Spike

A long time ago my father got a message to collect a crate from the bus stop. He had no idea what this was all about. We no longer lived on a farm so it wasn't a crate of day old chicks, apples, or raspberry canes. The 'bus stop' was the pub in the town and when daddy got there the manager told him that there was a cat in the box. 'It's come from the Isle of Man,' he laughed. 'and the first thing that's come from there, wherever it is.'
My father told him that oddly enough his great grandfather came from the Isle of Man. He looked into the crate then and a little cat stared back. He brought it home and had words with my younger brother who had ordered the cat in the first place.
Very soon 'Spike' named in honor of my brother's idol Spike Milligan, became a big lad. Being a typical pure Manx cat breed he didn't have a tail, just a little button which intrigued everyone. In our house he loved to run up and down the piano keys when the lid was left open. Usually he slept in a basket on top of a wardrobe in my brother's room. Each morning he head butted every bedroom door to awaken the household. If the usual call didn't come we feared that Spike had spent a night on the tiles.
His nocturnal adventures often resulted in a phone call from the Garda Station asking Daddy to collect his cat who had been causing a disturbance. Daddy, mortified and embarrassed would drive home with Spike glaring at all and sundry from the back window of the car. 'Spike is not my cat,' he'd protest before telling my brother to 'put manners on him.'
Spike and manners didn't go together. He destroyed flowers in the gardens of our neighbors

stole fish from the shop -- although he was well fed, and chased any child he saw eating an ice cream. Spike loved ice cream and would happily lap up  a cone or wafer dropped by a child he'd chased. His legacy is the number of tailless kittens being born today in our town.

Some time after the loss of Spike I lined up with other Spike Milligan fans outside a Dublin bookshop. I wanted a signed copy of his book for my husband. When I reached the desk where Spike was signing his latest volume I told him about his feline namesake.
 'We had a Manx cat named after you Spike,' I said. 'And would you believe that kittens without tails are being born in our town even now.'
'My oh my,' he replied. 'Would that I could have been so prolific!'

Ellie, come home.

   I've heard about writer's block. It's a malaise suffered by real writers and can be quite debilitating.
Am I a real writer? I must be because I've lost the plot! What to do next is beyond me. Ellie, the main character in a Place in the Choir and in the sequel I'm writing is gone. I can't see her, I can't hear her, I can't urge her forward anymore. There's no situation in my mind this minute where I can place her -- but she will do things her way eventually. Perhaps I'll find another character lurking about who will encourage her -- show her another side of life. Such an intervention when it happens will move the plot forward. Watch this space!
 
   If you want to know about Ellie and her life experiences so far you could look on Amazon eBook publications for the revised version of A Place in the Choir. It is available for download on Kindle (worldwide) or by availing of a Kindle App for tablet, laptop or other E reader device. Readers who enjoyed the original paperback edition of the book have told me that the revised version is well worth downloading especially for chapter ten which differs very much in content from the original.

Clean Monday

In the Orthodox Church the period of Lenten fasting begins on Clean Monday (Kathari Deftera). From this day until Easter (Pasca) no meat, poultry, eggs or fish with a back bone is eaten by those who follow the strict fast. Wine and Oil may be taken on Saturday and Sunday and on important feast days which fall on a weekday.

On Clean Monday the entire family goes out together for a picnic if the weather is favorable or they may eat at home with relatives and friends. Food for this day may include:

Boiled or grilled octopus
Boiled lobsters, prawns or crabs with oil and lemon sauce
Steamed mussels
Small fried squid
Giant dried beans in tomato sauce
Stuffed squid
Fish roe salad
Fave (lentil puree)
Horta (wild greens)
Spring Onions
Radishes
Artichoke salad
Spinach pies
Halva                               From:   Food of the Gods   Jill Santorinio - Santorinaki

   On Clean Monday children and adults too fly kites . To see these homemade or commercially produced colorful objects floating overhead is inspiring. Historically kites have have been around for 3,000 years. They may represent national pride, history, independence and religion. The high spirits of the kite handlers is reflected in the expressions of those who watch. In the countrysides kites are flown from the hillsides and the sky around becomes filled with colored hexagons each sporting a tail. Many Cretans fly kites along the beaches too and there is much laughter when children call for help from an adult. Kites can get out of control and in so doing are in danger of being lost to the wind. Excited dogs chase their masters not knowing that what they are seeking has become airborne. It's comical to see an observant dog stand on his hind legs to bark furiously at a disappearing kite. The Greek kite is hexagonal and are often made at home. Kite shaped kites as we remember them were unknown in Greece until recently. Nowadays kites are works of art and can be constructed from an assortment of fabrics and decorated and shaped by the individual designer,

A very special time

The rain has ceased, the sun is shining, the wild flowers look bright and fresh, snow gleams on the mountains and in the village preparations are being made for Carnival.

This is a very special time in Greece and in large cities such as Rethymnon on the island of Crete. Here treasure hunts, children's parties, musical recitals and fancy dress cycling events are organised for three weeks before and on the last day before Lent. In smaller villages lesser celebrations happen which are very entertaining for the local people. The nearest Carnival to our home in Crete will be in the beautiful seaside town of Kalyves.

Already children can be seen walking around the streets in lovely costumes, tavernas have hung decorations to add an air of jollity to the occasion and in yards and open spaces exotic floats are being painted and music rehearsed in preparation for the big parade on Sunday, February 21. The excitement of the carnival period brings people together to chat and to eat while watching their children and young people masquerading as popular heroes, fairies, clowns and incredible creatures.

Carnival   Kalyves 

Painting by Balsam Wood

sea scapes

Yesterday we drove to the city of Chania. It was bitterly cold and we'd had hailstones during the night. On a road above the sea we could see white horses bobbing over the waves and in another place huge rollers crashing onto a beach.

But most intriguing of all were the patterns formed by the sea below a high ridge. I looked down and for a moment imagined I was seeing lace edged fabric floating on the water. These patterns fluttered over patches of turquoise, dark blue and here and there an almost purple sea. They rolled and curled until they looked like great bales of material which tumbled forwards to unwind and rewind before rushing back to sea. Within the folds I thought I glimpsed the faces of people sailing in sea weed boats.

On our return journey the sea was rough and dark. The images I'd seen or imagined I'd seen had
vanished forever.

(wallpapers)

Hailstones in Crete

   This morning hailstones bounced off car windscreens as another phase of bad weather hit the island of Crete.
   Layers of immaculate snow covered the white mountains during the night while thunder rolled and lightning crashed over the valleys.
   Huge waves rolled forward and these forced by unrelenting mighty winds lashed the ports of Chania, Rethymnon and Iraklion.
   Tourist Resorts were battered and tables and chairs which were in place following a few day of sunshine last week were carried out to sea.
   The Plateia are empty today and the windows of the Kaffenions misted over. Indoors the wood burner beckons, cold hands are warmed and homemade soup defies today's temperature of 5 degrees.

Shakespeare re-written

There was an amateur drama society in Dublin which specialised in visiting schools. An excellent group whose performance of 'Death of a Salesman,' 'Philadelphia Here I Come,' and other works were welcomed by teachers of English drama. These actors engaged the students in discussions after each performance and were able get to the heart of the matter. They made the understanding and enjoyment of the play more relevant than it being another exam subject.

This drama group became so successful that instead of travelling from school to school they procured matinee time in a local theatre. Schools joined forces to attend performances in groups. Eventually the programmes began to include works by Shakespeare which were also part of the school's senior and junior cycle.

I had the honour once of taking a group of senior boys to this theatre. They were not dedicated members of the William Shakespeare fan club! We met at the theatre door, handed in our tickets and located our seats -- the boys insisting that these were in a block beside the area assigned to the local girl's school.

A gong sounded, the music began, it was curtain up..

A communal gasp greeted the empty stage until a circular area began to rise slowly. On the top of this plinth an actor stood looking very uncomfortable in a short skirt and foil tunic.
'Hey' a student shouted, 'it's yer man from the telly.'
'Hi Mike,'
Mike (the soldier) waved to the audience. In doing so he hit his sword against a pillar. Half of his weapon fell onto the floor. It was made of plywood.
'Aaah.' The crowd sighed.

A second soldier entered stage left to creep stealthily around the plinth.
 'Come I too late he,' cried?
'Yeah, you missed the bus' cried a voice from the pits.

Mike waved his half sword in the air
.'Fly, fly, fly ,' he roared.
'Fly, fly fly Aer Lingus' shouted the boys.

Scroll forward.

Mike's mother enters in full regalia accompanied by her lady in waiting.
'My sweet son,' she says, arms outstretched beseeching him not to go to war.
The not so sweet sons in my care make sick noises!

Soldier Mike engaged in a long speech extolling his own bravery. Mother wept and in her rush to prevent him leaving for battle she tripped and staggered across the stage. Her maid clung valiantly  to the robe of her mistress. They teetered dangerously close to the edge of the stage, Soldier Mike sensing danger marched forward, slipped on his sword fragment and all three fell into the orchestra pit.

Final Curtain

No actor was hurt in the performance. A worthwhile discussion session followed led by the director of the play and with actor participation. Students were invited on stage to act in a couple of episodes. The company decided not to stage entire Shakespearean plays again, instead they'd choose segments or important speeches. My boys missed the bus home -- a cunning ploy. We went for a Big Mac and chips. Coincidentally the girls missed the bus too!

'

A Memorable Outing

                                         
                                           chestnut                                                   Anthony B.


While I work on the sequel to, A Place in the Choir, simmering away in my head is my next novel which is set here in Crete. To help bring my ideas to fruition our friend John brought us to the village of Topolia. This outing which happened some months ago helped me get a feel for the place. I wanted to absorb the atmosphere of a semi mountainous village overlooking an area of great Cretan history. As we drove the White Mountains loomed to the east, and northward towards Kastelli an expanse of sea rippled gently under a sunlit sky. Our journey took us through chestnut forests, orange groves and clusters of tall pines. Many colourful bee hives adorned the crevices where they were tucked away among the wild vegetation.There were huge rock formations higher up and what looked like deserted village ruins hanging over the cliffs.

Stopping for coffee in a cafe on the edge of the village I was eager to begin my research. At a table nearby a venerable white bearded man was seated. Surely I reasoned he'll be a source of information. My Greek was limited and I hoped he spoke English.

'Excuse me,' I said. 'I wonder if you would know what the oldest church in Topolia is called?'
'Goodness,' he replied 'I'm not that old!'
I smiled in embarrassment. 'I'm doing research for a book you see and I need some information. I don't live in this area, I'm actually from Ireland.'
'Don't worry about that -- we're crazy too!' He laughed.
He then willingly provided very interesting facts about the village and surrounding area. I hope I'll do justice to his generosity, humour and encouragement in my book where Crete is the backdrop..

After this meeting we set out for home. John drove us to Kissamos first for lunch. It was a lovely warm day and we sat at a table outside a Taverna. Nearby men were working on a building, they had scaffolding in place. Children were going home from school and there were a few visitors walking around. Suddenly we heard a great rumble. It was as if some heavy machine was being driven through the square. When our place settings began to move and the table to shake we wondered what was happening. Someone shouted Earthquake and everyone ran into the vacant space in the square. Feeling lightheaded we tried to hang on to John's car for support. It was swaying back and forth and continued to do so for several minutes.Workers on the ground called a warning to their companions on the scaffolding. They stayed where they were clinging tightly to the metal uprights.

When all was quiet and safe we continued our return journey.
 'I'm glad we got our priorities right,' I laughed shakily.
'When we ran from our table John, you rescued your camera. Naturally I grabbed my bag and notebook but Matthew, you possessively clung to your lunch  -- including the knife and fork.'

The White Mountains

This morning the sun shone on The White Mountains or Lefka Ori (Greek) which are a main geographical feature of western Crete. Made of limestone these spectacular mountains consist of many peaks. The highest Pachnes which means fog or morning dew reaches 2453m. Such high peaks are without vegetation. Here in the rocky heights golden eagles live and breed.
One way to reach the the mountains is to take the road northward to Omalos. This is a small village at the north east corner of the Omalos Plateau in the centre of the mountains. It is roughly 38km south of Chania. On a trip to Omalos one Spring we were privileged to see two golden eagles sweep from their eerie, wheel, dive and return to their habitat. It was an amazing and spectacular sight. The wing span of these birds of prey is so immense that as they swept over the car we were momentarily left in darkness.


Alfred Tennyson wrote a poem called The Eagle (1809-1892) which I had to learn by heart in school.


He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,                         

,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.                                 
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.