Letter from Veria. Farewell to the city (Childhood part 2).

By Pantelis Goularas

At the far end of the (so called) football ground, there is the St Andrew chapel. There was no fence during my childhood. You had to walk down the stairs to approach the chapel door.

These stairs, the road before them and the small yard after them, were the place of the board games. With a few lines pulled by a piece of ceramic, we had a tic tac toe board, or a marbles snake game. We were sitting there, playing for hours, until a mother's voice (usually mine) called us, because it was already lunch time or we had to go for errands. The garden at the left of the picture, was in the auntie -Tigga's back yard. We'll read a short story of this garden later.

The back wall of the Kiriotissa church. In the 60s it was hidden behind the houses that existed in this place. Today nothing remained, except the street and an abandoned playground. It was the summer of 1966. Noon or early afternoon (if I can remember very well) when we heard the quick blow bell of the Kiriotissa bells. This was an alarm for the neighborhood. Everybody run to the windows or the balconies. Flames and smoke were heading to the sky, in the heart of our community. All the neighbors went to help. With water hoses from the nearest houses, with buckets or big cans full of water, in an unequal struggle against the fire that devoured the stone made and wooden houses. Fire engine was impossible to enter in the narrow streets of the neighborhood. And there was no fire brigade in the city, except a municipal fire car. The only use of this car was to sprinkle water, on the city's streets during the hot days of the summer. Unfortunately until the night, the fire destroyed the two houses in front of the church. The only thing that was left was a smoking ruins. And 4 families without a home. It was a “miracle” that the church and the nearest houses didn't catch fire. The danger of a total conflagration of the neighborhood had been avoided. In the depth of the picture, from both sides of the belfry, we can see two tall cypresses. These cypresses and the one in the yard of Gorgi chapel, are connected with my family.

The two cypresses of Kiriotissa church. My grandfather (my mother's father) had his origins from the village of Ano Kerasovo, situated at the Etoloakarnania prefecture. He came to Veria for first time, as a soldier during the 1^st Balkan War. A few years later he came back for good, as a policeman in the local police department. He resigned from the police a few years after, in order to merry my grandmother Afroditi Pliakou (she has her origins from the village of Souli, Epirus region). The policeman became a farmer, vine grower and wine producer. He was a pious man. For a small period he worked as verger at the St Anthony Cathedral. And just to show his piousness, he planted these two cypresses in the yard of the Kiriotissa church and another one in the yard of the Gorgi chapel.

The cypress in front of the Gorgi chapel.

A few meters far from the Kiriotissa church, at the Riga Fereou street, located the back side of the Auntie – Tigga's yard (Tigga in the Veria's local dialect means Katerina – Catherine). This side of the garden had no visual contact with the house. In this, there were a tall pear tree, that, every summer, were making some small but very delicious pears. We, the children of the neighborhood, were all the time, climbing on the tree and eating the tasty fruits. And not only this, but, after we had eaten a lot, we were getting down from the tree, riding the fence, and shouting rhythmically:

• Auntie – Tigga, no pears remained, the donkeys ate them...

We were the donkeys but we didn't mind.

Poor Auntie – Tigga. She was running furiously to catch us and to save the pears, but the only she could do, was to see us jumping the fence. The next day, she was complaining to our mothers and they were scolding us, but for us, one ear enters another dribbled.

Going down the Riga Fereou street, we pass the steep downhill with the stairs that heading to the “rivers” The “rivers” were just a stream at the end of the downhill and just after the road that it is shown in the picture. In that place the stream was divided in several smaller streams. These streamlets were heading to the area mills and with the use of wing wheel, were giving energy to their engines. There were flour mills, oil mills and manufactures making long-haired blankets. All of them were working with the water power. The biggest of these mills, was Markou's mill. Today it is the place of the museum of the byzantine art of the city.

We had no any special interest on the mills. For us all this was a game. First,we were competing who will get down the stairs faster, and after this we were jumping over the rivers, from the one bank to the other, trying have a longer jump. I had accidents twice. First, I fell down while running down the stairs. I crawled a few meters. I was wounded and skinned (even now I have the scar on my left hand). The second time, jumping over the river, Ι didn't count the distance correctly and I fell down, into the water. Both times I came back home like a wet cat (having fear of the punishment in Greek – literally for the second time) and instead of hearing words of comfort, my mother punished me.

The river is covered nowadays from the larger road that have been constructed there. 

An abandoned long-haired blankets manufacture that was working with the water power.

Another point where the river was passing under a bridge. The bridge railings still exist, but the river replaced of bushes, after the cement and ground cover.

Another abandoned manufacture of the area. This used to be a tannery.

 (To be continued)