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per became a clerk without going to high school. But, as he assured me, those days were over; a
high school education of at least two or three years was definitely necessary for someone to be-
come a clerk.
As to being a priest or a teacher, the ultimate for any ambitious person, one needed more than
just ambition, luck and enthusiasm: money and influential friends or relatives were absolutely es-
sential.
My father arrived late in the afternoon the following Saturday. I was under the olive tree next to
the house, as I listened to my mother telling him the bad news. He kept quiet for a long time. Gone
were his dreams and ambitions for me. I had compared myself to the "Big Boss", the doctor at the
Hospital, by suggesting that he had also been to high school. That was what swung the argument
and persuaded him to allow me to continue my efforts to go to high school. Now he realised how
unwise it was of him to even think of such a comparison.
I didn't actually face him until dinner time, late in the evening. As usual he had drunk more than
his fair share of zivania and I was happy about that, as this meant that he would soon go to bed and
there would not be a prolonged discussion about my failure. I said I was sorry I had let him down.
He remained silent. I really wished I had never tried to change my destiny so drastically. I felt sure
that there was some divine power who controlled our destinies and ensured no person would be
allowed to make too many changes in their way of living.
No major decisions were taken that weekend. My mother told me that they had both decided that
very soon I should have to pull my own weight financially and help support the rest of the family. I
said that was precisely my intention.
During the following days I tended the land and animals. Yet for the first time in my life, without
much to do, it appeared to me that the days were exceptionally long and I felt bored and useless.
I was on a fig tree that afternoon enjoying some lovely figs when I heard my younger brothers and
sisters excitedly calling my name. There had arrived a letter for me.
I opened it. It was from the English School. Written in Greek, signed by the English Principal. He was
warning me that the term had started two days earlier, and that if I didn't turn up within a couple
of days, there were hundreds of boys eager to take my place. Ignorant fellow! He thought I would
be interested in his school without a scholarship! Being seventh, as far as I was concerned was no
better than being seven hundredth. They only gave six scholarships, didn't they?
However, in spite of the cost of the paper and envelope and especially of the stamp, I thought I
ought to tell himwhy I was unable to accept the offer of a place at his school and thank him for writ-
ing to me.
Two days later there was a reply. He was impressed with my frankness and sorry about the finan-
cial position of my parents. However, if I went to see him straight away, he would like to discuss my
problem and see if there was any way he could perhaps help.
In spite of my mother's reservations that I shouldn't do anything before discussing it with my father,
the following day found me once again on the bus travelling to Nicosia. This time the bus followed
the alternative route that took it part of the way by the coast. Unfortunately I missed the view, as
by that time I was fast asleep.
Through an interpreter I explained to the principal how I had heard about the English School, why
I wanted a high school education and why I couldn't accept the offer of a place without a scholar-
ship. The principal looked about fifty years old, tall, fat and fair. He was examining me very carefully,
listening to every word I was saying as if he understood Greek.
It didn't take him long to decide: that year, there would be a seventh scholarship. I didn't know
how to react. I knelt down and kissed his hand, just as I did to the priest in our church.
The happiness which flooded through me cannot be described in mere words. It had to be experi-
enced to be appreciated.
From right to le (standing)
Garo Garabedian, Lyssandros Avraamides,
Ergin Salih, Erdal Behzat, Serin Selcuk, Tahir
Hüseyin Chagdas, Gunesh Bedri
From right to le (sitting)
Louis Leondiou, Themos Koukkoulis, An-
dreas Polydorou, Unal Souleyman, Atalay
Ahmet Sofuoglu
Unfortunately not all the names of the old boys in
the photograph could be verified
.
Class of
1958
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