John Pendlebury and the Battle of Crete – Paddy’s speech | Patrick Leigh Fermor

John Pendlebury at Knossos

The following is the text of a speech given by Patrick Leigh Fermor at Knossos, Crete, on 21 May as part of the commemoration of the 60th anniversary of the Battle of Crete. by Patrick Leigh Fermor…

Source: John Pendlebury and the Battle of Crete – Paddy’s speech | Patrick Leigh Fermor

Organically Greek: A brave new world – Nea Hora (Νέα Χώρα Χανίων)

On a recent walk through the old town of Hania, I came across a part of the Venetian wall encircling the town which is connected with refugee history. The long black markings on this part of the wall, on the western side near the outskirts the old town, approaching the suburb of Nea Hora, were made by the iron hooks that were nailed into the wall for the makeshift accommodation that housed the refugees from the 1922 population exchange. This is where the refugees set up temporary homes, camping out in this area until they were allotted land where they could…

Source: Organically Greek: A brave new world – Nea Hora (Νέα Χώρα Χανίων)

“They came out of a clear sky…”

Kolimbari, Crete © Francis Drake

Kolimbari, Crete © Francis Drake

British photographer Francis Drake has written a book — Arriving Unexpectedly: Meandering Through Crete — about his experiences on the Greek island during the 1980s and ’90s and has kindly allowed me to post this extract about a memorable conversation he had with a local fisherman in Kolimbari about the German invasion of his beautiful homeland.

Kostas smiled and went on in his heavily accented, but perfectly understandable English. “But you try to speak Greek that is good. Mostly it is the English who try to speak Greek.” He blew out a lungful of pungent tobacco smoke. “You know the history of you English in our land?”

“A little,” I replied. My father had been in the Royal Navy and although he wasn’t in the Battle of Crete, I had grown up hearing many stories of the sea, including those of HMS York and HMS Kelly together with something of the allied land forces.

Kostas snorted. “There was not a big sea battle. There was not even a big land battle; not like there was in North Africa and Italy but,” his voice was still for a moment. “But what there was bound us together forever. We Cretans and you English. People of two islands. He turned and shouted over his shoulder through the open doorway. A tiny little woman dressed in clothes so black that she seemed like a hole in space stepped out of what I had at first thought was a ruined house.

“Anna.” He spoke in Greek in his deep steady voice. I caught the words krasi, calamari and mezes. We were in for refreshments. The classic mistake is to confuse the words ‘Kala mera’ and ’Calamari’…

… So we ate and sat with the scents of harbour and land in our nostrils, the sun hot on exposed skin, and listened to a tale, which still echoes in my mind down the years.

Kostas took a drink and settled back. The air was clear and warm with the faint scent mix of smells so characteristic, herbs, sea, cooking and the ‘burnt’ smell of dust.

“They came,” Kostas began abruptly, “out of a clear sky and they could not be stopped in the air. You had no aeroplanes here. Your Generals did not listen to your Winston Churchill. The politicians,” he cleared his throat as if to spit on the floor, thought better of it and drank a little more wine. “The politicians got it wrong as always and our own soldiers were trapped on the mainland. Across there,” he pointed unerringly in spite of his blindness across the corner of the bay in the direction we had come from, “is where it all began. Maleme, the old airfield. Out of the sky in their thousands they fell, those German paratroopers. They descended like the seeds of the flowers, but they fell to sow death, not life; and like the dragons teeth of legend they grew up and no matter how many were killed, they kept on coming. You English and the Australians and New Zealand men fought like the devil and we, men, women and children stood alongside you. We had our father’s fathers’ guns, rifles, muskets, our scythes, our forks and spades. As they fell like the rain, so they died; for they never did understand the Cretan, or the English. The fact that no situation is without hope, where courage grows with each stroke and is present as an army where even one man is left standing!” Sightless eyes gazed at scenes we could not see. His voice thicker, Kostas went on. “For the life of the land is always present in him or her and the God loves them.” He drank deeply of the glass that Anna had topped up for him. I reflected on his story. Heavy as his English was, it couldn’t hide the soul of a Homer. In this old man lived a storyteller worthy of that ancient Greek tradition of oral history and the ‘Praise Singers’ who faithfully related it word-perfect at the fireside down the centuries. Kostas wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Do you know what happened then?” he asked.

Kolimbari Monastery © Francis Drake

Kolimbari Monastery © Francis Drake

“They occupied the island,” I replied quietly for we were not just getting a history lesson, no, we were in the presence of tragedy.

He cocked his head to one side looking for my meaning.

“Held it,” I added. His time-worn hand reached for mine and gripped it in a clasp of iron.

“Ochi,” he replied vehemently. “They murdered a people; future generations.” He snarled the words and his hands clenched until the knuckles showed white against his nut-brown hands. I thought my bones would crack. “But they paid a price. Many thousands of them lie beneath the earth of Crete and two thousand of your countrymen and from Australia and New Zealand lie beneath the grass at Souda. Thousands of our own people lie in graves as well… and some only the God knows where they rest. For four years they believed they held Crete, but they never held her, not in spirit, no matter how many they starved or murdered. For although it was war, what they did was murder. With our English friends in the mountains we fought on and even as they murdered our children, and our future, they were losing the battle. The God does not miss these things and they were losing. Four years it took! Four years, but they lost!” He said it with immense satisfaction. “You see my house and my neighbour’s? They were damaged then and we still struggle to win back our future. My sons died in those years as did many here. Have you seen the old empty houses in the hillsides? They are left as a memorial. The families they belonged to were murdered. Torn out of their houses, men, women and children. Lined up and shot. My neighbour had two sons, nine and eleven years. They went out to play after the curfew. A Nazi shot them both. Two little boys.”

The food was untouched as the story unfolded in a mixture of Greek and English. Kostas held us in thrall with the horror of that time. He had fought on these beaches and then in the mountains. His sight had failed a few years past but his memory was clear and his passion and that of his fellow islanders obvious. My throat was closed by the sense of pain and misery echoing down the years and from the corner of my eye I saw Jenny wipe away a tear. Ancient, silent Anna spoke not a word but placed her wrinkled hand lovingly on Kostas’s. They entwined with the ease and comfort of young lovers.

Kostas cleared his throat again. “I think that you are young and do not remember, but I think you understand, (my first memory is being snatched out of a warm cot, wrapped in a dressing gown and carried down into a stinking Anderson Shelter). The English will be forever our brothers because we bled together. Our blood stained our clothes, mingled on our hands and joined in the soil of the island. We have stood together and died together. Two island peoples. Two peoples who will never bow to might and what is wrong, but will always look to the horizon for freedom.”

I wished with all my heart that it might be so but thought of the stupid laws and regulations that were imposed on us daily to curb just such freedoms, curbing initiative and creativity by governments who grew more paranoid by the day and feared above all things a truly free people. They would so much rather every person became a cipher carefully documented and regulated every minute of life. One visit was now due. I would go to Souda and Maleme to the War Graves soon.

Francis Drake © 2014

Among the Quick and the Dead

Patrick Leigh Fermor

If you are coming to the end of a celebrated life, chances are that someone has already suggested writing your biography – a thought, as Oscar Wilde pointed out, that lends a new terror to death. The print run will be measured in thousands, and modern readers feel shortchanged unless all is revealed: sex, money, secrets, skeletons and dirty linen. The prospect is appalling but once you are dead, you probably won’t mind so much.

By Artemis Cooper

First published in The London Library Magazine, Spring 2013

I was commissioned to write the life of Elizabeth David by her literary executor, Jill Norman, in 1995 – by which time Mrs David had been in her grave for three years, and her papers had been expertly catalogued by Jill’s partner, the writer and book-dealer Paul Breman. Housed in two long rows of matching box-files, the archive marched the entire length…

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First Night Design | Atrocious Connection

My title says it all. I’m too weary to struggle so unless I can brave the cold for the local taverna with a WiFi connection, I won’t be visiting, liking and commenting on your blogs at the moment. Forgive me.

I worked out a long time ago that I’m on this earth to learn patience but this amount of patience? Give me a break!

Take care and keep laughing!

Sarah (cold, miserable and really very pissed off!)

via First Night Design | Atrocious Connection

Hellraisers with deadly intent: the hard-living war heroes who captured a Nazi general

Patrick Leigh Fermor

Patrick Leigh Fermor, left, met Heinrich Kreipe, his former captive, at a reunion in Greece in 1972 which included the famous Greek TV show Patrick Leigh Fermor, left, met Heinrich Kreipe, his former captive, at a reunion in Greece in 1972 which included the famous Greek TV show

We are about to hit the season for new books about Paddy and associated book news and plugs here on the blog. There are two books about the Kreipe kidnap due out this autumn. Paddy’s own account Abducting a General: The Kreipe Operation and Soe in Crete will follow on 9 October, but first on the grid is Kidnap in Crete: The True Story of the Abduction of a Nazi General by Rick Stroud (Bloomsbury) which is published on Thursday 11 September. The introduction to this Telegraph article gives us a dramatic start: Backed by local guerrillas, Patrick Leigh Fermor and William Stanley Moss led an audacious operation in wartime Crete that is celebrated in a new book. I am sure we will be buying them…

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The History Girls: Hide & Seek, by Clare Mulley

Originally posted on The History Girls

Paddy Leigh Fermor with Xan Fielding courtesy of The National Library of Scotland

This month The Folio Society republished one of the great memoirs of the Second World War; Xan Fielding’s Hide & Seek. Described by Antony Beevor as, ‘one of the great modern books not just of the Cretan resistance; it is one of the great books of the Second World War’, Hide & Seek recounts with powerful immediacy, humour and unsparing honesty the drama, tedium, exhilaration and anguish of organising reconnaissance and resistance behind enemy lines on Crete.

I first read Hide & Seek when I was researching my biography of Krystyna Skarbek, aka Christine Granville, the first woman to work for Britain as a special agent during the war. Christine had saved Xan’s life, at huge personal risk, in the summer 1944 while they were both serving in occupied France. Xan never forgot his debt, and dedicated Hide & Seek to Christine’s memory, so I was thrilled when Folio asked me to …

Read more: The History Girls: Hide & Seek, by Clare Mulley

Relaunch of A War of Shadows by Billy Moss

Patrick Leigh Fermor

A War of Shadows A War of Shadows

In 1952 Billy Moss published his second volume of war memoirs, focusing on his activities after the Kreipe kidnap which he had described so vividly in Ill Met by Moonlight.War of Shadows has recently been republished by Bene Factum and I was honoured to have been invited to the recent launch party at the RAF Club.

A War of Shadows is a darker book than Ill Met. It starts with a discourse on death in its many forms, variety of impacts, and importance. Billy is in reflective mood as he describes the last year of his war, during which time he engaged in ambushes in Crete with his Russians whilst Paddy was recuperating from his illness in Cairo. There were even plans made to repeat the kidnap with the replacement General!

From Crete, Billy is deployed to Macedonia where he encounters a more cynical form of…

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Battle of Crete – Operation Mercury Maps (2)

Today in 1941…

Historical Resources About The Second World War

Collection of maps about the participation of New Zealand military forces in the Battle of Crete – from 20 May to 1 June 1941, during the Operation Mercury.

42nd Street Map, 27 May

Babali Hani Map, 28 May

Beritiana-Stilos Map, 28 May

Canea, Mao of 26 May

Canea-Galatas sector Map, 22 May

Counter-attack at Galatas Map, 25 May

Force Reserve, 27 May

Galatas, Map of 24 May

Galatas, Map of 25 May

 

See also: Battle of Crete – Movies and Propaganda

See also: Battle of Crete – Operation Mercury Maps

See also: Full text of “Crete”, By Daniel Marcus Davin

Credits: NZ Electronic Text Centre – with the permission of the New Zealand Ministry for Culture and Heritage, Wellington.

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