December 2018

A mild winter here so far, although torrential rain and gale-force winds were a problem for farmers in the spring, with worse weather occurring recently in Athens. Down here in the Pelops a great number of olives fell from the trees, and that of course made the harvest worse, although some people have been lucky. Another problem has been an invasive little insect called the dakos: farmers spray against this breed, which is not a good practice, but then farmers err on the side of ruthlessness when it comes to protecting their crops. There is evidence, alas, that the dakosis developing a resistance to the poison that is directed against them.

Christmas is coming and the goose (or more usually the turkey) is getting fat. I’m relieved to note that Greek retailers, in contrast to northern European ones, are comparatively late when it comes to decorating windows and generally spreading so-called Christmas cheer. When it comes to the matter of Consumer Christmas, I am fast developing into a female Scrooge, and am thus inclined to mutter ‘Humbug!’ at regular intervals, at least to myself.

It’s a funny old game, the writing business: some pieces are accepted against your expectation, while others are rejected for reasons not clear to you. What follows is one of the latter, written during a recent visit to Athens.

Here in Greece the autumn has been prolonged and beautiful, but of course this most benign of seasons could not last forever; now winter is starting to bite, with rain and snow falling quite suddenly. It is now that the homeless and poor, who manage somehow during the other seasons, really start to suffer. Despite the trumpeting of politicians about the light at the end of the austerity tunnel, central Athens still features sleeping bags in the main streets, and beggars at many corners.

My youngest son and his family live in one of Athens’ pleasant northern middle-class suburbs, but even here hardship is evident, so that on most days there are one or two people looking for some small help outside the local supermarket. One of these is a thin grey-bearded older man dressed in a worn overcoat. Unlike many in his situation, who are either cowed or brusque in their manner (and who can blame them?) he is very bright-eyed, has a direct gaze, and is unfailingly courteous. 

Feeling the usual pang at the paucity of my gesture, I recently gave this man some small change, and he thanked me. Minutes later, as I wandered about inside the shop, I noticed him hovering at the ready-made food section. He selected a filled roll, and then went to an empty checkout. I was not far behind, and stood while he spread his very modest collection of small change on the counter. The young woman at the checkout selected the cost of his purchase; he then put the rest of the money in his pocket. I was pleased to see that the two engaged in quite a few minutes’ lively conversation; it was also noticeable that they were well matched in courtesy, and that the supermarket attendant was not at all patronising in her manner.

One of the advantages of getting older is the lack of self-consciousness: you no longer care greatly what people think. So I told the attendant that I thought she had done a good deed in talking to the man, because I often think this sort of exchange must be greatly missed by people who spend most of their time on the street. She smiled and said, ‘He’s such a good person,’ from which statement I assumed the two know each other quite well in this casual way. But I was not surprised to learn that she has no idea where he goes at nightfall, and that she has not been told his particular story. ‘There’s got to be a story,’ I said, and she agreed. 

‘All these poor people must have stories,’ she added, ‘but the problem is to separate the genuine ones from the rest.’ And it is a harsh reality that there are always so-called professional beggars who will try to dupe kind-hearted members of the public. There are supposedly fifteen thousand beggars in Greece, which sometimes seems like an underestimation to me, and it is often extremely difficult to decide which ones are genuine: is begging a scam or a lifeline? 

Fraudulent disability is a common practice, and many children are forced to beg. Then there is coercion: some beggars pursue their targets along the street to the point at which it is usually easier to part with some money rather than be subject to prolonged harassment. These practices, I am told, are listed in the Penal Code, but it seems that few offenders are punished. The checkout woman definitely has a point about the people she calls ‘false ones.’ The financial crisis has left many a psychological scar on those not false, and an indication of one scar came when a friend told a friend that once upon a time the only beggars were gypsies and foreigners. But now unemployed Greeks have been reduced to begging.

On leaving the supermarket I noticed the man was sitting on a step and eating his roll. He waved, smiling, and I waved back, while worrying about the cold of the approaching evening. At some stage in our lives, I think, and possibly at many stages, we are all dependent on the kindness of strangers, and thankful for it. But somehow I don’t think the young woman at the checkout thinks of herself as a stranger.

It is nearly time for my annual re-reading of A Christmas Carol,which ends with Tiny Tim saying God bless us, every one!