capital of Greece struck the Cretans as a rather unconvincing idea. They maintained an air of normality as the rent for villas shot to previously unimaginable figures. This money did not seem to make its way down to the understocked little shops with dingy shutters. And Cretan men did not forsake their cafe routine of newspapers and cups of Turkish coffee.
The men, mostly middle-aged since the young ones had been trapped with the Cretan Division in Epirus, presented a curious contrast to the newcomer. Those from the town wore shapeless suits, while those from the hills wore moustaches of cultivated ferocity and traditional Cretan costume consisting of a black bobbled head-cloth — a sariki — embroidered jacket and waistcoat, a mulberry-coloured cummerbund over dark, capacious breeches — British soldiers called them
'crap-catchers' — and high boots which completed an impression that was half pirate, half irregular cavalry.
The Cretans welcomed the British soldiers as distant relatives who had arrived unexpectedly from another country. Stephanides saw a group of Cretans dancing the Pentozali — a highly energetic dance — stop to invite soldiers to join them. The self-conscious British, uncomfortable in their prickly battledress, tried to learn the movements and were soon laughing with the dancers at their own clumsiness.
For those who had escaped from the fighting in Greece, the island of Crete was a glorious haven — a place of great beauty and of great friendliness where glasses were perpetually lifted to the common cause. Cretans, although robust drinkers themselves, were astonished at the Anglo-Saxon compulsion to get drunk. According to the degree of their inebriation, drunken soldiers wandered round bawling out ribald songs or mawkish ones. If the BBC was playing popular songs, such as 'The Banks of Loch Lomond' or 'There is a Tavern in the Town', homesick troops would crowd round a radio immediately.
The effects of drink were also likely to bring out some of the underlying tension between Dominion troops and British symbols of authority, whether military policemen or officers. The New Zealanders and Australians in Crete were neither regulars nor conscripts, but volunteers for the duration, and their lack of reverence — almost a point of Antipodean honour — made British officers steer clear of them whenever possible. On arrival in Egypt, one New Zealander had greeted a rather languid British officer carrying a fly-whisk with: 'Hey! What've you done with the rest of the horse?' The New Zealanders certainly had their share of 'wife-dodgers' and 'one-jumpers' (volunteers one jump ahead of the police) but, unlike Australian soldiers, they did not strike fear into British officers.
A yeomanry captain, who had already encountered Australians in Greece, remarked only half in jest of the 6th Australian Division: 'I think they must have been recruited from the prisons.' In Canea, a British officer, seeing an Australian filling his pockets with fruit from an old woman's stall and refusing to pay, remonstrated with him, only to find the muzzle of a looted German pistol thrust into his face. And a Cretan recounted how when a British colonel (probably Jasper Blunt) accompanying the King of Greece had gone to quieten a disturbance outside the window where they were talking, the Australian responsible for the row promptly seized him by the throat and nearly strangled him.
At night, Australian air-raid precautions consisted of shooting at any light they saw, whether a match struck for a cigarette or the correctly dimmed headlamps of a vehicle. Harold Caccia remembered a drive past one of their areas at night as 'one of the most anxious moments of my life'. Soon afterwards, this ill-disciplined rabble fought the German paratroopers at Rethymno with savage exuberance.
A rather more orderly regime was soon established in the Canea area. Bell tents and EPIP (European Personnel, Indian Pattern) were erected under the
The men, mostly middle-aged since the young ones had been trapped with the Cretan Division in Epirus, presented a curious contrast to the newcomer. Those from the town wore shapeless suits, while those from the hills wore moustaches of cultivated ferocity and traditional Cretan costume consisting of a black bobbled head-cloth — a sariki — embroidered jacket and waistcoat, a mulberry-coloured cummerbund over dark, capacious breeches — British soldiers called them
'crap-catchers' — and high boots which completed an impression that was half pirate, half irregular cavalry.
The Cretans welcomed the British soldiers as distant relatives who had arrived unexpectedly from another country. Stephanides saw a group of Cretans dancing the Pentozali — a highly energetic dance — stop to invite soldiers to join them. The self-conscious British, uncomfortable in their prickly battledress, tried to learn the movements and were soon laughing with the dancers at their own clumsiness.
For those who had escaped from the fighting in Greece, the island of Crete was a glorious haven — a place of great beauty and of great friendliness where glasses were perpetually lifted to the common cause. Cretans, although robust drinkers themselves, were astonished at the Anglo-Saxon compulsion to get drunk. According to the degree of their inebriation, drunken soldiers wandered round bawling out ribald songs or mawkish ones. If the BBC was playing popular songs, such as 'The Banks of Loch Lomond' or 'There is a Tavern in the Town', homesick troops would crowd round a radio immediately.
The effects of drink were also likely to bring out some of the underlying tension between Dominion troops and British symbols of authority, whether military policemen or officers. The New Zealanders and Australians in Crete were neither regulars nor conscripts, but volunteers for the duration, and their lack of reverence — almost a point of Antipodean honour — made British officers steer clear of them whenever possible. On arrival in Egypt, one New Zealander had greeted a rather languid British officer carrying a fly-whisk with: 'Hey! What've you done with the rest of the horse?' The New Zealanders certainly had their share of 'wife-dodgers' and 'one-jumpers' (volunteers one jump ahead of the police) but, unlike Australian soldiers, they did not strike fear into British officers.
A yeomanry captain, who had already encountered Australians in Greece, remarked only half in jest of the 6th Australian Division: 'I think they must have been recruited from the prisons.' In Canea, a British officer, seeing an Australian filling his pockets with fruit from an old woman's stall and refusing to pay, remonstrated with him, only to find the muzzle of a looted German pistol thrust into his face. And a Cretan recounted how when a British colonel (probably Jasper Blunt) accompanying the King of Greece had gone to quieten a disturbance outside the window where they were talking, the Australian responsible for the row promptly seized him by the throat and nearly strangled him.
At night, Australian air-raid precautions consisted of shooting at any light they saw, whether a match struck for a cigarette or the correctly dimmed headlamps of a vehicle. Harold Caccia remembered a drive past one of their areas at night as 'one of the most anxious moments of my life'. Soon afterwards, this ill-disciplined rabble fought the German paratroopers at Rethymno with savage exuberance.
A rather more orderly regime was soon established in the Canea area. Bell tents and EPIP (European Personnel, Indian Pattern) were erected under the
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