Des Berniers' Captain Corelli's mandolin has been a phenomenal success, and it is perhaps all to easy to dismiss it
as just another good story .
Its "story" became history in May 1999, when 2 reps, some tourists and a granny visited old Skala.
Along with about 20 others, I joined the Thomson Reps on a walk up to the old village of Skala. When Sheila and katrina the reps, announced that "granny" would be coming. we all expected another rep. What we got was indeed a "Greek Granny". Originally from Old Skala she liked to go up into the old village and talk of her life there.
It is quite a trek on a hot day and this lady was in her 80's, and there was I huffing and puffing at 30. Amazingly granny revealed that she had already been up there earlier that morning to tend her grapevines too!
Old Skala is an eerie place today, with its remnants of people's daily lives, the olive presses and the bathhouse. We passed by what had once been granny's home; she paused to draw water from the well. It felt like this was a solitary constant amongst decay.
Although granny spoke no English and the rep translated every word she uttered, she managed to bring this place to life once more. . She told us of joyful times in the village square, dancing around the maypole, the winemaking and olive harvesting and of how the women met to laugh and talk in the bathhouse. Tales followed of her marriage at 18 and happy memories of when her husband was mayor of Skala. Then granny's eyes were heavy as she related the events of the 1953 Earthquake and the loss of this way of life forever.
On reaching the tiny graveyard, granny stood outside the gates and the rep explained that she would not enter as her parents are buried there. I think at this point we all shared granny's sadness and reflected on our own past.
At the bathhouse we all stopped for a drink of water, and the mood lightened once again as "granny" revealed she had brought biscuits for everyone, a true example of Greek hospitality. Then bringing us swiftly back to the present day she proceeded to hand out business cards advertising her sons' restaurant. We all laughed as clearly someone had seized upon the marketing potential of granny.
As we all admired the view from the top of the hill, granny related her own memories of the massacre of 4750 Italian soldiers on the island in 1943. Tearfully she told how a father and son from the village had been taken and shot back to back, for hiding guns in their home.
Again and again she repeated " acqua per piacere " the only words of Italian she knows, as she remembered how the soldiers begged her for water.
Remembering this day, I like to think that thanks to "granny", I came down the hill with a new found humility.
