Back to yesterday's museum, named, in Orwellian fashion, the Peace and Freedom Museum. It's not large and consists mostly of names and photographs of Turkish and Turkish Cypriot soldiers killed during the invasion, as well as weapons and some maps and paintings of the invasion itself. Like James Wolfe's historic attack on Quebec, the invasion succeeded in part because it took place at a landing location more difficult and therefore less likely, than would have been expected. The paintings prove more poignant than photographs would have been and we're struck with the difficulty of beginning the advance in the dark, soaked to the waist and carrying weapons. There are also quotations from the British press, including both Guardian and Telegraph, from the time, suggesting that support for the Turkish position covered a broad political spectrum. Then over to the cemetery, and the graves of those who died in the first few days. We meet the young soldier that we ran into yesterday. He's here doing his national service and is counting the days - 24 now - until he's finished and can join his wife in Istanbul where he will be teaching English. He gives us a brief explanation of what happened, points out the actual landing spots, and answers our questions. Interestingly, he uses the term martyrs for those soldiers who died, as did the written material at the museum. It's a word that has pretty well disappeared from modern secular discourse, in the west at least. Is this a question of translation or is the view of military conflict different in this part of the world? It certainly has a counterpart in the Greek rhetoric.
Stop for lunch and shortly after we get back encounter Harry and Elsa, who have come for a brief visit. Actually very brief, because with diversions and some unhelpful directions they arrive late enough that they only actually have about an hour to visit before they have to leave to go back. Drinks in Jane and Bill's room and then dinner and a chat by the fire.
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