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I have just heard the sad news that Theresa Nicholas died this morning, aged 87.
Theresa was an immensely creative person, a talented artist and writer,
and it is hard for me to imagine the island of Corfu without her.
She made her home on the island for 57 years.
She first came to Corfu in July, 1961.
She first came to Corfu in July, 1961.
Her funeral will take place tomorrow, 3rd December, 2018,
at the British Cemetery in Corfu Town.
at the British Cemetery in Corfu Town.
From Corfu Flashbacks, 1961-1970:
"July 26 (1968) - my birthday! To think I ran away to Corfu on my birthday 7 years ago! That is when I began to live". Theresa Nicholas.
"I must describe Dassia as it was in the Sixties. After eleven kilometres off the potholed main road from town you bumped down a rough track through the olive grove to the bay, which had just four little tavernas with their tables set out under the trees next to the pebble beach, each with its own juke box (worn records, worn needle, full of sand and grit), spraying the air with the heavy Greek melodies.
Michaelaki’s Taverna (now the Dassia Beach Hotel – but run by the same family) offered basic accommodation in a block of monks’ cells, an iron bedstead with thin mattresses, a chair, a peg to hang your clothes on and a piece of mirror hanging by a red cotton thread. The facilities were ‘exo’ (outside), a basic earth closet with a hole in the ground, two places to put your feet. The shower, was a pipe with a spray nozzle where you rinsed off after a swim. What more did one need in those days?
On Saturday nights, we would stay over in one of Michaeli’s cell-like rooms, and wake up to the sun forcing its fingers under the door and round the closed shutters, walk out into the warm air with the sun rising over the mainland mountains. The sea was like glycerine, blazing like a shield under the sun; the tables deserted, and the waiters asleep on camp beds under the trees (the waiters stayed on the job for the whole three months of the season). On Sunday morning, the barber would turn up on his bicycle to shave the waiters; his equipment in a bag on the handlebars. One by one the waiters sat on the chair placed in the shade of a tree, to have their chins shaved.
To slide into the cool water, to be suspended as if in air, while below you the fish parade in dignified silence, with rainbow shadows lilting over the sandy floor. The cage of live crayfish was kept under the jetty. I remember a lobster the size of a dachshund dog was tied up outside the cage by a piece of rope around its waist…"
Memories of Dassia in the Sixties, from a slightly edited talk by Theresa Nicholas at The Durrell School of Corfu (copyright the Estate of Theresa Nicholas):
"I must describe Dassia as it was in the Sixties. After eleven kilometres off the potholed main road from town you bumped down a rough track through the olive grove to the bay, which had just four little tavernas with their tables set out under the trees next to the pebble beach, each with its own juke box (worn records, worn needle, full of sand and grit), spraying the air with the heavy Greek melodies.
Michaelaki’s Taverna (now the Dassia Beach Hotel – but run by the same family) offered basic accommodation in a block of monks’ cells, an iron bedstead with thin mattresses, a chair, a peg to hang your clothes on and a piece of mirror hanging by a red cotton thread. The facilities were ‘exo’ (outside), a basic earth closet with a hole in the ground, two places to put your feet. The shower, was a pipe with a spray nozzle where you rinsed off after a swim. What more did one need in those days?
On Saturday nights, we would stay over in one of Michaeli’s cell-like rooms, and wake up to the sun forcing its fingers under the door and round the closed shutters, walk out into the warm air with the sun rising over the mainland mountains. The sea was like glycerine, blazing like a shield under the sun; the tables deserted, and the waiters asleep on camp beds under the trees (the waiters stayed on the job for the whole three months of the season). On Sunday morning, the barber would turn up on his bicycle to shave the waiters; his equipment in a bag on the handlebars. One by one the waiters sat on the chair placed in the shade of a tree, to have their chins shaved.
To slide into the cool water, to be suspended as if in air, while below you the fish parade in dignified silence, with rainbow shadows lilting over the sandy floor. The cage of live crayfish was kept under the jetty. I remember a lobster the size of a dachshund dog was tied up outside the cage by a piece of rope around its waist…"
Mandouki, 1963, A Photograph by Theresa Nicholas:
Dassia, some years earlier, unknown photographer:
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