MR PANAYIOTIS MAVRIS

I was born in the village of Gypsou on 18 February 1937.  After primary school and being among the fortunate few, I attended the Pancyprian Gymnasium up to the 5th class.  At the age of 18, I emigrated to London and, if we exclude a short interlude, I am still here today.

Following the uprising in Cyprus in April 1955, I left for the British capital on 2 October 1955.  The trip was a long one.  For the overwhelming majority of  Cypriots, air travel was not yet feasible.  So we departed with the cargo ship ‘Eolia’ from Limassol.  The whole trip in a mixed compartment cost ₤33.  Beirut was our first stop.  I left the island as a tourist and not as a bona fide emigrant, since I did not possess the so-called ‘prosklisi’ –an invitation which usually meant that work and lodgings were guaranteed.  I was given two tickets: one from Limassol to Beirut and the other from Beirut to Marseille.  It took 10-12 hours to reach the Lebanese port.   Port Said and then Alexandria were the next ports of call.  At the latter place, we visited an imposing palace.  Then it was onto Piraeus, where we had a 12-hour stopover.

With three other passengers we took the train and set off for Athens.  When we returned, we found that the ‘Eolia’ had left port.  The police were waiting for us.  They hurriedly sent us with a taxi, which cost us £3, to the isthmus of Corinth to board the ‘Eolia’.  A small boat took us to our ship.  We climbed aboard via a rope ladder – it was very frightening.  Understandably, the captain was not very pleased with our behaviour.

Genoa was our next stop.  We stayed for a few hours and then we called on Marseille.  From there we took a train to Paris and then after changing trains we reached Calais.  We crossed the English Channel by ferry boat and then by train to London.  It was around 8.00pm on 13 October.  It was very dark.  We were fascinated by that,  but we accepted it,  because we were after all in a foreign land.  I was met at Victoria Station by Ktoris, who is now deceased.  He took me to the residence of Michalis Hamilos.  Michalis was a relative of  mine, who twenty years earlier was ‘guaranteed’ by my father so that he could travel to England.  He felt extremely thankful and was very obliging.  I stayed with him for two days in Park Road, Hendon.  I then moved to Manchester.  I had an invitation to go there from an English person whom I had helped the previous summer in Cyprus.  He met me at Central Station, Manchester and took me to his office.  However, he had no work for me.  Within a week, I was back in London.  The wages here were much higher – nearly double.

Having paid 15 shillings for the train ticket, I immediately went to the ‘kafeneio’ (coffee house) in Warren Street.  It was late afternoon, but luckily I found Andreas Kouma, who was already there.  Soon however Gypsou was well represented.  Among those present were Koupparis and the late Ktoris.  I asked for a room and Koumas replied that he lived in Fonthill Road and that a room was available.  This room was to be shared with his brother-in-law.  He said the weekly rent was £2.10 shillings and I said, “fine”.

His brother-in-law worked in a factory which manufactured bags.  I asked if there were any vacancies.  After a few weeks he said that work was available.  In the meantime, my friend Koumas was employed at a factory making record players in Warren Street.  He said that work there was plentiful and he asked me to go with him.  Early next morning, I did exactly that.  I was now in full employment.  The work was repetitive but easy.  £7 per week was a lot of money, but to my surprise tax and national insurance came to £1.10 shillings.  Food and rent accounted for the rest.  After a few weeks I asked Koumas’ brother-in-law if there were any vacancies at his place of employment.  The answer was, “yes”.  Although the weekly wage was again £7, overtime was a real bonus.  My wage shot up to £9, yet it was very difficult to save.

In the place where I lived there were other tenants.  It was here that I met my future wife.  With her brother and sister-in-law they occupied the 3rd floor.  Soon however, they moved to another house, but still in the same area.  After a few months, around Christmas, I asked her to marry me and she said, “I need my brother’s consent”.  Her brother agreed and soon afterwards we got engaged.  Now officially engaged, I moved in with my “new” relatives.

On 11 January 1956, we were married at the Registry Office and in June the religious ceremony took place at All Saints Church in Camden Town.  After St Sophia in Bayswater, it was the second Orthodox Christian church in London.  The reception at the Regency was a very close affair, attended by some 30 guests.  We were poor and at the time we only knew a few people.  Our son was born the following January.  We were both hardworking and long hours and late evenings were the norm and not the exception.  Consequently we managed to save some money.

During the summer Andreas Asvestas, a good friend of  mine from Cyprus, joined us in London.  I continued working very hard.  Apart from the overtime, which was welcome, I worked in a small shed where I made quality plastic goods.  Being a successful businessman, Asvestas suggested that such a rare line of work had more chances of  success in Cyprus. “Let’s go back”, he said and so we did.  With my wife, six-month old son and some of our belongings we took the train from Victoria to Dover.  We crossed the English Channel to France and then by train to Venice.  A ship then took us to Cyprus.

Asvestas was always there to help, advise and assist.  I rented a shop in Anaxagoras Street, Lefkosia and with my meagre savings, I was able to work on some exclusive leather imports.  I bought further stock from the local Armenian wholesalers and I started work in earnest.  I was making suede and artificial leather jackets.  Business was booming.  We supplied stores in other towns with our merchandise and retailed some as well.  Our lives however,  were soon to be turned upside down.  

Just after lunch in 1958, we heard loud gunshots.  We were puzzled and within minutes troops and policemen were almost on top of us.  We were told that an English soldier had been shot just behind my shop.  All young males were rounded up.  We were taken to the square by the Municipal buildings, where we were kept with our hands raised, for around four hours.  At one stage my hands dropped and a soldier hit me on my side with his gun.  I swore in English.  “Ah, you speak English”, he said and I said, “yes” and continued, “you have no right to lash out at innocent people who have committed no wrong”.  I was hit again.  This time it was much harder.  All the others started shouting and the beating stopped. We were released around 7.00 pm, but a curfew was imposed.  I could not venture out.  I was stuck at home.  The takings for the following day were a meagre 15 shillings.  All businesses suffered.

The curfew lasted for weeks and young people bore the brunt of this inhumane restriction.  I just could not take it any more.  “I cannot go on like this, we cannot suffer anymore, we have to go back to England”, I kept telling my wife.  She was not however ready to make another move.  Moreover, we had a young child, whom my late mother-in-law used to look after.  “The pot was boiling”, as they say and I was in danger of losing my life. One evening whilst sitting comfortably on the veranda of our first floor apartment, a patrol of soldiers spotted me and aimed their guns at me.  They were shouting, “you are breaking the curfew” as I hurriedly went inside.  At that point I told my wife, “I cannot take it anymore “.  Within a week,  and again thanks to Asvestas, to whom the curfew did not apply because of his age, we managed to get to Limassol. Well protected,  so that I would not be seen, we broke the curfew.  There were explosions everywhere.

I boarded a ship bound for Italy. With Asvesta’s brother we arrived in London’s Finsbury Park.  We rented a room and a kitchen for £3.10 shillings a week.  I started work and within a few months, I had enough savings to pay for my wife’s passage – back to England.  Our son stayed behind until the following summer.  When Asvestas was scheduled to come to London, I asked him to bring our son over with him and the answer was, “yes”.  In the meantime, we had to leave our flat because the landlady refused to allow children to stay.  We then rented another place in Stamford Hill which was owned by a Jewish family.  We stayed there for a while and then in 1959,  we rented a room and a shop in Bethnal Green.

I then purchased an industrial machine which welded plastic items.  My wife earned good money working as a sewing machinist in a factory.  I worked from eight in the morning to around 9.30pm.  My business was growing nicely.  I then met a young Egyptian Cypriot and we formed a partnership.  His monetary contribution was simply to buy a machine and some parts.  We expanded steadily and we soon moved to the East End, close to the river.  The rents were much lower there.

After two or three years, I saved enough money to buy a house. I consulted Hamilos,  who suggested that we buy his house,  since he had  been planning to put it on the market anyway.  We struck a deal and the property, which was very nice, cost me £3,200.  We moved to Hendon.  I preferred this area because the schools were of  a higher standard in comparison to those in Finsbury Park and Stamford Hill.  We stayed there for around six years.  We were lucky to be here and everything looked very rosy.  However, misfortune struck. The civil war which broke out in Nigeria was not good news for me.  Approximately 12-15 thousand pounds worth of merchandise had been sent out there and to some other African countries, and although I was insured, a proviso was found in the policy, which precluded any compensation.  We were told that since it was not an “official war” but an “internal” or “civil war”, no payments could be made to us.  

I ended up selling our residence and for the next two years or so we stayed in a small flat.  I then borrowed £5,000 from the bank, re-purchased the machines which were then in the hands of the liquidators and I started work again.  Although my business was affected again in 1973, following the strikes and the ‘three-day-a-week’ scenarios, I survived and  am still doing what comes naturally to me.

At all times I tried to help my family.  I managed to bring over to London my sister and brother-in-law, my sister-in-law and their children.  We all shared a flat.  Other apartments were soon found for everyone and once more, I bought a house in Hendon.  We stayed there until our son’s marriage.  The house was large and I agreed to ‘sell’ it to him.  We moved to a small bungalow in Edgware. My son now looks after the business,  although I still go there for two to three hours a day,  just to help him out.

Looking back on my younger years, I can honestly say,  even though I must have been one of the lucky emigrants – I had in my pocket £35, which was provided for me by my family -  I believed, with many others that,  “money grew on trees”.  Consequently, £30 was spent before even setting foot on British soil!

The weather conditions were harsh and the winters were cold.  Persistent fog blurred our vision and people had so many accidents.  Working conditions also appeared to be difficult.  When I was employed in Old Street, I used to take the No. 4 bus from Finsbury Park  and I was at my place of work by 6.30 am.  Moreover, without working overtime there was no possibility of saving any money.  The journey back home was equally bad, especially when darkness was the norm and not the exception.

I craved to be independent and as a young man people used to call me the “prodigal son”, because I always “fought” for what was right, proper and decent – and for much more.  One example will suffice.   When I moved to Nicosia in the mid 1950s, my village had no running water and no electricity, I voiced my concerns and insisted that the provision of such necessities to all villages, was a must.  I was “an extremist”.   Perhaps!