Maxime Fidao’s recollections

I am now 65 years old, but it seems that my business experience and willingness to work are of no avail. As an officer of a large corporation in Stamford, Connecticut, told me “At your age we pension people, we do not hire them.”

But I must keep active. Idleness goes against the grain. The average span of life for men is 64.5 years. I am theoretically dead. I am living on borrowed time. So I though I might as well take advantage of my respite and put down on record the highlights of my allotted years. And, this is it.

On May 10, 1882, twin boys were born to Charles and Maraya Fidao in Smyrna, Turkey. They were named Joseph and Maxime. The last one is me. Father’s family originated from Montfalcone, Austria. Mother was the sister of the Marquis Edmund Giustiniani of the Genoa (Italy) branch of the old family.

In spite of their Austrian and Italian origin, father and mother were both educated in French institutions and French was their language. We had three brothers and four sisters and we all received a French education.

The Marquis Giustiniani and my father were the partners of the firm of N. Giustiniani at Fils, exporters of local produce and vintners of muscatel wine in Samos, an island in the Aegean Sea. Most of the wine was usually sold to Noilly Prat and Cie of French vermouth fame.

In addition to his business activities, my father found time to engage in civic work, particularly charitable work. He was president for many years of the Societe de St. Vincent de Paul, a charitable organization which maintained a trade school for boys and adults.

For his devotion and activities in that and other fields, he had been decorated by the Pope, the French Republic, the Emperor of Austria, and the Sultan of Turkey. He was one of the most esteemed men of the community. He was six feet tall and handsome, and I remember him with grey hair only. He wore a moustache and a goatee.

He was a student of human nature, and could read people’s character on their faces and countenances. So good was he at it, that friends would send for him to sit in business meetings with foreign travelling agents with whom they had not had any previous dealings.

He could also prescribe the right medicine for many ills and although he had studied neither medicine nor anatomy, he was able to discuss with doctors and often question the advisability of their prescriptions. He was often called in by his friends instead of a physician.

He was affable but stern with us when in the wrong. He was pious and law abiding and his courage was well known. In his righteousness he found the force to face danger unafraid. I recall a night when burglars were heard downstairs ransacking the silver chest. Refusing to arm himself, he went down, intercepted them, disarmed them, and had them arrested.

My mother was no less a deserving person, but her life was all given to her family. Rearing nine children with care and devotion was in itself a lifetime endeavour. She was well known for her even disposition, friendly manner, and her noble outlook on life. She was wholesome and good looking and what I would call a typically normal woman. She had four girls and five boys, a practically even balanced family, which is I believe sign of normality. For, is it not true that women tending toward the masculine, the matter-of-fact type, bear mostly girls.

I was born four hours after my twin brother and during that lapse of time there was only a conjecture on the part of the doctor attending my mother that there might be another one tucked away in that sombre abode.

Today such conjecture would sound absurd, but in those days and particularly in Turkey, with the limited availability of surgical instruments, it was not absurd it seems from what I was told.

Mother was not able to nurse both of us. A wet nurse was secured for one of us, and shortly after another one for the other.

Our resemblance was unusual and it was soon decided that I should wear at all times a blue ribbon and my brother a pink one. The wet nurse had often quarrelled about the identity of their babies and it is quite possible that I am actually Joseph and not Maxime.

To this day, we still look unusually alike and from a snapshot I received a short time ago from my twin brother, I could easily believe that is my own picture.

My wet nurse was a comely and healthy young woman of about thirty from the Island of Tina, a small rocky but beautiful island in the Aegean Sea. I saw her when I was about ten years old on her visit to Smyrna when she dropped in to see “her child”, as she called me.

Our house was large, extending the length of the block, with a good size garden, where grew orange, lemon, citron, plum and apricot trees, as well as heliotrope, Jasmine, mimosa and other flowers. Mother and I looked after the flowers.

The front entrance was on the Rue des Roses, which was called in Greek “Kopries”, meaning the Street of Manure, This unflattering name, it seems, came from the fact that the manure was kept at one time at one end of the street, while the name Rue des Roses came from the numerous boxes placed outside windows and balconies containing rose plants. The French emphasized the beauty, the agreeable. Not so the Greeks.

Our kitchen was quite an establishment, for a few food items were to be had, then, already prepared. The help consisted of a cook, two chamber maids, and a utility man. With nine children all this help was needed, for we lived in the style of affluent Europeans.

The climate of Smyrna was temperate and relatively dry. In twenty years I saw snow but once, and it thawed in a few minutes. The house was not heated in the winter, except by a fire place or a mangal or two. A mangal is a large copper receptacle in which charcoals are placed, after being well ignited and carried in whatever room it was needed.

The vegetables were very much what one finds in this country. Beef was usually poor, but there was milk. Our homemade bread, eaten plain, was our choice morsel when hungry between meals. Only once since leaving Smyrna have I tasted such palatable and satisfying bread, and that was in an Italian bakery in New York.

Coffee was roasted in the open once a month in a corner of our garden. Among fruit and vegetables prepared for canning, were tomatoes, which the whole family helped squeeze for sauce for the year into vats one and a half feet deep. On one of those occasions, one of the vats was already full and I could see the reflection of my twin brother in it on the opposite side. I wanted to see my own face. I leaned over a little too far, lost my balance, and fell in. Amid screams and laughs, my mother grabbed me and pulled me out and took me upstairs to dry me out. I remember being rid of my clothes and being wrapped in a bed sheet, and carried in the arms of my mother who, quite excited, tried to console me. I was then a little over three. The tomato sauce turned out quite good.

There were many savoury native dishes like shish kebab, and desserts like baklava, made of a great number of very fine layers of pastry, ground walnuts and honey. Rose petal preserve and rose petal ice cream were delicious. Much of the milk was goat’s milk and it was brought to the door in its original container. A small herd of goats would be lead through the streets and stop at your door. You brought a container and the quantity required was milked into it in your presence.

The help was of Greek nationality from the Aegean Islands, except for the utility man who was a Spanish Jew, born in Turkey. His name was Samuelico Sigura. He lived in the Jewish quarters of the city with his wife and three children. He took us to school in the morning, during our early years, and was there again waiting for us at dismissal time. Quite often, however, he would start with us at home, but lose himself around the block, and again in the afternoon, wait for us around the block and walk home with us. He had warned us not to tell anyone about it, and timidly, we obeyed him. There was a tavern around the corner.

It was one of his duties to bottle the muscatel wine that father sent home occasionally, using empty bottles which were stored in a big closet facing the garden. He would select, by smell, bottles that had contained wine only. One day, when he was sorting out bottles for that purpose, we heard a loud yell and the crash of a bottle in the garden. He had brought the bottle to his nose when the head of a snake shot out of it. He yelled, tossed the bottle, and fainted. We managed to kill the snake, a multicoloured, non-poisonous variety, three feet long.

When his daughter got married, he invited our whole family to the wedding, but I alone went with my cousin. After a long and complicated religious ceremony, the bride joined the guests. On the table in the hall were a few dozen eggs, a few pounds of butter, flour, sugar, and other ingredients. The bride proceeded to mix a cake to be baked on the spot and passed to the guests, to show her qualifications as a promising housewife. The cake was baked and passed around, but I could not eat my piece. As I recall, it had a sickening sweet and oily taste.

There was a large European Colony in the City which controlled most of the business done through that harbour and which, under the privileges guaranteed by the Capitulations, lived in its own way of life, practically undisturbed by the Turkish authorities.

The Capitulations were Conventions forced by some European nations on the Turkish Government, by virtue of which, their nationals were subject to the laws pf these European nations, and not the local Turkish laws, in civil and criminal matters. Such cases were decided by the consuls of those nations who depended on the local authorities for the execution of their decisions.

There were a few Americans and their friendly and unassuming manner was somewhat in contrast with that of the Continental Europeans. The English and their way of life appealed to me, but I did not speak the language, and the English rather shunned the Continentals.

The Greeks, natives of Turkey, formed the largest part of the Christian population of the city and among them were many prominent business and professional men. The lower classes were small tradesmen and manual workers who performed most of the work in the packing establishments, putting up for export dried figs, and the famous seedless raisins, “Sultana”.

For many miles inland, one could find this Greek population, there for many generations, which in many places had forgotten its Greek language and spoke only Turkish. The only Greek they heard was in church and that they did not understand. They formed the greatest part of the hands that wove the famous Turkish rugs in the interior, and when the Turks expelled all the Greeks from Turkey, subsequent to the Greco-Turkish war that ended in 1922, they lost the greatest part of their rug industry.

The Turks were, of course, the functionaries in the City, but the lower class did not contribute much to the daily economy in those days. They waited patiently for the day when they would be lifted to Heaven, there to enjoy the best foods and the most beautiful women. One of their occupations was to act as carriers of freight, on their backs, as big and heavy as a piano. The Turks occupied the South-eastern part of the City, and we occasionally went through their quarters but we were not welcome.

Camel caravans were often seen passing the outskirts of the City or bringing in their cargos to the market places, even to the harbour. They were always led by a sun baked Mohammedans, riding a donkey, and who was often asleep astride his mount. The donkey leading in a sure and confident gait.

Camel caravans occasionally passed through the Rue des Roses, and on one occasion a camel stretched its neck and grabbed a piece of bread out of my hand at a second story window of our house, from where I was watching the procession.

In the market places, and throughout the Eastern part of the City, one could always see a motley crowd of people, many of them from far outlying districts. There were Jews of Spanish origin, natives of Turkey, Arabs. Kurds, Albanians, Serbians, Armenians, et al. Most of them, including the Jews, wore the Turkish Feez, and the denizens of the Balkan countries were always conspicuous by their rifles, daggers, and revolvers that they sported with an air of dignity and bravado. Negroes were seldom seen. Occasionally a Negress would be seen peddling, from a basket carried on her head, roasted nuts or patties of sesame seed. During the twenty years in Turkey, I never saw a face of a Turkish woman, except once in the country while peeking from behind a brush fence. She soon got wise to me and pulled down her veil, expostulating in incomprehensible language which sounded like curses to a ghiaour (infidel).

Public scribes were not uncommon in the Turkish quarters. One could also see barbers at their trade in the open air. The Turks shaved their heads but left a tuftat at the top in the manner of some of our Indians. The common saying was that they were to be lifted by it to Heaven. They had a good way for a close shave. The barber would insert his thumb in his mouth of his customer, push his cheek out, and thus shave it.

I had frequent contact with the people of different countries. As I recall, they all seemed fundamentally the same. They spoke different languages, had different manners and wore different clothes, but they had the same needs and desires. They differed only in the manner in which they satisfied those needs and desires. Environment, in its broad sense, no doubt made them appear different. If properly groomed, they could be made to look like Westerners; after all, they all belonged to the white race. Nowhere, I believe, Freud’s psychological conclusions are more applicable than in the East. He lived and observed around Vienna, and East and West merge in that part of Europe.

Many processions were seen in the streets, mostly from and to a Greek Orthodox Church. There was one kind of procession which made an eerie impression on me. It was a Greek funeral, where it was the custom to expose the body in the casket in its entire length. Many funerals passed through the street on which faced the rear of our house. The street was paved with stone blocks, many of them loose and protruding, so that a vehicle riding over them would sway and jerk continuously. The body in the casket would sway and jerk with the carriage. Sometimes the glassy eyes of the deceased would stare at you, not being closed, if you watched it from an upper window. When it was a young woman with beautiful hair, it would be hanging over the casket down toward the pavement.

I recall when the funeral of a young woman was passing as I was looking out of an upper window. Her beautiful blond hair was hanging down to the pavement, her eyes were open, her face was contorted, and the carriage was swaying so badly that the body had to be pushed back into position every now and then. It was of common occurrence that a body having been kept too long in the heat of the summer, the emanations from it were most offensive. There was no embalming then, with its corollary arts, which often make one look better dead than alive. Under these circumstances, it took great curiosity, and some callousness, to watch a Greek funeral.

The social life in Smyrna was rather quiet but agreeable. All the well educated members of the European colony spoke French. The continental Europeans used it exclusively, and lived more or less in French style, while the English Colony preferred its own language and habits.

The nicest part of the City was the water front, where some members of the European Colony had erected beautiful homes of stone and marble. The Marquis Giustiniani was one of them. The Quay covered about two miles of the waterfront.

A suburb, Bournabat, where most of the English Colony lived, contained some beautiful country homes on large estates with beautiful gardens.

There were two French Colleges for boys, one run by the La Salle Brothers, and the other by the Peres Lazaristes. Also a French Institution for girls, run by the Soeurs de Sion. The members of the European Colony usually sent their children to either one of these institutions where an up-to-date, well-rounded education was given. About 1900, two more educational institutions were opened, one by the Suore d’'Ivres from Italy, the other by the American Roberts College. There were also Greek and Turkish schools, of which I knew very little.

Several large department stores were located on the Rue Franque, where chic Parisian creations for women were sold, along with London clothes for men, and sporting goods.

Two French newspapers were published locally, subject to censure by the Turkish authorities. At that time, Abdul Hamid II was the sultan of Turkey, and he was much of a dictator. The editors were often at a loss to know whether a piece of news could be published, and in what form, so that their papers were often suspended for a limited time.

The Sporting Club was located on the Quay, and during the summer evenings one could always meet ones friends in its garden partaking of refreshments. The Club had a billiards room and a reading room with a good library, and many reviews and magazines from France and other countries.

Near by was a theatre, where French artists were occasionally booked from France to give a popular play, or Italian and French singers to give an opera. There was also a large, open Cafe on the Quay, with a stage where French, Italian and Greek artists entertained the public.

The best German beer was freely consumed, but the popular drink was “masticha”, distilled from grape mash and scented with masticha, an aromatic tree gum from the island of Chio, from which the liquor took its name. Palatable small fried fish was usually served with the drinks.

Several times a year, balls for charitable benefits were given, as well as banquets in private homes.

Mardi Gras was time of merriment. It lasted one week, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday being the most important date. Voitures (French coaches), filled with masqueraders wearing elaborate costumes, would circulate through the main residential streets, throwing confetti and coloured streamers (sometimes vegetables by uncouth elements) and calling on friends. A ball was always given on Tuesday night.

Horse races were run once or twice a year, and field sporting events were held every summer at Bournabat (Bornova). Rowing and swimming races for men were held every summer in the bay, directed from the Sporting Club. The boats used in the races were of the same design, but never exactly alike so that the contest was much a matter of luck. In one of those races I displaced a shoulder blade in a frantic attempt to beat my opponent, but to no avail, I came in second.

In the wide harbour of Smyrna, warships of many nations could be seen most of the year. Usually the large ships were open to visitors and we invariably went on board. When an Admiral was in the harbour, he would always give a reception on board for the European colony, which was returned by a gala dinner or garden party. These entertainments would almost always result in challenges to duels as a result of real or imaginary insults to the ladies’ escorts. But these duels never came to be fought. The intervention of the consul with the admiral settled the matters peacefully.

Upon the arrival of a warship in the harbour, the sailors would be given a furlough, and it was then that one could see long processions of hilarious sailors, mounted on donkeys, making for the outskirts of the City. There were no automobiles then, and not enough other conveyances. It was many years before I discovered where they were they were headed. I would get no satisfactory answer to my questions and the subject was summarily dismissed. In my later years, I found out that they all repaired to the brothels.

On New Year’s day, everyone kept an open house, when all family relatives and acquaintances came to present their New Year’s wishes to the ladies of the house. On that day, the callers usually ran in and right out again, staying but for a minute or two, for they had to make all their calls on foot on that day.

It was on New Years day that presents were given, instead of Christmas, and we children were always watching for our uncles, and intimate friends, who made the rounds of the houses and slipped us, in the palm, a coin of silver or gold, depending on their means. Money was given instead of toys or useful articles.

In Bournabat there was a Catholic Church where a secular Priest from Smyrna was sent every Sunday to celebrate Mass, there being no parish house there. Every Sunday the Priest would be invited to dinner by one of the parishioners. On one particular Sunday, there had been a misunderstanding, and the Priest, Don Antonio, was left alone at the Church after the service, not knowing where he would eat his Sunday dinner. There was no restaurant in the village.

It was about 1:30 P.M. and he was starving. Being a timid soul, he did not dare drop in on any of the parishioners, but he conceived a scheme that would surely bring them back to the church. He went to the belfry and rang the bell with all his might. In a few minutes a crowd had gathered there to find out that there was neither fire, nor burglary, but that Don Antonio was starving to death. The crowd was much amused, and he was of course invited to dinner.

The City was usually quiet. There was only one street car, horse drawn, which ran the length of the Quay. There were of course, no automobiles, nor buses in those days. Occasionally, one would hear an “araba”, a springless cart with iron-rimmed wheels, or a horse drawn coach (also with iron-rimmed wheels), on stoneblock pavements.

At night, armed watchmen patrolled the streets. They carried a very heavy stick, which they pounded on the pavement every few yards, probably to let the people know that they were protected.

Stray dogs in great numbers, of every description and size, were seen in many streets. They formed packs which, many times a day engaged in vicious fighting with packs of contiguous street, when they tried to intrude on their territory. They lived on refuse, which was often thrown to them to dispose of it.

Some primitive ways of life were in evidence. Babies were wrapped in many folds of wide bands of cloth, to keep their spines straight, and they were also seen at times strapped to flat boards for the same purpose. Our maids from the Aegean Sea spun their own yarn from raw wool with a spindle, and used the yarn to knit socks and stockings.

There were no mechanized factories in the City. There was no electricity. Gas was used for street lighting and in the houses, but not for cooking. There were no telephones. Life was set on the natural, the physiological tempo of man. Perfect quiet reigned in the countryside. It was conducive to pondering and meditating: quite an oriental atmosphere.

In the centre of the European quarter, there was a Cafe Costi’s, considered very respectable, where parents and their children often went for refreshments. It was our usual treat on Sunday afternoons. We never failed to see, coming out of a house nearby, one or two French young woman, with lavish clothes and makeup, and holding in leash beribboned French poodles. They looked unlike other women who did not in those days use make-up, and the lavishness of their clothes seemed incomprehensible, for they seemed to live by themselves and were never seen in company of other people. It was an unusual sight in our community, and it was many years before I knew what they were. But styles have changed. Today one can hardly tell a professional from an amateur or a respectable woman. At the age of two and three years, my twin brother and I wore dresses with laced pants showing beneath. We were five years old when mother began our education by teaching us the ABC’s and the numbers to ten. She would call us in from play every day, one at a time, and I can see her now pointing at random, large black letters and numbers on a square white card, and asking us to call them.

In the summer of that year we were sent four days a week to a kindergarten to give my mother a partial rest, for all our brothers and sisters were home then from boarding school. The kindergarten was run by a French “old maid” of about forty named Marie, with jet black hair and black eyes and generously furnished fore and aft. There, there were children of many nationalities, both boys and girls. I do not believe that we learned that much at that kindergarten. The teacher was not particularly fitted to the work, but she had started it to increase her income so that she could take care of an old and ailing mother. There was much noise and fooling, and the atmosphere in the class room of the old house was not very pleasant.

The lavatories were constantly used by the children, who repaired to them as often as possible to absent themselves from the class room. One finger or two were raised depending on the individual needs. Jumping up and down to emphasize urgency was the developed form of request to leave the room.

One day, a girl named Euphrasie was especially active with two fingers up and jumping. After four permissions the teacher refused to let her leave the room again, but Euphrasie insisted and began to cry. The teacher put her in the corner facing the wall. In a short while the whole class burst into a roar. The girl had been unable to contain herself any longer.

As already stated, the teacher’s mother was old and ailing and, I was taken there one day to stay with her while Marie was out. The feeble old lady fell out of bed trying to turn in it and hard as I tried I could not lift her back into it. I managed to lift her head and shoulders to the height of the bed, but when I tried to lift the rest of her body the upper part would slide down again. I left her there on the floor until her daughter returned an hour later. The two of us managed to get her in bed again. She died not long after and I think she welcomed death, like old, worn out people. The fear of death, so often mentioned, is I believe in the minds of the people who are well and not of the dying.

We were taught swimming the hard way. Our brother, Christian, who was a powerful swimmer, would takes us to the bathing pavilion. He would hold each one in turn by our wrists, swing us and toss us out on the water as far as possible. We had to swim in the best we could. We kicked, and splashed, and took in water, but managed to reach shore. The purpose of this procedure was to overcome fear of the sea. No stroke was taught us at the outset.

At the bathing pavilion, and in accordance with the western custom of the time, the women were separated from the men. They had their own pool, and they bathed fully dressed, as it were, even to the hat.

At the age of six, my twin brother and I were sent to the French College of the Salle Brothers in Smyrna, which included gammer, high school, and two years of college (as known in this country). The teaching Brothers were all well educated Frenchmen. The assemblage of children in the class comprised many European nationalities and Greek natives of Turkey.

Our progress at St. Joseph’s College had been found far from satisfactory by father and mother, besides they had come to the conclusion that our manners and language had suffered badly from our association with certain students.

A school for boys was being started at the time by the Soeurs de Sion, a French teaching order of nuns, who were also conducting a boarding school for girls, where all my sisters were educated. We were placed in the new school and remained there until the age of twelve. The wealthier members of the European colony sent their young boys to the new school. A new addition to the new school had been built, and we seldom saw the girl students. There was an atmosphere of serenity and wholesomeness in that school. The nuns were women of high education and ideals. There were mathematicians, physicists, as well as accomplished musicians and artists, and I am sure the boys all benefited from their accomplishments.

We took our lunches in school. There was a dish resembling Swiss steak, which we though was served a little too often. It was seasoned with some peculiar spice which all the boys found detestable. The attending sister insisted, of course, that we eat all our proportions, but my twin, Joe, found it impossible, one day, to swallow any of that meat. While the sister had her back turned, he slipped it in the pocket of his pinafore. The next morning, the little pet dog of the Mother Superior dragged my brother’s pinafore to her quarters and pulled out of the pocket a piece of cold meat, which he began to eat with great relish. There was a big commotion through the school, and when the pinafore was identified as that of my brother, he was punished. The other boy and I sided with him. That particular, obnoxious spice was used only sparingly thereafter, but was not entirely omitted.

We wore the costume of French sailors, dark blue with sky blue collars and a dark blue beret with a red pompom. We had been made honorary members of the French Fleet, and our berets bore the name of the French battleship Courbet. The Admiral of the French Fleet in the harbour, in one of those displays of naval might, impress the Turkish Government when asking for some concession, or trying to obtain redress for some wrong, had visited the Convent with his aides. We had recited to him poetry composed by one of the sisters. It was then that the Admiral made us honorary members of his flagship.

At the age of eleven we were prepared for First Communion. Three days before, Monsignor Timoni gave us an examination, which I failed. It was on the subject of transubstantiation. I was sent back to my instructor and returned with the expected answer. For Confirmation we were made a black suit with long trousers, the coat having Quaker collar, which we detested. We wore that suit at my sister’s wedding, acting as pages, which took place the same week.

The following year both of us went back to the College St. Joseph, which we attended till we graduated together, with honours, at the age of nineteen. The teaching brothers were all French and had received their training in France. They showed wide understanding in the handling of the turbulent youth, but occasionally they had to resort to force to subdue some of the big, recalcitrant students, and they gave good account of themselves. Most of the brothers were solid fellows and they often took part in our games. In addition to the brothers specializing in the usual subjects of a college curriculum, some of them specialized in music and other arts. Arts were taught throughout the school year. Every three months a play or an operetta would be put on by the students for the recreation of the parents and friends. I was invariable in one of them. It seems I could act and sing.

One of the games we played in College was “Balle au Camp”, a mild version of baseball. Another one was Polo on stilts. This was a rough game which often resulted in injuries and affected the arches of the players.

The school hours were long for all the classes. We studied the whole day, all through the week, except Wednesday and Sunday afternoons, and our time for play for the whole day totalled about two hours, which included the noon hour. On Wednesday afternoons we took hikes into the country, weather permitting, conducted by our teachers. On Sundays mornings we were taught art. Our summer vacation was the regular two and a half months.

Flying kites was a great sport, indulged in even by the grown-ups. The kites were different from the ones usually seen in this country. The top part was a semi-circle which tapered into a “V” at the bottom. At the sharp end if the “V”, a tail was attached, made of string a few feet long, to which were attached, every inch apart, two or three stripes if tissue paper. These kites were very manoeuvrable and could, by proper manipulation, be made to got to the right or left within a range of 180 degrees, by sagging the cord a bit and waiving it to the right or the left, and could be made to go up to the perpendicular of the string by pulling it fast.

There were kite battles going on all over the sky. Most flew kites mostly to engage in contest. The ordinary contest was to raze the tail of another kite by flying one’s kite further away, the manoeuvring one’s string under the other fellow’s tail. In a good wind, this works perfectly, and when well performed, the paper tail of the other fellow is torn from the string and flies into hundreds of strips. A beautiful sight.

When a kite losses its tail, it spins down rapidly, and gets smashed down onto a roof, or a street, or a field. When the wind is light, one can convert the opponents kite into a windmill, hanging on your string, in the same manner as the one described above. On holidays, when the weather was fine, and a fresh wind was blowing, the sky was full of kites of all sizes and designs. A healthy exercise for the chest, arms and hands.

On summer moonlit nights, our brothers and sisters formed parties, at times, to drag for shrimp in the bay. This shrimp was very large and of the size now found in the Gulf of Mexico. Broiled over charcoal fire on the boat, it was delectable.

Hunting was my hobby, but the close contact with nature while hunting in the o0pen country gave me more real satisfaction than the shooting. My room’s wide windows opened on the garden. If I happened to awaken at early dawn in good weather, I would often go to the open window and gaze on the shadowy trees and plants, and with their slowly forming outlines. On the horizon, an indefinite grey would slowly shape into streaks of merging pale blue and pink. A bird or two would whir, in unsteady flight, in semi-darkness. Nature was awakening, and it held me in exaltation. It was this same feeling that I experienced when I started out at early dawn for a day’s hunting. We always started at about three in the morning, for the railroad service was very limited. It required one or two hours of walking to reach the hunting grounds.

At about the age of eleven, my twin brother and I began to accompany our older brothers when hunting small birds, we carrying the game bag. Occasionally we were allowed to take an easy shot. We developed a liking for the sport at an early age, and we naturally handled the guns and played with them at home, when our elders were not around.

I must have been about thirteen years old when we lived in Bournabat, a suburb, during an epidemic of cholera in Smyrna. On a quiet afternoon, I was handling a shotgun in a room on the ground floor of the house facing the street, aiming at various objects and pulling the trigger. As I looked out of the window, I saw a farmer peacefully walking along the sidewalk. I shouldered the gun, aimed at his head, and was ready to pull the trigger, firmly believing that the gun was unloaded, when he moved his head down toward the house. Fearing that he may have seen me, I pulled the gun in and kept still till he got further away. Then I started looking for a target inside the room. I saw a nail on the wall, half way up the ceiling, aimed and pulled the trigger. To my great surprise, the gun went off and the plaster on the wall flew into dust all over the room. If the farmer had not turned his head in time, he would have been killed, and the Lord only knows what would have happened to me. The guns at home were always unloaded when brought in, but exceptions will happen. From that day on, I was most careful. I recall several instances when luck only saved playmates from tragedy, and others when tragedy occurred.

My brother, Emile, had a .32 rifle, in which one could shoot shells containing bird shot. It was a small charge, but good enough to kill a small bird at a short distance. It was a light little French Flaubert. When about fourteen, my twin brother and I found some bullets for it, and practiced shooting. We often went to the terrace, on top of our house, and shot at various objects in the vicinity, including wild doves which often roosted on the roof tops. We used to shoot at them, irrespective of the danger of the bullets carrying beyond the target, and landing in a window or in the street. The rifle carried quite a distance, and the queerest thing is, that we never got into trouble. Apparently no one was ever hurt.

On top of the roof of the College St. Joseph, near our house, was a metal windmill. That was a target for us when no wild doves were in sight. The vane of the windmill came to look like a sieve. After a while, it was taken down and replaced, and I don’t know why not a word was ever spoken to us about it. The reports of the rifle could easily be heard, and we could also be seen from the windows of the college building.

In Turkey in those days, we could hunt almost the whole year around, even on Sundays. There were hardly any game laws. Song birds and rare bird were hunted, as well as ducks, partridge or woodcock. The hunting permit was a huge document, decorated with numerous seals. One never knew whether the man asking you to show your “teskere” was a bonafide game warden or not. His appearance was indifferent, and he wore no badge or other insignia. More often than not, he would scan the permit upside down. Illiteracy was widespread.

One of the small birds which provided a lot of good shooting was the sky lark. We would go to the meadows of Menemen and set down our mirror. This was a wooden block, about a foot long with small square mirrors, half inch square, inlaid in it. It was revolved by a means of a spring set in the box beneath it.

The larks would fly to and fro and hover over the contraption. It was then that one shot them on the wing. They were surely good eating, and there were thousands of them. The bag could easily be fifty and seventy in one morning’s shooting. It was strange to see, occasionally, a wounded skylark soar straight up in the sky, almost out of sight, singing its beautiful clear song, and then drop dead in a swift dive. As I think of it, it seems as if, knowing its end was near, it wanted to give its last song heaven bound.

Another small bird, which appealed to the lazy hunters, was the becfigue (French) or figpecker (English). Oddly enough, these birds were seldom found on the fig trees. They favoured the tree called tzicoudhia, bearing a purple, slick berry with a single, large and hard seed or pit. Such trees were often found in one’s garden in the suburbs, and one could sit in an armchair, under the tree, with a pot of coffee, or a bottle of scotch at one’s side, and pop the birds with a 28 calibre shot gun. Thousands of these birds were shot every Sunday. It was an ordinary bag when one got home by noon with fifty becfigues. The word “becfigue” was more of a term which included a variety of small birds, mostly warblers, and they all favoured the tzicoudhias. Sparrows were taboo. They tasted bitter.

The hunters “de luxe” of the becfigues were often at the mercy of the ridicule of the hunters who footed it all day up and down the high and rocky hills after partridge. This partridge looks much like the Hungarian Partridge and may be the same specie.

In the hills, one would often come across flocks of sheep with their shepherd and a ferocious wolf dog, or two, guarding and corralling the flock.

The dogs would invariably rush you, snarling without barking. Their exposed, vicious teeth told you what you might expect. The shepherd would usually do nothing about recalling the dog, passively enjoying the sight of helplessness in the ghiaour (infidel), who dared not shoot the dog. The shepherds were all armed with rifles. You needed all your wits to bypass the shepherd and his dog. One usually had to wait, and be on guard, till the flocks had passed on their march. If not on the move, one faced a most difficult situation. If one started to turn back, the dog would pounce. It was a question of showing no fear, but making no aggressive moves either. I feared the shepherd’s dogs. If one shot the dog, one would surely be shot before sunset, either by the shepherd on the spot, or by some neighbour shepherd. They watched for each other, and they kept their eyes, from very long distances, on the ghiaour hunters.

I had a muzzle loader, with which I got my best shots. One day I had gone out alone and had shot a partridge with one barrel, and a woodcock with the other barrel, in the space of one minute. I made straight for home to exhibit my bag and talk of my feat.

Another day, I was hunting small birds with a schoolmate, Michel. We were going through a field when Michel fired at a bird. A Turk stood up suddenly from behind the brush, a rifle in his hand, a scimitar at his side, and a revolver in his belt. He acted cunningly, spoke casually, and showed some interest in Michel’s shotgun. He asked to look at it. As he grasped it, he walked away a few steps, and ordered us off the field. Michel was taken aback and furious at his treachery. He had along hunting knife at his side, and while the Turk had his back turned, Michel motioned to me that he was going to plunge it in his back. I was really scared, and pleaded with him in French to desist, trying not to attract the Turk’s attention. Luckily, he desisted, and I was indescribably relieved. We would, no doubt, both been dead by sunset. After many supplications from Michel, who spoke Turkish, the Turk returned the gun, on the understanding that we would leave the field immediately. I never went hunting with Michel again.

An uncle of mine had large olive groves and a home at Narlikeuy [Narlıköy], a small village some thirty miles from Smyrna. My cousins, and we twins, spent many week ends there by ourselves, hunting in the vicinity. The watchman on the property was a handsome, tall young Kurd, who could hit a crow on the wing with his rifle. I saw him do it. With a swing of his short sword, he could sever an apple neatly from its stem on the tree, in almost any position. This particular fellow, who had had no schooling whatever, could not even read the clock. He was relating to us one day an incident that occurred in his native village, when he had to ride on horseback in an emergency to the next village. When I asked him how far that village was from his home, he answered: One cigarette. He had no conception of minutes, or hours. What he meant by “one cigarette” was the time usually taken to smoke a cigarette.

At times I would hike alone to the hills and spend my day in the solitude of the woods. I loved the quiet surroundings, where the only sounds heard were those of the birds, or rabbits in the brush. Or, I would find a shallow brook and sit under a weeping willow bending over the brook, birds singing in the trees or splashing in the brook. Apparently they enjoyed the scenery as much as I. Both of us twins were really hardy. We thought nothing of getting home early in the morning from a dance, change into our hunting clothes, and start out without any sleep for a day’s hunting.

We usually read the same books, for our inclination and tastes were very much alike. “Force and Matter”, by Louis Buckner, we found very interesting and revealing. It fitted in with our own early conception of life in general. We became vegetarians at the same time, but after a while, I discovered from experience, that meat was the real staff of life.

At the age of nineteen, my friend, Roger, and I decided to add one more page to our book of experience. We took the route of the donkey caravans of sailors. We got intimately acquainted at our destination, but I returned somewhat disillusioned and never took the same route again.

There were a number of beautiful girls in the European Colony, but they were not allowed the freedom that is enjoyed in this country, so that when one was attracted to a girl not already known, it was difficult to make her acquaintance.

One had to content oneself with platonic expressiveness. One form of declaration of love or admiration, however, that was tolerated by the parents of the girls, was serenading. One could hire serenaders and accompany them at night under the girl’s window. The girl was not allowed to show herself at the window, and the lovelorn remained theoretically a stranger.

After graduation, and a two months vacation, my twin and I went to work. We had been together every day of our life, but he went to work for my father and uncle in the firm of N. Giustiniani at Fils, and I went to work at the Credit Lyonnais, a branch of the French bank.

This separation meant much to us, but we spent most of our free time together, sailing, rowing, fishing and hunting. We liked each other’s company better than anyone else’s. Our tastes were the same, and even when one of us fell ill, the other one would follow invariably.

Up to then, our needs had been provided by our parents, but now we had to look out for ourselves. We were earning our way partly through life, and a feeling of independence crept in on us.

At the bank, I had to work harder and longer than my brother, at father’s office. For six months I worked without pay, on a sort of probation. After that, my pay was about a little more than half that of my brother’s.

The work was interesting enough, but I was longing to make a start in a country offering better opportunities. Life outside the European circle was primitive. There was no industrial activity, and business was only seasonal. Beyond the confines of a few short miles, the country was relatively bare and displayed only limited farming.

The active Western world, as revealed through my education and subsequently in books, magazines and newspapers, had a great attraction for me. I felt isolated from it. I longed for a broader life.

I had read every book I could obtain on America. Whenever the words U.S.A. or America appeared in a newspaper, I would read the item over and over again. I felt that my longing for a gratifying way of life would be realized in America only. I was going to take advantage of every opportunity to get there. As I look back on this matter, and the circumstances of my early life, it seems quite logical that, of all countries, I should have chosen America for the place to spend my life.

I was born in Turkey, of Austrian and Italian parents, and brought up like a Frenchman. I felt no allegiance to any of those countries. Although my French education attached me to France, I had no liking for the French way of life.

In Smyrna, we lived practically an open air life with many facilities for engaging in sports. I had a taste for adventure and the story of the American Pioneers had fascinated me. I had a secret desire to emulate them. America was the land where all were welcome, irrespective of creed or nationality, with opportunities for all.

An opportunity presented itself suddenly for me to leave for Europe. I was half way to America. I was an Austrian subject. As a result (of the) Capitulations, although I was born in Turkey, Austria could take me by force for military service in Austria. I had never lived in Austria and spoke very little German. It was to be three years of a hard, regimented life, and quite different from what I had known. I made up my mind to avoid it by all means possible. Father and Mother also looked on it with disfavour.

I was to be 21 years old in May 1903, the age of conscription. My twin brother and I were examined by the physician of the Austrian Consulate. Having found that my twin was not fit for military service, because of flat feet, but that I was, I had to report at Trieste, Austria, in November 1902.

My twin brother was not really flat footed, although his arches were not as good as mine. I believe that it had been a friendly arrangement between my father and the physician to take only one of us for the three year military service.

It was decided by my parents that I should try to leave for France, where two of my brothers, Christian and Emile, were living. Christian was a merchant representing my father’s firm, while Emile was a writer and contributor to French literary reviews. He wrote several books on social, philosophical and historical subjects which were all crowned by the Academie Francaise.

I had to slip out or the City unnoticed by the Turkish and Austrian authorities, for I needed a passport which I could not obtain without the consent of the Austrian Consul. I made a friendly arrangement with the Agent of a European steamer, not Austrian, then in the harbour, whereby I would be given a stateroom if I managed to get on board by my own means.

I bid good-bye to my relatives at home in the morning, and my twin brother accompanied me to the end of the street, where we just shook hands in spartan manner, and wished each other good luck. But I did not make for the harbour. I had still to see the girl of my affections.

Although enthused over my prospects of travel and freedom, and careful to make a successful exit, I could not easily tear myself away from her. She had made up her mind to be the last one to kiss me on my adventurous departure. We had arranged to meet in the morning. She, too, had to come to the rendezvous undetected. We took a “voiture”, a horse drawn French coach, and made for the countryside. Together we spent many delightful hours discussing various subjects, in the searching but limited way of inexperienced youth. Her keenness, wit, artistic sense and loveliness enticed me. She was a year younger than I, but being a woman, she had a more real understanding of the world, and being a woman, she had also the reserve, which to me added attraction to her manner.

It was a beautiful morning. She wore her best clothes, was fragrantly perfumed and most attractive. In our youthful ecstasy, the hours flew. It was time to part and return. She put her arms around me, closed her eyes, kissed me, and said “Je t’aime”. We parted. We were not to look back. I have not seen her since.

I hired a boat at the Quay, tipped the boatman generously (for the risk in taking me to the steamer without going through customs), and in a blazing sun, when all was quiet, I boarded the steamer with my few belongings. The Captain expected and welcomed me. Once aboard, the Turkish and Austrian authorities could not interfere. Under International law, I was on foreign soil. No passport was needed in those days to leave or enter a country, except in Turkey and Russia. I was bound for Marseille and thus could enter France without a passport.

information collated by Lloyd Fidao & further information on the Fidao family web site.