Greek Letter
Revolution in the night
Joyce Rackham
"Don't get alarmed, but we've had a revolution in the night," my Greek hostess announced as we met for a leusirely breakfast on that perfect golden Sunday morning, the coup d'etat had been brilliantly timed, for the Saturday night was the first for a week to be free of curfew. We had all been out celebrating and the cafes, tavernas and bouzoukis were pulsating with life until the early hours. The prevailing mood, until then, had been one of grumbling unease. Besides the deep shock and dismay Athenians felt in face of the draconian severity with which the riots had been quelled, there was the frustration of being cooped up in their homes for so many evenings, and the depressing effect on everyday commercial activities.
Some people first realised that the takeover was imminent when, returning home very late, they met tanks rumbling down the avenues to the city's nerve centres. For ourselves, living in a flat near the American Embassy, the first sign was to find the telephone cut off, and then to notice the unaccustomed silence in the street, with a road block of soldiers on the nearest avenue.
Total curfew was announced on the radio with the first news of the coup d'etat, and each tantalisingly sparse bulletin preceded and followed by thekind of patriotic brass band music indispensable on such occasions. This alternated with cheerful old-fashioned village music. "That's a good sign", said my
hostess, who spent most of the morning by her radio. "Notice how unaggressive the music is — it shows they are very confident about the situation."
Strolling through the deserted streets (having a permit to circulate during curfew) I found her diagnosis confirmed: the troops and police seemed relaxed, smiling, happy to chat, but answering any questions about the situation with impeccable discretion. They were lenient to the few people who came out to take the air and stroll briefly, but warned tourists to keep off the streets. At least the Americans confined to the Hilton could enjoy swimming in a heated pool, and go home to boast that the hotel was guarded by its .own .special tank,stationed in full view of the main ban.
In Constitution Square, where the main display of force — tanks and ermouied cars — was assembled, tourists sunned themselves on the balconies of the oig hotels, and smiled at the incongruous sight of the mini-skirted Evzones changing the guard as usual, flanked by tanks!
Inside the Grande Bretagne, tension was electric, with prominent Athenians pacing the marble halls, shuttling between the bar and . their transistors, muttering, arguing and speculating. The elegant lady telephonist had come well prepared, sitting at her post with her knitting and a thermos flask. The revolution was nearly half a day old before the new president's name was announced. "Never heard of him," said one man. "What I do know is that he can at least speak our language properly", said another. When the • Cabinet names were given, one commented: "We now have a government of bourgeous, instead of one of peasants."
The tension relaxed as the evening went by; in the Square soldiers who had been standing by for hours lolled about or slept with their heads on the cafe tables, and road blocks were reduced. The next morning, under a blazing sun, Athens seemed to return to its usual noisy normality, with the tanks and the soldiers; back in barracks, and the curfew withdrawn. Everybody, true to the Greek temperament, has a different view of the change of power, with relief at the removal of Papadopoulos tempered by anxiety about the future plans of the new regime, and the urgent problem of growing inflation. The last taxi driver I hired said simply: "If the new president planned such an efficient and bloodless change, then I take off my hat to him." A leading Liberal businessman, in delightfully idiosyncratic English, said: "Now we have to pick up our rugs, and see-what happens, but if the new lot get up to any shenanigans, there really will be trouble." Final judgement came from the greengrocer, when I stopped to buy lemons: "What do I think? Governments are all the same — they never do anything for me!".
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