28th of October: "OXI" Day
On 1st September 1939 Germany invaded Poland without warning, heralding the start of World War 2.
In the 6 years that followed few, if any, countries remained unaffected by this bloody and vicious war that took the lives of over 60 million people. Every continent was involved, nuclear weapons were deployed, and by the time peace again descended on the world, much of Europe and Asia was in ruins.
Over the months and years more and more countries became embroiled in this bitter war. The two main opposing factions were referred to as the Allies and the Axis Powers. The Axis predominantly comprised Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy and Imperial Japan who formed a military alliance when they signed the Tripartite Pact a year after the beginning of the war, in September 1940. The Allies were formed from Great Britain and the Empire countries (India, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa), Canada, Russia, China (Nationalist forces) and, from 1941 the USA.
Both Allies and Axis Powers saw other countries join and leave them throughout the duration of the war, and a number of other countries whilst claiming neutrality became embroiled due to invasion by Axis forces. Amongst these counties was Greece. It did not become actively involved in this war until late October 1940, but from that point onwards the country fought against the Axis Powers, and received support from the Allied forces.
Italy’s Benito Mussolini, irritated by Hitler’s unilateral successes, wanted to emulate him and lead Italy to similar a military achievement that Germany had been enjoying. Italian forces had occupied Albania since early 1939 and Mussolini saw this as his opportunity to redress the balance, by using this position to invade Greece without first agreeing this strategy with Hitler. He is recorded as saying to, Count Galeazzo Ciano, Italy’s then Minister for Foreign Affairs, “Hitler always faces me with a fait accompli. This time I am going to pay him back in his own coin. He will find out from the papers that I have occupied Greece”.
In the early hours of October 28th 1940 Emmanuel Grazzi, Italy’s Ambassador in Athens, handed Ioannis Metaxas, the Greek dictator, an ultimatum from Mussolini. In it Mussolini demanded free passage inside Greek territory for Italian troops, and agreement to their occupation of unspecified “strategic points”. Metaxas was given three hours to concur.
Metaxas’s response to this ultimatum is summed up in one word, “ochi” (no), which reflected the will of the Greek people. Just hours later Italian and Albanian forces started their attack on Greece from the Albanian border. To this day 28th October is known as “Ochi Day” and is a public holiday throughout Greece. Today Dr Tassos Tsenebis is a popular and respected paediatrician with a practice in Kerkyra. But back in the frightening days of first the Italian and later the German occupations of Corfu he was just a young boy living in a remote hillside village. This is his story:
A Delayed Meeting
This is a true story of humanity that only life can write. It is a story of respect, my family, friendly villagers and an Italian soldier.
During the occupation the people of Nimfes ground their wheat and corn in the village watermill. But this was forbidden, as food had to be declared to the Italian military police. Times were very hard and an Italian soldier took pity on us and turned a blind eye, allowing us to make our flour.
Slowly a mutual sympathy between my father, other villagers and the kind Italian developed. It was the beginning of an unlikely friendship between my family and the soldier, Fabri Jilto.
When fascism collapsed and Italy signed an unconditional surrender pact with the Allies, there was a shift among the German forces. Where once they had fought side-by-side now the Germans, particularly the Nazis, turned on their former allies. The Italian soldiers were hunted down by the Nazi police.
Late one evening Fabri Jilto sought refuse with my father. Risking arrest and execution my father, under great secrecy and with a thousand precautions, hid Fabri in our home. We lived in fear of being betrayed by any local German sympathizers and had to constantly move him to hidden countryside dwellings and homes among other friendly villagers.
In May 1945 Germany collapsed and the way back to his homeland was now open to Fabri.
But months of hiding in confined spaces meant that he was weak and could no longer walk long distances. Riding on a donkey, with a backpack of bread, cheese, olives, nuts and figs that my mother had prepared tied to the saddle, Fambri began his long trip. Accompanied by my father on foot to guide the way they travelled all night before eventually arriving in Corfu town. Going directly to the Archbishop, who was also from Nimfes, my father pleaded with him to help arrange a safe passage home for the kind Italian soldier. The Archbishop agreed and here ended the adventure in Corfu.
The years passed and I “Piccolo”, (little one) as Fabri had called me, grew to be a man.
In 1961 I traveled to Siena, Italy to continue my studies to become a doctor. Being in Italy gave be a great desire to find out what had become of the Italian soldier I remembered as a child. Was he still alive? And if so how had his life turned out?
I began to try and trace him. I sent a letter to the police headquarters in Rome detailing what little information I had. His name, where he had served in Corfu and the town from which the postcard I had treasured as a child had been sent.
To my surprise a few months later I received a letter from the police chief in Rome informing me that they had found Fabri! After further correspondence it was arranged that a family friend who happened to live near where I stayed, would pick me up and take me to meet my Italian soldier.
On the 1st of November, the day of the “Celebration of the dead” the friend and his wife picked me up in their car to take me to Fabio’s village. It was early one rainy morning when we began our long journey on our alpine climb. We traveled through wooded slopes and gorges until we reached a village called Loro-Tsisyfena, a suburb of Casamana. As we reached the village we were met by a small procession of villagers on their way to the church cemetery for the traditional ceremony in honour of the dead.
We stopped at a house. I got out of the car. My companion said “That’s Fabri”
We walked towards each other. For a second we froze like statues, neither of us daring to move.
“You are the little son of Giorgos?
“Yes”.
He hugged me hard, crying as he did so. I cannot describe to you how emotional the meeting was, I found myself crying too.
He led me to his house to meet his wife and daughter. Much fussing ensured as they offered me tea, coffee and tried to make me comfortable. We talked for a long time. Fabri wanted to know all about my parents, our friends and what life was now like in my village, Corfu and Greece in general. We discussed many things and feasted on a rich meal of rabbit, chicken, pasta and good homemade wine.
Once we were finished he told me, “Now we must now go and meet my parents”.
In a small stone house beside his own, we climbed the stone steps to their door. Deep in the recess of the small dimly lit room burnt a fire. It was November and bitterly cold, as the village was set high in the mountains. Next to the fire sat two elderly people.
“Mamma, Pappa, Giorgo’s son from Corfu has come to see us”.
Trembling they rose from their seats grasping my hands they began to kiss them. Two heavy tears rolling down their wrinkled cheeks. With quivering voices they said “Son, God alone can only give you what you did for us child. We have no words to express to you our deep gratitude”.
Believe me, I was so filled with emotion that for a moment I could not speak. Eventually I simply said to them “Wars are not made by the people, but by leaders who wish to serve their own self interests”.
I sat beside them exchanging words before it was time to bid them farewell. In a torrent of love and good wishes I returned to Fapio’s house, where his wife and daughter were preparing supplies for my long journey home. Baked chicken, dried grapes, almonds and cake. “Take these for your trip” they told me.
I thought of my Mother and how she had tied a bag of food to the saddle of Fabri’s donkey many years before.
Carried along with infinite love, gratitude and greetings for my parents and others who had helped I left them. With tight embraces and choruses of “Good health” and “Good luck with your studies”. I shed hot tears of farewell.
Dr Tassos Tsenebis
With this Ring
In October 1975 Frederic Byrom, a Chester based businessman, enjoyed his holiday to Corfu so much that he wanted to find the ultimate memento of his trip. But in a little shop in Corfu Old Town he found something else, or rather someone else, who was to become much more than an enduring souvenir…
Six months earlier Fred accompanied some friends on his first holiday to Corfu. Though finding the island beautiful, the choice of accommodation wasn’t so perfect and Fred was rather disappointed. However, he decided to visit again, this time alone, and the following October he returned.
By the second week of his trip Fred had realised what it was that had driven him to return to the island. He decided to find a very special souvenir to remind him of, as he describes it, ‘this magic little island and its magic people’. Having scoured every shop on the main roads of Corfu Town, he wandered down some of the little side streets eventually coming across a tiny shop called “Jason Copperware”.
Inside was lady working on an oil painting of a peasant picking olives. She looked at Fred and said in English, ‘tourist rubbish, but still it makes me £25 a time, I can do one in 3 days and little of my heart goes into it’. Fred grinned, stepped over the threshold, and soon they were deep in conversation.
As they chatted Fred glanced to the display window where he noticed a most wonderful ring. A large topaz set in 18 carat gold, with a richly decorated shank. His new friend, Eva, encouraged him to try it on. Despite being concerned about the 4500 drachma price tag (there were 72 drachma to the £) Fred concurred. This was exactly what he had been looking for, but the price was far beyond his reach, and he said as much to Eva.
She smiled and told him not to worry, inviting him to return later that day when her son Jason, who owned the ring, would be in the shop. Fred returned promptly at 5pm to meet him. They got on immediately and Jason, seeing Fred’s admiration of the ring, offered it to him for a fraction of the ticketed price. A deal Fred was delighted to accept.
Jason, Eva and Fred became firm friends, and Fred visited them at the shop several times during the next few days. On one visit Fred found a pretty young woman there, hard at work knitting shawls. Fred was enchanted by her petite appearance, though her big brown eyes were rimmed with black from lack of sleep.
Eva introduced them. ‘Her name is Houla, it’s a shortened version of a Eftyhia which means happiness in Greek’. He says of that meeting ‘I thought, of course her name means happiness. I felt sure if she were in my life I would be happy, she was the girl who could make me feel complete’.
Instead of saying anything so passionate, he made friendly conversation and looked at the shawls, deciding to take several back to England as gifts. Fred settled on three finely crafted ones and paid just £12, being all Houla would accept.
Fred met Houla once more before he returned to England. She gave him two traditional Greek headscarves as gifts for his sisters, saying ‘I have very little, but what I have I love, and what I love I give to the people I love’. This gesture of friendship and kindness moved Fred greatly and he promised himself this would not be the last he saw of Corfu or Houla.
The following day as his plane taxied down the runway, Fred may have been on board, but his heart had been left in that tiny shop with a beautiful young woman.
Over the long winter months Fred and Houla corresponded, and Fred was booked onto the first flight back to Corfu the following May.
Once he had cleared Customs Fred went to Town with one thing on his mind. He found Houla and without hesitation asked her to marry him. She immediately said yes, but with one proviso. Although her father had died several years previously, Fred would still have to ask her Godfather, George, for his consent to the marriage.
Fred went to George’s Kassiopi home and made his request. This grizzled Greek gentleman frowned, eyeing him up and down warily and growled ‘you are not Greek. Are you English?’ Somewhat surprised, Fred confirmed that he was. A grin spread across George’s face. ‘Ah, that is all right then, English - OK, others - no way’! And with that somewhat esoteric response gave his approval to the union.
Much celebration and an engagement party followed before Fred returned to the UK to make preparations for his bride. They were to marry in Corfu but settle in England afterwards. Fred decided the best way to get Houla and her trousseau back to England was overland, so bought an estate car for the journey. Nervously his mother agreed to accompany him on the overland trip. She had never travelled further south than Birmingham before and by the time they reached Dover she had started smoking, having given up 6 years previously!
Despite his mother’s anxiety they arrived safely and found preparations for the wedding in full swing. However, during a family meeting Houla’s sisters were heard discussing how they would divide her possessions between them once she was married. Disheartened and disappointed by this, Fred and Houla decided to return to England immediately and marry there instead.
Back in Cheshire, Fred asked his local vicar to marry them by special licence the following week. Initially the vicar agreed, but then discovered that whilst Fred’s house was within view of the church it wasn’t inside the parish boundaries. Enquiries revealed that a dispensation would have to be granted by the Archbishop and this would take at least a fortnight.
Not wanting to wait, Fred and Houla instead married officially in the local registry office before attending the church that afternoon to take their vows there too.
A fortnight after the wedding Houla seemed a little down. She told Fred she didn’t feel married as she hadn’t heard the wedding vows in her own language. Without further ado they arranged a Greek wedding in Manchester, and had the certificate registered in Greek in Athens. In a few short weeks they had married 3 times!
For the following 21 years the couple lived in Cheshire, although for 3 months each year they visited Corfu. Three years after their wedding the arrival of son Matthew cemented their marriage still further.
In 1997 they decided to move to Corfu permanently. Since then they have busied themselves running several tavernas, which hosted many popular Greek evenings. Fred also worked as a holiday rep for a number of years.
Matthew eventually returned to the UK where he went to university, achieving a first class honours degree in computing and a teaching degree. He now lives in Kent with his wife, whom he met in Kassiopi, and their young daughter. Despite the miles they remain a close family, and the doting grandparents are delighted that their grand daughter is at home whether speaking English or Greek.
Meanwhile, summer 2008 sees another new beginning for the couple. They are opening a gift shop in Kassiopi, specialising in hand made gifts originating only from Corfu and Greece. It’s name, as if you needed telling, is Topaz!
