Interview with Mom and Dad

This interview was conducted with my Mother and Father between January and February of 1998. The taped interview was then transcribed and translated from Armenian into English. The names of the persons being interviewed are my Dad, Kevork Yaghmourian, nicknamed George, and my Mom, Zarouhie Yaghmourian, nicknamed Alice. Their dates of birth are respectively May 15, 1902 and October 24, 1907. Both were born in Konya, Turkey. My name is Adolphe Edouard Yaghmourian. My first name in Armenian is “Skon”. I’m their son, and the one who conducted this interview.

January 1998

ME: For some time now, I had always wanted to sit down with you, and talk about your lives. First, while you lived in Turkey, and then during your stay in France. I remember us just talking about your story oftentimes in the past, but had never thought of making a record of it up to just recently. So, what I would like to do, starting today, is to record this information each and every time we get together so that it can be made available to the family members, as well as to any other interested parties. So, why don’t we begin with your hometown of Konya, Turkey where both of you were born and got started with your lives.

Mom, you seem anxious to be the first one to begin!

MOM: I’ll be glad to! So you want to know about our hometown of Konya. OK. I remember it quite well. Actually, we had a very good life there, that is, until the hatred of the Turkish government got unleashed upon us. It happened more than eighty-three years ago, when I was only a little girl of eight, but I remember it better than if it had happened just yesterday. Almost overnight, we saw the wonderful world of ours turn into one of misery and despair. Just out of the blue, the Turkish government issued an evil edict. It concerned the deportation of all Armenians out of Turkey. From one day to the next, we found ourselves being robbed out of all our valuable assets.  These included three houses as well as a couple of vineyards we greatly treasured. Needless to say, my family had worked very hard, over the years, to accumulate these assets. It really broke our hearts when all these valuables were confiscated from us. Gone, also, were be the joyful days of summer fun we had spent at the vineyards, where family and friends used to gather up for  yearly for harvesting the grapes! It was real sad when the many joyful days we had experienced in the past abruptly came to an end.

DAD: Not to get us off the subject, Zarouhie, but this Turkish coffee you’ve just served us is simply delicious! You know! It brings back great memories of the good old harvest season in Konya.

I remember, how, besides the tasty water of our town, our next favorite beverage was coffee, which, by the way, was reserved and served only to the adults.

MOM: Funny! But I don’t remember my family taking any coffee along with us when we went to the vineyards. However, what I recall is this strange story going around concerning young girls, whereby one’s complexion would turn  dark if you drank even as much as a teaspoonful of coffee. But, the worst consequence of having little girls indulge in the coffee, they told us, was that this would make it difficult to finding a suitable man when reaching marriageable age. You see! The thing was that, if a young lady’s complexion turned darker, then no man would be interested in her! Anyway, that’s the story they gave us little girls.

DAD: Well! I don’t remember that, but I do remember how much of a coffee lover my father was. We never went to the vineyards without having him take along a substantial amount of coffee, together with an alcohol stove, making it possible for him to prepare his brew. Father drank at least three or four cups a day. Remember that this was a very rich Turkish coffee, so rich in fact that it was said to put some hair on your chest, the desirability of which was in question, especially if you were a girl.

Anyway, the thicker the coffee, the more my father liked it. There were many days when, in the middle of the night, he would get up and fix himself a cup of the dark brew. This went on at a time, when everyone in the tents was still fast asleep. Before starting out on our yearly trip to the Vineyards of Kochachan, my father would invariably ask my Mom, “Noursi, let’s not forget to take along the coffee, alcohol stove and the cups too, OK”

ME: What was your best method for brewing coffee, anyway?

DAD: Building a fire would have taken too long, so we used a small but efficient alcohol stove.

ME: And, what did you do for water? I mean, what was your source?

DAD: Well! We got it either from a well or from an outdoor cistern where rainwater was collected. The village of Kochachan, where our vineyard was located, was a very small place with only a few inhabitants. By the way, since you brought up the subject of water, at about an hour’s walking distance from Konya, there was a town by the name of Manaster that was quite famous for the quality of its water. Its source originated high up in the mountains and visitors of Manaster always made a stop at the fountain there, to drink of its exceptionally pure and palatable water. Whenever anyone needed to quench their thirst, or fetch some water for their families, the fountain and its inviting water was always there for them. The water was free, but you had to negotiate a few downward steps leading one into a depressed area of the landscape. Once there, they could drink at their hearts content or take the water home.

As I had mentioned earlier, it took about an hour’s walk to get from Konia to Manaster. Naturally, since the general mode of transportation was the horse and buggy, more often than not, the travel time was cut down considerably.

MOM: Remember, also, that my family owned a vineyard near our home right in Konya . The vineyard was only fifteen minutes away from our house, and I’d go there often to gather up and eat as many grapes as I liked. Grapes constituted a very important part of our diet.

ME: It seems to me that you had an overabundance of grapes. What did you do with it all?

MOM: Well! We consumed the whole thing ourselves. But, most of it was stored in our basement, on top of wooden boards or in baskets. Every batch weighed approximately about thirty kilos. The grapes kept in the basement would be consumed during the winter season when fresh fruits were unavailable. Also, some of the grapes were stored by hanging them from the basement rafters. Traditionally a lot of the grapes would be served around Christmas season. Any and all of the remaining grapes would be used to make some wine or a liqueur called “raki”, powerful enough to curl up the hairs in your nose, besides doing other notable and wicked things to your head and stomach.

ME: What about the Turks, what did they do?

MOM: There were no Turks, to speak of, living near our vineyards. However, I think that my father may’ve hired some guards or watchmen, I’m not sure. The vineyards, however, belonged exclusively to us!

ME: I understand! But, there must’ve been someone to tend the vineyards. No?

DAD: Well! As a rule, your grandfather, Daracross, would hire some Turkish laborers to manage the vineyards. He never got involved in actually doing the work himself.

The community in Konya was made up with peoples of various ethnic backgrounds. There were Turks, Greeks, Kurds and Armenians, all of us living together quite harmoniously. Unfortunately, that happy situation suddenly came to an end. Without any advance notice whatsoever, the Turkish government had decided that all the Armenians should be deported from their homes in Turkey. Also, no information was given as to where we would be taken.

Consequently, as we were being forced out we had no choice but leave all our properties behind us. A sadistic group of Turkish gendarmes came to our house and confiscated our personal belongings. These gendarmes seemed to be hand picked to carry out this type of dirty work that the Turkish authorities had ordered. Many of these “gendarmes” were nothing more than thugs and criminals who had just been released from prison, and had b given license to violence and abuse.

The chief culprits, responsible for this horrifying situation, were two members of the Young Turks who had just taken over the government. One of them was named Talaat and his partner in crime was Enver Pasha. Needless to say, both of them were Pashas of the worst kind. Yet, unfortunately for us, they had emerged as leaders of their newly formed party called the Young Turks.

At first, these Pashas acted as though they were sympathetic to the plight of the Armenians. However, all of that, turned out to be nothing but a purely deceptive move, where all the non Moslem or the “infidels” were concerned.

What Enver and Talaat Pasha did, was to approach and befriend the leaders of the principal Armenian political party, the Dashnags, and encouraged them to openly discuss their political agenda.

One of the important issues for the Armenians was the return of their territories that had been taken over by the Ottomans nearly eight centuries ago. Another important issue for the Armenians was their quest for greater civil liberties. Everyone anticipated that these reforms would be forthcoming, but what the Young Turks had in mind, instead, was the wholesale extermination of the Armenian race. Of course, no one was aware of this at the time, except for the Turkish Authorities.” Turkey ought to belong exclusively to the Turks “thought the Authorities.

Of course, people were totally ignorant of the calamity they would soon be meeting.  Instead, they were feeling jubilant about the reforms that were supposedly forthcoming. In anticipation, people hugged each other, regardless of whether they were Greek, Turk or Armenian. No one could‘ve known that the evil doers would soon be starting out with their dirty work of premeditated murder.

This very brief period of jubilation ended abruptly one day, when the hatred got unleashed suddenly, and with a fury that no one could’ve possibly imagined.

With the advent of World War I, the Turks found their opportunity to start with the extermination of the Armenian population. As is the case with genocides, they first rounded up all the arms and handguns from the Armenian homes, thereby leaving them totally defenseless. Their next target would be to go after the Armenian intellectual. How they killed them and disposed of them, you cannot imagine! After being taken forcibly from their homes, the gendarmes would take them to some distant and God forsaken desert, where they would be mercilessly killed, under the cover of darkness The system used by the gendarmes, in the premeditated murders of these intellectuals, was so efficient, that very few survived at the end of the massacres.

 And, with all the thinking men out of the way, there remained very few literate individuals who would be in a position to document the horrible events of the genocide. Fortunately for the Armenians, there were a number of foreign dignitaries working in Turkey who took it upon themselves to record the atrocities they had witnessed with their own eyes. One of these people was Ambassador Henry Morgentau who spoke and wrote in condemnation of the terrible injustices perpetrated by the Young Turks. Another individual, who condemned the Turkish atrocities, that he had personally witnessed, was a German missionary by the name of Dr. Lespius. It was at great risk to him, that he smuggled out very sensitive documents out of Turkey. Whatever Henry Morgentau and Dr. Lespius saw and reported was more than enough to indict the murderous Young Turks. In spite of this, the Turkish government continues to deny any wrongdoing to this day! Talking about getting away with murder on a gigantic scale! As incredible as it may seem, that is exactly what happened, without question, with the Armenian genocide! Hard to believe it isn’t it!

MOM: The Turkish government used all means possible to try and keep its evil acts secretive. For example, I remember them forbidding us from using the telephone or the telegraph, but the information was getting out anyway, thanks to the effort of the foreign dignitaries.

DAD: From the very first day of the deportations, the Young Turks had tried to keep their evil acts secretive, but the enormity of the crime was in such a grand scale, that the reality of the situation became easily apparent.  

Both Turks and Armenians had been excited about the Young Turk revolution because it promised much needed reforms for all. Unfortunately, the whole thing was nothing but pure deception. Instead of the reforms that were promised, a murderous government headed by Talaat Pasha descended upon the helpless Armenians and massacred millions.

I may’ve been only thirteen years old when the deportations began, but I think I have a pretty good recollection of the appalling events that followed.

Needless to say, the conditions at the time we were expelled from our homes, and our subsequently being dragged along the harsh deportation routes was simply the epitome of misery for us.

Many of the deportees who possessed a degree of literacy had the desire to jot down their impressions of the exile and the incredible suffering of the Armenians, but found it difficult, if not impossible, to do so. Nevertheless, some people managed to do just that!

One of those people, I’m proud to say, was your maternal grandfather, Andon Andonian. He dared brave the authorities and managed to secretly write his impressions of the murderous deportations and the incredible suffering endured by the Armenian people in general.

Your maternal grandmother, Sapek Andonian, who had had the opportunity of having read your grandfather’s manuscript, said that it was replete with shocking events of the genocide. For example, in one instance, your grand father had related the story of how he had come across freshly dug pits in which lay the lifeless forms of many innocent young men. Only on the previous night, he had been startled by the sound of gunshots coming from the general area of where the murders had taken place. In another ghastly episode, your grandfather told us the story of the dogs that were praying on the bodies that had been abandoned in the fields. In yet another episode, he wrote about his accidentally meeting with two Armenian young ladies who had been abducted from their families and forcibly made to go to Islam at the point of a sword. They confided to your grandfather that although they had been forced to wear the Moslem dress, their hearts remained forever faithful to Christ and the Armenian nation.

In the case of your grandfather, however, the more he witnessed such incomprehensible situations, the more he questioned the existence of God for allowing all these injustices to take place.

In spite of it all, your grandfather, Andon Andonyan, went on to record his stories. And, the material on which he wrote were, of all things, small pieces of cut up fabric that came from bedding sheets.

Anyway, at the end of the hostilities, your grandfather’s document had remained intact and had been circulating among family members. However, after a while, the document became misplaced or lost. Your cousin, Dr.Sapek Andonyan was then asked to see if she could help locate it. One of the family members, felt that the last person thought to be in possession of the manuscript was my cousin, Dr. Azadoohie who, at that time, lived in Paris France. After Dr. Sapek Andonyan contacted Dr. Azadoohie, and asked her about grandfather’s document, it was established that this most valuable information was somehow lost. As far as I know, all attempts to try and locate the document were abandoned after that attempt.

MOM: Although I had never seen my father’s manuscript, I had heard about it from my mother and other family members who had seen it. All of them were rather impressed and deeply disturbed and moved by its contents. This was not hard to understand, since Dad was not only well educated, but had been a teacher himself. He was exiled but managed somehow to survive.  I remember how my father, prior to the deportation, always took the time to help us out with our schoolwork. For example, I got a lot of assistance with my homework on grammar. Before long, I found myself on top of my class on this subject and couldn’t be more proud it!

Now, getting back to the Turks who lived with us in Konia, I always thought them to be pretty decent folks. My impression was that if there were any troublemakers at all, they came from outside of Konya. I really don’t remember coming across any bad Turks in Konya itself. How about you Kevork, what was your impression on the Turks who lived in our town?

DAD: That had been my impression also, Zarouhie! The Turks from Konya seemed very nice. Turks living in the other provinces were also pretty good. At least, I remember it being that way, before the deportations began. When Huruet (civil rights reform) came along, there was an even greater measure of a rapprochement between Armenians, Turks and Greeks. I remember how almost overnight the various ethnic groups began to spring up all over Turkey in celebration of the reforms promised by the New Turks. Armenians, Greeks and Turks all embraced one another in great excitement.  What stands out in my mind the most, are the many festive parades, which were held in the center of town. It was nice to see everyone participating in them, regardless of their creed or background. Beautiful young ladies, gowned in very colorful dresses, each representing their own ethnic group, were paraded in some magnificent coaches, along Alahedine Summit, a most popular and picturesque spot in Konya.

As best as I can remember, every member in our family was greatly excited with the celebrations. Participating with their music, were various groups. The Armenians were very well represented with their large musical band. The Greeks and Turks, on the other hand, formed a much smaller musical but colorful group. There were also many speakers who took the center stage expounding on the joyous importance of that moment.

MOM: Kevork, wasn’t your father called upon to make a speech for the occasion?

DAD: As a matter of fact yes! They gave my father a chair on the stage. When his time came to address the crowd, my father, a very articulate man, delivered quite a captivating and flawless speech in Turkish. He certainly knew the language well since he had worked in the secondary educational system as a teacher. In fact, that’s where he had met and married your grandmother Noursi. Interestingly, she was a student in his class, fifteen years his junior.

MOM: I don’t know if you recall, but my father, too, addressed the crowd that day! Many of the people in attendance were surprised at his ability to talk in public. They affectionately said to him, “Hodja, (Teacher} we didn’t realize that a man like you, in the   shoemaking trade, would have the ability for public speaking, as you’ve demonstrated to us today.” Interestingly, what most people did not know, was that my father, just like yours, was educationally well rounded and had been an educator. However, due to some health issues, he had left the classroom to join his brother in shoemaking, a business that had already been established by his brother. This partnership caused the firm to flourish in a very short time and made our family quite affluent.

DAD:  I think that many of your father's customers were peasants and villagers who lived in the outskirts of Konya and came to our city to trade. They would buy at wholesale prices from your father and sell at retail in their own village and its vicinity.

MOM:  Father was excellent at managing his business affairs. The fact that he was good at figures was, no doubt, of great help to him. The family had invested heavily in real estate. Unfortunately for us, some of the villas we owned were all consumed by fire. What can I say!  We ended up losing and leaving everything behind, anyway. One of our houses had burned “accidentally”. The remainder of our properties and assets were taken over by the Turks. Unfortunately, for us, we had not moved fast enough. And nothing worked in our favor.  My uncle, on the other hand, made a swift and clever move, by immediately selling both of the houses he owned. And, after pocketing the proceeds of the sale, he and his family promptly moved out of Turkey and went to Athens, Greece. He had warned every one about his presentiment that hell would be prevailing in Konya, and that we should get out at the first chance we got. Unfortunately for us we were unable to do so. We were left behind in Konya. My father who had survived the first deportations (Aksor), was deported a second time for a period of three or four years, I'm not sure exactly how long. Finally, my Dad turned up in Istambul, from where he sent us the news that he would be able to return to Konya and take us to Istambul, which was to become our next home. While we were waiting for father to come get us, your Mom Nouritza Yaghmourian nee Noursian} who was an immediate neighbor of ours, helped take care of me during a short  time in the absence of my mother.

ME: When you say Grandma Nouritza, are you referring to Dad’s Mom?

MOM: Exactly.  It was she who took care of me. She happened to be a very nurturing and loving person! I considered myself very lucky for her being there for me!

DAD: I believe that, at that time, my sister Iskouhie and I had already gone to France!

MOM: My mother, as I recall, was unable to see you folks and bid you farewell at the time of your departure. You had to leave suddenly as I remember.

DAD: It was not until two years later that the rest of the family was to join us in Marseilles, France.

ME:  So, then, in what year did you actually arrive in France?

DAD:  1923

MOM: In that year, your father realized that if he was going to be successful with his plans to immigrate to France, he needed to forget about using his French passport.

 Many of his friends who had attempted to leave Turkey in that way, had failed miserably. The Turkish authorities did not allow any of these young men, all of them around your father’s age and, therefore, subject to conscription in the Turkish Army, to leave the country. The young Armenians tried at all cost to evade conscription in the Turkish Army. The reason for this was that they would invariably put to hard labor slaving on the construction of roads. At any rate, your father’s aunt, Zarouhie Hallah, upon hearing about your father’s dilemma, came up with an idea. She said that she had just heard about a citizen exchange program by the name of “Mirabeni” that might be worth investigating.  Zarouhie Hallah went on to explain how the program worked. Simply put, it was an agreement between Greece and Turkey, to allow their respective expatriates to return to their homes.  Such an exchange under the ‘Mirabeni’ agreement was taking place that very week that your father intended to leave for France."

DAD: I thought that the French passport I held would be all I needed to go to France, but I quickly became aware of the futility of trying to use it to get out of Turkey.

One day, I had accompanied a good friend of mine to the wharf, where he was hoping to catch a ship to France. For his sake and mine, I was praying that he be successful in getting on board ship, for I had plans to follow in his footsteps myself.  Unfortunately for us, when my friend finally arrived at the head of the line at Customs and presented his passport to the Official, it became evident that we were not going anywhere.  After examining the document, the officer in charge, harshly remarked to my friend:" Now, young man, you are a Turkish subject. Aren’t you? How is it that you are traveling with this foreign passport anyway?" And, with that statement, he tore the document in half and tossed it in the nearest wastebasket. At that point, I became convinced that my Aunt Zarouhie's idea to take advantage of the” Mibadeni” program was, perhaps, the only sensible path to follow, if I was to have a chance at leaving the oppressive Turks , at all. In addition, I had learned from my aunt Zarouhie Hallah,{ my aunt Zarouhie) that there was, assembled at the Greek Orthodox Church, a contingent of Greeks waiting to catch a ship for Greece. Well! I said to myself, why don’t I go there too and see if I can find a way to intermingle with the Greeks, and somehow sneak in on board the vessel bound for Greece. I told my parents what my intention was. The decision to leave my family behind for a while was mot an easy one for me and for my parents. Hopefully, after my arrival in France they would follow me shortly after. After my parents gave me their blessings, my mother went to our kitchen. She soon returned with a large sack which she said I should   take along on my trip. Almost immediately, my mother began to place in the sack various food items like bread and other home baked items. She also threw in the sack some clothing items such as a sweater and a couple sets of underwear. Soon armed with this precious cargo, and my family’s best, I started out towards the church, with the intention joining the group of Greek refugees already assembled there. When I arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that other Armenian families, who apparently had had the same idea as I were also present at the Greek church.. For a while there were some very anxious moments for all of us Armenians trying to pass as Greeks, but by the grace of God we somehow managed to get on board ship along with our Greek friends.  The ship we got on was not designed to transport passengers. It was strictly a cargo ship, but we did not mind. We were all euphoric at the thought of leaving behind the mean spirited and oppressive regime of Turkey, where many of us had lost all of our belongings, and more importantly, countless others had lost their precious lives. I considered myself luckier than most. Quite miraculously, every member of my family was still alive! Anyway, when we boarded ship, we all thought that we would arrive in Greece on the following day, but things didn’t quite work out that way! Instead, much to our dismay, it turned out to be a miserable voyage that was to last almost two weeks which seemed endless.

Much earlier in the previous year, many individuals, both Greek and Armenian, who in anticipation of difficult times ahead, had had the wisdom to acquire ‘Sujet Protégé,’(documents that put them under the protection of the Allies, namely France, England and the United States of America. ), found it easy to immigrate. Many of these individuals were in possession of the ‘Sujet Protégé’ papers and were rescued by the battleships of the allied forces. My cousins, Minas Balian and Moukael Balian were rescued in this manner.  Prior to being rescued, they had taken up residence in Istambul, where they had, for a while at least, lived in relative peace. That freedom, however, was to be very short lived, for another oppressive regime, that of Kemal Pasha (Ataturk) had come into power, right after the fall of the “Young Turks”. Immediately after, a mass exodus of Armenians took place from Turkey. Everyone tried to save his or her hide from another tyrannical regime yet, by trying to leave the country. That's when my aunt and uncle, the Balian family, got their opportunity to leave under the protection of the French.  They were first taken to Algeria, where they stayed a short time.  Meanwhile, their sons Minas and Moukael about whom I had spoken earlier, and who had immigrated to Marseilles, France, received notification from the French authorities that their parents were in Algeria and that they would, very shortly, be joining them in Marseilles. So, it was in this way that their family was once more reunited.

With regard to our own family, my sister Iskouhie had managed to leave Turkey before anyone of us. She had already, been a resident of Marseilles for nearly a month, when I followed her there.  After serious consideration, our father, Daracross, had decided that Iskouhie should be the first one to leave Turkey. His rationale was that, since she was a female and, therefore, exempt from military service, she would be allowed to travel without any problems.  His thinking proved to be correct and, as anticipated, your aunt Iskouhie, after boarding the ship, arrived in Marseilles safe and sound.  When she arrived there, she was glad to be greeted by her cousins Minas and Moukael Balian, as well as her aunt and uncle, Ohaness and Narin Balian.  Later on, When they had been established in Marseilles a while, the Balians were instrumental in sponsoring cousin Heghena and her family, and helped them emigrate to Greece first and then on to Marseilles where the rest of the extended family was now living.

MOM: I recall, also, that my own Uncle's first stop, before moving on again, was in Greece.

DAD: Yes, as a matter of fact, on my way over to Marseilles, and during a brief layover in Greece, I had the opportunity to visit with your paternal uncle and his family.  They lived in a shack no larger than the size of this kitchen, probably around fifty or sixty square feet. From the outside, it looked like a dilapidated wooden shed, flimsily held together with a patchwork of sheet metal, fashioned from rusty old tin cans, but it surely beat the miserable Turkish “camps”.

ME: Anyway, you said that my aunt Iskouhie arrived in Marseilles a month before you did. Is that right?

DAD: Yes. She did arrive before me and stayed with her cousins the Balians, until my joining her there. I was delayed substantially because, the ship on which I was a passenger, was not permitted to make any stops and let us off. None of the ports that lay on our course would allow us to dock. We were all getting desperate, as this situation lingered for a time that seemed endless.  Many excuses were given for not allowing us to go ashore. One reason was that there wasn’t enough food to feed us all.  Another reason was that there were no accommodations at the various ports, where an attempt was made to stop. The captain of the ship felt that we had a good chance to go ashore at the town of Igoumenitsa. Those of us, going to France, had a good chance of catching a ship there, he said. The captain also tried to make a stop at the famous island of Corfu, but once again, he was told that they couldn’t accommodate us. Once more, the reasons they gave us, were similar to those we had heard before.  No food, no adequate lodgings, etc.  If there were any other reasons why we were being turned away, we never did find it out! Obviously, if you were a typical refugee with lice crawling all over you, there may have been a great reluctance from the part of anyone, to accept you within the circle of their town. Apparently, Corfu, a winter resort island, was filled up to capacity with the countless vacationers, who flocked there, year after year, from far away places, in order to get away from their cold and inclement weather!

After our failure to land in Corfu, the captain finally gave us some good news!  As anticipated, they would allow us to disembark at the town of Igoumenitsa. We were all thrilled at the news!  There was one problem, however. The town was not in a position to provide us with any shelter. So, we would have to camp somewhere outdoors. As we disembarked, we all noticed, at a distance, some beautiful orange groves. The shady space under these orange trees was to become our habitat for a while. We loved the mild climate of the colorful town. For many of us, who had gone through the horrors of the deportations and the massacres, reaching this town in Greece was like finding Paradise.  For us, it did not matter, at all, that we had to sleep in open air! After all, each and every one of us had gotten plenty of practice sleeping outdoors along the horrific deportation routes in Turkey. Everyone was grateful to be alive, even though we all felt weak and sickly. We were all quite hopeful that competent medical help would be forthcoming, perhaps when each of us had arrived at our final destinations, we thought. One of the big problems was the lice crawling on all over the passengers, with no means to get rid or them.

ME: Wasn't there a ship's doctor on board?

DAD: Well, yes there was a doctor who was traveling with us. He was a gentleman of Greek descent, and, just like us, was getting out of Turkey.

ME:  Did the ship have a pharmacy and, if so, was the doctor able to dispense any medication to any of the sick?

DAD: The ship carried no significant medication on board.  However, I do remember that all passengers received a vaccination against something or other, but exactly for what condition! I really don’t recall.  What I do remember, though, is the fact that most of the passengers were young women, travelling with their infants or young children.  The rest of the passengers were comprised of middle aged or older men.  Besides myself, there were only eight or, maybe, ten other young men who fell into my age bracket, that is to say, all within the group were between twenty and twenty five years old. Also, we all felt blessed in having among us a very dear fellow passenger, who was also a man of the cloth.  Actually he was a priest of the Greek Orthodox faith.  I remember him well!  During our voyage, one of our fellow passengers, who had been gravely ill, suddenly passed away.  I was asked to join a select group of the younger passengers to help bury the poor departed soul.  After taking our places in a rowboat, wherein the dead passenger's body had been placed, we immediately headed towards the nearest shore. Upon our arrival, the priest made a decision as to the burial site. He, then, gave us the signal to start digging the grave at that chosen location. This was accomplished rather quickly since there were many people lending each other a hand.  The priest, then, signaled us to gently begin lowering the body of the deceased into its final resting-place. Once this was accomplished, the priest recited a brief service on behalf of the dead passenger and prayed that he rest in eternal peace in God's Kingdom. At this point there was nothing else to do but to cover up the grave and go back to the ship. However, before leaving, we managed to put together a makeshift cross, with the driftwood we had found ashore. We all had tears running down our faces, when one of the young men from our group planted the cross on the gravesite.  As we boarded the rowboat in our return to the ship, it was obvious that we were all quite shaken up and quite sorrowful over the loss of our dear fellow passenger, who had died so unexpectedly. In addition, we all felt rather empty and diminished by his loss. 

ME: Do you remember how many passengers there were on board ship?    

DAD: Let me see! I think, maybe, around one hundred and fifty people

MOM: Your Dad, at that time, was a young man of twenty and did not hesitate to volunteer his services in order to help out the less fortunate passengers on the ship!

DAD: Remember that we were travelling on a cargo ship where cabins were non existent. So, there were no lodging facilities for us passengers.  All of us had actually made our “nest”, as best as we could, in the cargo storage area of the boat.  In this same area, the ship carried some food for our benefit, but because we ended up being at sea longer than anticipated, the food supply had very rapidly dwindled down to nearly nil. All the passengers were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger. Some were beginning to feel rather sickly and disheartened!  This is when the sack of food I had brought along with me, was going to come in handy.             

As I had mentioned before, it contained enough food to feed one person for at least fifteen days. There were, on board ship, a few Armenian families with small children in dire need of help.  My heart went out to these families and I offered to share some of my food with them.  They were so grateful for this that they offered to do my laundry.  I did not expect such kindness and didn’t want them to feel obligated either, but I graciously accepted their offer anyway.  I knew that they were a very proud people and I was not about to hurt that pride by turning down their offer. For me, it was absolutely gratifying to know that I had this opportunity to help my fellow men.

At any rate, our problem still remained to find a port where we would be allowed to land and disembark. Our Captain felt that our best bet would be at the port of Igoumenitsa, very near the famous island of Corfu.  So, he set his ship's compass to take us there.

We were told that, winter or summer, the weather, there, was always ideal and that, with some luck, we may also be able to find some food.

ME: Was Igoumenitsa an island?

DAD: No.  It's a small port located near the island of Corfu, but on the Greek mainland itself. Located nearby, are also the popular towns of Chicodora and Yanya with their many religious shrines. These are, also, the towns where many Greeks went on their pilgrimages. However, the local peoples were comprised mainly of Arnawood people.

ME:  Who are these Arnawoods anyway?

DAD: Well!  They were residents of Greece, but they were of a different ethnic background than the Greeks.  They would parade around displaying their very colorful and fancy attires, for everyone to behold.  In fact, some of the Greeks had been so captivated by the Arnavoud's dress, that they had adopted the same for themselves. Dressing up in Arnawood style, not only applied to the population at large, but within government circles as well. Here, I'm specifically talking about some members of the military called “Tsolias”( Sentries or Guards ) When you traveled to Greece, you may have come across some government or military facilities!  Well! Now, posted at the gates of these buildings and guarding them, you may have noticed a sentry or two going through their paces. Their uniforms consisted of a flashy headgear, kilt, wooden clogs and a fancy dagger worn at the waist. If you were dazzled by these soldier's uniforms, as I was the first time I saw them, then realize that what you were looking at was a typical ‘Tsolias’ dressed in an Arnawood costume. So, now you know something about the Arnawoods, or, at least, about how they dressed!

ME: As a matter of fact, I do remember coming across the Tsolias sentries while my wife Pat and I were visiting Greece.

 But, let's get back to your trip Dad! You had said that the ship's Captain had decided to take you to the important port of Igoumenitsa. Now, why did he decide on this again?

DAD:  Well, he felt that the weather conditions, there, would be better and that we might have a better chance of finding some sort of lodgings. Worse come to worst, we could, maybe, find a spot under the numerous orange groves that graced a great part of the landscape. As a matter of fact, that's exactly what most of us intended to do anyway!  It got a little cool at night, but the days were sunny and warm. The captain was right!  The weather conditions in Igoumenitsa were near ideal.

Shortly after the ship's arrival at port, I hurried ashore. Once there, I decided to walk to a very colorful hill located nearby. There seemed to be no end to the orange trees growing on it. After finding a nice secluded spot, which afforded me some privacy, I removed all of my old clothing and put on a new set, which I was lucky to have brought along in my duffel bag.  In this way, I thought, I could get some temporary relief from the lice that had been crawling all over me during the trip .I was wrong! There was no way that I could get relief from them, since such a program was unavailable then.

ME: How old were you then?

DAD: Twenty years old.

MOM: Your father was thirteen when the deportations started.

DAD: Yes, your mother is right.  But, getting back to our story!  As soon as we had arrived at the island, several of my traveling companions and I decided to explore the town on foot.  During our walk, we came across a shepherd herding his flock of sheep. All of us being extremely hungry, we asked him whether he would consider selling us one of the lambs and maybe refer us to someone who could help us dress it.  He pondered for a moment, but decided to sell us the little lamb, anyway. He also gave us some instructions on how to get to a monastery located nearby.  He said that he knew of a priest, there, who would be more than happy to assist us in fixing the lamb properly. So, in an instant, we all agreed to head out to the monastery.  Tagging along with the group was the poor innocent lamb that would play a capital role in our survival.  The hike to the monastery turned out to be longer than expected, as it was quite a distance from downtown.  Upon our arrival there, we had no difficulty in finding the priest who extended a very cordial invitation to all of us. We were all elated, when he also told us that we were all welcome to spend the night at the monastery.  We all thought him to be a guardian angel! The priest, then, led us to a sheltered area within the confines of the monastery, and pointed out to us what would be serving as our sleeping quarters for the night.  We all had brought along, whatever meager belongings we owned. Some of the members in the group had pillows upon which they could lay down their weary heads. Others, luckier yet, had managed to carry some bedding, a true luxury considering our impoverished circumstances. At any rate, before retiring for the evening, we were able to fix the lamb with the help of the priest and sit down to an exceptional meal.  Needless to say, we were all so exhausted that we fell asleep in an instant, trying hard not to concentrate on the disturbing lice which continued to torment us.

ME: Now, Dad, elaborate a little more about Igoumenitsa and your stopover there. You said that the Captain had decided to go there because of the favorable weather and, also, because he thought that there would be a better chance to find accommodations for the passengers Right?

ME: Now, all of this happened in Igoumenitsa, Greece, right?

DAD: Yes.

ME: Now, can we back up with your story and have you relate it from the episode when you momentarily found refuge at the convent in Igoumenitsa.

DAD: Sure. Let's do that! As I had mentioned to you earlier, a group of us traveling companions had hiked to the monastery outside of town and spent the night there. We also had the benefit of a decent meal, prepared with the help of the monastics.  On the following day, I had the good fortune of bumping into a policeman who was patrolling the vicinity of the monastery.  I was anxious to find out whether or not I could leave Igoumenitsa. Fortunately for me the policeman had some knowledge of Turkish. I explained to him that I was searching for my parents and needed to push ahead with this task. Would I have a problem in boarding a ship and go to Pirea?  A very kind policeman answered that he was sure that there would be no problems at all, since no travel documents were necessary to move around within continental Greece.  He also told me that a ship was expected to pull into port the following day and that I'd have a very good chance of getting on it if I acted swiftly. I communicated this piece of information to my travelling friends. That night I could not sleep and found all of my companions still sound asleep. I recalled what the policeman had said about acting swiftly about boarding the ship on the following day. That night I got all my belongings together so I could leave early in the morning to board my ship. 

On the following day, carrying all my meager belongings on my back, I headed down to the pier where I was glad to find out, that the ship I was to take was already standing at dockside. I, immediately, purchased my ticket and got on board. I was wondering where my travelling companions were, when they finally showed up by the docks. Unfortunately for them, they were unable to get on my ship, which was very small and had already been booked to capacity. They would just have to wait for the next ship. Once again, the boat I was on was a cargo ship, with absolutely no cabins to accommodate any passengers.  I noticed that its cargo consisted mainly of five or six heads of cattle together with some crates in the cargo bay area, although I was not sure of their contents.

Anyway, I had done it! I was on this ship on my way to Pirea. It didn't matter at all that it was a cargo vessel. I found it rather interesting to watch the workmen load and unload the merchandise, although the stops, we were making along the way, did delay our arrival to Pirea considerably.  Imagine that under normal circumstances the trip shouldn’t have taken not more than a day or so. But, in my case, it took nearly a whole week.

Anyway, when we finally arrived in Pirea, the sun was about to go down. I needed to find a place to stay for the night, but was unfamiliar with the town of Pirea. Fortunately for me, I found a young Armenian fellow who knew the town well and was able to help me find a reasonable hotel for the evening. In the morning, when I stepped outside of the hotel, in the middle of a very busy plaza, I miraculously came across good old Ardashes.

ME: Ardashes?  Can you refresh my memory as to who he was?

DAD: Remember! You knew him when we lived in Marseilles.

ME: Yes, I have a vague recollection of him. Was he a relative or just a friend?

DAD: Well!  Ardashes' mother and Minas and Moukael’s father, Ohaness Balian, were respectively sister and brother. When we lived in Konya and I was only six or, maybe, seven years old, we used to go visit them in a town called Karaman.  Also residing with them was Shamiram kooyrik, (Sister Shamiram) who occupied two or three of the rooms in their house. Shamiram was the aunt of my cousin Minas (his father's sister).

ME: So, let's go back to Ardashes! What happened with him when you bumped into him in Pirea?

DAD: Well!  When I met him, I let him know that my intention was going to France. I also told him that I had a French passport and that I needed to pay a visit to the French consulate in order to find out if I could enter France with the passport that I held " Very well " answered Ardashes," you'll need to go to Athens for that ". I was happy when he volunteered to come with me.  On the following day, we were both on the train bound for Athens, Greece, to see the French consul.  After the latter examined my passport, he categorically reassured me of its validity to enter France. He, also, pointed out that I would need a visa to leave the Greek mainland and that I would have no difficulty getting one, at the time of boarding the ship bound for France.

As anticipated, on the day of my departure from Pirea, everything worked out rather well until I got on board ship. As I was trying to get situated on the boat, a man suddenly came up to me and said that he needed to talk with me. I asked him what this was all about. He replied that I had not been charged enough on my tickets, and that I needed to pay him an additional sum of fifty fra