Karavas childhood in the 1920s
Life was quiet and simple then, we were poor but the poor mixed with the rich and no one was really considered to be different. I grew up in an environment of concentrated love, I was the youngest of eight children but as the others all left the island a lot earlier than I did I received all of the love and attention from my parents that had once been divided between all of us. I could do whatever I liked, I was never really given much work to do, though I sometimes helped with the animals. We had two goats and chickens, most people had chickens, sheep goats and cows were also common, though the cows were mainly for work. Most people also had fields and trees, we had fruit trees.
All the cooking was done on the fire, and the main source of light were oil lamps, by the light of which we knitted or darned or mended. Our house was very small, we all slept in one room, life was tough, but we never felt that, everything seemed wonderful then. The community was very close knit, everyone helped each other, the three cafes were always full, and everyone went to church together when there was a service.
There were eighty kids in the village back then (Ed: there are probably around ten children or less living in Karavas now) and we all went to school in the morning, though we never learnt anything, the teacher was the mayors wife and she was totally mad, so we just did whatever we wanted. Rich kids mixed with poor, we were all the same, it felt like we were all brothers and sisters, each family had a lot of children, because, as they said, we had as many as God wished. Some days we would be taken down to the sea to swim, on foot of course, the boys separate from the girls, and of course we had no swimming costumes, we would swim in our slips, and then all straddle back up the road to the village. Most kids on reaching the age of 13 or even younger left the island to work. They would go either to Athens or even abroad. My brothers went to Australia, Africa and England, and of course we didn’t see them again till years later. My eldest brother left the island when I was three months old and the next time I saw him my own daughter was fifteen, it was a big shock for him I think.
Holidays were always a special time, full of baking and church going. At Christmas we killed an animal to eat, baked lots of sweets and generally cooked a lot! And at Easter of course we died eggs red, fasted and went to church almost every day.
My mother was a very sharp woman, quite unlike other village women, she didn’t believe in superstitions like the Eye and she bought us up to be the same. She lost her eyesight in the war because they couldn’t get her to a hospital in Athens. Her last words were to ask if she had any letters from her children abroad, and she dies with them in her hands.
I left the island for Africa at the age of 25 with my husband who was cotton trader, we lived near Cairo, life seemed harder then than it had back home. I only ever had one child, and she left for America. I hardly ever see her or my grandchildren, though travelling is easier these days!!!
