December 2020

Here we are at the end of this very odd and troubling year. It is November 30 as I write. St Andrew’s Day, with Greek authorities worrying about the Peloponnesian city of Patras: St Andrew is the city’s patron saint, and huge celebrations are usually held there, centring on the eponymous church, which is simply enormous, and contains the saint’s mortal remains, as well as the saltire cross on which he was crucified. If masses gather in the usual way, then a spread of the virus will almost inevitably follow. But the Bishop has asked people to stay away, and people do generally listen to church dignitaries, so here’s hoping all will be well.

Greece has been under lockdown since November 3, and the lockdown was supposed to end tomorrow. It has been extended for a week, however, as most people expected it would be, because northern Greece is not coping well at all: regional hospitals are not coping, either, and some patients have had to be airlifted to Athens. Travel restrictions seem likely to remain in force throughout the Festive Season, which will mean a rather lonely and isolated Christmas and New Year for many people.

But Nature and the rural routine roll on regardless ( I do so like alliteration), so the olive harvest is in full swing, with utility trucks heading up mountain slopes early in the morning, laden with the necessary tools, nets and sacks. The harvest is hard work, but I recently heard about a different system employed on the island of Corfu. There they simply arrange nets underneath the trees and wait for the fruit to fall in its own good time. My kind of olive harvest, definitely. Disraeli opined that old age is a regret, and I can see his point, but I do not regret that my olive-harvesting days are well over.

This enforced quiet life means there is plenty of time for reading and re-reading, so I am currently engrossed in that mighty novel Our Mutual Friend. And have become reacquainted with the repellent Mr Podsnap, who ‘stood very high in Mr Podsnap’s opinion.’ Dickens writes that Mr P had a particular way of ‘getting rid of disagreeables.’ This was either to say or think: ‘I don’t want to know about it; I don’t choose to discuss it; I don’t admit it!’ On reading this passage, I laughed aloud, because I was irresistibly reminded of a certain Australian politician, who is so self-satisfied and morally blind that he could probably read these same words with great equanimity. No prizes for guessing who he is, but he probably has a lot of mates.

With regard to Australian politics, I am becoming increasingly upset by the plight of the Tamil family of four who were peaceably settled in the Queensland township of Biloela until they were abruptly taken to a Melbourne detention centre. There was an attempt to deport them, and when this was foiled by court action they were installed in the Christmas Island detention centre. They have now notched up 1001 days in detention. Yet they have committed no crime, and this whole business is based on what appears to be a trifling visa irregularity. Note that the couple’s two little girls were both born in Australia, and all reports indicate that they were a model immigrant family. Apart from anything else, they were prepared to live in a regional area and were hard workers well respected in the community. It is hard to see how their punishment is consistent with the Christian values supposedly espoused by various members of the Federal Government. It is possible to send this beleaguered family a Christmas card as they languish on the eponymous island.

Nades and Priya/c/- Phosphate Hill Immigration Facility/ Christmas Island/WA 6798. Express post is recommended.

Note the misuse of the word ‘facility.’ Nothing is facilitated in these centres except curtailment of freedom and general hardship. The French word ‘facile’ means ‘easy,’ but nothing is easy about these places.

STOP PRESS: Archbishop Ieronymos II of Athens and All Greece has been discharged from Evangelismos Hospital, having recovered from Coronavirus. Some old people are pretty tough: he is 82, although he looks older because of the mandatory long white beard. He has immediately begun exhorting his flock to obey the health ministry’s rules about the pandemic. Usually, as I have said, the flock listens, so here’s hoping again: there was a drop in the number of both infections and deaths today. The Archbishop, like so many of the celibate clergy, is a formidable scholar, with degrees in archaeology, Byzantine studies, and theology. His post-graduate studies he undertook in Austria, and he has published books on archaeology. It’s nice to think he has some more time to engage in work that clearly interests him.

It will be an odd Christmas; let us hope that the New Year brings signs of better times. And let us remember what Dickens’ Tiny Tim said: God bless us, every one!