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Cyprus Mail, Cyprus
March 16 2008
The workshop of memories
By Stefanos Evripidou
IN A world where people change jobs more often than they get their
teeth checked, it is quite rare to find someone who has been in the
same job for more than half a century.
The Sunday Mail came across one man in the back streets of old
Nicosia who has been fixing electric motors for 54 years, the last 44
of them from the same shop.
Andreas Stylianou, 71, has seen many things change in his working
life, but not his job. The long-time electrician has seen the island
change from a homogenous community to a divided one; he has seen his
beloved mountains dry up, their wild beauty and ruggedness scarred by
cars and their roads; and has witnessed society's rags to riches,
though insists people were much happier in rags.
Starting in 1954 as a 17-year-old apprentice, he learnt the trade
from his Armenian boss, Ludwig. The ethnic violence of the 1960s
forced them to move shop in 1964. A stone's throw from his old
workshop on Victoria Street, the two moved to Ayios Maronas Street
near the Maronite Church. By the time of the 1974 invasion, Mr
Andreas had taken over the reins from his boss. Despite stiff
competition from cheaper Chinese models, he continues to this day to
tweak and tie those broken electric motors.
The shop is old and oily and filled to the brim with electrical
hardware; the kind of bric-a-brac shop Tin Man would run if he ever
did get that heart. Half a dozen cats hang around inside, passing the
time toy-fighting and taking the odd nap. Like most men of his
generation, Mr Andreas has a routine that he sticks to with military
discipline.
He gets up every morning at 4.30am, leaves his wife and village
behind, Pano Anglisides some 50km away, and drives to work.
`We used to live in Nicosia, near the shop but my wife's knees won't
get her up the stairs any more so we moved to the village,' he
explains.
Once at the shop, he feeds the cats, `because I feel sorry for them'
and then goes for a morning nap until it's time to start work at 8am.
Asked why he doesn't just stay in bed and come to work later, he
replies: `Traffic. It's dangerous to drive with many cars around. I
got used to waking up early, I even enjoy it. I come in to town at
80km/h and don't see a car on the road other than the trucks.'
When he started off as an apprentice electrician, Victoria Street was
brimming with commerce. `There was a Turkish Cypriot confectionary,
Armenian photographer and barber. We had everything. Further down
were the law courts. Relations were good until 1964. The Turks
started demonstrating, and we had to close the shop for safety. I
remember the English came and put up barbed wire to prevent conflict.
My boss decided to move and I went with him.'
They did not move far. Victoria Street is just behind the Catholic
Church in the old town. Ayios Maronas Street is just in front. The
UN-controlled buffer zone separates them.
`Before 64, we didn't have any problems, after that, a cold climate
took over. Before, nobody distinguished anybody. We had Turkish
Cypriots in my primary school in Kaimakli. If Turkish Cypriots had
weddings, we all went, if we had weddings, they all came to ours. No
one ever said, `he is a Turk' or `he is a Greek'. Later the problems
came. Wrong politics brought us to where we are today,' he noted.
Mr Andreas learnt the trade with his Armenian employer for 20 years
until the latter got old and tired. `I bought the equipment off him
in 1974. But there was no business at all. Then the troubles started.
Bombs were falling here and there. And then slowly slowly, luck
blessed us,' he said.
Two unfortunate factors coincided to bring the new boss some work.
The British, who had bases in Dubai, were having problems with locals
in the region and so looked to Cyprus for electricians who could fix
their broken down electric motors. Varosha, where most electricians
lived at the time, had been invaded and closed off by the Turkish
military.
`I was the only one left and they found me. Airplanes would come to
Dhekelia, bringing me motors to fix, big ones. While bombs rained
down, I put a torch light in the shop so the UN could see me and got
to work.'
`The Greek Cypriots had abandoned their guns and posts, so I grabbed
a gun and became a voluntary guard for the area. I had borrowed
£2,500 to buy the wires. It wasn't easy getting that money at all so
I stayed in the shop, looking after them. I couldn't afford to lose
my equipment,' he recalled.
The rest of the neighbourhood had fled once the bombings started.
Only the Maronite Archbishop and a nun living in the building
opposite, now called the Social Centre of St Joseph the Migrant,
stayed behind with Mr Andreas.
`One day, the Turks came, entering the nun's building. The French
Ambassador arrived and said this is French territory, if you stay,
you will have trouble with France, so they left. If it wasn't for the
nuns and archbishop, the Turks would have had this place too.'
Asked if he has since revisited his old workshop in Victoria Street,
the electrician says there's no point. `Before the borders opened,
twice a week, I would dream that I tried to cross over under great
danger to see my old shop, jumping over fences, hiding from Turkish
troops. They were demonic, intense dreams. After the borders opened,
the dreams stopped. It's very strange, I don't know why or how,' he
said.
`I'm not even interested in going over now. What will I do? I knew
lots of Turkish Cypriots over there. But they have all died. One
electrician who used to visit me between 1964 and 74 came over last
year to find me. But he too, his health was the pits.'
After the invasion, demand for Mr Andreas' services increased as
houses were built for refugees and post-war development began. His
daughter-in-law soon became his apprentice, remaining with him ever
since.
`Business was very good, life was cheaper. Now it's a different
situation, we just about get by. We can't compete any more.'
Then for the first time in the interview, Mr Andreas allows himself
some nostalgia.
`They were different times back then. The only thing I remember and
still dream about is that people were poor but happy. Anyone you met
was smiling and happy, they would stop and talk to you. They had more
time to entertain and talk to their neighbours, discuss happy issues,
not thefts and murders. Now, pedestrians look down and run.
`There was love and support. Now this is lost. You rarely see happy
people. They might carry one million pounds in their pocket, but many
problems in their head.'
The change in society is not limited to towns either, according to Mr
Andreas.
`When younger I liked hunting with friends. After, we would go to the
nearest village coffee shop, sit down, and have a song and dance. We
really enjoyed the company, in a natural village environment. There
were good people in villages back then. Now, you see people go
hunting with a sandwich in their pocket to eat alone. It's just not
the same.'
Despite the trials and tribulations, the old electrician insists he
has no regrets.
`I have regretted nothing in my life. As things turned out, I never
became rich. I got unlucky with some bogus investments, and now
depend on my pension. But I am not troubled by wealth, I am a simple
man. I like nature.
`When I was getting £100 a month, Paraskevaides offered me £1,000 a
month to go work in the Middle East. I said no because I loved
hunting, and nature, and the wild mountains that were all green, with
water falling from everywhere and few cars, no roads.'
Mr Andreas looks at the clock. It's nearing 5pm. He explains that it
takes an hour to get home if he leaves on time, otherwise... that
dreaded modern curse, traffic.
Concluding, he says: `Anyone you ask will say there was poverty, but
there was happiness. Not any more. As for myself, I have had a life
gifted. I have no regrets.'
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
March 16 2008
The workshop of memories
By Stefanos Evripidou
IN A world where people change jobs more often than they get their
teeth checked, it is quite rare to find someone who has been in the
same job for more than half a century.
The Sunday Mail came across one man in the back streets of old
Nicosia who has been fixing electric motors for 54 years, the last 44
of them from the same shop.
Andreas Stylianou, 71, has seen many things change in his working
life, but not his job. The long-time electrician has seen the island
change from a homogenous community to a divided one; he has seen his
beloved mountains dry up, their wild beauty and ruggedness scarred by
cars and their roads; and has witnessed society's rags to riches,
though insists people were much happier in rags.
Starting in 1954 as a 17-year-old apprentice, he learnt the trade
from his Armenian boss, Ludwig. The ethnic violence of the 1960s
forced them to move shop in 1964. A stone's throw from his old
workshop on Victoria Street, the two moved to Ayios Maronas Street
near the Maronite Church. By the time of the 1974 invasion, Mr
Andreas had taken over the reins from his boss. Despite stiff
competition from cheaper Chinese models, he continues to this day to
tweak and tie those broken electric motors.
The shop is old and oily and filled to the brim with electrical
hardware; the kind of bric-a-brac shop Tin Man would run if he ever
did get that heart. Half a dozen cats hang around inside, passing the
time toy-fighting and taking the odd nap. Like most men of his
generation, Mr Andreas has a routine that he sticks to with military
discipline.
He gets up every morning at 4.30am, leaves his wife and village
behind, Pano Anglisides some 50km away, and drives to work.
`We used to live in Nicosia, near the shop but my wife's knees won't
get her up the stairs any more so we moved to the village,' he
explains.
Once at the shop, he feeds the cats, `because I feel sorry for them'
and then goes for a morning nap until it's time to start work at 8am.
Asked why he doesn't just stay in bed and come to work later, he
replies: `Traffic. It's dangerous to drive with many cars around. I
got used to waking up early, I even enjoy it. I come in to town at
80km/h and don't see a car on the road other than the trucks.'
When he started off as an apprentice electrician, Victoria Street was
brimming with commerce. `There was a Turkish Cypriot confectionary,
Armenian photographer and barber. We had everything. Further down
were the law courts. Relations were good until 1964. The Turks
started demonstrating, and we had to close the shop for safety. I
remember the English came and put up barbed wire to prevent conflict.
My boss decided to move and I went with him.'
They did not move far. Victoria Street is just behind the Catholic
Church in the old town. Ayios Maronas Street is just in front. The
UN-controlled buffer zone separates them.
`Before 64, we didn't have any problems, after that, a cold climate
took over. Before, nobody distinguished anybody. We had Turkish
Cypriots in my primary school in Kaimakli. If Turkish Cypriots had
weddings, we all went, if we had weddings, they all came to ours. No
one ever said, `he is a Turk' or `he is a Greek'. Later the problems
came. Wrong politics brought us to where we are today,' he noted.
Mr Andreas learnt the trade with his Armenian employer for 20 years
until the latter got old and tired. `I bought the equipment off him
in 1974. But there was no business at all. Then the troubles started.
Bombs were falling here and there. And then slowly slowly, luck
blessed us,' he said.
Two unfortunate factors coincided to bring the new boss some work.
The British, who had bases in Dubai, were having problems with locals
in the region and so looked to Cyprus for electricians who could fix
their broken down electric motors. Varosha, where most electricians
lived at the time, had been invaded and closed off by the Turkish
military.
`I was the only one left and they found me. Airplanes would come to
Dhekelia, bringing me motors to fix, big ones. While bombs rained
down, I put a torch light in the shop so the UN could see me and got
to work.'
`The Greek Cypriots had abandoned their guns and posts, so I grabbed
a gun and became a voluntary guard for the area. I had borrowed
£2,500 to buy the wires. It wasn't easy getting that money at all so
I stayed in the shop, looking after them. I couldn't afford to lose
my equipment,' he recalled.
The rest of the neighbourhood had fled once the bombings started.
Only the Maronite Archbishop and a nun living in the building
opposite, now called the Social Centre of St Joseph the Migrant,
stayed behind with Mr Andreas.
`One day, the Turks came, entering the nun's building. The French
Ambassador arrived and said this is French territory, if you stay,
you will have trouble with France, so they left. If it wasn't for the
nuns and archbishop, the Turks would have had this place too.'
Asked if he has since revisited his old workshop in Victoria Street,
the electrician says there's no point. `Before the borders opened,
twice a week, I would dream that I tried to cross over under great
danger to see my old shop, jumping over fences, hiding from Turkish
troops. They were demonic, intense dreams. After the borders opened,
the dreams stopped. It's very strange, I don't know why or how,' he
said.
`I'm not even interested in going over now. What will I do? I knew
lots of Turkish Cypriots over there. But they have all died. One
electrician who used to visit me between 1964 and 74 came over last
year to find me. But he too, his health was the pits.'
After the invasion, demand for Mr Andreas' services increased as
houses were built for refugees and post-war development began. His
daughter-in-law soon became his apprentice, remaining with him ever
since.
`Business was very good, life was cheaper. Now it's a different
situation, we just about get by. We can't compete any more.'
Then for the first time in the interview, Mr Andreas allows himself
some nostalgia.
`They were different times back then. The only thing I remember and
still dream about is that people were poor but happy. Anyone you met
was smiling and happy, they would stop and talk to you. They had more
time to entertain and talk to their neighbours, discuss happy issues,
not thefts and murders. Now, pedestrians look down and run.
`There was love and support. Now this is lost. You rarely see happy
people. They might carry one million pounds in their pocket, but many
problems in their head.'
The change in society is not limited to towns either, according to Mr
Andreas.
`When younger I liked hunting with friends. After, we would go to the
nearest village coffee shop, sit down, and have a song and dance. We
really enjoyed the company, in a natural village environment. There
were good people in villages back then. Now, you see people go
hunting with a sandwich in their pocket to eat alone. It's just not
the same.'
Despite the trials and tribulations, the old electrician insists he
has no regrets.
`I have regretted nothing in my life. As things turned out, I never
became rich. I got unlucky with some bogus investments, and now
depend on my pension. But I am not troubled by wealth, I am a simple
man. I like nature.
`When I was getting £100 a month, Paraskevaides offered me £1,000 a
month to go work in the Middle East. I said no because I loved
hunting, and nature, and the wild mountains that were all green, with
water falling from everywhere and few cars, no roads.'
Mr Andreas looks at the clock. It's nearing 5pm. He explains that it
takes an hour to get home if he leaves on time, otherwise... that
dreaded modern curse, traffic.
Concluding, he says: `Anyone you ask will say there was poverty, but
there was happiness. Not any more. As for myself, I have had a life
gifted. I have no regrets.'
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress