Asked to help in the emotional task of clearing out the house here in Athens, Greece belonging to my long deceased uncle (my mother’s brother) – and his wife my aunt who later passed away – I came across multiple trunks or chests.
A friend said they’d like one of the trunks, “because they’re cool,” while suggesting that I check out how much they’re worth. So, after an online search I finally came across these baoula (μπαούλα), as we call them in Greek, labelled “migrant trunk” on an Australian site no less.
I began the job of making the house livable, being subsequently told by the Canadian inheritor that I could have what I liked. Delving into the trunks made me feel like a child looking for ‘goodies’ or treasure! Perhaps I’d find Australian memorabilia and vintage stuff and even – God forgive me for considering… gold coins!
What I mainly found… was cloth. Pieces of cloth, strips of cloth, rolls of cloth, all of various colours and patterns. My aunt had dementia in her later years – perhaps explaining her hoarding.
Most of the stuff in the house is vintage as my uncle and aunt had spent over a decade in Australia from the early 1960s. There they worked hard and saved money to build their dream house in an Athenian suburb.
Although not a blood relative, I was very close to my aunt in particular. She was from a village in the Peloponnese, having grown up very poor, tending to goats.
When my aunt met my uncle, they lived in Australia. There, she worked in a textile factory on a sewing machine, but was also a skilled carpet weaver like many women of that era, taught by their mothers and grandmothers to use a traditional loom.
Speaking of floor coverings, I also found a mat very reminiscent of carpets in old weatherboard Australian houses and even in pubs, going way back.
I also found an old sewing machine that she’d surely brought back from Australia in one of these “migrant trunks.” It seems that the pieces of cloth and larger cuts of material may have been factory remnants from where she worked. I guess saving these literal material pieces, reflected her frugal but also innovative nature, whereby she lovingly fashioned some of her “migrant trunk” covers from these fabrics, apart from some wonderful clothes she made.
My uncle and aunt never had children so I was moved when I found some baby clothes in a trunk, wondering whether they represented future hopes to one day be parents, or were destined as gifts for others.
Within the house, I also came across Australian souvenirs and decorative items that reminded me of growing up in Australia before I came to Greece in the 1980s. Also, an aged electric ‘Vulcan’ heater, an old record player and TV, a ladies hair dryer, bags and shoes of an era gone. Memories flooded back; of life in Australia, of outings and parties where my uncle and aunt and other relatives were present. Much more carefree times where money and work seemed to flow with more ease.
I “wowed” at a vintage kettle with bright orange flowers, that I think my mum in Australia also had, as well as finding that proverbial high-quality silver ‘Sunbeam’ toaster which I don’t know if they still manufacture.
My goodness, they even brought a Hills Hoist back to Greece! Reminders of “modernity” but also of habits, like hanging the clothes and making toast, which to me reflect appreciation and respect towards Australia. Things from Australia they loved and cherished, like the country itself.
What I’m not keeping, I’m giving away including the fabrics for recycling. There’s still some more work to do in terms of organising the house for when the inheritor comes next month.
After these approximately two- or three-hour sessions at my uncle and aunts house, I sit in their kitchen, with a cup of tea and a cigarette (using one of my aunts many and various ash-trays) and reminisce. It’s quiet in the house, and as I was bending down a few weeks ago to sort out some bowls in a lower cupboard, I jumped as I thought I was tapped by a ghost! But it was just me having leaned back onto part of a protruding chair.
On a more realistic plane, I sometimes imagine my uncle and aunt being there and chatting over our Greek coffee or watching old Greek movies together. This was many years ago. I miss both my aunt and uncle, in Greece and in Australia. I miss Australia. I miss my parents there and I miss my childhood there. My uncle and aunts house serves as a mini 1st generation migrant sanctuary – a testament to dreams, hard work and courage, to what was once considered ‘the lucky country.’
The objects in this house, like the trunk and its contents whisper “life is beautiful, life can be heartbreaking, memories are gold… ‘stuff’ the gold coins or… lack there of!”
