It happened 45 years ago and, yet, for the people who lived through that tragic summer, the memories are still raw and the nightmares not far away.
Despite this, they still clink on to hope and tell their stories no matter how painful, in an effort to raise public awareness for the plight of Cyprus, praying it will lead to the reunification of their treasured island.
I am sharing some of our family’s story through the eyes of my mother Stavroulla Lambrou from her journal and her words.
We lived in the coastal village of Karavostasi. Five days after the military coup, which shattered Cyprus and threw the island into dark and confusing times, came the Turkish invasion, on July 20th 1974.
We fled to the mountains fearing an invasion from the sea. The next week found us, three families hiding under a big tree in the forest, while the Turkish planes bombed death and destruction around us, relentlessly. We prayed for the lives of the eight innocent children hiding terrified amongst us.
The first wave of the invasion was completed. Kyrenia fell to the Turks. Devastation. Refugees. Tragic stories overwhelmed our lives. Our village was spared and we returned home, but death was to touch our family.
My sister’s boy was killed doing his duty to the country. How do you grieve for a 20-year old who has been robbed of his dreams? How do you console your sister? What words do you say? He was to study medicine in Athens in just a couple of months.
The second wave of the invasion in August 14, 1974 changed our lives forever. We lost our home. Turkish planes filled our sky without warning and bombed indiscriminately.
I still hear the sounds in my ears. We were driving like lunatics trying to get to safety. Up in the mountains, a local primary school room provided shelter for a week, shared with thirty strangers. Trauma and loss binds people together.
During those confusing times, we got captured by the Turkish army. A distressing memory that still keeps me awake many nights. Two Turkish Cypriots negotiated our freedom; we now call them our friends.
So many stories. Ones of great sorrow and ones of triumph of the human spirit. By now, we had a new name, we were officially referred to as refugees. To survive, we travelled a very tough road which eventually led to this blessed land, Australia in 1976.
Every July we hide our tears, raise our hopes and walk for the reunification of our land. We hope and pray for our island to find peace. We walk for our lost youth and their dreams and for some who are still to return home.
By Lambrini Lambrou Christopher
