1940 saw me serving in the Salamina navy yard, under the orders of my fellow countryman rear admiral Dalagrammatika, who I remember with a great deal of respect. I had served with him when he was head of the destroyer and submarine units, where we both exhausted ourselves making our submarines fit for battle, and ready to achieve what they did in the war.

But in 1940, I told you that I was serving in the Salamina navy yard. War was declared on a Sunday, and the sirens sounded at dawn on Monday. The calmness displayed by the Greek people at that time was phenomenal. I remember packing a few woollen vests into a little case and setting off for work, indifferent to whether we would be bombarded or not. On the way to the navy yard I came across something no one could have expected: there were sailors dancing and singing through megaphones at the top of their voices on the warship Averof, which was lying on its side in a dry dock. This wasn’t war. It was…it was a fair.

We were attacked for the first time by Italian warplanes, which dropped their bombs, but hit absolutely nothing. All they managed to do was to kill thousands of fish, and even before the aeroplanes had withdrawn, everyone set out in whatever boats we had to grab the fish which had come to the surface in the foam from the German bombs. So, as I said, this was not war, it was a fair.

Things changed a great deal when the Germans entered the war. They didn’t mess about at all. They bombarded us constantly, many people lost their lives, and quite a few of our ships were sunk, including the battleship "Kilkis" which was being refitted, luckily without huge loss of life. Those were the main events until the Germans entered the war, and quite a large squad of Germans came and took control of the Salamina navy yard.

The destroyer "King George" was in the docks at the time. It hadn’t been able to leave the docks with the other ships because it had been badly holed during the German bombardments, and would have sunk immediately had it left the docks. What’s more, we couldn’t destroy the docks because the government had issued an order that no civilian installations should be destroyed. Nevertheless, I am not afraid to tell you that although the Germans had taken the shipyard, I and a colleague of mine, Ilias Protolatis, still climbed onto the ship – the King George – and destroyed all its instruments, taking the compass card from the ship’s compass as a souvenir. I dare say it was the first act of sabotage, and the first act of resistance against the Germans. I donated the compass card to the naval museum, where it is currently on display. I would say that from time on I was destined to enter the resistance.

I quickly formed a group in Chalkida with my cousin, Spiros Kouliarakis. We would observe the ships passing the bridge in Chalkida, and pass this information on to Damaskinos, Spiros Damaskinos, a senior airforce officer, who’d already set up a unit and was in contact with the Middle East. Our aim was to inform the Allies and our submarines where best to lie in wait for the ships - the freighters - which passed by Chalkida. The Allies also laid mines in the Euvoiko Gulf, and I made sure I knew when the Germans had fished them out, so that new ones could be laid. All of this went on for some time, I still have the records.

At the same time I was trying to find ways to set up an escape route for Kitrilakis’ group - General Kitrilakis, that is, and his group, codenamed "Omiros". After that I joined forces with Papachristou and we helped people escape…that’s to say, we got people together who wanted to go to the Middle East to serve on our ships in the continued fighting the Germans. This organisation, code named "Fox" was purely a Navy affair. Apart from Papachristou, I believe…no I came into contact with them and know that there were two captains close to Papachristou, Aggelos Markopoulos and Chasiotis.

We helped a lot of people escape. We got a lot of people out via Euvoia and the Tsakaioi, which are right across on the other side of the Aegean. Caiques would come from Turkey, from Maigdan Ekves in Turkey, they’d pick up the crews and take them to man ships in the Middle East. I must say that these missions were far from easy, because it is no simple thing to get groups past the German guards to their point of departure. God was with us, but there were some mishaps. One of my predecessors, a student who took part in these operations, had the misfortune to be arrested and executed by the Germans. I confess that it was not easy to take the place of someone who had been executed the previous day.

Of course, Euvoia wasn’t our only escape route... since Euvoia was then in the hands of EAM and ELAS, we used Euvoia for people without high rank. We also ran missions out of Lavrio. We had a good organisation there and a girl – I don’t know what happened to her – who worked for the German port authority who’d give us the routes of the patrol ships so we knew when to run our escape missions.

It was on one of these escape missions that…our organisation pulled off a daring mission - in which I didn’t participate. People were leaving via the Tourkolimano, the Pasalimani, and among those that got away, if I am not mistaken, was the Despot of Kalisteia. I don’t want to expand on that or go into any details of our organisation. What is worth mentioning, however, is that the "Fox" organisation - with Papachristou, Chasiotis, and Aggelos Markopoulos – had to pull out of the organisation. The Gestapo were on their trail, and it was essential that they got out of the country. They had their wives and some other people with them – some thirty people all told – and they were due to leave via Lavrio. We’d gone over there –I won’t go into any details about how we managed that sort of thing – and the caique was due to arrive at a set time - 10 that evening - to pick them up and take them to Turkey. Indoors, we played cards. I found a boat, lay down in it and fell asleep, and Papachristou’s wife came up to me – she was from your part of the world, from Egypt – and says, "You’re a real sailor. You’re asleep in a boat, but all the others want beds." Anyway, the caique didn’t show up, and that worried us a great deal. I left immediately, and managed to get to Athens. I went to a public notary who was part of the organisation, but didn’t find any of the people I should have found there…just a girl typist. I asked her, "What happened? Where’s everyone else got to?" And she replied, "They’ve gone into hiding."

-Why?

-Because the Germans captured the caique and are trying to force them to say who they were to pick up.

I can’t say I acted fearlessly all of the time, because there were moments when I felt very scared…but we operated on the principle that the Germans did their job, and we did ours. It was really a matter of Fate, and we were generally fortunate. When they caught the caique and I went back, like I said, there was a dirt road. When I’d arrived there earlier, and when I later left for Athens, that road had been smooth and untouched, but when I came back, knowing that they’d caught them and were beating them, I could see that it was now all rutted. It crossed my mind that the caique’s crew had told them everything, and that the Germans had come to arrest the people who were due to leave.

Now, there was a hill, and beneath it was the sea where the group should have been. On my way over to the hill, it seemed to me very likely that the Germans had arrested them and that they were waiting below, so I sat down on a rock and said to myself, "Look, Vasilis, sometimes, there’s nothing you can do about Fate. It was their Fate to be arrested by the Germans, with the result, as you well know in such cases, of being sentenced to death. It was written that they wouldn’t get away. And while you’re on the subject, there’s your widowed mother and your fatherless sister. Who’s going to look after them, Vasilis? Just because they caught the others, doesn’t mean that they have to catch you as well, now does it? Wouldn’t it be best to go back to your job? It doesn’t matter - you can serve your country in some other way." And, "Did anyone force you to come here? Did anyone make you? Did anyone order you to? No. So why are you here? Because you want to be. So, since you want to be here, you can do without all of that, get up, and get down there." And I stood up, but I couldn’t get myself to walk. I didn’t want to . So I took my jacket from over here, and said, "Move it, Vasilis! because otherwise they’ll make a complete fool of you. Shift! Get a move on! 1,2,3, away you go! And that’s the end of it!" And I ran down, and was, thank God, in time.

The Germans arrived just half an hour after I took them away. The lads from the caique had told them they were picking up Jews for Egypt, and sent the Germans 5 or 6 kilometres to the North of our position. Then the Germans had started searching the whole area. Anyway, it was…a matter of luck that it happened that way, but there are moments when, since we’re on the subject, you want to keep on living.

I have to tell you about something that happened to Ilias Chrisinis. I had a friend who was completely unique. He was a sailor, and had taken part in the civil war in Spain where he’d been arrested. But he escaped, and wound up here during the Occupation. He was a magnificent sailor, absolutely brilliant, and had many talents, one of which was the fact that he spoke very rarely. As he used to say, "You speak, because you know I don’t open my mouth easily." That man set off in a big boat with about 15 Englishmen, and got to Alexandria with only a whistle…one of those policemen’s whistles with a compass on it. The English were so full of admiration that they gave him a diesel-engined vessel with which he continued to pick up English personnel from Greece, drop off supplies and conduct a little sabotage here and there, for which he was paid. One time, Ilias made a mistake on his way over, and left his boat – the one with the diesel engine – in Anavyssos. He found me - because we stayed in touch - and said, "Leave if you want, Vasilis." I said, "I can’t leave. I’ve got things to do over here, but if the time comes for me to leave, where do you have your boat?" "In Anavyssos", he says, "I’ve got a helper. He’s a good lad and he’s keeping an eye on it for me there." And I said to him, "Is your map on board?" "It is", he says. "And where did you come from?", I asked him. "From Cyprus", he said. "And did you mark your route on the map?", I asked him. "I did", he says. "How could you be so stupid? Couldn’t you have at least taken it with you to stop the Germans finding it if they search the boat?" And that’s exactly what happened, and they confiscated the caique. They gave Ilias another boat, he continued doing the same job, and in the end he was arrested and sentenced to death.

He had two sisters. His younger sister started a relationship with a Greek from the Dodecannese – which was in Italian hands at the time – who could speak Italian and who worked as an interpreter and secretary for the Italians. It was him who got hold of her brother’s death sentence and kept putting it to the bottom of the pile. Then, when the Italians started retreating retreatingre, the Swiss Ambassador went and bribed the jailers to release Ilias Chrisinis, an English major, and someone else – three men in all.

Chrisinis couldn’t go back to his own house, so I took him to my place in Athens. I lived closed to the Metropolis on Christopoulou Street, next to Kapnikarea. For the first two days or so I brought Ilias in food, but on the third day he said to me, "If I’m just going to sit around locked up in here, I might as well have stayed in prison!" I replied, "Ilias, don’t forget your health and your situation." "To Hell with it. I’m getting out of here!" Evert got him an ID from the organisation stating he was a police officer in the city police, and from then on it was the theatre or the cinema every night, and not a second thought for his situation. He was a very daring man. We were eating at a good restaurant, Papacheimona’s taverna, which had a band, and he shouted to the leader, "We used to sing that song in jail. Can you sing it for us?" And there were Germans in there! Anyway…

One day Papachristou says to me, "Vasilis, you have to leave on a mission tomorrow - something difficult’s come up. We’ll be bringing you someone who has to get away immediately. His name’s Ilias Trichas." "Who’s Ilias Trichas?", I said, "You’re talking about Ilias Chrisinis, aren’t you." And his eyes widened with surprise, and he said, "How do you know that?" "He’s staying round my place", I said. "The Gestapo are on to him. They’ll get the both of you. He’s leaving in the morning." And they took Ilias with another group, and that was Ilias gone.

And the time came when I, too, had to leave…the Gestapo had set their sights on me, my successor was appointed and I was ready to go. August 15^th was the day set for my departure…my mum’s name day – her name was Maria. I had the means to go to Papacheimona’s taverna where they had a really good chef called Ilias who did giouvetsi and stuff like that…and he managed to get enough food together, and we ate there in the afternoon, and I said, "I’m leaving now, mother. Don’t worry"…I’d sorted them out financially so there’d be no misunderstandings.

I’d like to mention at this point that in my official capacity…"For the above services, no form of payment whatsoever was received." Indeed, I can say that I often paid for what had to be done out of my own pocket. What I’m saying is that I never got a penny…although I could have asked for a lot of things like a lot of people did. I didn’t get a thing, and that’s why I asked for this letter making that clear.

It wasn’t an easy mission. EAM had started obstructing us in what we did. And our man in Lavrio had gone, leaving his nephew in his place. It seems that the EAM boys gave the nephew a beating and he told them which boat we were leaving on, and they came with pistols and machineguns and boarded us. They took us to Euvoia where I stayed in the mountains for a month and a half along with another group. I had some important people with me, including a woman called Frosso Vamvakari who went on later to become Scobie’s secretary – the English general who was here during the Dekemvriana. They were going to send us to the EAM headquarters on Euvoia, but fortunately, we were shipwrecked off Cavo Doro, and even more fortunately, no one was drowned. I also had a journalist who was famous at the time with me and his wife, Blanche. When the boat was going down, he embraced his wife and said, "Blanche, I’m losing you." As I told you, we swam to shore safely, where they found each other safe and he said, "Blanche, I’ve found you again!"…the bugger. I found all the EAM correspondence on the shore, which I took and read, and I think I was lucky not to have gone up there, because things wouldn’t have been easy for me at EAM headquarters. But nothing bad would have happened to me there, because my first cousin was the secretary of the Communist Party – and he was a partisan up there –and there was a nephew of mine, who was a partisan, too…so I wasn’t without friends there, either.

In the Middle East they looked after me very well, because all the people who got away…when they seized our caique…had not been sparing in their praise of me. I requested to be transferred to submarines where I had once served, in administration, and they told me, "Relax and see." By the way, I met my wife there. I was very miserable in Alexandria because everything was so quiet, and I told Papachristou that I couldn’t just sit around there, and that I was going back to continue. He said, "No, you mustn’t. Stay here. Wait and we’ll sort something out."

I’d like to tell you about something now that happened with the English….because the organisation was at one time under the command of the British. When I left for Egypt, I went to Smirni and from Smirni I had to get to Alexandria. At that time you had to cross the whole of Turkey by train and enter Syria. There was a military camp there which was guarded by Gurkhas. The Gurkhas were one of the most ferocious peoples in Indian, and when they attacked in battle they weren’t armed with bayonets, they had knives. And they’d take out their knife, which was attached to a piece of string, throw it, kill someone and pull it back. If they take their knife out of its sheath and don’t cover it in blood, it is considered a dishonour…anyway…So there was this camp there with a lot of soldiers, including some Italians, and…they were from everywhere, it was an international camp. And a car drove into the camp, and everyone got really scared when they saw it. I ask "What’s up?", and he says, "Whoever they take away in that car is never seen again." Some Italians crossed themselves as soon as they saw the car, and said, "Madonna mia!, Madonna mia!" so they wouldn’t take one of them. I forgot to tell you that I’d sent a telegram from the camp to the naval authorities in Alexandria, saying that I was there and that they should look out for me. And they shouted through he megaphone, "Would Vasilis" - that’s my name – "please come to headquarters and bring his kit with him." I didn’t have a thing.

I forgot to mention that I’d lost my shoes in the shipwreck when I took them off to swim, and that in Smirni - in Megdan Ekves in Turkey - I’d wrapped my feet up with pieces of canvas from the caique and tied them up with string. In other words, I was barefoot. Of course, they gave me whatever I wanted there…they dressed me, gave me money to buy clothes and shoes and…all from the organisation.

And I want to tell you another of those stories that have never found their way into print. While I was waiting to leave, I stayed in a villa belonging to a Mrs. Kaouchi, where the captains of the caiques that ran people in and out lived…and one of the younger captains didn’t have a single tooth in his head. So I said to him, "Hey, you’re a young man. How come you’ve got no teeth?" "The Italians pulled them out", he said, "They caught me and they pulled them all out. But Fate helped me out and I got my own back. We happened to take three Italians prisoners on an island, and one of them was the guy who pulled my teeth out." And I said to him, "What did you do to him?" "I tied his legs together with a piece of rope, threw him into sea, and dragged him behind the boat until he drowned", he told me. That sort of thing happened during the Occupation.

I’m just telling you so you see what sort of things can happen, and how Fate can sometimes be a terrible thing.

So…I was in Syria, I was on my way out of the camp and they put me into that car. As soon as I got in – I forgot to tell you that I’d had a lot of people with me on that mission who later became ministers and such like – I got in… and they’d told me, "Be careful. Don’t say too much in Syria because lots of bad things have happened there."…and I thought about what they’d told me. When I got into the car, I said, "Now, Vasilis, this is a foreign land and if you open the door and walk out, where the Hell can you go? So relax, let’s see how this goes, and then act accordingly." There were two guys in the car in civvies. One was driving and the other was sitting next to me. They drove me to a very nice four-storey building, we got out of the car, got into the lift and went up to the fourth floor. I had a look around – it wasn’t any different from this place, like this it was. Anyway, "Don’t be afraid, Vasilis. Whatever happens, jump off the balcony and that’ll be the end of it. Your luck’s run out - you’re going to croak here where there isn’t even someone to light you a candle. Bugger it! Enough’s enough, that’s fine." Then they put on the radio and it was "The Voice of London"…"This is London…" in Greek, "etcetera, etcetera." And I listened, scared stiff, and the Englishmen laughed and said, "Why don’t you go to your room? This is your room." I felt a bit more confident, and went into the room, closed the door, and behind it there was a little placard, and above it a cartoon of a man with a padlock on his mouth…and it said in Greek: "Don’t say a word. Don’t tell them your name. Don’t tell them where you’re from. Don’t tell them anything’s you’ve done. Don’t say anything about the people you’ve worked with." They were the 10 commandments, let’s say. Various things.

And the Englishmen told me that we would have breakfast at this time, lunch at that time, and dinner at whatever time, asked me if I needed any money, told me that some team or other played football at some place and I don’t remember what else…basically, that I was free to go anywhere, and do and ask anything I wanted. I didn’t stay there for many days, it was just part of the Intelligence Service.

When the time came to leave, they told me the English brigadier wanted to see me. So I went to see the brigadier, who said, "You’re leaving tomorrow and you’ll be taking a unit of 12 men with you who you will hand over in Cairo. I will provide you with an armed British soldier. You will forget that you are called Vasilis Rozos." I asked him why, and he replied, "For reasons of security. You must forget your name. Remember it when you get to Cairo." And I took the men and we travelled via Lebanon, where we stayed one night in an amazing house like the ones you see in the cinema. Magnificent.

I forgot to tell you that I learned to eat in the English way when I was living with the Englishmen. They don’t take bread like us…they put it on their side plates and cut it with a knife. Anyway.

One thing really made an impression on me in Beirut. I was on the train and there was an English soldier who was swearing at and…you know…a local. He kept telling him, "Down, down, down!" And in the end he pushed him down and held his head to the floor with his boot. Then he gave him a good kicking, and said, "Now get up!" If the train hadn’t been leaving I could have got off and….strangled that man. I’d never seen such barbarous behaviour. Anyway, I got to Cairo and an English brigadier, who spoke fluent Greek, told me, "Let’s go, Mr. Rozos." I told him, "I have my group." "Leave them. They’ll come for them. Let’s go." And he put me in a jeep and we left. We started talking and he asked me various things. It was then that I understood that the war hadn’t finished yet, but the English and Americans had already started struggling for power. He was very persistent in asking me about the Americans’ movements and so on and their relations with Greece.

Let me just tell you why the English changed my name. The opportunity came along to talk to someone well up on that sort of thing, and I asked him, "Why did the English change my name?" He asked me, "What name did they give you?", I told him, and he said, "It’s like this: The Germans were willing to do anything to kill that man and it seems to me that you must have looked like him, so they gave you his name so the Germans would kill you and think they’d killed him." "It could have been worse, though", he told me. "That’s why they gave you the armed escort. If an attempt was made on your life, he could at least help you. The English have another terrible weapon, which you were fortunate to escape since you know so much. They could have given you an sealed envelope and told you, "Take the plane and go to some place in South Africa where they’d have given you another envelope and sent you to some jungle where it would be touch and go if you survived to come back after the end of the war. They had the chance to make you vanish into thin air without anyone knowing where you were. That’s what happened with our allies.