March 2022

The Greek wish of Kalo Mina (have a good month) rings rather hollow today, with the world in such a mess. It is hard to think of anything but the invasion of Ukraine, the general suffering, the huge numbers of displaced people, and the great many young men being used, once again, as cannon fodder. I am writing on the last day of February, the shortest month, which no doubt seemed very long for a great many people. I went to Kalamata to do the usual chores of bank and post office, and spent quite a lot of time in long queues. The inevitable thought came: what must it be like to be queueing at a border while in fear of your life? Or to be standing and wondering whether there is going to be any medicine or food left once you get your turn? Having had neither of these experiences, I am reminded very frequently of my privileged life.

Yesterday I returned from a fortnight in Athens, where I was more or less cook and bottle-washer for my Big Boys, my two eldest grandchildren, now 15 and 13, and six-footers who of course tower over me. Their father has started his new job in Warsaw, and their mother has her own job in Athens, at least for the next couple of months. Chili con carne is always a success, and I tried chicken in soy sauce and sweet and sour fish this time. I’ve never fancied myself as a cook at all, but the food seemed to disappear quite quickly: that’s adolescent boys for you.

Covid is, of course, still with us, so I was very careful in Athens, and went on public transport only a few times. I was pleased to note that on every trip people were wearing masks and were generally punctilious in observing the seating arrangements. I tested negative at the end of my stay, which was a relief. I must confess that every time I am in Athens I am glad I live in the provinces, where life is more relaxed.

It is often more eccentric as well. I was going about my business in central Kalamata recently when I saw a duck in the street. Kalamata is a city and not a village, so this was an unusual sight. And this was a decorated duck, for it wore a red and yellow crocheted collar. I deduced that it was a pet: although it did not have a lead, it seemed to be sticking very close to a young woman who was talking to her friends in the street. Sure enough, when she said goodbye to the company and walked off, the duck waddled after her: this cute sight quite made my day.

And the sights of spring have much the same effect. The wild flowers that were making a tentative beginning last month, are now in full swing, so to speak, this month. There are banks of chamomile everywhere, and the red paparounes/ anemones are a-growing and a-blowing at a great rate. So are the white and purple lilies. The almond blossom, which always blooms first, is already on the way out, but the Judas trees will soon be studding the landscape with Lenten purple.

The Greeks have a birthday wish: May you live to be a hundred. My reply to this is: That will be fine, as long as I feel the way I do now. Two of my friends have already turned 100, and another has her birthday this month. This last is my mother’s best friend, and it charms me to think they were born in the same year, and met in the first form of high school. My mother died many years ago, but the friend has remained close to the family. Throughout the years she has often said to me: I’ve known you since before you were born, darling! And of course this is true. She met my father in teachers’ college, and was a bridesmaid at my parents’ wartime wedding. I can’t think of anything to give her, so thought I would simply write up a few reminiscences, perhaps to be read out at the party to be held near her home in Melbourne.

Thanks to a friend in Athens, I have discovered a new (to me) and brilliant author. In The Lost, Jewish American Daniel Mendelsohn recounts his struggle to discover what he can about his six relatives who perished in Poland in the 1940s. This book is a record of a labour of both love and determination, which took over five years of the author’s life. Inspired and completely gripped by this work, I went on to read An Odyssey. At the age of 81, the author’s father asked to join his academic son’s seminar on Homer’s Odyssey. So there he is, this former research scientist, sitting with a class of 18-year-olds. Later Daniel and his father take a cruise together: following Odysseus’s wanderings.

The book is subtitled: A father, a son, and an epic. I found both works very touching. Recommended reading.