National Geographic : 1949 Dec
Chris Ware from Keystone Greek Army Recruits, Trained by a Kilted British Major, Climb Ropes Like Gymnasts Ancient Greeks had a word for such a drill-agonia (contest or struggle) they called it. Anyone who has seen the contorted faces at the finish of a race will understand the derivation of our word "agony." Americans now guide the Greeks on strategic levels, but Britons remain on the job as army instructors. Commandos make forays against ambushed mountaineers. To it flocked refugees and prisoners of war. Some are already home ward bound to their ruined villages. In the prison courtyard we talked with some Amazons who had served with the guer rillas, but now were about to go home. A few had joined up of their own accord, but most were forced into guerrilla life. In a splendid old estate the girls of the National Girls Orphanage were being taught to embroider, make dresses, cook, and keep house. The discipline and spirit were splen did, and a small scarf I bought carries happy memories. Past a spot where guerrillas had held up a bus two days before, we rode down to see an experiment station where cattle herds are being improved through artificial insemination and swamplands reclaimed by draining. The women were about to lunch, but I asked one of them to go back to weeding mangel-wurzels long enough for a picture. "Count on a GEOGRAPHIC man to pick a pretty one," quipped Adler, after an apprais ing look. Steve and I visited the museum in Ali Pasha's mosque, watched hundreds of hungry folk stand in line for a gob of macaroni and cheese, and rowed to an out-of-this-world island where half a dozen medieval monas teries dream away the hours.