November 2019

The months are speeding by: where has 2019 got to? I seem to be asking that question every year now. I’ve just re-read last year’s column and am struck by how little has changed. We have had a golden autumn, with tawny chrysanthemums and tiny wild cyclamens blooming in mad profusion, and with the beautiful days slipping peacefully by. This is when Kalamata has an influx of older tourists, the ones who do not like the extreme heat of summer, and are fairly confident they can get a fair number of swims in before October moves into November.

It is raining as I write, and this is the first rain we have seen for weeks on end. The farmers are complaining because, as I have said before, the olives need to plump up with moisture at this stage. They have their dry times, Greek farmers, but I wish they would spare a thought for their Australian counterparts, many of whom have apparently endured severe drought for years rather than months. Many a fight about water is going on in Australia, and I wish I understood it all. And I wish city could understand country rather more than is the case at present.

Empathy: there does not seem to be a lot of it about. But it is sobering to contemplate the fact that Australia’s Prime Minister, an avowed Pentecostalist Christian, is currently spending tax payers’ money on a functionary known as an ‘empathy consultant.’ Give me strength, I seem to hear my parents and grandparents saying. And I’m saying it, too. This man, for whom I cannot summon up any empathy or sympathy at all, seems to be totally ignorant of Christianity’s golden rule, despite his happy clappy practices. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. How would he feel if his daughters were in detention on Christmas Island? Native Americans have their own golden rule, I believe: Walk a mile in another’s moccasins. Mr Morrison seems congenitally incapable of doing this; as for Peter Dutton, don’t get me started. What goes on in the dark hearts of these men?

Some people I know have given up watching the news and checking the Internet, and one can understand this, but I can’t bring myself to join them, at least not so far. (I have an idea I’ve said this before.) But one does have to work fairly hard in order to keep one’s spirits up, as there are few bright spots. One of the few has been John Bercow, the retiring speaker of Britain’s House of Commons., known throughout the Western world for his bracing cries of ORDER, even before the House is at its most unruly. A colourful character with atrocious taste in ties, he is endlessly entertaining, and I shall miss his presence when I watch the British House of Commons on the BBC World News. My favourite expression is one addressed to MP Stewart: ‘I do not give a flying flamingo what your view is.’ Now I’m wondering how to translate that into Greek.

And soon the Brits are going to hold a general election, in the hope of resolving the Brexit nonsense, which in my opinion should never have been started in the first place. If they would only come at the very sensible idea of compulsory voting, they would have saved themselves a lot of trouble in 2016. The election is to be held on December the 12^th. On a Thursday, as usual. So people will be at work, darkness will fall early, and there will be Christmas shopping to be done. Who will actually bother to go to the polls?

Of course October the 28^th, OXI Day, has come and gone. It is now 79 years since Ioannis Metaxas, then dictator of Greece, said a firm NO (OXI) to the Italians when they wanted to occupy Greece.  The rest, as they say, is history: the Greeks repulsed the Italians on the Albanian front, and the Germans came rushing to rescue the Italians, after which Greece suffered under enemy occupation for four long years. Parades are held all over Greece, but the main one takes place in Thessaloniki. It is one of the President’s duties to attend, and I felt sorry Mr Pavlopoulos, who is not in his first youth, as he had to stand and take the salute of various military contingents for about two and a half hours, by which time he must have been more than ready for his lunch. And he would not have been the only one who was ready. Two of my sons have taken part in the parade at separate times, and neither enjoyed it. It is a long wait followed by a long march; it is hard on the evzones, the Presidential guard, many of whom are already in their winter uniforms, which is not exactly suitable garb in temperatures of 28 degrees. But they seem to survive to march another year.

As do the young women, many of whom are dressed in regional costumes, with pretty headdresses and elaborate skirts and vests heavy with embroidery. Despite the martial nature of the day, Greece seemed, in the autumnal sunshine, to be a haven of peace and harmony…at least in comparison with the rest of the world.