Faded Memories

Faded Memories Life and Times of a Macedonian Villager 1 The COVER PAGE is a photograph of Lerin, the main township near the villages in which many of my family ancestors lived and regularly visited. 2 ACKNOWLEGEMENTS This publication is essentially an autobiography of the life and times of my father, John Christos Vellios, Jovan Risto Numeff. It records his recollections, the faded memories, passed down over the years, about his family ancestors and the times in which they lived. My father personally knew many of the people whom he introduces to his readers and was aware of more distant ancestors from listening to the stories passed on about them over the succeeding generations. His story therefore reinforces the integrity of oral history which has been used since ancient times, by various cultures, to recall the past in the absence of written, documentary evidence. This publication honours the memory of my father’s family ancestors and more generally acknowledges the resilience of the Macedonian people, who destined to live, seemingly forever under foreign subjugation, refused to deny their heritage in the face of intense political oppression and on-going cultural discrimination. This account of life and times of a Macedonian villager would not have been possible without the support and well-wishes of members of his family and friends whose own recollections have enriched my father’s narrative. I convey my deepest gratitude for the contributions my father’s brothers, my uncles Sam, Norm and Steve and to his nephew Phillip (dec), who so enthusiastically supported the publication of my father’s story and contributed on behalf of my father’s eldest brother Tom (dec) and his family. I also extended my most sincere thanks to my father’s relatives Jim Vellios (dec), Chris Vellios, John Kitin and Vick Velios for their assistance. Special mention also needs to be made of Victor Bivell, of Pollitecon Publications, for kindly reading and editing the final draft and making many invaluable observations. Most importantly, this publication of my father’s faded memories, would not have possible without the on-going encouragement of my sisters, Stella Walker and Feni Bembridge and my exceptionally supportive and patient wife Fay, all of whom read, edited and made thoughtful and constructive comments on several initial drafts. Jim Vellios 2014 3 “Everything beneath the sky will Bear in mind that perish, even the tallest the knowledge you have mountain. and your life’s experiences have been Nothing will survive largely passed into your hands by but the written word.” past generations, receive it, honour it, add A quote attributed to to it and then faithfully pass it onto your Marcus Tullius Cicero, own children.” Ancient Roman lawyer, senator, consul and man Adapted from the of letters. wisdom of Albert Einstein The Macedonian village of Krepeshina. It was the home of many of my family ancestors and the birthplace of my father and mother. 4 CONTENTS FADED MEMORIES Life and Times of a Macedonian Villager Introduction page 8 Prologue page 10 Chapter 1: … So the Story Goes page 12 The earliest recollections of my family ancestors. Chapter 2: Subjects of the Sultan page 24 Living as the reluctant subjects of the Ottoman Empire. Chapter 3: Village Life page 40 Macedonian villagers lived in large extended families with their lives regulated by the passage of the seasons and the necessity to raise crops and nurture small flocks of sheep and goats in order to subsist. Chapter 4: Working on the Railways page 58 During the final years of the nineteenth century my grandfather and his brother worked abroad as employees of a U.S. railway construction company. Chapter 5: Return of the Prodigal Sons page 74 After four years of working in the U.S.A. my grandfather and his brother returned home to their families and village life. Chapter 6: The Vultures Hover page 81 The decline of Ottoman power, during the second half of the nineteenth century, offered false hope for the creation of a free, Macedonia as neighbouring, newly-independent nation states hovered to expand their own national borders. Chapter 7: Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts page 91 In 1913 our Macedonian homeland was arbitrarily partitioned and my family was incorporated within the borders of Greece. 5 Chapter 8: As If Time Stopped Still page 98 My ancestors lived simple, introspective lives. They knew little of the world beyond their villages and townships. Their resilience and common sense approach to life was founded on the “wisdom of the ages” and grounded upon strong family values. Chapter 9: He Who Must be Obeyed page 110 Traditional Macedonian society was highly patriarchal. My grandfather was our undisputed family decision-maker, to be obeyed at all times and in all things. Chapter 10: Land of the Giant Forests page 122 During his first venture to Western Australia, in 1926, my father worked as a sleeper cutter in the towering forests of Western Australia’s South-West. Chapter 11: Our Family Matriarch page 139 In 1936 my father embarked upon a second sojourn to Western Australia. In his absence and with the onset of the Second World War we were exiled from our family home by my grandfather and forced to live on our own with my mother having to assume the role of family matriarch during the difficult time of German occupation. Chapter 12: Tragedy of Civil War page 154 The end of the Second World War signalled the beginning of the Cold War and the Greek Civil War. This conflict inevitably pitted brother against brother and was the harbinger of death, oppression and family tragedy. Chapter 13: Bound for Western Australia page 171 In early 1951 my mother and I boarded a Yugoslav-owned passenger liner destined for the port of Fremantle to be reunited with my father and brothers. On our arrival we travelled to Manjimup, a small, rural township where my father was working on several tobacco plantations. 6 Chapter 14: Plantation Number Two page 179 Tobacco Plantation Two in Manjimup offered my first glimpses into Australian life and culture and a vision of a better future. Chapter 15: On Our Selection page 185 In 1952 my father purchased a farming property on which we lived and worked together with pride, purpose and a sense of achievement. It was the year I married my wife, Letta. Chapter 16: On Our Own page 203 As a result of an altercation with my father Letta and I relocated to a nearby farm, where with our two young children, began a new life on our own. Chapter 17: Off to the Big Smoke page 214 In 1960 tobacco manufacturers announced that they would no longer purchase Manjimup produced tobacco. At the same time there was a significant restructuring of the local dairy industry. In response to these unforseen developments Letta and I reluctantly left Manjimup and went live in Perth. My Family Tree: Paternal and Maternal Branches and Leaves page 235 Letta’s Family Tree: Paternal and Maternal Branches and Leaves page 241 Photographic Gallery page 242 The Partition of Macedonia and the Villages of the Lerinsko and Kostursko Regions page 262 Eulogies to Yovan Numeff (John Vellios) page 263 7 Introduction My father, Jovan Numeff, John Vellios, had just attended the burial of a life-long friend, who had been laid to rest according to the long-standing traditions of the Orthodox faith, in a section of Karrakatta Cemetery designated by the Cemetery Board as the final resting place for Australian Macedonians of the Orthodox faith living in Perth. After he had offered his condolences to grieving family members, with the customary solemn shaking of hands and uttering in a low voice, “Bog da go prosti”, may God forgive him and accept him into heaven, he walked slowly, alone, among the resting places of the dead, tightly clutching a bunch of “trendafili”, roses, which he had picked from his garden that morning. The warming rays of a “prolet sntse”, spring-time sun, embraced him as he entered into a state of melancholy, oblivious to the world of the living and ambling inquisitively among rows of gravesites with their inscribed tombstones, stopping only occasionally to read the inscriptions and to look upon the photographs of the departed. He had known many of them, grown up with them in the country of his birth and later, he had shared their lives, hopes and aspirations in his adopted homeland. He felt such an affinity with them, so many fond, endearing but faded memories. They were his “selksi”, his kinfolk, friends and neighbours and they, like him, had been born and raised in “stari krai”, distant Macedonian villages and townships. He paused at one of the grey, slightly weather-worn graves and removed the shrivelled flowers that he had placed atop his wife’s final resting place some weeks before. Bending over on increasingly unsteady legs, he replaced them with the “tufka”, bunch, of fresh flowers he had been carrying. He stood awhile to look upon the photograph of his wife, at her half- smiling, kind and gentle face and then shuffled to the back of the headstone, where kneeling down, slowly lit a candle to his wife’s memory and manoeuvred it gently into a specially designed metal box which was adorned with a small cross. This time, the candle did not fall over as it sometimes did, but flickered, and then shone brightly. Letta died on 12 September 1977. She was only forty-four years old. Nostalgic thoughts streamed uninvited into my father’s consciousness and it occurred to him that the generation of his parents were all but gone and that many of his own contemporaries had also passed on.

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