Despite personal tragedy, occupation and civil war, Powell s affair of the heart continued. She returned time and again through the `40s and `50s, and with each visit there was a reconciliation with her idyllic memories, despite the changing reality of Greece. Both with Hunfry and without, she explored remote mountains in the company of shepherds, isolated stretches of coast and island with local fishermen and olive-dotted hillsides with their subsistence farmers.

The Villa Ariadne is a meditation on the island of Crete, centred on the house built by Sir Arthur Evans, the famous archaeologist of Knossos. Dilys Powell captures the spirit of a place she loved dearly and a group of people she knew well, from local Cretans to the archaeologists Evans and Pendlebury, and the German General Kreipe who was famously kidnapped on the island by Paddy Leigh-Fermor in one of the most audacious actions of World War II. Weaving the myths of the island with its archaeology, ancient history and modern tales, she gives us a loving portrait of this classical land.

DILYS REMEMBER GREECE HASTINGS HOUSE PUBLISHERS NEW YORK ToP . I hesitate, now, to address you by name even in this impersonal letter. Today 9 as I read that jour country is to be occupied by the Italians whom she drove contemptuously from her soil a letter reaches me from Greece. You wrote it at the end of March when the Greek soldiers whom you were nursing still thought only of recovering to fight again. They went into battle you told me t shouting a war-cry and yelling in their rough t lively language something which might be translated Smite them hip and thigh When their ammunition ran out they fought with sticks and stones sometimes with their bare hands. Often they had no food, no water 9 no fire the fear of death, you said, was nothing in comparison with the hardships they endured. Yet they longed to go back to drive the Italians into the sea the Italians whom they pitied as much as they despised. Their victory has been delayed only it will yet reward them. When it comes you and I too, I hope, shall meet again. June ii, 1941. Authors Note Since this boo was - first published Greece has endured nearly two years under occupation, and a chapter has been added bringing the record as far as possible up to date. March, 1943 CONTENTS CHAPTEfc PACE I. FAREWELL TO ATHENS . . . . .13 II. THE APPROACH OF WAR . . . 5 III. THE GOOD FIGHT 45 IV. THE BATTLE CONTINUES . . . .61 V. THE CAPITAL 81 VI. THE COUNTRY 113 VII. THE ISLA NDS . . . . . .144 VIII. THE STORY OF FREE MEN . . . .170 WAR CHRONOLOGY ..... 203 INDEX 209 A VIEW OF SPARTA ..... Frontispiece MAPS FACING PAGE MOVEMENTS OF ALLIED FORCES, APRIL 5 20, 1941 . 48 MOVEMENTS OF GERMAN AND IMPERIAL FORCES, APRIL 20, 1941, ONWARDS ..... 60GREECE 134 CHAPTER I FAREWELL TO ATHENS SUMMER shone late over Western Europe in 1939, but in Icaria the sun had done its work by the fourth week of August figs bursting, grapes heavy under their bloom, and the paths on the hillsides powdering beneath one s feet. The earth, saturated with the long months of heat, flung back sunlight as we crossed the ravine and skirted the walls - we were glad to reach the village after our mornings walk and sit down outside the little caf6. The proprietor, a tallish, stooping man with black, rough hair, a heavy moustache, and the fine-seamed, leathery brown skin of the Greek countryman, brought chairs for us and planted them in the middle of the street one chair to sit on, one to use as a foot-rest. What will you have What have you got ouzo, wine Ouzo we havent got wine we have good - wine. Wine, then three glasses, please. A boy had been asleep on a bench just inside the little cavern of the caf he woke up hastily, put on an apron, and came out with a blue tin mug of wine and glasses. Then he retired to the cavern and sat down to watch us silently. The proprietor sat on the low wall on the other side of the little street. He wore a faded blue shirt, a collar-stud but no collar, trousers patched at both knees, 13 14 REMEMBER GREECE and broken shoes no socks, and his insteps were burned and toughened to the colour and texture of hide. With the happy ease of his people, he opened the conversation. Your health . . . Hot, very hot We agreed. Very hot There were two friends with me Shan Sedgwick, the Athens correspondent of the New York Tfmes, and his wife Roxane, an archaeologist, and one of the few Greek women barristers. Where are you from Are youEnglish No, said Roxane, I am Greek. This is my husband he is American. And this pointing to me is a friend of ours from England. Ah, from America Ah, that is fine His face, set in the sad lines of the peasant, flowered into a smile. I have been to America. Then, slowly and proudly, I spik Eenglish. Ah, you speak English - we cried, dropping into the tone of hearty condescension reserved by English and American travellers for the foreigner of inferior social standing who has ventured to learn their language...