Secrets Under the Sun

by Nadia Marks

  ‘We haven’t been aware of it,’ Martha replied, looking alarmed.

  ‘No need for concern,’ the colonel reassured them, sensing their unease. ‘We only have one corporal unwell here at the moment and he is being looked after in isolation.’

  The truth was that the typhoid fever had been raging for a while among the British troops and not just in Nicosia. Unaccustomed to the island’s climate the men were ill-equipped to deal with the extreme heat and humidity, and the lack of adequate hygiene and medication caused many of them to succumb to the illness.

  ‘The Abbot is looking forward to meeting you both,’ the Colonel said, changing the subject, not wanting to worry his guests further. ‘So while you wait I suggest you take a walk in the garden until he is ready.’

  As Eva had previously learned, Nicosia was truly the city of the rose and May was the month the flower colonized every garden. Roses of all types grew in abundance everywhere, their pungent aroma almost overpowering. The monks who tended the garden with care also produced great quantities of rose water from their crop, which they used in cooking and religious ceremonies, as is the custom in the Greek Orthodox Church. Bees and butterflies alike inhabited the flowerbeds where a variety of herbs, vegetables and flowers – jasmine, verbena and oleander – also waited to be pollinated.

  ‘What a delightful garden, Martha dear,’ Eva told her friend as she bent down to inhale the fragrance of yet another variety of rose. ‘So much colour, so much beauty! This garden satisfies almost all my senses. Sight, smell, touch, and all these bees are music to my ears …’

  ‘Surely you mean all our senses,’ Martha said, giving her friend a broad smile. ‘What about taste?’

  ‘Of course! How could I forget all those mouth-watering desserts saturated with rose water, and I believe there is a delicious cordial too,’ Eva said cheerfully as she plucked a small rose to pin on her dress.

  The Abbot received the ladies in person in his private apartments. The view from his balcony to the north was spectacular, and as their eyes stretched across the city and beyond, Nicosia looked as charming as it had under the stars the night before. Domes of Greek Orthodox churches, minarets and mosques rose towards a cloudless blue sky against a backdrop of the Pentadactylon mountain range.

  ‘The name of this rocky mountain,’ the interpreter explained, ‘translates as “Five Fingers”. It derives from the Byzantine legend of the giant hero Digenis Akritas, who apparently gripped the mountain to get out of the sea when he came to free our island from her Saracen invaders, and by doing so left his handprint on the peak.’

  ‘What a splendid story!’ Martha exclaimed. ‘This really is the land of legends!’

  Through their interpreter the Abbot spoke to the two friends at length, explaining with great vigour about the history of the monastery and the Orthodox Church while some of his attendant priests entertained them with sweet Turkish coffee, ice-cold water and rose-dessert. The so- called ‘dessert of the spoon’ or glygo, which in Greek simply means ‘sweet’, was made from the most fragrant rose petals from the monastery garden. Each lady was served a portion on a tiny delicate glass dish laid onto a silver filigree teaspoon.

  ‘Glygo,’ the translator explained, ‘is the most traditional Cypriot offering to guests, and this particular one is made by the monks when the roses are in season and then preserved in syrup to be enjoyed all year round.’

  Martha and Eva knew that any number of fruits such as figs, cherries, walnuts, young apples and some citrus fruits could be preserved this way and had, on many occasions, sampled their delights. However, never before had they been served rose petals this way and it was an exotic novelty for their taste buds and a sweet revelation to them both.

  After a short tour around the grounds and church, the ladies were then taken on horseback to visit the interior of the city and the bazaar. The gynegopazaaro, ‘women’s bazaar’, was yet another discovery for them both. They were informed that the bazaar, which took place once a week, had only female traders and shoppers, catering exclusively to women, their homes and their families, as opposed to the men’s bazaar, which traded in heavy goods and merchandise.

  ‘This is where I leave you ladies,’ the interpreter said, stopping in front of a cloister that led to the market and pointing at a coffee shop across the road. ‘I shall be waiting for you there while you shop at your leisure.’

  In what seemed like no time at all Martha and Eva found themselves transported from the monastery’s spiritual world to a world of earthly goods. Stalls selling all kinds of merchandise, from vegetables and fruit to spices and herbs, small livestock and poultry, to cloth, trinkets and tapestries. Exotic aromas hovered in the air and women of all ages were cooking, laughing and talking animatedly to each other in both Greek and Turkish.

  Exquisite Turkish rugs were laid out on the ground to be viewed while the vendors called out to them to come and buy. At some point, Eva, lost in a sea of colour and noise, recognized a stall-holder selling lace and embroidery from Lefkara, and in the absence of their male translator she tried her best to communicate with the woman in what little Greek she possessed. No language was needed. The woman recognized Eva and with great enthusiasm gifted her a small piece of embroidery, upon which Eva returned the favour and bought several more, plus yards of cloth, and silk-thread in all shades for her own use on her return to Larnaka.

  By the time the two friends arrived back at the monastery the sun was ready to set and they were both quite fatigued. Martha especially was feeling rather low, complaining of a headache, and took to her bed refusing any supper.

  ‘I knew that last night’s chill would affect me so,’ she told Eva as she lay down with a cold compress on her forehead. ‘I shall be fine after a good night’s sleep, providing I keep myself warm.’

  ‘We have done rather a lot for one day, dear; you might feel better after a little food, perhaps?’ Eva said, worried.

  ‘I am not in the least bit hungry,’ Martha replied, letting out a big sigh and closing her eyes. Eva had never known her friend to refuse dinner and her worry deepened. She, on the other hand, felt rather exhilarated and energized by their adventure and in contrast to Martha was ready to join the colonel in the mess for a little supper.

  The next morning Martha’s headache seemed to have worsened and she’d also developed a mild fever, so the English doctor was sent for. Discreetly and without wanting to cause alarm, he suggested that perhaps ‘if lady Martha was coming down with influenza it would be a good idea to cut their journey short and go home’.

  A few days after their return to Larnaka it was established that Martha wasn’t in fact suffering from influenza but had contracted what the local doctor described as a ‘mild form’ of typhoid. Martha’s husband, feeling rather mistrustful of the diagnosis, questioned whether a person could in fact contract a ‘mild form’ of typhoid. He knew well enough that typhoid was a serious ailment so without delay he decided that before her condition worsened Martha must return to Belgium, where she would be treated with the correct medications.

  Martha’s departure was a hard blow to Eva. She was distressed about her friend’s health and worried that she might not return if she did not recover well. They had become so close and shared so many interests and they had both looked forward to more adventures together. She would miss Martha more than she could say.

  ‘Perhaps if you get well quickly you might come back,’ Eva told her as they made their farewells. ‘Everyone will miss you so, not to mention myself, dear friend.’

  ‘I must get well, and it is better to be away from everyone,’ Martha replied giving Eva a weary smile. ‘This wretched illness is quite contagious and I have to protect the boys. You too, my friend – please keep your distance from me.’ Eva wasn’t too worried, she knew that contamination occurs through poor hygiene and realized her unlucky friend had very possibly been infected through drinking water during their journey. ‘As soon as I am better I will either return, or send for the children,
’ she explained.

  Martha’s husband and sons were to remain on the island until she recovered, which they all believed would not take too long with the right medical care in Belgium.

  One of the items that Martha requested to be shipped back with her when she left was the footstool that Eva had made for her.

  ‘I would like to have it with me,’ she told her friend, ‘and while I convalesce I shall rest my feet on it and remember you and our time together in Cyprus.’

  Although Martha eventually regained her health, her recovery was slow, and left her very weak, by which time her husband decided to leave his post at the consulate and return to Belgium with their boys in order to be with her.

  Without Martha’s friendship Eva once again found herself lonely; not only had she lost her companion, but also any hope of further joint adventures. Apart from her work with Josef in the evenings, she decided to occupy her time with embroidery and once in a while took tea with some of the circles she had been introduced to by Martha. Invariably one or other guest who admired her needlework would ask if Eva could make something for her and soon she found that the footstool she had made for her friend was the first of many embroideries she went on to make during that time. Her needlework had become the topic of conversation in many elegant salons; before long the word spread and commissions came in from households unknown to her, not only from Larnaka but from Nicosia and Limassol too, and they paid handsomely for one of her creations.

  Eva realized that if she was to continue accepting so many commissions, creating bedspreads, pillowcases and cushions, she had to change the way she worked. Laborious needlework was not the way to continue. She had to find another method of transferring her botanic illustrations onto fabric.

  What had started as a hobby gradually progressed to silkscreens and prints and eventually into a successful textile business, which held something of a monopoly on the island. Before long no elegant home was complete without some kind of printed ‘Linser Textiles’ piece. Eva’s pleasant pastime had turned into a profit-making concern.

  Once Josef realized how passionate his wife was about her new venture he proved to be a great help, and together they started to put their extensive knowledge of the island’s flora to a different use. The couple was now discovering that some of the local vegetation, which they had identified over the years, could also be used to extract natural fabric dyes.

  ‘I love textile printing as much as I love doing my botanic illustrations,’ Eva told her husband once she started printing from a makeshift shed in their back yard, ‘because it combines both activities – drawing and working with cloth.’

  There had been moments of hilarity for her husband and young son when Eva embarked on her experiment with printing textiles. Mixing dyes and making woodcuts for the purpose proved to be a far messier business than embroidery. But Eva came from a scientific background and a little mess would not deter her.

  ‘I have placed a large bucket in the latrine,’ she announced one day to Josef, as he was setting off on one of his expeditions. ‘When you are in the house, I would like you and Franz to make sure you urinate in it please,’ she continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘And exactly for what purpose would you like us to do this, Eva dear?’ he asked, his face a picture of amusement and disbelief.

  ‘Believe me, Josef, I have thought about it and it’s the only way to do it—’ she started to explain.

  ‘And what exactly is this “it”?’ Josef interrupted, unable to contain his laughter.

  ‘If you would let me speak, please, I can explain,’ she said with irritation. ‘You might not know this, Josef, but I have discovered that urine is an essential part of the print-making process because natural dyes like the ones I am using will leak out of the cloth if they’re not fixed with an astringent first.’ She blurted this out in one long sentence, trying to ignore his mocking expression.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve got the facts correctly, dear?’ Josef replied, hardly concealing his mirth, yet not wanting to offend his already vexed wife.

  ‘As you know,’ Eva continued, ignoring Josef’s question, ‘the most natural way to obtain astringent is from urine, and apparently men’s urine is the most effective for this purpose, so will you two help me out please?’

  The Linsers’ commission from the Natural History Museum of Vienna would soon come to an end, and the couple had to make some serious decisions about whether to remain on the island or to set sail for home.

  ‘I have grown to love Cyprus more than I ever imagined. If you feel the same, dearest, why don’t we stay?’ Josef mused to Eva during one of their discussions about the future. ‘I can help you with the textiles and make our permanent home here.’

  And that is how Eva and Josef Linser came to adopt Cyprus as their own land; to build a fine family house that would accommodate the coming generations, and to establish the Linser Textiles company whose name became synonymous with elegance, lasting more than half a century.

  6

  First as a child, and then as a young adult, Eva’s son Franz took a keen interest in his mother’s burgeoning business. When he was old enough to take an active part in the family enterprise he travelled to Egypt, Italy and France in order to buy cottons, silks and dyes. It was on one of those trips to Sicily just before the outbreak of the First World War that he met Ernestina, a pious young woman, the daughter of a silk merchant, and fell in love.

  Franz brought his sweetheart to Cyprus with her father’s blessing and married her in Larnaka one autumn day in 1915 when the chrysanthemums were in bloom and the pomegranates were ripe for picking. The ceremony was held at the Catholic church and Europeans, Greeks and Turks alike were invited. The celebrations lasted three days and three nights in the customary tradition of the island. The newly built family home was ablaze with music, food and dancing and everyone talked for years to come about the feast that Josef Linser gave for his only son in the style of a Cypriot panegyri, a fiesta.

  When a year later Ernestina gave birth to Olga, a green-eyed, raven-haired baby girl, the Linser clan knew that the gods had truly blessed them.

  By the time his daughter Olga was born Franz had taken over from his mother and father and was running a small textile factory on the outskirts of town.

  Josef by then had loosened his ties with the textiles enterprise and left Eva and Franz to run the family business, allowing him to indulge in his favourite pastimes of archaeology and spending time with his precious granddaughter.

  During those years of combing the wild hillsides for plants he had come across numerous apparently insignificant remnants of unexplored antiquity. He would often arrive home with broken fragments of ancient pottery, sometimes even entire terracotta vases and pots, their colours and decorations still intact.

  ‘This is exquisite,’ Eva said thoughtfully, examining yet another of Josef’s finds; this time a small terracotta bowl almost intact, painted with dancing figures of young maidens with floral garlands. ‘Surely these need to be reported to the authorities,’ she said anxiously. ‘They belong to a museum, not in our home …’

  Her husband shrugged and spread his hands. ‘I entirely agree. But who does one report it to when there appears to be no organized body and no one seems to care?’

  The couple had arrived on the island during a time of political and cultural change after a long period of administrative inertia. The ancient treasures lay ignored, buried beneath the earth and of no concern to anyone. The newly established British rule had not yet involved itself with the prohibition of unauthorized excavations and findings. Anyone inclined to do so was free to dig and keep whatever antiquities they found, either for themselves or for trade, no permission required.

  When Josef’s interest in these ancient artefacts was aroused, as he explored the countryside he used the same methods as he did for his botanical finds, recording and categorizing the antiquities he came across in much the same way as he did for the plants.

  ‘The
re might come a time when these treasures can be exhibited in a museum for all to see,’ he told Eva half apologetically. He was aware that what he was doing was a form of looting. A large number of tombs had already been opened in the past by local people hunting for precious materials, and later on by Europeans living and visiting the island who would sell the antiquities to overseas collectors.

  ‘You are a true custodian,’ Eva would comfort him, sensing his guilt. ‘You are not like others; you are doing this not for gain but for conservation.’

  ‘If you think so, dear,’ Josef replied, stroking little Olga’s hair as she sat on his knee. ‘It seems that when Franz was born I was never present,’ he told Eva regretfully.

  ‘You were always busy, dear,’ she replied. ‘You had to earn a living for the three of us then.’

  ‘Yes, but at what cost? The years have flown by in the sea breeze and our son is now a man.’

  ‘Yes, but look what he has given us!’ Eva smiled lovingly as Josef bounced his granddaughter on his knees.

  From a very young age Olga could tell the difference between poplin and linen, cotton and silk, or which plants were most suitable to produce the most vibrant fabric dyes. She was raised in a hothouse of flowers and textiles. Plants were brought into the house in profusion in order to be illustrated by her grandmother and father, and then transferred in pattern form onto cloth.

  Eva had raised two generations of Linsers with flowers and textiles in their blood.

  Olga was partly educated at home by her mother and grandparents, and partly by the Catholic nuns of the Terra Santa School. She was a bright, spirited child, encouraged by her father to develop her interests and use her talents and taught, above all, that she was equal to any boy.

  ‘Never let anyone hold you back, my girl,’ he told her. ‘This is the twentieth century and when the time comes you can run this business as well as any man!’ Her mother had a different opinion. Religion was her motivating force and she wished for nothing more than for her child to be as devoted as she was to the Virgin Mary. However, Olga was her father’s daughter and she was determined that the world was hers to explore and conquer. When she was deemed old enough, around the age of eighteen, she started to accompany her father on his business trips to learn the ways of the textile industry. Franz believed that together, they would take Linser Textiles to new heights and then when he could no longer continue, she would take over from him.