A Week on Crete (6)

On the Friday of our week on Crete we drove to Retimo and continued to Vrises  and took the turn off to Sfakia. I was now more comfortable driving and we half knew our way around. You could certainly easily spend longer on Crete than we had and there are many areas we did not go and famous gorges and walks that we did not have the time for.

The road up into the mountains was good sealed bitumen and a comfortable width, not a narrow dangerous track I'd been half expecting.

No shortage of goats

It was a hot day, our hottest on Crete, and it gave a feeling for how hard it would have been for the evacuating soldiers marching through these rugged mountains on what was in 1941 a narrow unsealed road not much more than a track in places, at the beginning of June which was summer. Doug Twaits' 2/7th battalion fought some rear guard action at strategic points like tight hairpin bends and narrow passes to delay the pursuing German forces. It had been a command decision to march across Crete and evacuate from the South of the Island as it was further from the German held Piraeus and Athens from where attacking aircraft came. There were evacuations from North Crete with disastrous result and loss of life.

Typical scenery with olive trees plentiful

I had read Barry Cassidy's book 'Private Bill' which recounted his father's experiences on Crete and his subsequent capture and internment. Bill Cassidy was wounded and in hospital at the capitulation but his best mate was evacuated on a ship from North Crete which was sunk and he was lost, which could easily have been bill Cassidy's fate. On a trip to Crete as research for his book Barry drove the route of the evacuation march, as we were doing, and he told of a war museum between Kares and Asifkou run by a bloke called George. George's father, also George, was I think about 14 years old when the occupying Germans left in 1945 and he immediately began collecting war memorabilia which was scattered all over the countryside. He ultimately displayed this in a private museum which young George continues after his father died. He is passionate about his collection and receives no government support, and relies on donations from visitors. We easily found the museum following George's own signs from the main road down into his village. When we pulled up he appeared out of nowhere and was a wonderful enthusiastic host who showed us his huge collection of weapons and gear and historical information. We concluded with a slash of oozo and warm hugs and handshakes. It was a memorable highlight of our day and week.

Museum host George

Nearing Sfakia the road became a steep winding decline with views out to sea

There was quite a lot of cars at Sfakia as people caught ferries from there to other places but we managed to find a park and had a nice lunch at a restaurant right on the water after viewing the memorial near the little beach.

9000 in total were left behind

Doug Twaits was one of those left behind. He didn't escape capture like some, he was not well enough, having drunk water from a polluted well. Those marooned at Sfakia were marched 30 km by the Germans back across the mountains. Doug achieved this with great difficulty and was admitted to hospital in Georgepolus where he spent some months suffering Amoebic Dysentery and was expected to die at one point. This was a British hospital manned by staff who had chosen to stay with their patients rather than be evacuated, but there was a lack of medical supplies as these had been confiscated by the Germans and sent to Germany. Doug was eventually transported to Germany with other patients despite the doctor in charge maintaining they were not well enough.

General Freyberg evacuated but before doing so he oversaw the evacuation from his command cave on the hill above the beach. He was appalled at the lack of discipline and order as troops clamoured to get on the boats taking soldiers to the ships.

Freyberg's cave above Sfakia

When I talked to George at the Asifkou war museum, I said to him I had trouble comprehending why these armies would come Crete and proceed to annihilate each other. I was fully aware that Crete was regarded as strategically important, for the Brits to protect their Mediterranean shipping and North African bases, and for Hitler to protect German oil supplies from Rumania, but it still seemed like madness to me, the huge logistic cost, and that of human life. George said, "It's politics, it was all politics." I wonder how Doug felt at the time and after 4 years of incarceration. He said he was happy to join the army when war was declared as he had grown up in a "God, King and Country household". All I can say is, to repeat, madness.

I think the date is May31- a clipping in George's museum

 

  

A Week on Crete (5)

After our restful day at the beach I suggested to Lib that we drive east as we had not seen that side of Crete yet.I was wanting to yet go west again before we left, to take the road south from Retimo to Sfakia which was the evacuation route marched by the allied troops in 1941. This would entail going over the same road to Retimo that we had travelled the first two days and I knew Lib would prefer a change. There were still two days after this day, and I thought after we did the run east I'd propose that we went to Sfakia the next.

Before picking up the national Highway we drove into Tylissos to see the archaeological site which was most interesting - ruins slowly being excavated after being found quite recently, they are 3500 years old from Minoan times and are thought to be residences of wealthy people at that time. It's amazing to think this civilization predates the Roman Empire by a long way. The reason for the disintegration of the Minoan culture is not known definitively.

That is a bathtub fed by an aqueduct from a circular water tank at the rear

Care was needed not to trip or turn an ankle

We left and followed the signs to the Tylissos Snail Farm where a young lady Vassiliki (?) gave us an educational tour. The snails were not long out of the hibernation of summer and were now breeding. The snail house needed shade and the right humidity and conditions suitable for their particular location so there was a lot of trial and error- what was right in one location wouldn't necessarily be right in another. The snails were taken before marketing to a special house where they are fed a special diet (white flour I think) for three days to clean them out.Most of their snails went to market on the mainland.

We then picked up the highway and drove east, turning off taking a road into the mountains to the Lasithi Plateau. We stopped at a lovely village called Mohos for coffee

 Then on to Tzermando where we had lunch. It was very steep and mountainous on the way up to the plateau but the road was all sealed and good.

 On the trip back down from the plateau the views were again spectacular and we passed through several villages one which had an amazing cafe adorned with ripe tomatoes. It was a real work of art.

More rugged scenery enthralled us on the way down to Agios Nikolae which is a large town on the east side of Crete

A Week on Crete (4)

After 2 days with a lot of driving we decided to stay close to home this day, and do the Liguria beach thing. Emmanuel had told us that Liguria beach was about 20 minutes away and very beautiful so that was our plan. Winding road down from the National highway took us to the little town. We parked our Focus and walked along the pavement past the restaurants and appartments on the shoreline with the beach and the Mediterranean Sea to the north.We found a nice restaurant, Micheals, where we had a delightful lunch. It was a family affair, Michael senior and his son waiting on us in turn with exquisite manners while I think Mrs was doing the cooking. Lib had the fish and I had the lamb kebab.The beer was good and the mood relaxed. A few tourists were there, Germans i think, including a beautiful mother and daughter it seemed.

After lunch we sat on the beach in the shade of an umbrella and took a swim. It was hot and muggy and even for a pretty much non swimmer like myself the water was alluring. The Germans were stretched out in the sun. I walked into the water a little surprised at how slippery the rock base was that I had to cross in the shallows. Not only that but there was considerable debris in the water that caught on my feet, like plastic bags and litter. It distracted from the exercise although the water was most refreshing. I had suffered a severe head cold and nasal congestion for two weeks and believe me it was good to get in the salt water and blow it all out.

With all the litter in the water i was reminded of something my brother in law Phil told me when he went to the Greek Islands a couple of years ago. He was on a boat and it anchored so the passengers could take swim. after diving in he was horrified to see a human turd floating by, destroying the illusion of the pristine blue water. I think the turd came from the boat toilet if I recall the story correctly. This reminded me of what our guide at had said at Kusadasi on our tour to Ephesus. As we drove past a beach not far from the port he said it was a popular swimming spot for tourists who didn't realise that raw sewerage was discharged into the bay. not until at least a floating surprise went past their eyes, or worse. Such is life. We are quite spoilt in Australia with our magnificent coastline and clean beaches and coastline by comparison to Europe.

We returned to our villa via the supermarket in Gazi and bought wine and supplies. The Greek wine we found to be excellent, and inexpensive at about $5-6 Aus a bottle, no kidding, really excellent.

The Missing Boot

A huge week it was. I lost my glasses last Tuesday, a distressing thing.

I was doing a whipper snipping job. I put on my safety glasses and put my seeing glasses in my left chest pocket. It crossed my mind if that was the best thing, perhaps I should put them in the bucket with the tools where the safety glasses live, but I thought no they'll be safe in the pocket and can't get scratched.

Two hours later i took off the safety glasses and reached into my pocket only to find my seeing glasses were absent.... lost somewhere along the way. I quickly looked for them but no luck and left thinking well that was an expensive morning.

I rang the optometrist and ordered a new pair with inexpensive frames and moved on mentally.

It was a hell of a week. Culminating yesterday, when I was picking beech by climbing a tree at the farm, thankful for cool conditions. Out of no where a rain squall came while I was still up the tree and soaked me. I came down and went up again later and the rain came again. I was wet through, and cold with it. we persevered and bunched all the beech but i was cold and suffering. I went shopping later and was wet for hours till I got home and hit the hot bath.

That same morning, when I went out to put on my boots, one of them was missing. Where did it go? I don't know. A dog or fox must have taken it. Sadly, these were the best boots I had ever owned and I had had them for a couple of years. They were made by Oliver's of Ballarat and I was quite attached to them.

Today i had a day of rest. the ground dried out and I did some weed spraying here and there around my haunts. Then I went to the place where i lost my glasses and spent a half hour looking for them. Much to my great joy I found them after walking up and down in a grid search.

The boot remains missing.

I Went to Church Today Oh Boy

Yes I did. I was invited to attend to say a few words on the occasion of Jean Hayne's farewell. I was happy to do so. Jean has been editor of Signpost magazine for 15 years and has built it from a four page newsletter to a 32 page magazine produced in colour and highly regarded in the district. It has been an honour and privilege for me to contribute for these last 6 years of course made possible by the wonderful Jean whom I love very much.

There was a big crowd in when I arrived on the the dot of 10am. I was ushered to a seat in the front row by the lady who had invited me, she was waiting at the main entrance for me, to sit with two other presenters and the minister. I was hung over. We had a party at our house the previous evening to celebrate Gord's 30th birthday, his idea, which of course Lib and I supported and endorsed and did our best to facilitate. It was a late night but the people Gord invited were very special people, loving and gentle and moderate and I don't think anyone over indulged  alcohol except perhaps myself and Lib over a long night during which we did our best to be good hosts. I had no breakfast. My stomach churned and growled, I had taken my morning medication of some sulphur drug the rheumatologist put me on last Wednesday.

The venue was St Mark's Anglican in Emerald, a progressive church which is hugely popular and does great work for youth. My sister Meredith and her husband Roger are parishioners as is my niece Annie and her children. A band started proceedings with a Christmas song, then 2 or 3 three more songs. We had to stand and sing along. I stood but did not sing. There's no way I'm going to sing like a trained parrot reading the the words on a big screen. I grew up with a religious greater family. My grandparents forced me as a child to sing Jesus songs at Christmas, my secondary schooling included the forced singing of hymns, on a regular basis. I hated it. It put me off church and organised religion for life and consequently attending church was not on for me once I attained freedom of choice as an adult. Not that I have anything against it for them that wants to behave so but it is not for me.

If I thought about it more, I probably wouldn't have stood up either. We were up and down like a lavvy lid. Stand up to sing, sit down, stand up to pray, sit down, there's a subserviance in it all. Now do as I say. But look I don't want to offend anyone, it's better that I just stay away. The minister's sermon was all about being a servant of the Lord. This is fine, I have asked God to use me to good purpose at important times in my life, but this is a personal thing for me, I don't desire to exhibit my servitude to others or at the demand of other people.

The reverend said prayers following the songs then a 'rapper' girl came up and we had another singalong to rap music. She wore a very tight skirt and had a cap on sideways, and told us all to come to morning tea afterwards and perhaps buy a goat for someone impoverished overseas. This I did do, but I did not join in the rap singing.

The two speakers before me were excellent. Strangely I was not nervous, I had prepared a short script for a 3 minute talk a couple of weeks earlier and I read it but knew it well enough to pause here and there and look around the audience and speak directly to Jean when I needed to, particularly at the end. As far as I could tell it went over alright.

Just the same I was relieved greatly that it was over. It is not the sort of thing I would choose to do on a Sunday morning but I was happy to do it for Jean. I went home and took a pillow and an air mattress out onto the deck and slept for a couple of hours after putting some horse bets on. I woke and started cleaning up after the party. Gord and his sleep over mate and Lib were in slumber mode. I went up and did some whippering at Hanna's and came back and did the vegies for our roast lamb, then had a bath. We watched West Side Story, a great musical made in 1961 still relevant today for its anti racism message. It has some beautiful timeless songs.

Now for a big week ahead.