June 2021

I am writing on May the 30^th. Yesterday remains a day of ill omen in the Greek world, for it was on May the 29^th, 1453, that Constantinople, still known to Greeks as The City, fell to the Ottoman Turks. The Emperor flung himself into the fray beside his fighting men, and was never seen again. The enemy poured into the Cathedral of the Holy Wisdom even as Mass was being celebrated: legend has it that the priests seized the sacred elements and melted into the mighty walls, there to wait until The City should be Greek again. That day has yet to come. And Greece and Turkey continue to have their wrangles.

I remember the village postman being very upset years ago. One May the 29^th he had asked some schoolchildren about the significance of the day. But, much to his horror, none of them knew. He moaned to me, never questioning the notion that I would be just as upset as he was. Where are we? Where are we going? Rhetorical questions that expressed his disillusionment with the nation’s youth. I don’t know what the state of their knowledge is today.

Greece began to ease itself out of lockdown at the beginning of the month, and the process is, of course, still going on. The vaccination rollout is progressing well and is beginning to show results in that the number of people on ventilators is decreasing, and so is the number of deaths. Deaths remain largely confined to the older age groups, while those people in hospital are individuals who have not yet been vaccinated. In the meantime, my grandchildren have to be self-tested when they set off for school and kindergarten in the morning. They wear masks at school, and seem quite inured to what adults regard as inconveniences. Children are flexible creatures, and just as well.

The grandchildren are all in Athens, but I saw the three youngest on Easter Day, which was four weeks after Western Easter this year. The party included baby Aphrodite, who is only four months, and a very easy baby so far: I kept forgetting she was there, as she sat quietly chewing her fingers and taking everything in. The family was able to get permission to visit the Kalamata area, and soon after Easter the lockdown started to ease. And now it is a pleasure to see the coffee shops and tavernas opening in town and along the waterfront. Not to mention the families on the beach: it seems a long time since there was a comparable buzz of activity.

Here’s hoping that tourism starts again as well. Hotels in the area seem to have a fair amount of custom, and European flights have begun again at the Kalamata Airport. But it is very difficult to leave Britain at least, and to get back in again, as I’ve been told by friends who have come to see their children. A rigmarole of expensive tests at strictly appointed times seems to be the rigid order of the day. As for a visit to Australia, I can’t even begin to contemplate it while the system of hotel quarantine is still on, as compulsory residence in a designated hotel is estimated to cost about $3000. I keep reminding myself to buy a lottery ticket, but never seem to get around to doing so.

All things are passing, and so are all people, alas. This past week saw the death of Eric Carle, most famous for the children’s classic The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I read this book to my children, and that’s going back a bit. I have an idea they have read it to their children, as the book has been translated into any number of languages. One of its claims to fame is that it was one of the first so-called activity books: children could explore the holes in the page, while learning about counting, the days of the week, the caterpillar’s life cycle and of course food. Like many simple ideas, the book has great ideas, and was almost bound to be a success.

Carle was 91, and wrote numerous books: he apparently found it difficult to cope with the success of Caterpillar when he had written and illustrated so many other works. But I suppose that’s the way the public is, and artists just have to put up with it. I become depressed by the state of the world, which never seems to improve much. But the publicity surrounding Carle’s death and his work has reminded me of happy times and of the fact that there are good things and people to think about.