She felt the breeze creep slowly under her tight black scarf as she stood on the terrace of this house full of memories. A few tendrils of silver grey hair teased their way loose to play around her face.  The wind began to dance its hypnotic swirl around her head and into her thoughts...remember, it urged remember.  She lifted her eyes still bright, to the clear blue sky above and straightened her weary body. 

Glancing down to the valley below where the ‘new’ village had sprung up, she took in the painful reminders all around her of what had once stood proud up here in this verdant mountain enclave.  Jagged rocks embedded in greedy parched earth, houses crumbled, shells of their former glory among the new green terraces dropping like cascading staircases to the bottom of the mountain below. The steady drone of the worker bees filled the sweet mountain air, and the jays chattered noisily in the old almond trees.

To the west the eagles were swooping on the warm spring thermals, to the east mountain goats steadfastly clambered on the dark green mountain, which rose up from the deep canon below, their bells singing a Cephalonian melody as they moved to search out  new patches of sweet green shoots. Oh yes, she remembered.  How could she ever forget?  She would always remember.  As she focused her eyes through the gap between peaks to rest on the brushstroke of the distant shimmering Cephalonian sea, ever seductive with its siren song, she was reminded that it was indeed, this very same blue sea that took her one true love so far away from her all those years ago. The memory lived fresh in her heart.

She sat back on an old wooden chair and let the sun warm her well lined face. She recollected the years she had lived in this strange but reverend land – those years were not unlike the old knurled olive boughs which formed the most ancient of trees surrounding this landscape – bending, yielding, twisting steadfast through every challenge mother nature threw at them and surviving all the same. She smiled as she saw herself as a very young girl, pretty, kindly natured with a heart full of dreams for a magical life, away from the daily grind and hardships of her village life. She had been impossibly in love with the handsome and adventurous Koulouri boy, several years her senior but her true love all the same. He was always known as the Koulouri boy, even when he became a man, everyone always addressing him by his surname. 

As a teenager, she used to hide in corners and listen to him painting his dreams in vivid colours, breathlessly relaying them to her aunt and uncle – dreams full of possibility and passion, tales of faraway lands with magical lights and huge houses that would fit six Cephalonian ones in – maybe more – he spoke of his desire to make this long voyage far from his Island, to find fortune in a place called America, a land full of opportunity for a young man with a longing in his soul and a thirst for adventure.  

The local villagers laughed and she wept when he first left on his adventure – not many in his parts had heard of America let alone seen it and Eftihea wondered if it really existed at all. But when he returned the next year with even more stories and a pocketful of money she knew it was the place he had described so vividly and the place which had captured his heart.

  Now they began to listen with more interest as he spoke of how he was going to build an enormous house on the hill in the village below.  It was going to be a grand house with ornate balconies , large windows and gardens on several levels, which looked to the sea. A house with walls so thick, it would withstand any earthquake that this unpredictable island ever threw at it, which it did with alarming regularity.

Eftihea became enthralled as his eyes came alive as he spoke and watched his hands fly over his plans brought back from America – steel girders the length of three houses would keep his house strong. A new kind of  cement which wouldn't crumble if the house shook, and the most outrageous thing of all - an indoor toilet.

Most of his friends continued to laugh – where would he get the steel from and how could he get such a big length all in one piece, how would he get it so far up the mountain with only a goat track for a road and who would lift it? They bombarded him with questions and smirked to themselves, convinced he had gone mad, or picked up some disease of the mind on his travels. Eftihea noticed him beginning to stumble over his words as he tried to explain about the inside toilet, the emergency water cistern as part of the house and inside drainage for the overflow.  The villagers started to drift away not listening any more, they didn't take his dreams seriously, just who did he think he was anyway, only a boy from the village.

Eftihea however, saw his pictures as vividly as he described them.  This beautiful man who spoke of adventures, high seas, huge cars and big houses, he captured her imagination as he painted pictures so colourful that they almost leapt from his mind and manifested themselves in front of her eyes. He was going to bring back treasures, money, furnishings and building materials, the like of which this sparsely populated island had never seen before. She took his youthful dreams and held them in her heart willing them to become real. She prayed to the gods to keep them burning brightly and to return him safely to her from his long and and distant journeys. 

When he at last did return, it was as he had promised, with steel, building materials and enough money to begin the house of his dreams. It was palatial by Cephalonian village standards.  It was to have several rooms upstairs including an inside kitchen with a shiny new range and a petrol fridge.  And most astounding there were plans for bathroom and toilet – indoors! Downstairs would be a wine press for the village, a kafenion which would serve coffees, ouzo's wine and everyday staples,  and an inside area for his animals. Most village people in Cephalonia at this time lived in one or two rooms – what did he want with so many and so much, they asked each other. 

He had purchased a fine horse and began the tiring daily trek up and down from the village to the port and he began work on his house in earnest. He never stopped nor did his trusted team of men. He paid them well but those who didn’t work for him thought him to be completely mad. What was all this steel business about anyway, an earthquake just shook the houses but they never fell down, why did he bring such grandiose schemes back to his village,every time he returned they muttered – it only caused unrest. He paid no attention to their jealous whispers and carried on working like a demon long into many a dark night. He stuck to his plans and saw the house begin to take shape. 

It began to resemble a big Italian villa, thought Eftihea as she observed it from the road below above. She had seen pictures of similar houses in some of her uncles books and was amazed to see the handsome Koulouri boy’s house taking on the same style. She found as many excuses as she could to visit her aunt and uncle in the next village down from her humble home.  This gave her a great opportunity to see the Koulouri boy as the cart owner always stopped to have a chat, she would smile shyly and beseech him with big dark eyes to notice her innocent charms, she was nearly old enough to be married even if he was many years older than her, it was not uncommon in Cephalonia for the husband to take a much younger wife. But the Koulouri boy just ruffled her long black hair and called her sweet pet names as though she were a favourite puppy. Eftihea felt most indignant at her attempts to beguile him having no effect and endeavoured to try harder to capture his heart on the return journey down the next day. She wept with the passion and the drama of it all.

Sadly for Eftihea whatever she tried over the following years, it was to no avail, he chatted with her kindly, kissed her fondly as he would a younger sister but ignored her womanhood and her imploring eyes. His one true love was his house and now it was finished.

It did indeed have an inside kitchen, bathroom and reportedly the first indoor toilet in Cephalonia – two pails of water brought up from the well below in the wine press and it worked perfectly – through the pipes to the soak away in the garden. There was as promised, a bread oven downstairs for the village women to bring their bread to bake in, and a wine press for all of the village to make their wine together as a co-operative. Both downstairs and upstairs grew thick vines, weighing heavy in summer with bunches of thick juicy grapes, nectar from the gods, made in its own press.  The animals had their own shelter alongside the wine press and the terraces up and down held a variety of fruit trees and almond trees. The real prize was the Kafenion underneath the main house, cosy in winter with an open fire, delightful in summer sitting out until the sun went down, old men of the village playing backgammon, drinking a little wine, eating a small meze and discussing the world at large and a fair bit of illegal gambling!  Not forgetting the women, there was a shop for them to get their main staples without having to make a hot and dusty journey into Sami or Poros.

Yes the Koulouri boy had done well for himself and for his village. Sometimes Eftiheas parents would take the girls (Eftihea had a younger sister)) down to the village below on a Saturday evening when the whole of the higher village would, in an excited procession, make its way down the mountain to new house with its new Kafenion . They would bring what little they had, a bit of octopus, a little ouzo, some home-made wine, horta wild greens, and anything else that would add to the evening’s merriment.

 When the black velvet sky introduced its magical carpet of brilliant twinkling stars, the villagers would light fat waxy candles and dance their group dances which were passed down from generation to generation, and when the night became very late, the last revellers danced the slow evocative Cephalonia dances to the strains of the a well used mandolin. Amid much back slapping, effusive praise and some mutterings in dark corners from well fed and watered locals, the Koulouri boy would allow himself a few moments to congratulate himself on his sense of adventure and his ingenuity in building such a wonderful house in his home village of Cata Hori. 

Eftihea on these occasions was ever watchful, patiently waiting for him stroll over and ask her to dance. She would positively swoon with delight as he took her in his arms and was immediately transported into a land of love, romance and deep burning desire. She felt the music reach her very soul as she relaxed into his arms that held her so steady. She pondered on what life would be like married to this strong handsome man and wished feverently that he would see her for the beautiful woman that she had become – as their two dark heads pressed together in the undulating dance of time eternal, the gods looked down at an age old love story of juxtaposed desires – hers of a deep satisfying earthy life on this ancient island with a man that she loved, safe, happy and desired.

 His love story was of adventure, of travel, of rough seas and distant shores discovering new vistas in a glittering land of hope and possibility. Newly laid pavements still shiny and bright, huge big buildings, thriving businesses and no carts but motor cars – this was his love story in the land they called America. Where would their journeys take them, these two passionate dreamers with different dreams both naive and worldly at the same time?

At first years passed slowly after ‘the great house’ had been built, Soon Eftihea began to despair that the Koulouri boy would never become other than a good friend, an older brother. Her well nurtured dream of a magical life together slowly began to diminish with time. Even her younger sister had married and produced two beautiful girls,and gradually Eftihea began to stop asking about the Koulouri boy over in America.  She did however secretly worry what would become of her, for she knew she would never love another and she wept even harder into her pillow every night. 

An event beyond everyone’s control would soon change Eftiheas girlish dreams forever. It was a hot balmy August summers night and the year was 1953. Most islanders were sleeping outside as was the norm during the hot summers in Cephalonia.  Eftihea was in a deep fitful sleep when she heard rather than felt the first deep bellows of impending earthquake, and as she began to wake from her sleep she realised this was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Everyone was used to earthquakes on this island, nobody liked them, but they were used to them. This one however, was different.  It was terrifying and seemed to go on forever.  It didn’t stop.  The noise, the destruction, the shouts and screams and the fires.

Buildings collapsed into dust and rubble everywhere, roads opened up, the devastation was horrendous. It continued for two gut wrenching weeks with the strong aftershocks causing even more disaster and devastation, if that were at all possible.   This tragic and devastating earthquake had raised Cephalonia to the ground.

The very North of the island remained partially unscathed with the small port called Fiskardo retaining most of its Venetian architecture.  Not so for the rest of the island which was large by any standard, there was nothing left.  Villages had fallen, communities split apart, house’s once standing now shell like and abandoned, misery and despair prevailed throughout Cephalonia.

   Eftihea had her own loss to deal with – her sister, caught in a fire during the panic and upheaval had become another of the earthquakes victims as well as her brother-in-law. It was now left to Eftihea to be both mother and father to her dead sister’s two little girls.   Eftiheas own parents had passed away several years previously and there just wasn’t anyone else to love and nurture these girls – she had more than enough love for both of them and took them both tightly into her heart. 

How strange she mused, several weeks after the horrific earthquake. One moment you are just a girl with childlike girlish dreams and desires and the next you are irrevocably changed forever, grown up overnight. I am now a parent she acknowledged to herself, weighed down with the stark responsibility of two other young lives. 

She didn’t know how she was going to manage, she just knew she would.  Tragedies are somehow part of the great unseen levelling of life, they sort out the next part of your plan in the blink of an eye, often without you so much as lifting a finger or uttering a word. As she thought her newly grown up thoughts, Eftihea slowly, and with some sadness,began to untie the cords of her dream – her life with the Koulouri boy was now a near impossibility and neither of them would ever be the same again.

For Haramblos, the gods had indeed bestowed good fortune on him along with his own tenacious well researched and heartfelt beliefs in his building methods. The Koulouri boy’s house had stood the test of time, tragedy and disaster. It had survived beyond belief the terrible earthquake. The house all of it, the whole building stood firm, upright proud and intact against a mountainous backdrop of a now ruined village. What once thrived now stood crumbled and abandoned all around him but his house was unbelievably undamaged. The rest of the village surrounding his house had returned to the earth. Halambros  now a grown man, felt the full weight of responsibility bear down heavily on his broad shoulders. The villagers were left with nothing, no food, no clothes, no work, no homes and little appetite for life. All they had now was a small amount of emergency help from the Swiss and English who were first on the scene offering some rations, and a canvas tent to sleep in.  Their homes had been lost forever. 

 Looking at himself now past the age of 40, the Koulouri man with his home, his business and his life still intact, knew he had no other choice but to help his friends and his enemies in any way he could. In the hard despairing years that followed he helped out where he wherever possible. The Kafenion was always open, supplies were always waiting for the locals and a big brown book logged everyone’s bills, the ones not many could afford to pay. Further down the valley at the bottom of the mountain a new village began to emerge out of the ashes of the old one. It was without the naive gaiety of the previous village, those feelings were long gone but new life was springing up and people were starting to rebuild.

The Koulouri man often sat on his terrace trying to make out figures down below wondering who would build what and where would he go from here. The villagers looked up at the gleaming white mansion on the hill still surrounded by the shells of their old homes and shook their heads some despairingly, some with resentful envy and some with indifference. Halambros felt restless. He didn't fit in.  He needed more than this devastated island could offer him.  It wasn't long before the wind siren began her calling song around the old kafenion on the big mountain of Aenos and the lure of America raised its seductive head once again.

 The Koulouri man found it impossible to ignore the tugging and pulling at his heartstrings, still unmarried, he was feeling a little separated from his kinsfolk, and he wasn’t at all sure of his feelings towards Eftihea. If he stayed he knew his adventures would be over and that he would have to settle for a safe but predictable island life. The Koulouri man searched his soul and gave in to his restless spirit. It was the spirit that had urged him to follow his dreams in the past, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He shuttered his windows, locked all his doors and turned his back on the grand house.

  He embraced a tearful Eftihea, who was sadly for her, still just a very good friend, and he made his goodbyes.   Shedding a few tears of his own, he turned his back and set out on a dark chilly night once more to find a ship that would yet again take him to the land of his deepest dreams – America.

Efthea prayed as she watched him go , but this time shed no tears, for she finally realised that their time had passed and she doubted that she would ever see him again. She knew he would never be hers and she busied herself with the upbringing of her two young girls. The great house, though still majestic in its stature, looked forlorn and lost in the deserted village. The new village below was beginning to thrive, people’s lives were beginning to take shape again and the locals soon forgot about the Koulouri man who had returned once more to America. In the deepest recess of her heart that even Eftihea had forgotten about, a tiny light flickered and a dream stayed alive, of a love who would one day return to finally claim her.

When after several years,he hadn't returned, Eftihea knew her that dream had died forever. It was extinguished, left for dead in the cold reality of a harsh Cephalonian life. She had decided she would never marry and despite having the two young girls to bring up, she was often propositioned by older men looking for a pretty and capable young wife. She paid them no heed. Not able to have her one true love, she threw herself into being the best aunt a child could have. Her nieces adored her playful ways, her twinkling eyes and mischievous demeanour. She in turn showered them with love and affection and continued to turn away any admiring suitors, as resolutely as one would swot a tiresome mosquito.

Over a period of time, news of the Koulouri man slowly filtered through to Eftihea along with some gossip, grist for the mill of the envious and spiteful and eventually she heard the words she had always dreaded hearing. The pain took her by surprise and almost split her in two. Halambros had got married in America – he had taken a wife. 

Upon hearing this news, Eftihea’s youthful dream finally died, it was gone forever; dead like an empty sack of flour.  What was once filled with enough hope to make any number of dreams come true, there was nothing left, nothing to make, nothing to hold on to anymore.

During the following three decades she grew in wisdom and strength. A caring aunt, a kindly friend and a life long spinster. She paid no attention to the gossips, or to their malicious nasty glances. She had made her decision not to marry and was happy to remain on her own. As she grew older and slightly more resolute, she sometimes sighed about what might have been, but soon picked herself up and engaged with life again. With the girls long grown, she was once again alone. She didn’t mind this, it was something she had long become accustomed to and rather liked the way she wore her loneliness like a comfortable coat which kept her buffeted from the harsher moments of Cehpalonian village life. She didn’t let many in. 

She never lost her lightness of step, when she walked she could have been mistaken for a dancer, such was her demeanour. She retained her lustrous thick hair even though she had it trimmed regularly, it stayed long and even though it wasn’t quite as naturally black as it once was, it still shone with a life of its own. She looked different from many of her friends – she was both wise and childlike at the same time, always ready with a welcoming smile. 

She never saw the Halambros or his American wife during those years and although she picked up the odd titbit from passing travellers, she tried not to dwell on what might have been. That is until one day a letter arrived for her, a letter with an American postage stamp on it. The writing was spidery and she didn’t recognise it. Intrigued she cautiously opened the letter. There was only one person she knew who had gone to America and as she read the first few words ‘My dearest Eftihea’ she was immediately transported back to a star filled sky on a warm moonlit night where her one true love held her close and they danced to the strains of an ancient Greek love song. Her heart skipped she could scarcely believe it. 

The Koulouri man was coming home.

She met him at the same port from where he had left so long ago. Of course he knew she would, just as he knew she would never have married. To any newcomers watching, she was meeting an old man, not in good health and needing assistance.

 In her eyes however, he looked just the same as he had before he left, he was still her adventurous handsome Koulouri man. He looked at her with tears in his eyes and whispered “Eftihea will you still have me?”

 For forty long years this determined gusty gritty Cephalonian woman had waited to hear those words and now they had finally come forth. She gently touched his face, caressed his wrinkled skin and kissed his weather beaten brow. She leant forward and quietly whispered to him. “I always hoped but never really expected to hear those words”.  She held her breath and slowly continued “Finally you have come back to me, as I once dreamt you would”.

 She took his frail old hand and encased it in hers. “We were always meant to be together you know” she smiled  “It just took you a little longer than I expected to realise it, come my Koulouri man, its time for us to go home.”

Eftihea was in her fifties when the Koulouri man returned. They married without any delay or fuss and she gave him every ounce of love she had held  in her heart, for so long.  They reopened the house and the Old Kafenion, and delighted in their married life together until the Koulouri man became very sick and died just eight years later.

 His previous wife in America had long passed and with that marriage having been a childless one, everything he had accumulated both in America and Cephalonia was left to Eftihea. She remained in the big house for another ten years or so until it became too much for her to manage by herself and she moved to the main town of Argostoli coming back to the The Old Keafenion in the mountains for weekends only.

When my husband and I first met Eftihea she was cutting down vines which threatened to engulf the whole house, she was a tiny figure but sprightly and strong with a mischievous smile and ever twinkling laughing brown eyes. We had heard about this house from an artist friend who had come across it whilst walking in the mountains and she was mesmerised by it, so much so that she immediately painted it. We had long given up hope of ever finding a house we liked and certainly finding one at the right price seemed nigh impossible. We didn’t hold out much hope for this one, even though it looked wonderful, we weren't even sure if really was for sale.

Eftihea invited us into her garden and took great delight in showing me the vines, her terrace, all the different trees and flowers and eventually she brought us inside the house. It was like stepping back in time.

 She showed us her paraffin lamps, the paraffin fridge, her miniature aga cooker, and of course Cephalonia’s first indoor toilet (with the two pails of water instruction manual).

She took us downstairs to the Wine Press still absolutely intact.  We marvelled at the enormous steel girder that ran the length of the house – the one that had saved it from devastation. We poked our heads into the old stable long devoid of any animals still but still with all the old original fixings and we looked into the kafenion. 

What a delight, the oak barrels still there, along with old dusty bottles of Metaxa brandy and age old bottles of musty spirits and lots of books.  The fire place was still in place and the original big brown ledger complete with outstanding debts logged from long ago purchases, was still intact, its yellow brown pages and spidery pencilled in writing stared at us from the dry parched pages. Eftihea proudly informed us that this house had all mod cons – it even had a telephone, ancient but working – no electric or mains water, but a working telephone. How about that?

We gingerly asked in faltering Greek if the house was for sale, there was after all a for sale sign painted on the wall outside – at least that’s what my artist friend had told me. “It could be” she replied enigmatically. ”But I have to get to know you first”.

And get to know us she did. On the terrace of this magical place, with its own tumultuous history, full of love, despair, desperation and long held hope, standing there, drinking it all in, my emotions were all over the place and later Jason confided in me, he felt the same.  It drew us in that house.  We could feel its life, its soul was still beating. It reduced us to tears with its deep held emotions and overwhelmed us with a still sense of peace - we heard laughter and joy and felt overwhelmed with happiness - all in the blink of an eye.

  Eftihea watched us as we went silently through these emotions and feelings and she appeared to be looking for signs to tell her that we were the right people for this house. Nothing escaped her penetrating gaze. She wanted to be sure that we were the right gatekeepers for this amazing place, the place that had held her soul for so long. She had been waiting...

During one afternoon visit, a cat appeared from nowhere- I went to pick it up and my husband called out to me “Be careful it’s feral it may well bite you” Eftihea just stood and watched, a smile playing around her lips. I picked it up and stroked it, it seemed perfectly tame to me, as I felt its head nestle down into the crook of my arm. “Is it your cat?” I asked Eftihea “Oh no child, I’ve never seen it before in my life” she replied. After putting it down and watching it slowly walk away I felt a bit strange. Eftihea just carried on smiling, knowingly.  I looked for that cat so many times afterward but never saw it again.

One day we were treated to the wonderful experience of being shown Eftiheas treasured possessions and those of the house. Tiny little bits of things carefully wrapped in tissue or brown paper, tied up with old ribbon and string. When she opened the little parcels up we peered inside – a nail, a few screws, a few pins, some ointments.  Bigger parcels contained some odd silver knives procured from some well known New York Hotels in the late twenties – memorabilia collected by the Koulouri man.

 She opened trunks, battered and worn with a wealth of life still held packed inside.  They were bursting full of carefully laid linens, nighties, stiletto shoes in a box for the tiniest feet - my dancing shoes she whispered to me - a precious gold coloured powder compact complete with face powder from the 1940’s, a bright red lipstick worn down to a nub in its tarnished holder. The Italians liked me in that colour, she giggled and gave me a real glimpse of the girl she once was. 

The other trunks contained boxes and bottles, crocheted quilts to keep the damp cold fingers of a Cephanlonian winter at bay. Walnuts brought in from many trees outside. Books were crammed alongside American Military magazines and plans showing how to earthquake proof a house, were also jammed between the magazines.

The house contained old furniture that once must have the envy of all visitors. “It’s all yours” she smiled, “if I decide to sell.” she added enigmatically.  We had heard from others that she really wouldn't sell the place; she had turned down several offers over the past 15 years, including one from the government who wanted to knock it down and put a new road in.  We were sure it was way out of our league.  I could see no point in trying to cajole, persuade or get round her, that wasn’t my nature anyway.  With me what you see is what you get and Jason my husband who is honest straight and trustworthy, felt the same. I just hoped these values would be good enough for her to come to a decision, if she really did want to find some new gatekeepers for this magical place.  We would just have to wait and see.

“Let me meet your daughter” she declared, soon after the treasure chest afternoon.  We were helping her clear the ‘English part of the garden. A heavy tree in a quiet corner had some branches that need lopping off, and the lawn was full of wild flowers. A quaint little cobblestone path could be seen under some surface mud close by and the air was thick with the smell of wild mountain herbs. I named them happy herbs – nothing illegal – just wild herbs whose fragrances immediately made me feel happy. I had my little fiat punto convertible outside the house and she wanted to go straight way, that very afternoon to meet our daughter Sadie who lived with her boyfriend on another part the island.

“Will you be ok in this” I enquired indicating the open topped car, just a little concerned, “Would you like the hood up?” “Of course I will be ok Coukla” she chided “‘What do you think, I never drove a car myself?  What do you think the garage was for? Now come along, oh and leave the hood down! 

 Duly admonished I watched as she adjusted her headscarf and popped on her Jackie O glasses, looking every bit the diva she was, being taken for a spin by her chauffeur!

She did indeed meet our beautiful daughter Sadie who was in her late teens at the time. Sadie’s Greek language was a bit better than my broken efforts and my husband’s faltering one word utterances. They got on famously and that meeting sealed our ever blossoming friendship. “Tell no-one of our dealings” she warned “They will try to undo you” and with that she sat down to discuss how much she was willing to sell the grand house to us for.

We hoped it would be in our price range – it needed a fair bit of renovation and money invested if it was ever to become the healing magical retreat that I had always dreamed of owning and we wanted to keep every last bit of character we could, it was too special to just blunder in. We hoped the price would be cheap enough for us to buy it and prayed even more that we would be able to raise funds to get a renovation job done. Even if we weren’t able to raise funds for the renovation, it was still worth buying. It was dry, had a well – an indoor toilet, telephone and we could always get a generator!  

The price Eftihea came up with was more than agreeable to us and she was happy with it. There were no arguments, no haggling or negotiations or problems – she named her price, we contacted our solicitor and the deal was done.

Meetings with the notary and the tax department were duly set up and on the day of the handover my husband was told by our solicitor to keep quiet, say nothing and he would handle everything. My husband did as he was asked, and our solicitor did the job he was asked to do. Eftihea had turned up with another old lady – a good friend she said, around the same age as herself, she was there to help Eftihea carry the money which she had requested in two plastic carrier bags. After much stamping of papers, handshakes all round and a few hugs and kisses, the deeds were given over and the money, quite a few thousand pounds, were handed to Eftihea and her friend in two heavy plastic carrier bags. “Shall I come with you to the bank?” my concerned husband asked Eftihea “Oh no Jason” she replied confidently “This isn’t going to the bank, no it’s coming home with me, but first we are going for coffee on the boulevard” 

And off they trotted, two old ladies with a plastic bag each stuffed full of money, to linger over a coffee – my husband was having a heart attack. “They will be fine” explained our solicitor “Don’t worry – this is Cephalonia!”  (Jason did follow them just in case, and mopped his brow several times as he watched them leave the money bags under the chairs in full view of everyone!)

The next week found us up at the house helping Eftihea move the few bits and pieces that she wanted to bring with her, over to Argostoli the capital of the island. We had everything packed ready to take her to her other home when she took hold of both our hands. The air became very still but crackled with the anticipation that something big was about to happen. “Come with me” she said and walked out of the front door, down the steps and into the blinding Cephalonian sun.  

She picked something on the way that was placed on an outside window ledge. We followed her onto the gravelly path which led to the newly painted church a few hundred yards away – it only opened once a year for a patron saints feast day and as we stepped around the church gates and into the tiny graveyard, Eftihea slowed down at the first grave.

As is the norm at Greek graves there is frequently a candle burning behind a piece of glass showing the grave is still looked after and the memory not forgotten. This grave though tended, only had a piece of plastic for the candle to shine through. I watched as Eeftihea unwrapped the little parcel she had picked up on the way out. I heard her whisper “I have been waiting for this moment for a long time” and from the parcel she took a brand new polished piece of clear glass and inserted it in front of the candle. She continued to whisper tender words of endearment to her long passed husband and then gently stood up. 

“We can go now” she said and slowly walked back to the house. My husband and I followed behind both overcome with pure emotion.

I waited at the car as Eftihea stood on the terrace with Jason. She was taking one last lingering look at the great house and it’s arresting views – it was as if she had brought all her memories out to show us, polished them up and carefully put them back where they belonged. This most amazing house had withstood everything that life had thrown at it and it still retained it air of mystery and magic as did Eftihea.

“Come along” she said to my husband and walked down the steps, leaving the terrace for the last time its owner. I watched with tears in my eyes as she closed the gate and locked it with the enormous Harry Potter key that was rusted but still worked perfectly well.  I walked over to her, barely able to speak. “Are you ok?” I asked not trusting myself to say any more. She turned to me with her twinkling eyes, her beautiful smile and her ever wise warm face and replied “Oh yes my dears, I am perfectly happy” With a quick turn of her hand she removed the black scarf that had always adorned her head since her Koulouri man had passed away and began to laugh as her long silver hair tumbled down her back – she was a youthful girl once more.

 “Dont cry children” she gently told us “This is a happy occasion” and as she pressed the huge Harry Potter key into both of our hands, she sang out “It’s your house now”.

Postscript:

Little has been done on this wonderful old place since 2003 – it is still standing proud, tall and intact. It still has no mains water or electricity, although mains electric has been brought to just outside the house by the church, so could easily be connected. 

Detta and Jason’s lives have taken a different direction during the last few years and yet they both still hold a little flame of their original dream, to restore this magical place into a healing space in which to rest, restore and renew.

Sadly they do not have all of the necessary funds to make this happen.  To date they are awaiting a civil engineers report as to whether it can be brought up to the new earthquake standards and then....with a little luck, some kind benefactors and some family loans, they hope to begin the first phase next year

Postscript:

Little has been done on this wonderful old place since 2003 – it is still standing proud, tall and intact. It still has no mains water or electricity, although mains electric has been brought to just outside the house by the church, so could easily be connected.

Detta and Jason’s lives have taken a different direction during the last few years and yet they both still hold a little flame of their original dream, to restore this magical place into a healing space in which to rest, restore and renew.

Sadly they do not have all of the necessary funds to make this happen.  To date they are awaiting a civil engineers report as to whether it can be brought up to the new earthquake standards and then....with a little luck, some kind benefactors and some family loans, they hope to begin the first phase next year