By Brenda Chamberlain
A gorgeous and private account of the time spent via Brenda Chamberlain at the Greek Island of Ydra within the early 1960's. Sea and harbor, mountain and monastery, her buddies and neighbors are unforgettably pictured; those have been the truth open air herself whereas inside of there has been a clash of emotion and warring wishes that is additionally vividly delivered to existence. pleasure and woe are woven positive during this list: the satisfaction of a mess of clean stories thronging to the senses, the being affected by which she emerges with new realizing of herself and human life.
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Extra info for A Rope of Vines: Journal From a Greek Island (Library of Wales)
The children lagged behind, imagining they could see serpents in every gorse bush and herb-tuft. Here, in the middle of the wild mountain, was a sense of habitation. I called the boy and his sister to come quietly: a cicada was making sad music among the fir trees. The boy rushed up to say he had seen a phantom. ‘A man dressed all in white is there, by the old house. ’ The boy was red in the face, and almost in tears. ‘I’m going back home. ’ They began a bitter quarrel about whether there were spectres or not.
18 A refreshing sound to which I am growing accustomed is the cool swishing that fills the air as peasant women beat with long poles at the boughs of the water-nourished trees between the wells. With raised heads, the goats cluster, to catch the leaves as they fall. 19 The way the mountain people tend their young fills me with wonder. The farmer who goes over into the valley under Ere every Sunday morning (watched by three women, the grandmother in a white headscarf, his wife in a cool Mother Hubbard) spoon-feeds the deliciously cool, clean child dressed in airy muslin, white socks and shoes, gauzy hat with a stiff brim.
As I glided away down the long stone stairs, between the panting, dust-grey sheep, the monk with the killer’s hands appeared in the entrance arch, and waved to me. He had perhaps longed to speak with the stranger at the gate, and now with regret he saw me retreating to the world without having been refreshed with mastika and conversation. 22 Nassuli’s father was at the wells, filling his water-tanks, when he started to yell loudly. Varvara and Popi joined in.
A Rope of Vines: Journal From a Greek Island (Library of Wales) by Brenda Chamberlain