ORAL HISTORY ARCHIVE

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Name (Ονοματεπώνυμο): Pelekanos Antoinette / Πελεκάνος Αντουανέτα
Sex (Φύλο): Female (Γυναίκα)
Year of Birth (Έτος Γέννησης): Before (Πριν το) 1960
Place of Birth (Τόπος Γέννησης): Kyrenia (Κερύνεια)
Nationality (Ιθαγένεια): Cypriot (Κυπριακή)
Community (Κοινότητα): Greek-Cypriot / Maronite (Ελληνοκυπριακή / Μαρωνιτική)
Occupation (Επάγγελμα): Private Employee (Ιδιωτικός Υπάλληλος)
Refugee (Πρόσφυγας): Yes (Ναι)
Language (Γλώσσα Καταγραφής): English (Αγγλική)
Related to Killed or Enclaved or Missing persons (Σχετίζεται με Σκοτωμένους ή Εγκλωβισμένους ή Αγνοούμενους): Yes (Ναι)
Serving the army in some capacity at the time (Υπηρετούσε στο στρατό με κάποια ιδιότητα κατά την περίοδο εκείνη): No (Όχι)
Lived in Refugee Camp (Έζησε σε Προσφυγικό Καταυλισμό): No (Όχι)

Ema Sofia Amaral Leitao: So, which year were you born?
Antoinette Pelekanos: 1946, 22nd of July.
ESAL: And where were you born?
AP: In Asomatos.  A village not far from Nicosia. It’s about 20 km northwest of Nicosia, in Kyrenia discrict. I was the oldest in the family of 5 children. I have 2 sisters and 2 brothers, and I am the eldest. Up to the age of 11, I attended the elementary school. At the age of 12, I went to St. Joseph’s school in Nicosia, a school for girls.
ESAL: For how many years?
AP: Oh, ah…as a student 7 years, and then as a teacher for 12 years. It was my second home, and I love it.
ESAL: So I would like to ask you what memories do you have of the events that led to the Cyprus conflict?
AP: Now, from the time I remember, the age of 5, I used to see British soldiers. They were wearing red hats, and I didn’t know why. There was a big water fountain and I remember I used to go with my schoolmates and ask them for biscuits. We would say ‘Biscuits, Biscuits!’ And when we were returning home, I remember my parents telling me, “don’t talk with these people, because these people will harm you.” And it was the time when EOKA started. In 1954. Our parents didn’t want us to talk to soldiers and foreigners.  Growing up there were those men, soldiers, if I may call them like this, who were fighting to send British away from Cyprus. Once, there was one man among them. That man used to stay in the mountains. My father had sheep and used to take them out in the fields, often late at night. One night, around 8 o clock, it was already dark, somebody came near my father, armed. And my father didn’t know who that person was.  And he told him, “don’t be afraid, I am EOKA member. I just want some bread.” Because, you know, they couldn’t come to the village. So they became friends. Every night, my mother used to put bread, cheese, and whatever else they had in my father’s bag. When he would come back home all the food was gone. My mother told him once, “Everyday I put a loaf of bread, halloumi and olives for you. How much do you eat?” Because that EOKA member told my father not to ever say anything about him.
ESAL: They were Greeks?
AP: Yes, of course. They were all Greeks. So then growing up, we understood why these young men were fighting. In 1958-59, I graduated from the elementary school. And then I went to school again, I went to St Joseph’s school, the school for girls. The situation was worse in Nicosia. Whereas in our villages were no sirens, nothing, there, in Nicosia the siren was ringing and the classes had to stop, because somebody was killed or somebody was captured. We had a teacher, a man, every time we didn’t feel like having a lesson, we were imitating the noise of the siren, “wooooo! Sister, there is something wrong out,” “okay, let’s go, let’s go.” Poor thing. [laughs]  And at that time, I was supposed to go to the English school instead of the school for girls.  But my mother was afraid, because at that time the director and most of the teachers were British. So she was afraid that the school was going to close down, or maybe that there would be an explosion, and things like that.
ESAL: So, this was…in 1960…?
AP: This had started in 1958. No, it started before 1954 and lasted until 1960, when the government of Cyprus was established.
ESAL: And in 1960, with the constitution, did you feel safe?
AP: When the British were here we felt safe.  We were not afraid to go out at night. Young girls for example, nobody was supposed to tell us whatsoever. We were not afraid.  But there was misery and poverty. Because all the wealth and money of Cyprus was being sent off to England.  You see? That’s why… We didn’t even have electricity. I forgot to tell you. In the villages, there was no electricity, no water in the houses, nothing. It was not until 1966 that we had electricity. So that’s why people struggled to have freedom.
ESAL: And after that, did you feel safe?
AP: As the years passed, we understood, at least, that the only good thing at the time was safety.  Unlike today, that we do not feel safe. We used to go out and leave the door open.  Nobody would go in. We could walk during nighttime. No problem. But now it’s different.
ESAL: From 1960 to ’74, did you feel that you were different as a member of a minority?
AP: In some sense, yes. In some sense we faced that. From 1960 and later, we were satisfied with the approach of the various governments. But at certain instances, there was discrimination. Even until now.
ESAL: And what do you remember of 1974?
AP: 1974, oh. What can I remember?  Many things. We didn’t even know what war was. The coup took place before.  I remember my brother used to study in Greece at that time. It was summertime.  We didn’t even know what the word coup was.  I remember that day of the coup; it was holidays. I was supposed to go to Nicosia to a dressmaker to have a dress made.  While I was going to the bus station to take the bus, I saw a cousin of mine. “Where are you going?!” he asked me, “there is a coup!” I said, “I am going to Nicosia.” “Going to Nicosia?! Go back home!” My cousin wasn’t a democrat. He was with the government of Greece, because the…government of Greece at that time was [involved into making] this coup, and then the Turkish military came. So I came back home. At night my husband didn’t return at home, because the roads were closed. People stayed at their offices. My sister spent the night in a bus…the entire night in a bus. The army was against Makarios at that time.  So once they announced that he was killed, we were desperate.  So my husband sent me a message, I don’t remember how, because we didn’t have telephones at that time. He said, “I’m going to stay at the office, because nobody is allowed to go out, so don’t worry.” But I remember my mother was crying thinking that my sister was lost… [As I said before,] my sister went to get the bus to come to the village but they didn’t let the bus go. So all the passengers stayed in the bus until the next day. A few days passed. On Saturday morning, we heard airplanes. I was in my new house because I had just had a baby, Joseph.  And my house was not near other houses. It was remote.  I remember seeing the airplanes passing over my house, and soldiers with guns walking and running. And my brother used to stay in my house.  And he told me, “take the baby and go downstairs. Go to the basement, because there is war.” The Turks have invaded Cyprus. And we didn’t know what was that.  I remember…[pause] I left Joseph, I left him with my aunt.  I have an aunt, who used to take care of him.  And my brother and husband said, “take your baby! Take your baby!” “I can’t, I can’t.” I thought that I was melting down.  So when the airplanes stopped, we took the baby to my mother’s house. It was close to other houses, so it wasn’t so much exposed and nearby there was a Turkish village. So we stayed there all night. We wouldn’t dare to leave our house. We didn’t leave during the first invasion.  We stayed until August. The first invasion was on the 20th of July. And the second one on the 15th of August, so there were discussions with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs from Cyprus, from Greece, from Turkey. Discussing whether they were going to stop or not. They did not succeed, so they started all over again. My husband heard a rumor at the coffee shop and he came home to inform me. He said, “there is no solution, we have to leave.”  And the airplanes started bombarding, bombarding, bombarding, all the time. So early in the morning, 5 o’clock, we had a triumph that time.  I took Joseph, my sister didn’t come with us, my young brother Stavros, and there was somebody else…my older brother. We left early in the morning and we went to Kakopetria. And I remember that a few days in advance I had prepared two suitcases to take with us. My brother and my husband were making fun of me:  “oh, you silly billy, you put all your things in the suitcase and you think we are…we are not going to leave our village.” So the day we left was my last visit at my house. Early in the morning my husband said, “let’s see if you want to go to the house and take something for the baby”. And, I remember going, I opened the door, I looked all over, and my husband said, “take some sheets, some blankets…” I said, “no, no. I am not going to make a mess. I have enough, I will only take that one.” I remember taking all the keys from the cupboards, from the doors and I took them with me. I thought I was going to go back. So getting out of the door, my husband said, “just have a final look at our house, because you won’t see it. If we leave, we won’t come back.” I said to him, “you are crazy! We are just going away for the day, we are coming back.” But, because he had served the army, he knew. So, we left.  In Kakopetria we didn’t know where to go. Joseph had diarrhea, and I was running in the streets, “where will I change the baby? Where where?” I remember that I had a student whose father had a hotel, Ellas, so I told my sister, let’s go to that hotel, I think the girl will remember me.  So I went there. “Really, she told me, I have no place. But I emptied my father’s office and I will give you the space for the night. And I will give you a petrol lamp because you have a baby.” There was no electricity. So we spent the night there. And the next morning as we were walking in the streets of Kakopetria we heard with my sister the soldiers saying that in the areas of Kyrenia and Myrtou everything was occupied. So we started searching for our parents. And we heard that two buses came from our village and they stopped in Platania. We went with my sister looking for our parents. Nobody…my father, my mother, and my youngest brother, everybody… We all started shouting, we started screaming. And I remember my brother telling me, “You need to be courageous now. At least we are alive. They are dead, what can we do?” We waited for a few days and then we left. My brother said, “let’s go to Limassol, I know a family with which we could stay. The son of the family and I have studied together. They are going to give us some kind of room, house, just to stay.” We went to Limassol. Every day we were talking with the people who worked for Red Cross to find out if our parents were alive. About 150 people stayed there. A woman had heard my message they broadcasted, asking for our parents. Her house wasn’t far from my mother’s. She went to my mother’s, “you know your daughter has sent a message? They are okay, they are in Limassol, they are wondering what is happening with you.” So that’s it. We stayed with that family for about forty days. And then in October when school started I had to come back to Nicosia. My sister left before, together with my brother, because they had to go back to their jobs. I had some extra money, but they didn’t. So they came to Nicosia and they used to stay at the Terra Santa College in the classrooms on camp beds. So when I came to Nicosia with the baby, we rented a house and lived altogether for three years. My parents suffered a lot while they were at their village; their village was occupied by the army.
ESAL: So you didn’t see them during that period?
AP: No. No, no, no. We left in 1974, and I saw them with my young brother and sister in 1975. Somebody told us that our father was very sick. So one day I decided to go to Ledra Palace and ask permission. Everybody told me, “they won’t let you, how are you going to go?” But I went there with my young brother and sister and I asked the police there, “where is the office for such things?” They showed me. I said I wanted to visit my village, because I heard that my father is very sick. And they asked me, “who told you?” I said, “I heard it from other people.” But at that time the road was closed, the road we used to go to. And I had to go from Kyrenia, so they said okay, we are going to give you permission to go. But when you are in Kyrenia, we are going to go to the hospital - to see if it’s true. If it is not true and you are lying, you are going to go back to Nicosia, you are not going to go to your village.” I was a bit….um, clever…so I told them, “okay, maybe he stayed for a night and then he left, but his name will be there.” And that was it. We took a taxi and on the way there was somebody accompanying us, a Turkish Cypriot teacher who knew Greek very well. He said, “I am going with you,” just for security. So on the way, every time we met a tank or some arms from the war, the driver used to say, “you know, this tank belongs to the Greeks.” We kept our mouths closed. The driver was Turkish Cypriot, as well, and he was talking to us in Greek. So I told my brother and sister, [whispers] “don’t talk.” The driver repeated that a few times. And the teacher who was accompanying us told the driver, “will you please stop? Let people alone, don’t tell them such things.” So we arrived in Kyrenia and we went to the hospital. I started speaking in English, and the nurse understood I was Greek Cypriot. And she asked me: “Are you a Maronite?” I said, “yes.” She said, “Your father came and he was very bad, but he went back home.” So the driver said, “okay, we will go to your village.” We went to our village and when the people saw us arriving in 1975, they were all surprised, crying, shouting, about 100 people. And they were shouting [in Greek] “Your children came to the village! Joseph’s children came to the village!” We stayed two nights at our parents’ house. I tried to visit my house but they wouldn’t let me go in, because it was already occupied by the army. They told me, “okay you can take a look around, but not in the house.” So we stayed for two nights and the third day we took a taxi again and came back to Nicosia. In 1977, I think it was the 18th of October, my parents left their village. They couldn’t go out in the fields to cultivate their fields. My father had a few sheep, the army used to take one sheep every day, and the next day another one. “This is for the army,” they used to say, “The soldiers have to eat.” And at the end he left. And the day he was supposed to leave, he had some furniture from my house. There was an officer who was very kind. He asked my father, “why do you come to this house every day?” He said, “this is my daughter’s house.” And the officer said, “okay I’ll give you some furniture, take it to your house.” So he got this table and this buffet, which are from my wedding. And the day he was supposed to come, he hired a lorry for his furniture and things, and another one for mine. And because they wanted to get money, the last minute they told my mother, “you are not allowed to take that. That doesn’t belong to you, it belongs to your daughter, so you have to leave it.” My mother was a clever woman. She understood that they needed money, so she called up the police and she said, “sir I will give you these – I don’t remember, 5 or 50 pounds, because we delayed you.” And then he said, “Oh! Of course! Take everything you like.” And they came to Ledra Palace. The Red Cross helped them to bring our things in the house where we used to live. So at that time I had to leave, because my other brother and sister were not married, and so my parents lived with them, and I rent another house with my husband, Joseph, and my aunt used to live with me.
ESAL: And did you ever go back to your…
AP: We did, yes. We had permission, especially at the time when people were there. Because now there is only an old woman, just one woman – that’s all. But from a certain time, maybe it’s been ten years now, they don’t let us go to the village. Just to the church. They give permission to a priest every Sunday who goes for the mass from 9 to 11. So people who like can go back. Arriving to the village, which now is a military area, you have to give your passport to the soldier whose there. He keeps them, with the number of the card. You go to the church, which is not very far from the entry of the village. Just there, the area of the church. We have no permission, because I ask many times to go to my house and they didn’t let me, no no. So after 11 o clock, and if we try to go during the week they don’t let us. Just on Sunday for the mass, that’s all. So now it’s about a year I didn’t go, the last time was when my sister was there. Maybe not a year but 9 months ago. There are people going every Sunday for the mass.
ESAL: How do you feel when you go back there?
AP: That’s why I decided not to go. Every time I go, I feel sick, and I come back sick. So I decided not to. Now, because my sister is here, we are going to try on Sunday, even though I don’t feel like it. But…I miss it. When we speak about houses, I never refer to this one, I miss it.  This one I don’t care, it’s that one that I care about. It was nice. The life there was nice. It wasn’t far from Nicosia; it was palin, no mountains around. We needed about twenty minutes to come to work and then go back. We had our land, we had our fields, a nice house. We had our car. But we didn’t enjoy it. My husband had a lot of fields, and we could have advantage.
ESAL: Okay Antoinette, thank you very much. I don’t know if there’s any…thing else.
AP: I am just thinking if I have any, to add something. For three years from ’74 to ’77 while my parents were there, they really had a terrible time. The army said, “okay you are allowed to go to Nicosia today.” They made them pay for the bus, arrive to Ledra Palace on one side and we were standing on this side. And they wouldn’t let them come close to us. They used to make signs, like that, “we are here.” But they couldn’t come near us, neither we could go there. At times I remember I used to stay from the morning until afternoon there. I mean, how many meters? From here to the end of the road. And they used to stay in the middle and they wouldn’t let them speak to us. And I remember myself and my brother, crying all day long. There was just a policeman whose daughter was my student at St. Joseph’s. The first time he saw me there, asked [whispers], “what are you doing here?” I said, “my parents are on the other side, in Asomatos, and I need to get my aunt away, because I had to go to school and my aunt used to take care of Joseph. And since she was there, how could I go to school? So he promised to help me get my aunt from there. So he told me, one day you tell your aunt to come. And I will be talking with her, just tell her to come on the other side. And I am going to keep the other policemen busy so they won’t see her. She came like that. And she stayed with us. She used to take care of all of us, brothers, sisters, Joseph.
ESAL: Are you talking about a Turkish Cypriot?
AP: Yes, because his daughter was in the classroom that I was teaching at St. Joseph. And he was astonished, he was surprised, he said, “what are you doing here”? “What am I doing here,” I said? My house had been taken by the army. Because he came to my wedding and he knew my house.
ESAL: So your relations with Turkish Cypriots…
AP: Oh yes! I still have a student whose father is a judge. When her father comes over here, we meet at St. Joseph’s school. And she went to my house, before the army got into my house. Both of them knew because they came to my wedding. I still have her gift from the wedding. And when she came back, she called me. She said, crying, “Madam Antoinette, I am sorry to tell you, but, your house has been taken by the army. Everything is thrown away. I am very sorry”. She was the first one who saw it with her father. I mean, at least we didn’t lose people. But there are some people from our village who were taken to Turkey. And one of them was burnt… I mean, he didn’t die, but he still has marks all over his body.  He was tortured, maybe with the candles, some kind of fuel or gas, I don’t know how they did it. But everybody came back. I mean our relations are still good, but it’s with the government we have to deal, it’s not the people, because people, poor thing, they suffer, like I suffer.
ESAL: They had similar experiences as well?
AP: Yes, of course.
ESAL: Thank you very much.
AP: I hope you will have something to write. So, in 1963, I was in year 6 in St. Josephs’ school, and we were about 100 boarders. Among us, there were many Turkish Cypriot girls. And three days before Christmas, all of a sudden, early in the morning, we realized that the Turkish Cypriot girls were missing. Our school was right next to a bar where an incident took place. It was, I’m sorry for the word, a prostitute house where some Turkish women would come and meet men and that’s how it started. We saw that and early in the morning, we realized the Turkish Cypriot girls were missing. We ask here and there, they told us there were some troubles between Turks and the Greeks, so the Turkish parents took their girls away. After that, well, it was the holidays. But after the holidays, some of them came back. And they got permission I think to cross the Green Line, every three months or every month, I am not sure. Just to go home, because some of them came from Lefka. Lefka is a bit further of Morfou. Others were coming from the Turkish sector of Nicosia. For them it was easier, but they were always accompanied by somebody. And later on, when things were a bit better, and I became a teacher I used to teach some of the Turkish girls. While the Greek girls were doing Greek, they were free to choose. So the principal asked me if I was interested in giving them Greek lessons, just to be able to communicate. So I remember teaching them and we became very close friends. There were about twenty. And at the end of the year, I learned more Turkish than what they did with the Greek, because they used to speak all the time Turkish between them. So by hearing them, I learned more Turkish than they did Greek [laughs]. But there was no problem in the boarding house. One of them, I remember, my sister, on Sundays used to go to church. And we had a special unit for Sundays only. And I remember once my sister didn’t have black shoes to wear in order to go to church. And this Turkish girl told her, “Maroulla, [in Greek] I shall give you mine; they are brand new.” Her father was a doctor and they were rich. And I remember Maroulla saying, “no I am not going to accept, that’s not…” and she said, “no, no, no, I give it to you, because you are my best friend.” I mean, there are all these little things I remember. I remember when I was a student Kucuk, the first vice president after Makarios, came to our school. Kucuk’s daughter was my classmate. His house was… you know where the catholic church is? At Paphos’ Gate, yes. They built a wall, called Victoria Street. Kucuk’s house was a few steps from the church. And he came once, when it was his daughter’s birthday. And I remember we went with them. And we were, you know, from villages. We didn’t have nice houses like they did. And I remember when he got permission to accompany us, and he opened the door of his house to get out, we stood there admiring the house. We had fun, we had a nice time. And then he took us back again to school. I mean, there were good memories and good things at that time. But things have changed, and you know, when you suffer from these things you tend to think that your feelings have changed. But, not really. I mean I don’t hate these people, because they are not to blame. They are human beings like us, but their governments [are to blame].