child it was always my mother’s side, the Greek side. We lived in England now and so Greece was the faraway land, a country that I had seen as a tiny child yet of which I had no memory; magnified and idealised by my mother because she was no longer there. Thus she filled my eager imaginative young mind with mythistorima, tales of ancient Greece, grand philosophies, stories of warriors and heroes both ancient and modern. Perhaps the greatest gift she gave me was an innate familiarity with the myths of the gods and goddesses, an understanding of which came so naturally to me that it was as if I had them flowing in my blood—which, of course, I had.

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9-1: Loretta Proctor’s mother and father at their engagement.

Arrival in Albion Britain after the war was austere in the extreme. We arrived from Cairo on a troop ship and made a first visit to Newcastle, my father’s hometown. It was a dark, bleak northern city, nothing like the vibrant place it has become today. It was the cruel winter of 1947 and my first ever encounter with snow. There are vivid memories of children on sleds coming down the steep hill opposite my grandmother’s house; sleds beautifully made from wood or improvised from anything to hand, that whirled along at a terrifying speed. I tried it once and that was enough perilous excitement. The roads were thick and dense and white with this strange substance, scarcely a person or a car around. And the cold. Oh, the immense cold after the warmth and heat of Cairo and Greece! My mother, dressed in a light coat for an Egyptian winter, fainted at the bus stop. We all huddled over the parlour fire. Grandma put huge stone ginger-beer bottles filled with hot water in the bed to warm it for me but still it was cold; chilling to the bones. Her old house seemed so dark, forbidding. The narrow winding

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stairs held a peculiar terror and I would wake screaming with nightmares. Where was the heat, the light, the glowing colour and beauty I had left behind? And above all where was the love? It was not only the physical cold of a cruel winter but the emotional coldness of post-war British attitudes that was so hard to comprehend. As a child used to the petting and extravagant expressions of love and admiration from my Greek relations, my Italian godmother and my adoring Egyptian nanny, the noli me tangere attitude of the English children was cruel and puzzling. They didn’t care for my desire to touch and hug. I was looked on as an oddity, blonde, clever and foreign, unable to speak any English. An alien from the outer space of countries beyond the sea. Within a week I learnt English in order to fit in. The Greek, Italian, Arabic, French with which I was cognisant, were banished to the depths of my unconscious, later to be re-learnt as painstakingly as any other student, my only advantage being that my accent was exceptionally good due to hearing these sounds in childhood. My wonderful aunts and uncles were however, warm and welcoming and friendly as only Geordie people can be. I was “hinny” or “the bairn”, their voices affectionate and gentle. The British warmth, it turned out, was of the kitchen, with its cosy black-lead stove and hissing kettle, the smell of scones baking, the kindly neighbour who never seemed to mind how often I clambered her back steps to beg for a cake or a bun. It was love and generosity of a quite different sort here in England and it was comforting. When it turned to issues of schooling, my mother took me around some of the local schools and she was utterly horrified by what she saw. She was used to the pleasant, airy classes of Greek schools and smartly dressed, clean children who took pride in themselves and their endeavours. She was also used to a high standard of education in Athens that was classical and all-encompassing of other cultures, languages and ideas even in the early stages of a child’s education. Here in England schools were stark, grey stone buildings with concrete playgrounds fenced by wire; ugly green or brown painted classrooms and corridors; children ill-dressed with runny noses and pallid, unkempt, unhealthy features. She was dismayed; I was horrified. We both thanked God when my father was posted at last to RAF Leeming in Yorkshire before the school term began. Yorkshire was home at last. Now the beauty, happiness and sheer delight of being English came upon me. It was something to do with the damp, cool smell of the earth, the rustle of the wind in the trees, the cheerful farmyard sound of the dawn cockerel in a neighbouring garden. Above all it was the blackbird’s liquid, thrilling notes in the early hours of the morning, a numinous enticement that drew me forth from my bed into

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a garden full of dewdrops and spiders’ webs. I had never known of these in the dusty streets of Cairo where I was born, nor in the narrow sloping streets of wintry post-war Newcastle. It was spring at last and I fell in love with the British countryside and have been its lover ever since. Nowhere else in the world is as beautiful. It is unique, this island, totally unique in its beauty. The weather? How would this island be so green and lush without its rain and sun and winds and clouds and all their constant ferment and changefulness? Later, of course, I was to discover that Greece was also beautiful with its vivid colour and light, the dark needles of the cypress trees arising from the pale ochre earth, the olive groves, the vineyards, the whites of the houses and little churches and magical temples like Delphi and the Parthenon. And containing, surrounding it, the liquid blue of sea and sky, all symbolised by the national flag. Yes, Greece is glorious too, a complete contrast to soft, gentle, greygreen England. It is the contrast of my parents within me. My gentle, sensitive, poetic father, my vibrant, vivid, dramatic mother.

Finding Greece in the 1960s I look English, speak perfect English and to all who meet me, I am English. That at least is a relief. I belong in looks and attitudes to the country in which I have passed most of my life. In Greece, I am a foreigner. My imperfect Greek, with what is often taken for an American accent, amuses and pleases those who meet me. When I first returned to Greece as an adult in the 1960s, people there assumed my fair looks indicated a German origin and were delighted to learn otherwise. A Greek mother apo tin Poli—from the Polis—the great old city of Constantinople. Why, the best Greeks came from there, the most wealthy, educated and respected! The memories of the war years were fresh in Greek hearts at this time; British soldiers still heroes in their eyes. I remember looking at the world map as a small child. In those days the large pink areas meant the British Empire and the astonishing achievements of this tiny island in amassing a great empire even for so brief a time. Greece had accumulated a vast empire under Alexander and its culture and learning and beauty influenced everything in the world and was the backbone of the Western civilisation. I was proud of belonging to two such great cultures. In the 1960s however, Greece was unexplored and almost forgotten. The Greeks had not as yet recovered from the long years of Ottoman rule or managed to become truly European and “modern” despite the efforts of

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the liberal and cultured Eleftherios Venizelos and later the right-wing Ioannis Metaxas. Metaxas in particular made every effort to stamp out what was deemed as “orientalism”, the traces of Ottoman and Muslim culture. Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the great leader of the Turkish state in the 1920s, made a far more sweeping and thorough job of modernising Turkey than the Greeks did of their country. He changed the old Arabic script to Roman, expelled foreigners, stopped using the fez and adopted a modern European style of dress. Greece seemed to lag behind, torn by internecine wars between communists and right-wing factions, struggling to come to terms with the influx of repatriated Greeks from Smyrna and Turkey who didn’t feel as if they belonged to the so called “Motherland”. The country was poor and people set in their ways, unwilling to change, exhausted and made apathetic by years of occupation, war and unrest. I made the journey in the 1960s to visit relations in Athens and Thessaloniki of whom I had heard much but never seen. My grandmother was dead by then and the only time I met her was when she came to London when I was about fifteen years old. She and my mother had no love lost between them and my mother only returned to Greece when her mother was ill and dying. As expected the Athenian cousins were elegant, cultured and had a beautiful home. Their hospitality was overflowing and their affection sincere. It was wonderful to meet my second cousins, Maria and Costas. We watched with tenderness Maria’s tentative courtship of handsome, blue-eyed Dimitris. Tentative because her father was strict and watched the two of them with an eagle eye. When Dimitris, who worked with her father for an Athenian newspaper, came round on some obvious pretext, the two young people could only gaze upon each other, slyly touching hands now and then. When Dimitris left the house, Maria would part the net curtains and watch him go with a lover’s longing. My mother eventually acted the role of matchmaker and the two became engaged and married. Athens was always considered the centre for cultured Greeks on the mainland. The attitude of the intelligentsia towards islanders and villagers was often snobbish and superior in those days—all those superstitious, half-pagan attitudes to life, all that dancing, eating, those crude lengthy peasant-style weddings, that terrible bouzouki music! Educated people thought of great things: philosophy, opera, the classics, the sciences, history and learning. And making lots of money so as to live in elegant style. Money has always been important to the Greeks and they have an uncanny ability to make it through industry, intelligence and determination.

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9-2: Loretta Proctor at the Acropolis. This shows how little crowded it was then and how one had a panoramic view of Athens.

My very snobbish mother and grandmother (snobbish because they had been educated at the superior lycées of Constantinople and Athens) had always looked down on the aunt and cousins in Thessaloniki. These latter relations lived in a suburb called Kalamaria. It was here that many refugees had settled; people who had fled from Smyrna in Asia Minor in 1922 or become a part of the later exchange of population between the Turks and the Greeks when Ataturk came to power. These unhappy displaced souls had been reduced at first to living in makeshift shelters and tents; people once wealthy and well educated and noted for their musical abilities. Now they lived, sometimes like dogs in someone’s back yard, taking any work available for poor wages, exploited and unwelcome. However, by the 1960s Kalamaria had become an integrated, pleasant village and the refugees now settled into the community. Sofia, who had

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married one of my cousins was from Pontia on the Black Sea, her looks almost Mongolian. Many of her neighbours had come from Smyrna (even my Athenian grandmother lived in a part of Athens called Nea or New Smyrna). My grandmother Nina and her sister, my great aunt Theodora, were born in Constantinople but both sisters had become adopted and separated when their mother died young. Nina got the wealthy relations, Theodora the poor ones. Theodora left before the exchange of population instigated by Kemal Attaturk and with her husband, Iangos Scarlatos, settled in Thessaloniki where they ran a very good drycleaners and dyers. They became prosperous and built a large beautiful single storey house with marble floors and a good garden around it. There a fig tree, an apricot, several pomegranate bushes and a grape vine made pleasant shade over the porch and the veranda. By the sixties, Iangos had died and the old lady had given half the house to one of her sons and lived in the other half with her unmarried daughter.

9-3: Loretta Proctor’s mother’s cousin Petros and her auntie Theodora, Easter 1967, Thessaloniki.

The aunt from Pontia lived a little further outside the main village. Her whitewashed house was small and simple, just two rooms and a tiny

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kitchen and toilet with shower. The toilet was primitive, a hole in the ground. A culture shock, perhaps, but what did it matter, it was part of the adventure of discovering Greece. I was given the best bedroom while the cousins and their two daughters crowded into the other room. This gesture of hospitality touched me, unused to such generosity. Here was the Greece I had imagined and longed for, my vision coloured by charming little pictures in my alphavitario, the little alphabet book from which I’d learnt the Greek letters as a child. I loved the whitewashed houses with wrought-iron grilles over the glass doors, the clean sweet-smelling rooms with their scrubbed floors and sepia pictures of old relations on the walls, the little yards with the hens scratching around and the cockerel singing out his kikirikoo, a sound I had not heard in years of London life. I loved to wake in the morning and hear the passing tradesmen calling out their wares of yogurt, vegetables, fish and other things. The fields full of long yellow grasses shimmered in the heat, the sky seemed eternally blue and it made me feel so joyful that my heart sang. The little village itself was charming with its small shops and pleasant passers-by who greeted one with interest and curiosity. Best of all to be able to take one’s towel and the little cousins for company, and just walk a short way down to the seashore. On the way we passed old ladies wrapped in black who sat in doorways with their crochet in hand, chatting and watching the passers-by and calling pleasant greetings out to us. How amazing it all was, so unchanged, so the Greece of my childhood heart! I loved Greece with a violent passion at this time and longed to return there and live forever beneath those clear blue skies and enjoy the lazy tenor of warm sunny days. I loved the simplicity and genuine community life with its friendliness, kindness and generosity; longed also to enjoy the delicious smells of food from varied houses at lunchtime when many women still went to the baker’s oven to have their moussaka and their makaronia baked and the men came home from the village and fields for lunch and ladies gossiped on the cool verandas in the afternoon over their tiny cups of Greek coffee.

Lost Glories of Byzantium Still burning bitterly in the Greek heart is the loss of their beloved Byzantium, the jewel that was once Constantinople. I recently went to Istanbul to trace records of my mother’s birth there and heard the deep resentment in the conversations of Greek tourists standing in the ancient and glorious Hagia Sophia, built from 532-7AD by the Emperor Justinian over the ruins of the church built by the great Constantine himself. This

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magnificent building is still considered as one of the wonders of the world. Alexandros Massavetas, the Istanbul correspondent for Athens News, has this to say of it: The beauty of its interior was legendary and it amazed travellers. The huge dome, symbolising God embracing the world, seems to float on air. It is supported by four immense pillars hidden in the building’s interior walls and buttressed by two semi-domes. (Massavetas 2007:22)

This huge edifice, the seat of the Patriarch of Constantinople, was the religious focal point of the Eastern Orthodox Church for over a thousand years. My visit to trace my ancestors led me to the Patriarchate in Phanari (now known as Fener), an area on the “Asian side” of Istanbul where the “Phanariotes”, the influential and aristocratic Greek families, once lived in wealth and splendour. With the aid of one of the resident historians, I searched through huge dusty tomes bearing the records of all Greek births registered in the Orthodox churches, now mostly converted into mosques, that had once graced the Greek areas of Pera and Galata (now Beyoglu on the “European side”), but found little information. However, I did know for certain that a great-uncle had become Joachim the Third, a muchrespected Patriarch who served in office from 1878-84 and then again from 1901-12. On hearing my request for information, a priest working in the library of the Patriarchate came over and handed me a book he had written on Joachim the Third for whom he had great admiration and respect. The book was given as a gift and one I shall treasure. So the visit was not entirely wasted. Sadly, the once prosperous and elegant middle-class areas of Pera and Galata are now seedy and run down, the remaining Greeks all fled after the Turko-Cypriot squabbles and riots of the sixties. The vacuum has been filled by a variety of immigrants searching for work who have neither the time nor inclination to do anything about the often dangerous levels of decay in the dwellings they occupy illegally. There are often several families in one house and buildings have been known to collapse upon the heads of unfortunate occupants. My mother often spoke with nostalgia of the old Grande Rue de Pera (now Istiklal Caddesi) and told me how she was taken shopping there as a small child. It is still a large, bustling and important street with many boutiques and attractive shops and a tram that runs its length starting from Taksim Square. We veered away from the tourist haunts and made our way through the narrow old streets of Pera with its steps winding precariously down steep hills, a different Istanbul altogether. We managed to track down one of the streets where my mother had once lived and

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found that number thirteen Kinali-kiklik Sokak was the one and only house missing, now a little playground for children. The whole area was crumbling and derelict and struck me with immense sadness. I was glad my mother had never returned to see her childhood haunts. She still retained her memory of them as prosperous, flourishing, elegant and beautiful and I had no intention of disillusioning her.

Greek Pantheist or Protestant Purist In religious matters the soul is split as in all things. One half a pantheist, a pagan; the other Christian more or less. My father followed no particular religion yet he often prayed and had a deep almost mystical spirituality about him. My mother had once been devoutly religious but no longer followed her faith and in some ways inclined towards a Buddhist way of thought as she grew older. I was baptised in a Protestant church in Cairo, attended a Catholic grammar school where I learnt to love the richness of the Mass, its scents, robes, rituals, Latin purity and music. When my father left service in the RAF, we came to live in London; my mother was hungry for city life and bored with the English countryside which never appealed to her. My father, a wonderful artist, loved to paint the countryside and it is from him that I gain a mystical love of nature. London dismayed me as a child. My heart was constricted by city life and the lack of green fields, hills and huge, open skyscapes. Just rows and rows of grey or red brick houses all looking identical and dreary. I was obliged to make do with a long, narrow garden left by the previous owner, but he had left it full of fabulous plants—a vine that bore grapes, wisteria, masses of rambling roses, evening primroses and marigolds. I felt I was in Eden. Flower gardens have been shrines and places of worship ever since. There were Orthodox churches in London’s Kensington where, in the fifties, the high-class Greeks from the embassies and so forth resided, while the immigrant Cypriots mainly congregated round Camden Town and held services in All Saints Church in Camden Road. My mother only once attended an Easter service at St Sophia in Bayswater in a fit of sudden religiosity. Both the church and the service impressed me deeply as a young teenager. I had never been in such a place of worship and was astounded and awed by the vastness of the dome with its image of the Pantocrator gazing down in majesty upon us little beings below. I loved the golden mosaics and was filled with admiration for the huge chandelier shaped like a cross, flaming with tiny candles suspended in the air overhead like the vision of Constantine the Great. However, it did not inspire me to turn to Orthodoxy any more than loving the Mass had made

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me want to be a Catholic. I was content to remain on the outside, looking on and wondering and marvelling. Later I studied various religions and philosophies with an open and detached mind borne from this cultural mixture of beliefs. Greece is said to be one of the most religious countries in Europe. The contrast between the attitudes to religion in Greece and those here in England is more than obvious. In Greece festival and church attendances are still high and linked with normal everyday life in a manner unknown in Britain. As many will attest, the celebration of Greek Easter is a beautiful ceremony to attend. I found it moving to watch the constantly repeated television passion plays on Good Friday, combined with the tolling of mournful bells from the local church of Agios Nikolaus. The day was spent fasting to a great extent and little was done. This total public engagement with the story of the passion of Christ had a strong effect. I felt my ego and my own identity slip away in the communal sense of sorrow. The gravity and quiet of the day gave a meaning to the Passion of Christ never sensed before. Clean Week, which leads up to Easter Sunday, a time during which the houses are swept, whitewashed and purified, has a sense of cleansing the Augean stables. It prepares both the physical world and also purifies the interior, subtle worlds of mind and heart to receive the sacrament. The whole event moves the soul through pain and suffering to the realm where one rises again from Hades into the bright world of the gods. It is inextricably entwined with pagan values and myths. The pagan love of light and fear of dark are interwoven into everything that is Greek and are always present in the minds of the country folk. Ancient superstition and belief in the Evil Eye has not been eradicated in all these centuries and perhaps never will. There will always be something deeply primitive and archaic about Greek religious belief. The churches, so simple and lacking in ornateness outside, overflow with golden mosaics, hangings and richness within. Their interiors glow with lamps and candles, icons gleam with silver and jewels. A diffusion of light amidst pockets of soft, warm darkness; an emotional and feminine image of Mother Church receiving her worshippers to her bosom and comforting them in their need. One kisses the icon as if kissing a dearly loved friend. Old women hang up little votive offerings and prayers locked in little silver hands and feet; and hope for the easing of afflicted ailments and sorrows for themselves and their loved ones. There is something ineffably moving about these messages, prayers and offerings. In these supplications for health and happiness we see the

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frailness of our insignificant, ever-changing lives pitted against the great, deep, dark elemental forces and energies once perceived as the Shining Ones, now embodied in the names of local saints. Nothing has changed but the names. There still exists that sense of human hope and perseverance despite all that the Moira, the ancient Fates, throw at us as they spin, weave and cut the cloth of every human destiny. There is heart here, heart and soul in this religion and in this intertwining of the old faith and the new faith. The Greek churches, even the most huge and magnificent cathedrals always feel human and at a level that can be approached by Man, just as the Greek gods were seen in human form with all our traits and faults and foibles as well as the noble and splendid virtues towards which we human beings might aspire. Humanity could become immortal through them and the gods in turn might occasionally stoop to our level and take on human form. As for the liturgy and sacred music of the Orthodox Church—often sung without any musical accompaniment and with heartfelt emotion—that is sublime: it transports one to heavenly realms, to Olympus and beyond. Perhaps it is a cultural issue, perhaps the influence of what one encounters when young and still formative, but the warm, feminine, lightfilled Greek churches do not inspire me with that sense of serene quietness and peace that I feel in a church or cathedral here in Britain. It is the strangest thing. One goes to a parish service in an English church and the seats are narrow, hard and austere despite the efforts of good parishioners to make colourful kneelers and hang rugs on the walls. The building itself often feels cold, dark, and damp and though not neglected in its fabric, often seems unable to raise the spirits of a dutiful congregation who sing their rather dreary hymns with half hearted interest and yawn over the sermons. People do not appear to belong inside an English church anymore. It is as if little real connection with true religious feeling exists, as if there is no heart and soul in it, just ritual form and social meetings and efforts to be “modern” with guitars and singing and playgroups and coffee at the back of the church after the service. Of course, there are very many churchgoers whose spirituality is deep and sincere—but this is how the regulated, undemonstrative nature of Protestant religiosity comes across to an outsider. Yet I’m sure I am not alone in saying that something mysterious happens when the congregation has departed from those small, often forgotten little churches. One enters through ancient wooden doors that whisper shut behind one, leave the sunshine and the warmth of the day to enter into a soft, cool, grey gloom within and immediately there is a sense of space and emptiness, peace and containment. Seated silent and alone in

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an English church, at that moment totally ego-less and without reaction to anything or anyone, there can be an experience of real connection to a peaceful, pure centre within, where there is no noise, no movement, just emptiness and stillness. And to my mind there is nothing in the world more beautiful than the great English cathedrals. They soar upwards into arches and spirals and curves and glory. They take one up to realms more pure and rarified. The sweetness of the choir’s singing, blending with the dignity of the organ, rises upwards into the vaulted roof and carries the spirit along with it. The connection with the fierce ancient Celtic gods occasionally becomes visible in gargoyles, a Green Man appearing here and there. But in the main our cathedrals embody pure thought, pure emotion and mathematical beauty and in this respect these edifices now seem closer to the ancient Greek temples which must have had a similar sense of space and simplicity and grandeur.

Shakespeare or Homer: Influences of Thought The two greatest influences for writers and thinkers arise from Greece and England. Shakespeare’s plays, sonnets and poems influenced me from a very early age. I could never have enough of reading these great works. My father’s best gift to me was the Complete Works of Shakespeare and I treasure it still. Father taught me about art: there were volumes on art everywhere in the house. He told me tales of King Arthur and Robin Hood and gave me beautiful old illustrated books which he would search out in junk and antique shops, for books were his passion as they have always been mine. His influence was elegant and cultural and inclined towards history, the arts, a love of beauty and beautiful objects for which he had a keen and sensitive eye. Mother, also an avid reader, preferred the romantic and passionate novelists and playwrights of European literature. She introduced me to a variety of writers: Colette, Flaubert, Zola, Gabrielle D’Annuncio, Moliere, Alfred de Musset, Blasco Ibanez and many others. The range of my reading was thus very wide at a tender age. I shocked my Catholic teachers with my knowledge of such carnal works! Homer, Plato and English literature I was to delve into more in later years. In English literature, Chaucer, the Brontes, Jane Austen, Mary Webb, the Romantic and Nature poets filled me with admiration. Along with John Keats I could say “Oh, for a beaker full of the warm south . . .”; but then again with Rupert Brooke’s “Oh, to be in England now that April’s there”. Thus never at

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peace in one place or another, always yearning and longing for the other half like a lover looking for a soul mate, searching to unite an inner split. A turning point: I came across the Cretan philosopher and writer Nikos Kazantzakis in my twenties. His famous novel Zorba will always epitomise for me the struggle to understand what it is to be Greek. In this stirring tale, a laconic, introverted English writer meets Alexis Zorba, a Greek full of the lust and drama of life, a man of almost mythical stature who is passionate, crazy, exuberant and unquenchable. The narrator, who remains nameless and faceless, is caught up by this man and experiences something of the passion and wonder of Greece. His life is changed forever by the experience. My life was changed with the encounter with Kazantzakis! All these writers and poets and their magnificent works have influenced me for the rest of my life. I wanted to write like them. They were my heroes henceforth. I began writing young: it was a way of exploring one’s psyche and understanding the “hows and the whys” of life. In the 1970s I began to try and understand what it really meant to be a Greek and what it meant to be English and in the end, what it was to be neither . . . perhaps a citizen of the world belonging everywhere and nowhere. From this was borne The Long Shadow, a story about a young man born from a Greek father and an English mother, a mirror image as it were of my own internal dilemma. Andrew, born into an English middle class home, cannot come to terms with who he is, feels a stranger everywhere and in the end makes his own personal odyssey to Greece to find his father and to understand his “Greekness”. He falls in with a down and out refugee family fled from Smyrna, people now reduced to prostitution and drugs but who play and sing the sad haunting music of the rebetes in varied cafes where nargiles, hashish and heroin flow along with the forbidden music. Through the love and loyalty these people inspire in him he, a strait-laced Englishman by education, finds the elusive Greek quality in himself through music and dance and through an understanding of the tragic, blood-soaked history of Greece. He reflects upon what he has learnt and says: It was not the old Greece that tried to shake off its oriental past and move close to the European idea as if in some way that might mean it had grown up as a nation . . . this was a raw, new Greece, simmering and bubbling and growing here in these dark, smoke-laden cafes amidst songs and dances of sorrow and pain. This was where new, fresh blood had been pumped into the Old Greece from those ancestral places so Turkish and oriental and yet so very Greek. From the plains of Anatolia, the lost homelands of Smyrna

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and Asia Minor flowed the blood of Greeks who had been there for two thousand years and were now displaced, exiled from their roots. Yet these people would inspire the old race and put soul back into it again. For the moment they were not acceptable, they were outcasts. The pain of their existence was not even about their poverty but because they were homeless, alien, Greek but not Greek. He totally identified with them. (Proctor 2006:310)

Here is where I find my own Greekness. The moment I hear the language, and hear the music, I feel my fingers snapping in rhythm and my arms lift with a craving to move and dance. It almost hurts me inside, so strong is the emotion and longing. It’s in the sound, a sound that carries the pain, the sun, the heat, the sensuality and passion of it all. And my Englishness is found in the lyrical music of Edward Elgar, which for me is the embodiment of the soft, mystical English countryside and the mannered, elegant and cultured ways of that lost England of the early Edwardian days. Such an ideal image of England will always be nostalgia, as will the lost Greece I encountered in my youth. It’s one’s fate as one grows older.

Changes in the Culture of Modern Greece Going back to modern Greece has no joys for me. Athens is now a crowded, noisy, ugly city covered in disfiguring graffiti. Where once the Parthenon stood proudly upon the Acropolis Hill and one could view it for miles around, it is now lost amidst blocks of flats and other high rise buildings. I could be in any European city when viewed from certain angles. Above all, I am dismayed to return to Thessaloniki. Kalamaria—once such a charming suburb with its simple whitewashed one-storey houses and little gardens full of shady trees and myriad pots of geraniums—is now destroyed, all those houses gone, sold off after the death of old parents. In their place rise huge blocks of flats from which issue the cacophonous blare of radios and televisions. Trying to find old Theodora’s lovely cool marble-floored house was well-nigh impossible but at last we located the spot. It was heartbreaking to discover that all that was left of the past was the old fig tree at the front of an ugly concrete edifice. “My father planted that fig tree,” says Zoe, but her brother George argues that it was he who planted it, buried a fig in the garden there until it grew to this enormous tree. I just stand and look over the balcony of the block of flats that has arisen in the place where the old house once stood

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and feel sad. I hear in my mind the crowing of the cockerel at dawn, the wind in the trees, the sing-song cries of the village vendors passing by in the early morning selling their goods. I remember the warm, sleepy afternoons, the soft chatter of the women seated in the afternoon shade on the old veranda. Now they have spacious, cool and comfortable flats. One cannot begrudge the family that. They all live in the block where once a single home stood. And they incessantly quarrel and are at odds with each other. They feel isolated and unhappy. They never see their neighbours now, living opposite in equally high-rise flats. Only one of the old houses is left across the road, overshadowed by fearsome tall neighbours but defiantly clung to by its owner. One day, that too will be gone. I experience again nostalgia for something lost forever. The cities change, the houses change, the way of life also with each passing generation but something always remains. Perhaps that something is in the countryside, in the groves and grottoes and the steep barren mountains, the wide rivers and the deep blue of the thalassa. Walking amongst olive groves, smelling the scents of the earth and feeling the zephyr wind on one’s face, standing on a vertiginous cliff top and gazing over the endless vistas of deep blue seas and skies, it is impossible not to recall pictures by artists such as Lord Leighton and Alma-Tadema who loved to create imaginary and idealistic classical scenes. And through their romantic imagination, fed in me since childhood by my father, fed also by the food of myth and legend by my mother, it feels as if the gods still walk beside me. These empty, unpopulated places far from tourists and noisy Greeks and their arguments and discussions are where the gods reside. Shining Apollo and Artemis are here in these groves. Neptune’s trident rises occasionally over the white horses as they draw into the shore and I wait with bated breath to see him rise out of the waves, sea foam spilling around his chariot. In the mountains one sees Zeus and Hera quarrelling on a stormy day or feel Hermes rushing by on his winged sandals, taking messages to Mount Olympus. In Greece I find the great gods of light, movement, energy. In Britain, the deep mystery of Celtic lore and Arthurian legends of the Holy Grail, where knights move through impenetrable forests on their quests and adventures. I have only to hear Greek music playing and it makes me want to laugh, weep, sing, dance, move. It stirs my heart and soul. I sit by the sea absorbing the scents of cypress, thyme and fish frying; animated faces around me, children laughing and crying—all one with them—and pouring through everything is the vibrant golden sunshine. That sense of utter joy

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experienced at my first encounter with Greece comes over me and my heart opens up again. I have only to be in England, listening to a tape of Elgar’s music, seated by a broad flowing river in long damp grass, surrounded by wild flowers and little butterflies, watching the variety of clouds scudding overhead as fast as the wind can push them along and the sunshine peeping reluctantly forth then hiding again like some shy girl. And here too my heart opens with joy. Greece I love for her passion and feeling, England for her peace and gentleness. They need not be at war, need never be enemies but can rest inside my own nature as two sides of a coin are joined.

Bibliography and References Kazantzakis, Nikos. 1966. Travels in Greece. Translated by Carl Wildman. Oxford: Bruno Cassirer. Massavetas, Alexandros. 2007. Going back to Constantinople/Istanbul: A City of Absences. Athens: Athens News. Proctor, Loretta. 2006. The Long Shadow. Rev. ed. Leicester: Troubador, 2012. Proctor, Loretta. 2013. Dying Phoenix. Leicester: Troubador.

CHAPTER TEN TEAR GAS AND PETROL BOMBS: CIVIL DISCOURSE IN CONTEMPORARY ATHENS BRIAN CHURCH

It’s tough being young in today’s Athens. Endless exams. Peer pressure. Deciding which policeman to throw your last petrol bomb at. Exarcheia police station has been attacked so often that it’s now No. 34 in the “100 things to do before you die” book. And No. 73. Usain Bolt credits his world records to working as a guard outside the central Athens station. At the same time, Greek society is the most peaceful in Europe, it really is. Only persons in power are pummelled, fuel for petrol bombs must be premium unleaded and all bottles recycled. I lived in the same road as Exarcheia police station. Kallidromiou, the “good street”, was under assault every week from anarchists. My Anglo stock in Athens wisely recognised the danger many decades ago and there truly is this sign at the British embassy in nearby Kolonaki: “These fire doors to remain unlocked unless the building is being attacked.” The Exarcheia police do nothing to stop the attacks. Doubting Googlers can type “Athens station attacked again, dear oh dear” and it will have been. Last night. Last time I looked, the station was next to a chess shop which operated normally except for its unusual opening hours—“10am to first attack”— and the warning that “Shoplifters and bombers will be prosecuted.” Seriously now, the shop has some great chess sets. The police and politicians do nothing because it’s all part of civil discourse in contemporary Athens. Talk, argue, have a cigarette or throw petrol bombs. It’s become a tradition, which is the most powerful force in Greek history. Dislike of Turks, hatred of vegetarians, hanging of taxpayers, the list is long.

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Introducing law and order probably wouldn’t work in this land of enjoyment and food, anyway. Witness ancient headlines like “Costas asks Jesus for a bit more pudding at Feeding of the Five Thousand.” Riots and protests happen all over modern Athens. As few as fifty people can close main roads in the centre, in democracy gone mad. We’ve even had riot police break up a pay protest by ordinary police in the main Syntagma Square. The guy handing out citizen’s arrests didn’t help. This is the place to apologise to staff at Syntagma Post Office whose astonishingly slow service I criticised for years without realising they had early symptoms of swine flu. According to Google Earth, the Post Office’s Customer Service Department and the Great Wall of China were the only objects on earth not to have moved at all between visits of Halley’s Comet. Many readers also believed my oft-repeated and malicious claim that Cat Stevens wrote Morning Has Broken after joining an afternoon queue in the Post Office. Not true, and the same goes for Please Release Me, Patience and If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold my parcel of Amazon books that I can see under your ashtray against me? A literal stone’s throw away, I was thrilled to report on the mother of all ding-dongs between police and anarchists, myself stuck in the middle and waiting to be tear-gassed or offered a sausage in the spiritual home of meat. I survived, but sadly never covered these major stories in Greece: x The American tourist posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for agreeing to referee the football derby on Crete. TV replays showed his body was clearly offside for the fourth goal. x Evel Knievel retiring in tears after watching Greek commuters perform his toughest stunts every day, including jumping over a row of burning buses outside Exarcheia police station. x The protester who put on two kilos during a hunger strike to protest against claims that the grave of the Unknown Taxpayer was empty. Demonstrations and strikes every day—and why not? The country’s political, legal and media classes may be totally inept but I never saw a fight between 1992 and 2006 and I went everywhere (in search of my lost parcel). Londoners and New Yorkers—can you even begin to imagine what that’s like? Never scared, never worried, total freedom of movement. Welcome to Civilisation. Actually, I once stepped between the local furniture shop owner and an angry customer, suggesting they channel their energies more constructively.

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Cue warm glow inside from the next day’s headline: Exarcheia police station attacked with vintage Charles I dressing cabinet, good choice of chess pieces. It’s important to give back to your community. It’s no exaggeration to say, in today’s pompous language, that Greece changed my life’s narrative. As a writer the plan for my future gravestone inscription was “Every word a step closer to eternity.” Now it’s “Wonderful Son, Great Husband, Terrific Mother.” Speak out is another lesson I’ve learnt. Greek discourse tends to be fairly direct, such as this question shouted at me in a crowded Athens hospital: DO YOU HAVE A STOOL SAMPLE ON YOU? And if so, where was it? So had I done one? No I hadn’t, but I quickly done one, I did do, yes. Direct discourse but not deep. Unlike Ancient Greece, debate in its modern counterpart is not intellectually challenging, and you also have to steer clear of the huge marijuana consumption which has plagued Greek courts for so long: “How do you plead—guilty or not guilty?” “Could you repeat the question please?” Actually, the courts are part of the problem as violent protesters nearly always avoid jail. The eternal dilemma—and I won’t be the first to point this out—is how to change the mindset without changing the soul. Apart from protests, the chaos is most visible on roads, which is why Formula One always tests its new starting rules at Greek village traffic lights. So what’s the final score? I don’t expect to see a cent of many years worth of pension contributions in Athens but it’s a fair bargain—Greek salads, red wine, friends’ laughter and Maria from Chios will take me well past 100. Greece gives more than it takes. It always has.

CHAPTER ELEVEN PROMOTING GREEK CULTURE IN HARD TIMES: THE ROLE OF THE HELLENIC CENTRE AGATHA KALISPERAS

The Hellenic Centre, a little piece of Greece and Cyprus in central London, aims to keep Greek culture alive and well in the host country. The feeling that the Centre is a home from home is shared by Greeks and nonGreeks alike. For example Victoria Hislop, an English author, has recently written in the London Evening Standard that the Hellenic Centre is her “second home” when she is not in Greece (Hislop 2012). What does it mean to be a cultural centre and promote the culture of countries that are now viewed in a negative light and no longer have the means to promote themselves? When our doors first opened some twenty years ago our events focused on all Greek culture from the days of antiquity to the present time and were very well received both by people of Greek origin and by the general British public. The British are great philhellenes and were delighted to attend our events. When Greece first started experiencing economic difficulties within the Eurozone and was dubbed “the sick man of Europe” by certain sections of the press, we felt some hostility in the UK. It is easy to blame a complex global economic crisis on a few countries. Fortunately we do have friends and a few journalists talked positively about Greece and its people so there has been some attempt to redress the balance in the media. In this climate, the Hellenic Centre’s role of promoting Hellenic culture is more important than ever. The economic hardship facing both Greece and Cyprus and the general despondency makes it difficult for them to promote their culture. We feel a responsibility to help even further. Our rich programme of events tries to remind people of the universal values and continuing vibrancy of our culture and we do our best to reach a wider and more diverse audience.

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11-1: Façade of the Hellenic Centre, Marylebone, London W1. Reproduced by kind permission of the Hellenic Centre.

Heritage from Antiquity Much of Western civilisation is based on the universal Hellenic values of excellence in every domain. The history of Western thought with its emphasis on rationality and the freedom to debate, the all pervading notion of politics including the word and concept “democracy”, aesthetics, the ideal of a healthy body and a healthy mind, can all be traced back to the ancient Greeks. We do not claim exclusive rights to that heritage as the ideas, the values and even the art, architecture and material culture from antiquity belong to the whole world. However we do have a unique

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connection to that period so it is with great pride that we put on events celebrating the brilliance of our past. We have organised a myriad of events over the years with many distinguished speakers and artists. Some examples are: a theatrical performance – both in Greek and English – based on the Apology of Socrates; a day-long marathon of reading and singing of passages from Homer’s Iliad with both professionals and members of the public taking a turn; presentations on archaeological excavations in Greece; lectures on mythology and the ancient theatre; and concerts and exhibitions. A prominent event to mark the occasion of the Olympic Games in London 2012 was the exhibition “First Modern Olympic Games, Athens 1896” which gave us a chance to show rare photographs from the archives of the Benaki and National Historical museums in Athens. These games took place in the nineteenth century but it was an opportunity to think about the true Olympic spirit from the time the games first started in ancient times, in Olympia.

Greek Language Classes The Hellenic Centre has a thriving Modern Greek language school for adults. Our students come from every walk of life and ethnic background, including second generation Greek. Their reasons for wanting to learn Greek range from an interest in the language and culture to the more practical need to speak Greek for work reasons or because of relocation to Greece. We share their enthusiasm for the language and want to do our bit to ensure that Greek remains a world language. We are pleased to say that our student numbers are still high.

Customs and Traditions One of the core ways of preserving and sharing the Greek culture is by our celebration of the annual Greek festivities – celebrated with enthusiasm and quite often with good food, by Greeks everywhere. Our awareness and attention to certain calendar dates is an important way of keeping the culture alive and we know that the effort we make to mark these dates has given a fascinating experience to those previously unfamiliar with our traditions. In the New Year, guests come to the Centre to cut the “Vasilopitta”, a cake baked in honour of Saint Basil. There is a coin hidden within the cake and it is said that whoever finds it will have good luck for a year.

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During the year we celebrate the Orthodox Day of Learning and the National days of Greece and Cyprus. Spring brings the Carnival with dances and masquerades and children’s and adults’ fancy dress parties. In the second week of Carnival we celebrate Tsiknopempti, the Thursday when meat is traditionally grilled so that the smoke “tsikna” fills the air spreading the news of the feast and everyone joins in traditional Greek dancing. The third week leads to Kathara Deftera, “Clean Monday”, and the start of Lent. This is the fasting season when people do not eat meat or dairy products but only vegetables and fish. On this Monday people go out in the fields with their picnics and fly their home-made kites, competing whose can go higher. Unfortunately we cannot do this in Marylebone but we mark the occasion at the Centre with traditional food of octopus, lentils, olives and calamari for lunch, and Greek music. After Lent comes Easter which we celebrate with hard boiled eggs dyed red to symbolise the blood of Christ. Before you eat your egg you have to crack it against your friend’s to see which one is the toughest and who is the luckiest. At Christmas, the Great Hall is decorated and we organise a Christmas Family Lunch when grandparents, parents and children come together and eat and play family games. These events, which mark the seasons, feasts, fasts and important days in the church and national calendar, are appreciated by old and young alike but are particularly important for the young as they experience the rhythm of the Greek year. We are also happy to welcome many non-Greeks who take part in our celebrations and feel part of our community.

Contemporary Culture Possibly the most important aspect of our work is showing the continuing vibrancy of Greek culture. We have held events celebrating artists that are household names including Maria Callas, Constantine Cavafy, Nikos Kazantzakis, Mikis Theodorakis and more recent talents like Alkinoos Ioannides. In the spirit of giving maximum exposure to diverse modern Greek creativity we have held exhibitions of photography and painting, musical events including opera with young rising artists and presentations by young academics. We held seminars introducing contemporary Greek literature, films and music and an exhibition of International Greek Fashion designers showed the success and flair of contemporary Greek designers.

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Equally important is our effort to promote the creativity of young people, giving them the opportunities to showcase their wonderful talents. Lectures by young academics, exhibitions of photographs and paintings, concerts of classical music and jazz evenings are some of the things on offer. This is our greatest enterprise and the most salient to the current economic climate and prevailing negativity. At a time when the suicide rate among the young in Greece continues to rise, the use of antidepressant drugs is on the increase and the general feeling of no hope shows no sign of abating, it is our role to show a different side both to our own youth and to the rest of the world. We need to show that there is still a creative and exciting side to Greek endeavour.

11-2: Opening of a photographic exhibition “Greece: Images of an Enchanted Land 1954-1965” by Robert McCabe, 7th February 2011. Reproduced by kind permission of the Hellenic Centre.

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Conclusion We promote all of Greek culture under one roof and bring together Greeks and Greek Cypriots and people from London and further afield to events which counter the prevailing gloom regarding the future of Greece. If there is a story out there that Greece is a burnt out case, we can combat this by showing that universal Hellenic values are still vital to the Western world and that the vibrancy and creativity of Greek people has not been extinguished.

Bibliography and References Hislop, Victoria. 2012. “Write Time, Write Place.” Evening Standard Magazine, 12th October 2012.

CHAPTER TWELVE DURRELL SCHOOL OF CORFU RICHARD PINE

The Durrell School of Corfu (DSC) commenced its international seminar programme in June 2002, the planning and implementation of its schedules, funding and premises having been undertaken in the previous two years.

Origins The founder of the School, Richard Pine, intended to inaugurate a study centre which would explore the work and preoccupations of the brothers Lawrence Durrell (1912-90) and Gerald Durrell (1925-95). He chose Corfu as the location for the School for two principal reasons (in addition to its natural beauty, the largely Venetian and British heritage[s] and its cosmopolitanism): firstly, because the Durrell brothers, with their mother and siblings, had lived in Corfu in the years 1935-39, and had written about the island: Lawrence Durrell in Prospero’s Cell (1945) and Gerald Durrell in the books which became known as the Corfu Trilogy: My Family and Other Animals (1956), Birds, Beasts and Relatives (1969) and The Garden of the Gods (1978). Secondly, because the history of Corfu exhibited many layers of influence, not least the fact that, with the other Ionian Islands, it was a British Protectorate in the period 1815-64, prior to the enosis of the islands (the Heptanese or Septinsular Republic, also known as the United States of the Ionian Islands) with the state of Greece. The fact that many of the sites associated with the Durrell family (including three villas in the vicinity of Corfu Town, and the “White House” at Kalami) were extant, as were many other features of the island referred to in the brothers’ books, was an added attraction.

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Funding Funding was secured from several private sponsors, many of them Irish (since Pine had lived and worked in Ireland 1967-99 and had many Irish connections), and from commercial sponsorships, principally the Athens-based Hellenic Bottling Company (distributors of Coca-Cola throughout Europe and Russia). Seed money was also provided by the Costopoulos Foundation in Athens, and some scholarships were awarded by Trinity Trust (Trinity College, Dublin) in 2004. Private funding continued until 2010, when the general economic climate precluded many donors from continuing their support, and at the same time the sponsorship agreement with Hellenic Bottling reached its natural conclusion. Since 2010, the finances of the DSC have been very much restricted.

Structure The management structure of the DSC has remained basically unchanged since its foundation: an Academic Director works closely with the Administrative Director and the Advisory Board in devising academic programmes, while the Ecology Director plans the “Gerald Durrell Week” which has become a major feature of the DSC’s annual programme. These positions have been occupied as follows: Academic Director:

Richard Pine, 2002-2006, 2008-2010 Jim Potts, 2007 Anthony Hirst, 2010-13 Position vacant (as at October 2013) Administrative Director: Alexina Ashcroft, 2002Ecology Director: David Ashcroft, 2002(also responsible for DSC technology) The Advisory Board consists of experts in the work of both Lawrence and Gerald Durrell, living and working throughout the world (USA, Canada, Australia, UK and Ireland); they contribute ideas for the academic programmes and most of them attend the seminars on a regular basis. The DSC also appointed a number of Honorary Patrons, who include David Bellamy, Lee Durrell, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak and Harish Trivedi. From 2002 until 2013 the DSC was housed on one floor of a mansion in the Campiello, the mediaeval centre of Corfu Town. This housed the Library (see below), and was the meeting-place for most of the seminar

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sessions. Economic pressure and the termination of the current lease have caused the DSC to vacate those premises, necessitating new dispositions which are currently in hand (October 2013).

Programmes Since 2002, the DSC has hosted over twenty academic and quasiacademic seminars and, since 2011, organised four “Gerald Durrell Weeks”. The DSC’s basic intention has been to organise three seminars per year: one dedicated to a topic associated with the work of Lawrence Durrell; one examining issues raised by Gerald Durrell; and one exploring the history and culture of the Ionian Islands. Many of them have a direct bearing on Greece and the Ionian Islands, reflecting Greece’s emergence as a new state in the 1830s, and its subsequent political, economic and social history, the development of Greek literature, the peripheral location of Corfu itself, its attraction as a tourist destination, and its current experience of rural depopulation, among many other factors. Each seminar is moderated by an expert in the relevant field. Seminar topics have included: x Globalisation and Nationalism x Translation x Travel Writing x Madness and Creativity x Borders and Borderlands x The Literatures of War x ‘An Investigation of Modern Love’ x Tradition and Change in Rural Society x The Amateur Naturalist x Cleaning up the Mediterranean x The Emergence of Modern Greece x Empire and Aftermath x The History and Culture of the Ionian Islands. In addition, a special seminar was held in 2012 to mark the centenary of the birth of Lawrence Durrell, to coincide with the DSC’s publication of Durrell’s previously unpublished novel, Judith. Participants have come from every corner of the world (excepting Africa): North and South America, Australia, India, and every part of the European continent, including Scandinavia, Turkey and Russia. Participants have come from all walks of life: academics, sociologists, journalists, historians, geographers, sexologists, novelists and poets.

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Moderators of the seminars and principal speakers have included: Roderick Beaton, David Bellamy, Reed Way Dasenbrock, Lee Durrell, Terry Eagleton, Nicholas Gage, Robert Holland, Sir Michael Llewellyn Smith, Peter Mackridge, Mustapha Marrouchi, Jan Morris, Ashis Nandy, Nick Papandreou, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Jeremy Treglown, Harish Trivedi. A list of all visiting and resident faculty can be found on the DSC website (www.durrell-school-corfu.org). In contrast to desk-bound seminars, the “Gerald Durrell Week” is largely an outdoor event in the north-east of the island, and ecologyoriented seminars generally visit relevant sites of interest. In addition, each seminar is designed to incorporate a study visit to a place relevant to the topic under discussion. These have visited venues occupied by the Durrell family 1935-39; the neighbouring island of Paxos; Liá, the natal village of Nicholas Gage, in mainland Epirus; on several occasions, the archaeological site at Butrint, in nearby Albania; and on a regular basis the “White House” at Kalami where Lawrence Durrell lived with his wife Nancy for most of that time.

12-1: Seminar leaders Professor David Bellamy, left, and Dr David Shimwell, right, with students at the “Gerald Durrell Week” hosted by the Durrell School of Corfu, 2013. Photograph courtesy the Durrell School of Corfu.

In the case of seminars oriented towards the work of Gerald Durrell, who promulgated the conservation of endangered species, the DSC introduces participants to the “Sylva” project near Corfu Town, where

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Sylvia Demetriades Steen has for many years bred in captivity the unique horses endangered in their native Aegean island of Skyros. In 2008 the Directors of the DSC were instrumental in the re-naming of a garden on the Esplanade of Corfu Town, popularly known as the Bosketto, as “Bosketto Durrell”, with a commemorative plaque and basreliefs of the two brothers.

Library The DSC Library, which has grown incrementally since its inception in 2002, is the single largest English-language library in Corfu. It consists of almost 4000 volumes, ranging from books by Lawrence Durrell and Gerald Durrell and their associates; Greek history, literature and sociology; British and American literature; other literatures; biography; history; and travel. There is also a considerable collection of literary periodicals. In addition, it houses a research facility consisting of an extensive collection of materials relating to Lawrence Durrell both in facsimile and original, including a wide range of theses, interviews, articles, reviews and personalia. In 2004 the DSC inaugurated a “Friends of the Durrell Library”, open to subscribers, who are entitled to borrow books (other than those in the Reserve Collection, which may be consulted on the premises) and to attend the monthly cultural evenings (March to June and September to November) at which talks, poetry readings and filmshows are given by speakers as diverse as the writer James Chatto (a Corfu resident), Daniel Austin (who adapted My Family and Other Animals for the stage, and presented it in Corfu in 2006), writer and musicologist Nick Papandreou, and Yianni Boutari (winemaker, president of the Arcturus Bear Sanctuary and currently mayor of Thessaloniki). The DSC has also hosted a large number of book launches, including Joanna Hines’s biography of her mother, Nancy Durrell, Maria StraniPotts’s stories The Cat of Portovecchio, Theresa Nicholas’s Corfu Sketches: a Thirty Year Journey, Eve Patten’s study of Olivia Manning, and most of its own publications (see below). Since the inevitable exit from its long-standing premises, the DSC Library is currently housed in the village of Agios Ilias, in the north-east of the island, where bona fide scholars may consult the holdings.

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Publications The DSC has published, or been associated with the publication of, seven titles emanating from its work. These are: Chamberlin, Brewster. 2007. A Chronology of the Life and Times of Lawrence Durrell. Corfu: DSC. Durrell, Lawrence. 2012. Judith. Edited and introduced by Richard Pine. Corfu: DSC. Hirst, Anthony, ed. 2014. The Ionian Islands: Aspects of their History and Culture. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Nostos: Durrell School of Corfu Proceedings 1: 2002-2005, 2008. Pine, Richard. 2005. Lawrence Durrell: the Mindscape. 2nd edition. Corfu: DSC. —. 2007. Creativity, Madness and Civilisation. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. — and Eve Patten, eds. 2008. Literatures of War. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Stephanides, Theodore. 2011. Corfu Memoirs and Poems. Corfu: DSC.

Associations The DSC is closely associated with faculty members from the Ionian University in Corfu, especially the departments of Music and Translation/ Foreign Languages, and with the nascent British-Greek Research Laboratory, based in the Ionian University (see Chapter 14 in this volume). DSC speakers have also participated in events organised by the British Council (Athens), and members are frequently in contact with representatives of the Anglo-Hellenic League (London).

Current activities For the season 2014-15 the DSC will host the fourth annual “Gerald Durrell Week”, based, as usual, in the village of Agios Ilias/Perithia in north-east Corfu, close to amenities such as the beach of St. Spiridon, discussed in My Family and Other Animals. Its advanced plans also include an international seminar on “Islands: islomania, ecology and literature” (date to be announced). Members of the DSC “team” (see below) are available by appointment for discussion of “Durrell-related” topics: contacts are frequently sought by visitors, and guided tours are arranged where appropriate.

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Richard Pine (author of Lawrence Durrell: the Mindscape) regularly conducts classes in works by Durrell such as The Alexandria Quartet and is available for consultation with bona fide students wishing to explore Lawrence Durrell’s Corfu and his literary output. The current directors of the registered company, the non-profit Durrell School of Corfu, who are all actively involved in its planning and operation are: Alexina Ashcroft, David Ashcroft, Sarah Drury and Richard Pine. Other appointments were imminent at the time of writing.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN INTERPRETING THE GREEK CRISIS FROM A BRITISH MEDIA PERSPECTIVE GEORGE N. TZOGOPOULOS

In the night of 4 October 2009 a new era started for Greece. The socialist party (PA.SO.K) won the national election and celebrated its remarkable triumph against the conservative one (New Democracy, N.D.). This triumph can be easily explained in a traditional two-party political system where one party can benefit from the damage of the other. Specifically, in October 2009, the image of New Democracy was seriously hit after 5.5 unproductive - if not catastrophic - years in power. At the same time, PA.SO.K’s leader, Mr George Papandreou, successfully managed to deceive public opinion by promising plenty of money to Greek citizens in order to attract a larger number of voters. The celebrations of the socialist party, however, did not last long. Its victory signalled the beginning of a long and adventurous period for Greece and the European Union. The economic crisis, which had been almost ignored in the pre-election period, was crossing the threshold of the country and that of the eurozone (Tzogopoulos 2012a). From October 2009 until the beginning of May 2010 the spectre of default and possibly of an exit from the eurozone was apparent (Pagoulatos 2012). To avoid official bankruptcy the then Greek government had no alternative but to ask for the activation of the bailout mechanism which had been decided in March. It thus came under close international scrutiny by the European Commission, the European Central Bank and the International Monetary Fund. Greece received a loan of 110 billion euros, embarking on an attempt to stabilise its public finances, reform its economy and restore market confidence. Its main obligations included budget cuts, a freeze in wages and pensions for three years and tax increases. However, the Greek debt soon proved to be unsustainable. New bailout packages were negotiated and decided. These packages required additional rounds of austerity measures on the part of the Greek

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government, locking its national economy in a vicious circle (Tzogopoulos 2013c). In June 2011, in particular, things took a dramatic turn. The Greek government had to vote for a new austerity programme known as Medium Term Fiscal Strategy Plan. In return, the EU organised an extraordinary summit in Brussels one month later to provide further financing for Greece’s national economy and avert a potential metastasis of the crisis to other countries, mainly Italy and Spain. This time, the European plan also included efforts to reduce the country’s debt by dictating losses for private bondholders. For the first time in eurozone history, the private sector was involved, entailing a haircut of Greek sovereign bonds. The percentage of this haircut was initially decided to be 21%. In the European Summit of October 2011, however, it amounted to 50% and in the eurogroup meeting of February 2012 it augmented to 53.5%. The final rescue package would be worth of 130 billion euros (Tzogopoulos 2013c). As opposed to other problematic countries of the eurozone, the Greek crisis has been a multi-faceted one (Tzogopoulos 2012b). Along with its economic dimension the political one became evident from the very beginning. The initial disagreement of the current Prime Minister Antonis Samaras and his conservative party to support - while being the main opposition party from October 2009 until November 2011 - the European bailout programme, was unproductive. Not only did it cause serious problems to the Greek government delivery effort but it also led to deep divisions in the domestic scene, writing off the term “consensus” from Greek politics. Only when the then Prime Minister Papandreou decided to quit after his unsuccessful initiative for a referendum, did Mr Samaras demonstrate a will to co-operate. Subsequently, a unity government was formed under Prime Minister Lucas Papademos (Tzogopoulos 2012c). The formation of a unity government after the twin elections of 6 May and 17 June 2012 was certainly a positive development. Nonetheless, the two-year delay for the two mainstream Greek parties to find common ground had already given plenty of time to smaller parties and various individual politicians to expand their populist strategy against the bailout terms in order to attract the attention of desperate citizens. As a result the radical leftist SY.RIZ.A came very close to winning the 2012 elections. Specifically, it managed to increase its power from 4.60% in 2009 to 16.78% on 6 May 2012 and 26.89% on 17 June 2012. Its representatives were, inter alia, suggesting that Greece could proceed without being a member of the eurosystem. Within this framework its leader Alexis Tsipras has been considered by Spiegel magazine as one of the most dangerous politicians in Europe (Spiegel 2012).

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In the first eight months of 2013 Greece was struggling to comply with its international commitments, being imprisoned in a labyrinth of recession over 6% and unemployment of approximately 27% and more than 60% for young people (Tzogopoulos 2013b). The mission of the coalition government, which was formed in June 2012 by three parties and is now led by N.D. and PA.SO.K is highly challenging. Four main factors can explain this. The first is the will of N.D. to apply additional austerity measures while the Greek society has been already exhausted by experiencing significant reductions in salaries and pensions as well as be suffering from poverty and unemployment. The second is the risk for serious disagreements among MPs which support the coalition government as well as the internal crisis of PA.SO.K which only exceeds 5% in opinion polls. The third is the continuous opposition of the radical SY.RIZ.A party to government plans and privatizations. And the fourth is the expiring patience of Greece’s partners and creditors for the country’s inability to implement the necessary reforms and deliver on its promises (Tzogopoulos 2012a)

From a British Media Perspective Greece is a country which can certainly attract the attention of foreign journalists in calm times. The history of the country and its contribution to civilization have been issues often discussed internationally on the occasion of various cultural events, publication of books and references by intellectuals, politicians and scholars. Furthermore, Greece does constitute an attractive tourist destination, and therefore, stories regarding suggestions for holidays and comparisons of prices have been of interest to readers. As far as news items are concerned, information on economic issues such as the budget deficit, inflation, investments and unemployment have been also important for a country which is a member of the eurozone and taking the impact of globalisation into account. This said, it was expectable for British journalists to deal with Greece even before the financial crisis and not to suddenly “discover” the country in its aftermath (Tzogopoulos 2013c). A quantitative analysis of the volume of articles published before and after the outbreak of the Greek crisis shows that four British newspapers accessed – namely, The Times, The Guardian, Financial Times and The Sun - had indeed shown an interest in the Hellenic Republic even before October 2009.

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13-1: Interest of British newspapers in Greece from 2005 until 2012.

But as the afore-presented table outlines, the beginning of the Greek crisis has been the springboard for the explosion of articles on Greece. This crisis has been an issue of particular interest for the British media although Britain is not a member of the eurosystem. Starting in the last months of 2009 and continuing in the following years they have attempted to investigate the roots and special features of this crisis by analysing inter alia - the most problematic countries in the eurozone, Portugal, Ireland, Italy, Spain and Greece (PIIGS). As a result a new trend in international journalism seems to have emerged. Covering the new, multidimensional economic war, journalists have shown a high interest in exploring current affairs in vulnerable eurozone countries, dealing not only with economic and political issues but also with everyday life of ordinary citizens. Their work has elements of a brief, modern history of the PIIGS mirroring and analysing developments on a continuous basis (Tzogopoulos 2013c). It is worth-mentioning that the tendency of The Guardian to extensively deal with developments in the country is a not a new phenomenon and one completely inspired by the economic crisis. Even before the outbreak of the crisis the British liberal newspaper used to show a large interest. Continuity is rather observed in its stance (Tzogopoulos 2013c). Covering the Greek crisis British newspapers have closely monitored developments concerning the economy. The main job of journalists has been to report the news. In so doing, they paid attention to several summits and meetings on the matter which took place in various cities such as Athens, Berlin, Brussels, Cannes, Paris and Washington. They also dealt with statements issued by Greek and European authorities, the IMF and rating agencies, namely Fitch, Moody’s and Standard & Poor’s and conducted interviews with investors and scholars familiar with the European debt crisis. Journalists have mainly focused on issues such as the budget hole and the current account deficit, the high public debt, the lack

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of competitiveness, the huge public sector and the status of the recession (Tzogopoulos 2013c). In parallel with economic developments, British newspapers have also paid attention to political ones. In that regard, the main frame of the coverage was the lack of confidence for the competences of the Greek political personnel. In a striking example, the Financial Times questioned the reliability of the Greek Prime Minister in February 2010 by arguing: “To put it bluntly, few investors believe what Mr Papandreou has to say, either about the economy or the Chinese” (Tett 2010). In a similar case The Sun commented on his decision to call a referendum in November 2011: “Greece was close to ruin last night after Premier George Papandreou lost his marbles and ordered a vote that could destroy the euro” (Hawkes and Parker 2011). Apart from covering developments of the economic and political sphere British newspapers have also shown a high interest in exploring Greek pathogenies. Corruption constitutes a characteristic example. The Guardian, for instance, dealt with this problem and the lack of transparency in finding jobs. Specifically, the British newspaper dispatched journalist Jon Henley to Greece. The correspondent interviewed ordinary people who had experienced cronyism and explained how jobs were often given in the country (Henley 2011). In that case, the interviewee Leonidas Pitsoulis, who studied in the UK and then returned to his country, said on the matter: I really hadn’t been aware of the scale of everyday corruption here . . . You just don’t pick up on that, as a kid. But coming back, and when you’re used to another way of doing things, it really, really strikes you. Corruption pervades every corner of day to day life in Greece . . . From the doctor who takes his consultation fee without declaring it, to the bar-owner who buys his stock cash, no questions asked . . . It’s just unthinking; the way it is . . . Nobody gets a job because they’re the candidate best qualified and suited for it, he said: You get a job because you’re the son or nephew or cousin or old schoolfriend of someone who knows someone who might want a little service.

Tax-evasion, finally, has been linked to corruption in the media discourse. Some newspapers, for instance, analysed the illegal way Greek taxpayers had invented in order to avoid paying fines at the expense of the state and in favour of tax collectors. The Sun sketched out this dodgy method by referring to a senior Greek government source (Harvey 2011). This source said:

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Corruption and tax-evasion are not the only themes covered in the British media discourse in their analysis of Greece’s pathogenies. Overspending in the public sector, nepotism, bureaucracy and the so-called impunity culture have been also discussed.

Mediating a Success Story? In the spring of 2013 a few positive indications were observed in Greece. These included the fall of spreads of ten year bonds from 30% in June 2012 to approximately 10% in July 2013, the recapitalisation of systemic banks and the reduction of the budget and current account deficits (Tzogopoulos 2013d). Within this context, some international media started to see the first signs of Greece’s recovery and replace the term “Grexit” with that of “Grecovery” (Tzogopoulos 2013d). On 17 May 2013 the German tabloid newspaper Bild, portrayed on its front page Greek Prime Minister Antonis Samaras as a successful politician who has managed to save the country from chaotic default and an exit from the eurosystem. This constituted a symbolic example of the improvement of Greece’s international coverage. Similar cases can also be found in the media discourse. In particular, The Wall Street Journal concentrated on Mr Samaras’ attempt to stabilise the national economy and cool political tempers (Draenos 2013). For its part, Die Welt praised the Greek Prime Minister for his courage and spirit in times of recession (Eder 2013). The British media have reported on positive signs for the Greek economy. Nevertheless, as opposed to afore-mentioned examples, they have been comparatively hesitant in seeing a wind of change in Greece. The continuous credibility deficit of the Greek political elites has been the main reason for scepticism. As the Financial Times correctly put in an editorial, “a deeper political transformation is required” (2013). Additionally, existing problems such as the rise of the neo-fascist Golden Dawn party has attracted the attention of British journalists. Regarding the neo-nazi party in Greece, Ben Macintyre agued in The Times that “Weimar Greece [was] gambling with democracy” (Macintyre 2013). In parallel with this, the closure of ERT also led to negative criticism. The Guardian,

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for instance, gave voice to BBC Director-General Tony Hall who called on the Greek government to immediately re-open the state broadcaster (O’Caroll 2013). Moreover, in October 2013 the case of a child found living with a Roma family in central Greece exposed a “loophole” in Greek municipal registries, highlighting gaps in local administration (Hope 2013). Last but not least, the killing of two young people in front of Golden Dawn offices in November 2013 was another occasion for British journalists to remember “crisis-plagued Greece” and the continuation of turmoil in the country (Smith 2013b). Although the British media have firstly criticised Greek political elites for the problematic status of the national economy of the country, they have also concentrated on the alleged efficiency of the medicine offered to Greece by its creditors, namely the European Commission, the European Central Bank and the International Monetary Fund. In that regard, leading columnist of the Financial Times Wolfgang Münchau, has questioned whether the European policy of bailouts for Greece could save the country by arguing that a “Grexit [was] starting to look more feasible for Athens” (Münchau 2013). For its part, The Guardian has mentioned that “austerity kills” (Allen 2013) and has attempted to explore various dimensions of its impact. In such a case, the opinion-forming title concentrated on the fall of Greece’s birthrate as austerity measures were hitting healthcare (Smith 2013a).

Appraisal The coverage of Greece by British newspapers has been highly negative since the outbreak of the European debt crisis. Although Britain is not a member of the eurosystem, journalists reporting for The Times, The Guardian, Financial Times and The Sun have closely monitored developments in the bankrupted country. There are two main reasons explaining this. The first is related to the interest of the media in the potential impact of a eurozone breakup on the world economy as well as in heavy losses of British banks exposed to the Greek debt. And the second is concerned with the personal satisfaction – if not vindication – of many journalists that Britain had not joined the common currency and therefore did not have to pay for problematic countries such as a Greece by contributing to eurozone rescue packages. In the final account, euroscepticism cannot be considered a new elements in the British media discourse (Anderson and Weymouth 1999). Moreover, British newspapers do have experienced correspondents in Greece who are familiar with developments in the country. Journalists

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such as Kerin Hope working for Financial Times, Philip Pangalos and Anthee Carassava reporting for The Times and Helena Smith writing for The Guardian not only show a good grasp of Greek politics but also have a plethora of domestic sources facilitating their work in covering the Greek crisis. As far as The Sun is concerned, although this tabloid does not co-operate with a permanent correspondent in Greece, it occasionally dispatches its reporters to Athens in order to concentrate on striking stories such as the alleged need of the country to sell the Acropolis and its islands. Additionally, no ideological differences are observed in the coverage of the Greek crisis by the centre-right The Times and the centre-left The Guardian. Both opinion-forming newspapers share a common concern on the ability of Greek politicians to deliver and of the country to recover. The Financial Times and The Sun agree with this perspective in their understanding of Greek politics. Also, all newspapers accessed have attempted to reveal the social dimension of the Greek crisis by publishing long stories on problems such as unemployment and poverty. For its part, the Financial Times - as a leading economic title - has paid close attention to technical economic details of decisions made at the European level in relation to the Hellenic Republic. To sum up, people having the British media as a source of information on Greece since the outbreak of the crisis might be keen on stigmatising the country not only for its internal crisis but also for that of the eurozone. This does not mean that coverage has not been fair. Problems and pathogenies presented and explained by British journalists go hand-inhand with Greek politics, economics and social life. On the other hand, however, their tendency to focus only on negative stories has been particularly evident (Tzogopoulos 2013c). Although Greece is certainly a problematic country and “special case” within the eurozone, it does not lack positive features such as its excellent performance in shipping (Tzogopoulos 2013c). Positive stories, however, have been rarely on the agenda of British journalists. The rich literature of political communication suggests that the media do tend to concentrate on negative stories. The coverage of the Greek crisis by British newspapers does not constitute an exception.

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Bibliography and References Allen, K. 2013. “Austerity Kills, Economists Warn.” The Guardian, 29th April. http://www.theguardian.com/business/economics-blog/2013/apr/ 29/austerity-kills-health-europe-us. Accessed October 2013. Anderson, J. and Weymouth, A. 1999. Insulting the Public? The British Press and the European Union. Longman: London and New York. Draenos S. 2013. “How Samaras Got His Groove Back: Greece’s Prime Minister has cooled political tempers and stabilized the economy with his low-key but effective governance.” The Wall Street Journal, 9th May. http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424127887323744604578 472680235719060. Accessed May 2013. Eder, F. 2013. “Griechenlands Selbstbewusstsein ist zurück.” Die Welt, 19th May. http://www.welt.de/wirtschaft/article116334593/GriechenlandsSelbstbewusstsein-ist-zurueck.html. Accessed May 2013. Financial Times. 2013. “Greek Drama Lacks a Happy Ending.” 7th May. http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/0/b8b256d0-b713-11e2-841e-00144feabd c0.html#axzz2ZTwSh9tg. Accessed July 2013. Harvey. O. 2011. “Greece Play 4-4-2.” The Sun, 18th May. http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/features/2976628/Cost-ofcorruption-in-Greece.html. Accessed December 2011. Hawkes, S. and N. Parker. 2011. “Greece Loses its Marbles.” The Sun, 2nd November. http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/politics/3909249/Greeceloses-its-marbles.html. Accessed January 2012. Henley, H. 2011. “In Greece Corruption Pervades Every Corner of Life.” The Guardian, 20th October. http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/blog/2011/oct/20/europe-breadlinecorrution-pervades-corner. Accessed December 2011. Hope, K. 2013. “Greek Roma Case Exposes Loophole in Municipal Registries.” Financial Times, 23rd October. http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/ad85578a-3bde-11e3-b85f-00144feab7de. html?siteedition=intl#axzz2jP7xGFaD. Accessed October 2013. Macintyre, B. 2013. “Weimar Greece is Gambling with Democracy.” The Times, 4th October. http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/opinion/columnists/benmacintyre/article 3886098.ece. Accessed October 2013.

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Münchau, W. 2013. “A Grexit is Starting to Look More Feasible for Athens.” Financial Times, 21st July. http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/0/0d0ee174-f05f-11e2-b28d00144feabdc0.html#axzz2jZwoVocF. Accessed October 2013. O’Caroll, L. 2013. “ERT: BBC Director Calls on Greek Government to Reopen Broadcaster.” The Guardian, 13th June. http://www.theguardian.com/media/2013/jun/13/ert-shutdown-bbcgovernment-reopen. Accessed October 2013. Pagoulatos, G. 2012. “Desperately Hanging On: A Euro-crisis View from Greece.” ECFR “Reinvention of Europe” Series. http://ecfr.eu/page//ECFR_Greece_paper_20122.pdf. Accessed October 2013. Smith, H. 2013a. “Greece’s Birthrate Falls as Austerity Measures Hit Healthcare.” The Guardian, 18th September. http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/sep/18/greece-birthrateausterity-measures-healthcare. Accessed October 2013. Smith, H. 2013b. “Two Golden Dawn Members Killed in Drive-by Shooting Outside Athens Office.” The Guardian, 1st November. http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/nov/01/golden-dawn-killedshooting-athens. Accessed November 2013. Spiegel. 2012. “Scharfmacher in der Euro-Krise: Die zehn gefährlichsten Politiker Europas.” 6th August. http://www.spiegel.de/politik/ausland/die-zehn-gefaehrlichstenpolitiker-europas-in-der-eurokrise-a-848424.html. Accessed October 2013. Tett, G. 2010. “Bonds, Beijing and Risk.” Financial Times, 10th February. http://www.ft.com/intl/cms/s/0/f22721ea-1511-11df-ad5800144feab49a.html#axzz1oEERGUZP. Accessed November 2010. Tzogopoulos, G. 2012a. “Experiencing an Unprecedented Crisis: The Stalemate in Greece.” L’Europe en Formation 364(2):25-39. —. 2012b. “It’s Germany Stupid: Das Griechische-Deutsche Misveständnis.” DGAP paper. https://dgap.org/de/think-tank/publika tionen/dgapanalyse-kompakt/das-griechisch-deutschemissverst%C3%A4ndnis. Accessed October 2013. —. 2012c. “Time Running out for Greece: Blaming Germany Instead of Implementing Reforms.” Süddosteuropa Mitteilungen 4:7-13. —. 2013a. “Griechische Politik und die Goldene Morgenröte.” Religion & Gesellschaft in Ost und West 6:9-12. —. 2013b. “Is a Greek Success Story Possible?” Süddosteuropa Mitteilungen 4:8-17. —. 2013c: The Greek Crisis in the Media: Stereotyping in the International Press. Ashgate: Farnham.

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—. 2013d. “The Other Side of Greece’s International Image.” ELIAMEP Briefing Note 16. http://www.eliamep.gr/?p=16330. Accessed July 2013.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN BRITISH-GREEK RESEARCH LABORATORY WILLIAM MALLINSON

Following over a year of painstaking and delicate work, a Laboratory for the Documentation of the History of British-Greek Relations has been established at the Ionian University in Corfu. Until now, no comprehensive independent academic institutionalised research programme catering for the vast range of themes and topics permeating British-Greek relations has existed. Corfu’s historical connection with Britain makes the island an ideal and pertinent choice for the laboratory. The initiative merits a critical appraisal, as few could say that British-Greek relations are completely hunky-dory. But before doing that, let us set out a few of the laboratory’s basic aims. Its main task will be to promote and enrich research and co-operation between Britain and Greece, in all aspects of the relations between our two countries; doctoral and post-doctoral research will be included. Connected to this will be the building up of a network of academics interested in British-Greek relations then and now, not necessarily restricted to the two geographical entities, but to the English- and Greek-speaking worlds. This will include academic exchanges and the initiation, support and execution of pertinent events. A refereed academic journal will provide a solid underpinning. One could elaborate further and set out a host of other connected ideas and plans: but at this stage, prudence is of the essence, and the emphasis is on the need to temper enthusiasm with judgment. So far, the following has been planned. Following an inaugural seminar at the university on 18 March 2014, on the hegemonolinguistic aspects of English, an international conference follows on 14 and 15 May, commemorating the 150th anniversary of the union of the Ionian Islands with Greece. This is a major topic, fascinating into the bargain, and a good point at which to begin an appraisal into how we hope that the laboratory will contribute to British-Greek relations. These relations have not been without their vicissitudes since the founding of the modern Greek state. There has been a certain amount of

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glossing over the bad, and exaggerating the good, which has not always given a balanced picture. We think that looking at the good, the bad and the ugly in equal measure, in other words “warts and all”, will contribute to more mutual trust between the two countries. Let us first mention briefly one or two negative points: Britain’s attempts to curb the Greek independence movement after 1821, for fear of losing its Ottoman allies, connected to its concern about Russian power in the Mediterranean; British claims on the island of Sapienza; the infamous “Don Pacifico Affair”; and of course the Crimean War. Perhaps these negative aspects can be epitomised in Sir Edmund’s Lyons’ statement in 1841 that “a truly independent Greece was an absurdity. Greece could either be English or Russian, and since she must not be Russian, it was necessary that she be English.” Britain’s involvement in supporting Venizelos against the King to bring Greece into the Great War is also considered in a negative light by many. And then there is the Cyprus question, which is certainly not without its controversies, not to mention the Greek Civil War, which even today is a raw nerve in Greece. Politics apart, even cultural relations have been bedeviled by that bugbear of successive British ambassadors to Greece, the famous – some would say infamous – Elgin/Parthenon Marbles. But then, we can juxtapose these difficult aspects with Lord Byron’s love of Greece; Britain handing the Ionian Islands to Greece in 1864, under the influence of Canning; Britain and Greece’s standing alone for several months against the Axis Powers; Britain’s love of ancient Greek ideas, ideas that, it could be argued, helped train some of Britain’s top politicians and civil servants to build up a superb and enormous empire; Lloyd George’s well known support for Venizelos’ Megali Idea. And of course the love of Greece of a huge swathe of British people of all classes as a tourist destination, and often as a retirement home. One of the more recent well-known Britons to take a home in Greece is Lord Owen, who has purchased a beautiful property on a small beach near Methoni, one of the two eyes of Venice, in the southern Peloponnese. Britain and Greece have been subject to various foreign influences over the centuries. The modern Greek state, it can be argued, was to a certain extent the result of squabbling between major powers as much as of a desire by all Greeks to be free and have their own state. Greeks have constantly disagreed among themselves about which foreign government(s) to follow. Today, one can say that Greece is subject to various European and American business and political influences, with Russia playing a careful game, and keeping a watching brief. But is Britain so very different, with its constant balancing act between America and the

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European Union? There are many in Greece who see British foreign policy, but especially military policy, as inextricably linked to that of the United States, and who, concomitantly, consider Britain as a simple filter for the US, just as de Gaulle did. These are the sort of questions that, inter alia, aspiring researchers working with the laboratory will need to address. As for the linguistic aspect, of all the countries in the world, Greece has by far the highest proportion of children taking the Cambridge Certificate examination. Many also take the (US) Michigan examination. Thus, we see two Englishes being taught. When asked what had been the determining event of the modern history of his time, Bismarck answered that it was the fact that North America spoke English. We could go on and on, but have of necessity only skimmed the surface. Although much of the above may display a historical bias, this is not intentional. And one ignores history at one’s peril. The laboratory’s aim is to promote British-Greek relations in as many fields as feasible. Thus, music, literature, painting and sport will also come onto the agenda later. But for now, we must keep matters manageable, and do our best with the seminar and the conference. The British Council has shown considerable interest in the initiative, and will be doing its best to support the laboratory’s work.

CONTRIBUTORS

BRIAN CHURCH was a dogsbody for the Athens News and an editor for the Associated Press (AP) in Athens, Cairo, London and New York. A former columnist for ESPN.com, he is now having a rest in the public relations sector. He wrote the national bestseller Learn Greek in 25 Years: A Crash Course for the Linguistically Challenged (1999) and is currently researching a book on the US electoral college. He lives in High Wycombe, England. DAVID CONNOLLY has lived and worked in Greece for the past thirty years and is currently Professor of Translation Studies at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. He has written extensively on the theory and practice of literary translation and on Greek Literature in general and has published some thirty books of translations featuring works by major Greek poets and novelists. His translations have received awards in Greece, the UK, and the USA. AGATHA KALISPERAS has been the Director of the Hellenic Centre since 1997 and a magistrate (JP) in London since 1994. Her academic background is in Psychology and Management and her degrees are from Birkbeck College, University of London and the University of Surrey. Agatha’s extensive knowledge and understanding of Greek culture and history comes from her background as a Greek-Cypriot and her involvement with both Cyprus and Greece as well as from her role in organising the rich cultural programme of the Centre. PETER MACKRIDGE is Emeritus Professor of Modern Greek at the University of Oxford and a visiting professor at King’s College London. His books include The Modern Greek Language (1985), Dionysios Solomos (1989), two co-authored grammars of Modern Greek (1997 and 2004) and a collection of essays in Greek on the poets Solomos, Cavafy and Seferis (2008). His most recent book is Language and National Identity in Greece, 1766-1976 (2009).

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WILLIAM MALLINSON is Lecturer in British history, literature and culture at the Ionian University. He is a former member of Her Majesty’s Diplomatic Service who left to study for, and was awarded, his PhD at the London School of Economics and Political Science’s Department of International History. His publications include Cyprus: A Modern History (2005, updated 2009), Cyprus, Diplomatic History and the Clash of Theory in International Relations (2010), and Britain and Cyprus: Key Themes and Documents since World War Two (2011). ALEXANDRA MOSCHOVI is a Lecturer in Photographic Theory at the University of Sunderland and an independent curator. Her current research focuses on the history of twentieth century Greek photography, on which she has published several essays. She has also co-authored the survey publication Greece Through Photographs (2009/2007, Melissa Publishing House). She is presently working on a monograph that explores the accommodation of photography as autonomous art in the modern/contemporary art museum. ELENI PAPARGYRIOU is Lecturer in Modern Greek Literature at King’s College London. She obtained a D.Phil. from Oxford University and in 2007-8 was Hannah Seeger Davis Postdoctoral Fellow in the Program in Hellenic Studies at Princeton University. She has published articles on Greek modernism, intertextuality, literary play, text and photographic image, and literary bilingualism. Her book Reading Games in the Greek Novel was published by Legenda (Oxford) in 2011. RICHARD PINE is Director Emeritus of the Durrell School of Corfu, which he founded in 2002. His twelve books include The Diviner: The Art of Brian Friel (1990, 2nd edition 1999), The Thief of Reason: Oscar Wilde and Modern Ireland (1995), Music and Broadcasting in Ireland (2005), and Lawrence Durrell: the Mindscape (1994/2005). His forthcoming book, The Disappointed Bridge: Ireland and the Post-Colonial World, will be published by Cambridge Scholars Publishing in 2014. He lives in Corfu and writes a regular column on Greek affairs for The Irish Times; he is also a frequent contributor to the Anglo-Hellenic Review and an obituarist for The Guardian. JIM POTTS, OBE, read English at Wadham College, Oxford, and worked for the British Council for thirty-five years, in the UK, Ethiopia, Kenya, Greece, Czechoslovakia, Australia, and Sweden. His publications include: Swedish Reflections: From Beowulf to Bergman (co-editor, 2003), Corfu

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Blues (2006), The Ionian Islands and Epirus: A Cultural History (2010), and Dorset Voices: A Collection of New Prose, Poetry and Photographs (co-editor, 2012), plus numerous journal and magazine articles on poetry, media, travel and film. His current project is Art and the Dorset Landscape. LORETTA PROCTOR, whose English father met and married her Greek mother in Athens during World War Two, was born in Cairo and came to Britain in 1947, where she has lived ever since. The author of four novels The Long Shadow (2006, revised edition 2012), The Crimson Bed (2010), Middle Watch (2012), and Dying Phoenix (2013) - she lives with her husband John in Malvern, Worcestershire. DAVID RICE is a UK-based freelance writer whose work has appeared in a variety of magazines. In 2002, in co-operation with Michael Bird’s widow and her family, he established the Michael J. Bird tribute website at http://www.mjbird.org.uk. His book The Life and Work of the Man Who Created “The Lotus Eaters”, a biography of Michael J. Bird, was published in 2006. GEORGE N. TZOGOPOULOS is Research Fellow at the Hellenic Foundation for European & Foreign Policy (ELIAMEP) in Athens and columnist for Global Times (China). He has cooperated with the European Council on Foreign Relations, Konrad Adenauer Foundation and Friedrich Ebert Foundation and is a regular contributor to international news agencies and media organisations such as Al-Jazeera, Associated Press, BBC, CCTV, France 24, Reuters, RAI, RTL and ZDF. He is the author of the books US Foreign Policy in the European Media: Framing the Rise and Fall of Neoconservatism (I.B. Tauris, 2012) and The Greek Crisis in the Media: Stereotyping in the International Press (Ashgate, 2013). DAVID WILLS is Treasurer of the UK’s Society for Modern Greek Studies. Following degrees in ancient history and archaeology from Cambridge and University College London, he received his PhD in 2003 for research on the history of travel writing about Greece. He has contributed to journals including Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies and the Journal of Modern Greek Studies.

INDEX

Acropolis, Athens, 96, 109, 158, 169 Aghelaki-Rooke, Katerina, 61 Agrafiotis, Demosthenis, 61 Anagnostakis, Manolis, 61 Aspioti, Marie, 120 Baras, Alexandros, 60 Bowra, Maurice, 7, 115, 122 British School at Athens, 9, 10 Bull, Peter, 8 Byron, Lord, 68, 111, 122, 125, 204 Callas, Maria, 180 Canellopoulos, Panayotis, 113 Capetanakis, Demetrios, 13, 42, 113 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, 8, 17 Cardiff, Maurice, 115 Casson, Stanley, 1 Cavafy, C.P., 58, 61, 62, 180 Cephalonia, 7, 14, 17, 20, 21 Chatto, James, 187 Chios, 14 Chroussachi, Maria, 68 Chryssopoulos, Christos, 50 Churchill, Winston, 65 Civil War, 5, 16, 17, 79, 115, 148, 204 Close, Reg, 112, 113 Cold War, 5, 24, 66, 104, 107, 147, 148 Colonels' dictatorship, 7, 9, 10, 27, 42, 60, 123, 135, 147 Communism, 5 Corfu, 83, 114, 120, 122, 148, 183, 203 Craxton, John, 3 Crete, 9, 75, 83, 136, 137, 147, 150 Knossos, 96 Cyprus, 5, 9, 29, 107, 115, 139, 140, 204

Daraki, Zefy, 61 Davettos, Nikos, 61 Dawkins, R.M., 58 Denegris, Tasos, 61 Dimitrakaki, Angela, 47 Dimitriou, Sotiris, 61 Doukas, Stratis, 61 Driving Aphrodite, 8 Drosinis, Georgios, 58 Durrell, Gerald, 183 Durrell, Lawrence, 8, 58, 61, 111, 114, 118, 183 Economidou, Diana, 111, 124 Eleusis, 96 Elytis, Odysseus, 19, 57, 60, 115 Epirus, 75, 83 Euboea, 87, 90 Fais, Michel, 61 Fakinou, Eugenia, 61 Finer, Leslie, 59 Fleming, Lady Amalia, 150 Fokas, Nikos, 61 Fowles, John, 8, 118, 120, 122 Freud, Lucian, 3 Friar, Kimon, 59 Galanaki, Rhea, 61 Ganas, Michalis, 60 Gatsos, Nikos, 60, 115 Golding, William, 124 Gotch, Paul, 114 Hadjikyriakos-Ghikas, Nikos, 115 Hammond, Nicholas, 111 Hatzigiannidis, Vangelis, 61 Hatzis, Dimitris, 22, 61 Hirschon, Renée, 151 Hislop, Victoria, 177 Hughes, Glyn, 124, 150 Hughes, Hilda, 7 Hydra, 144

212 Innes, Hammond, 148 Ioannides, Alkinoos, 180 Ioannina, 77, 87, 93 John, Evan, 7 Kalvos, Andreas, 61, 105 Karnezis, Panos, 13 Karouzos, Nikos, 61 Karyotakis, K.G., 61 Katsimbalis, George, 3, 115, 118 Kavvadias, Nikos, 61 Kazantzakis, Nikos, 8, 42, 59, 61, 62, 118, 138, 155, 168, 180 Keeley, Edmund, 58, 59 King, Francis, 118, 119, 124 Kondos, Yannis, 60, 61 Koumandareas, Menis, 61 Kubly, Herbert, 147, 149 Kyrou, Kleitos, 61 Lear, Edward, 111 Leeper, Reginald, 115, 148 Leigh Fermor, Patrick, 2, 111, 116, 118, 120 Leontaris, Byron, 61 Levi, Peter, 119, 122, 149, 151, 152 Liddell, Robert, 114, 115, 118 Llewellyn Smith, Michael, 126 Lloyd, Peter, 123 Lucas, John, 108, 123, 150 MacNeice, Louis, 119 Macvicar, Neil, 151 Mamma Mia!, 8, 151 Mandoglou, Argyro, 50 Manning, Olivia, 121 Manus, Willard, 149 Markaris, Petros, 7, 61, 62 Markopoulos, Yannis, 123, 139 Matesis, Pavlos, 61 Matthews, Carola, 148 Mavrogordatos, John, 58, 59 Metaxas, Ioannis, 112, 113, 159 Michalopoulou, Amanda, 46 Miller, Henry, 3, 114 Mitsou, Andreas, 61 Mole, John, 151 Myrivilis, Stratis, 59 Nash, Daniel, 121

Index Naxos, 83 Naylor, Peter, 124, 125 Palaelogos, Nikos, 15 Papadaki, Athina, 61 Papademos, Lucas, 192 Papaioannou, Voula, 68 Papandreou, George, 65 Papandreou, George, grandson, 191, 195 Papandreou, Nick, 187 Pavlopoulos, Yorgis, 60 Peloponnese, 75 Piraeus, 96 Poros, 3 Powell, Dilys, 8, 115, 117 Prevelakis, Pandelis, 22, 59 Rhodes, 5, 135, 142 Rhodes, Peregrine, 124 Riots of 2008, 5, 152 Ritsos, Yannis, 8, 19, 59, 60, 61, 124, 125 Rowntree, Alaric W., 95 Royidis, Emmanuel, 58, 61 Runciman, Steven, 111, 115, 116, 118, 119 Russell, Willy, 124 Sachtouris, Miltos, 60 Salmon, Tim, 148 Samarakis, Antonis, 59 Samaras, Antonis, 192, 196 Savidis, George, 115, 124 Second World War, 9, 14, 30, 45, 60, 65, 147 Seferis, George, 3, 29, 41, 57, 58, 60, 111, 115, 118 Sherrard, Philip, 8, 58, 59, 111, 115 Shirley Valentine, 8, 151 Sikelianos, Angelos, 60, 115, 118 Simpson, Colin, 149 Sinopoulos, Takis, 60 Smith, Reggie, 121 Solomos, Dionysios, 32, 58, 61 Sparkes, Brian, 9 Spencer, Bernard, 58, 114, 118 Spencer, Terence, 113 Spetsai, 120

Greece and Britain since 1945 Spetsai, 120 Staikos, Andreas, 61 Stamatis, Alexis, 61 Stangos, Nikos, 13, 59 Stefanou, Lydia, 61 Syros, 83 Tachtsis, Kostas, 42, 59 Tamvakakis, Faidon, 45 Tennant, Emma, 148 Theodorakis, Mikis, 123, 180 Theotokas, George, 41, 59 Thessaloniki, 8, 87, 110, 116, 117, 119, 123, 124, 125, 126, 140, 159, 160, 169 Triandafyllou, Soti, 48, 49 Trypanis, C.A. (Constantine), 13 Tsipras, Alexis, 192 Unsworth, Barry, 108, 118, 122 Vafopoulos, Yorgos, 61 Vagenas, Nasos, 60 Vakalo, Eleni, 60

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Valaoritis, Nanos, 42, 58, 115, 118 Varvitsiotis, Takis, 61 Venezis, Ilias, 59 Venizelos, Eleftherios, 159, 204 Vikelas, Demetrios, 58 Vlachou, Eleni, 42, 149 Vlavianos, Haris, 61 Vrettos, Spyros, 61 Wace, Alan, 10 Waller, John, 148 Warner, Rex, 58, 111, 115, 116, 118, 119 West, Rebecca, 113 Whitty, Ken, 111, 124, 125 Wildman, Carl, 59 Woodhouse, C.M., 111, 151 Xenopoulos, Gregorios, 58 Yatromanolakis, Yoryis, 61 Zante, 5 Zarkadakis, George, 48 Zei, Alki, 59, 61