Framing and hanging three favourite photographs

Patrick Comerford

It is interesting how many prints or posters or photographs or paintings no longer fit or match when a room has been repainted.

I just suppose some old but once favourite images will have to find somewhere else to hang.

The house was repainted recently, and some walls just needed a fresh look. A new print here, a new poster there ...

But some parts of the house were just not getting the right touch.

And so, in the last few days, I had three of my own favourite photographs, taken in the last year or two, printed on stretched canvas and mounted:

1, Looking across Stowe Pool at Lichfield Cathedral

Easter arrives at Stowe Pool and Lichfield Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2013)

I took this photograph at the end of March. It was late evening, and we had walked half-way around Stowe Pool, past Saint Chad’s Church and Stowe House, once the home of Richard Lovell Edgeworth.

It was Easter Eve, the sun had set, and I thought it was just too dark to catch anything on my camera. We were about to walk on towards Tamworth Street and look for a table at the Olive, when my eyes were caught by the deep blue colours in the water, and reflections of the clouds, the cathedral and the trees in the water. If you look carefully, you can see where some lights have come on.

We went on to eat in Sorrento on Bird Street instead.

Easter Morning the next day was wonder-filled and full of joy.

2, A lake on the Farnham Estate, Co Cavan

‘In my beginning is my end’ (TS Eliot) ... a lake view on the Farnham Estate in Co Cavan (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

This photograph is deceptive, for the clear blue sky makes this look like a summer scene. But it was early November 2011, and I was staying in the hotel on the Farnham Estate in Co Cavan.

There are beautiful walks through the trees and by the lakes. It was a bright clear day, and when we arrived at this small lake the reflections in the water were so sharp and deceptive, it was difficult to know where the lakeside ended and the lake water began. As I looked out into the lake, I stopped and wondered for a moment where did this tree emerge from the water, and where did its reflection begin.

And I thought of TS Eliot’s opening words in ‘East Coker’:

In my beginning is my end.

3, A house near the Fortezza in Rethymnon, Crete

Reflecting the deflated state of the Greek economy (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

On and off, since the mid-1980s, I have been enjoying holidays in Crete, where my favourite town is Rethymnon. Last July, for the umpteenth time, I climbed the steep hills up to the Venetian Fortezza to enjoy the views across the town and out to the sea.

Clustered around the base of the Fortezza, there are warrens of back streets with houses, each pretty and charming in its own self-contained way. This house is typical of the charm of these back streets. This house has pretty colours, with its potted flowers.

At the time, the wheels on the bicycle reminded me of the deflated state of the Greek economy.

I shall be back again later this summer, hopefully.

Meanwhile, thanks to Shauna Moggan for organising the printing and framing.

A Greek ‘No’ in the face of German demands

A Greek painting on the walls of Corfu, the Greek restaurant in Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

The Greek Community in Dublin celebrated “Ohi Day” in style this afternoon.

After the Cathedral Eucharist in Christ Church Cathedral this morning, and coffee in the crypt, I joined the Hellenic Community in ‘Corfu’ in Parliament Street for a community meal.

Oxi Day on 28 October commemorates the day in 1940 when the Greek Prime Minister General Ioannis Metaxas said, “No” to an ultimatum by Mussolini, who demanded that Italian forces should occupy strategic locations in Greece or face war.

Mussolini’s ultimatum was an attempt to impress Hitler by securing what was thought would be an easy victory. But when the Italian Ambassador presented his demands at dawn after a party at the German embassy and Metaxas refused, it was clear that the Greece was being drawn into World War II.

There is no proof that Metaxas answered with such a simple and direct <<'Οχι>> or “No.” But within hours later, Italian troops based in Albania were attacking Greece’s borders.

The day is described with a combination of literary wit and pathos by Louis de Bernières in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. But Oxi Day is more than an anniversary or even a national holiday … it is a day to remember Hellenic values, passion and courage.

We remembered that passion, resistance and the courage to say “No” in ‘Corfu this afternoon. There was music, food and wine, and tributes to Dimitrios Tsouros, a veteran of that struggle.

Everyone had been back in Greece this year. And no-one was without a first-hand sad and emotional story of the struggles and demands Greece faces today.

Walking the way of love

Lovers’ locks on the along the Via Dell’Amore, or the “Walk of Love,” linking Manarola and Riomaggiore (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Patrick Comerford

Today, 28 October, is being celebrated in Greece and by Greek communities around the world as Ochi Day (Επέτειος του «'Οχι», Epeteios tou ‘Ohi’), marking the Greek rejection of the ultimatum from Mussolini on 28 October 1940.

But today, 28 October 2012, also marks the 1,700th anniversary of the Battle of the Milvian Bridge. My attention was drawn to this anniversary earlier this week on the Facebook page, the Church of England’s Diocese of Lichfield, drew attention to this anniversary by the Revd Dr Peter Green. He is the Chaplain of Abbots Bromley School, 12 miles north of Lichfield, but is about to move to the Diocese of Lincoln as the Dean of the Chapel at Bishop Grosseteste University College.

The Battle of the Milvian Bridge was one of the most momentous events in the history of Christianity, but it is hard to imagine that many church bells are being rung throughout Europe to mark this anniversary this morning.

Dr Green says: “I suspect that most Christians today in the UK would feel rather ambivalent about it – but then others would argue that if something like it hadn't happened, you probably wouldn’t have become a Christian in the first place.”

The battle was fought between the Roman Emperors Constantine I and Maxentius on 28 October 312 at the Milvian Bridge, or the Ponte Milvio, an important crossing point over the Tiber on the way to Rome. During the battle, Maxentius drowned in the Tiber. Constantine, who had been proclaimed emperor in Eboracum (York), won the day and set out on the path that led him to become the sole ruler of the Roman Empire.

For Eusebius of Caesarea, Lactantius and other early historians, the battle marks the beginning of Constantine’s conversion to Christianity. Eusebius recounts that Constantine and his soldiers had a vision of God promising victory if they daubed the sign of the Chi-Rho, the first two letters of Christ in Greek, on their shields.

As the two armies prepared for battle on the evening of 27 October, Constantine had a vision that led him to fight under the protection of the Christian God. Lactantius says that on that night, Constantine was commanded in a dream to “delineate the heavenly sign on the shields of his soldiers.”

He followed the commands of his dream and marked the shields with a sign “denoting Christ.” Lactantius describes that sign as a stavrogram or cross with its upper end rounded in a P-shaped fashion. However, there is no evidence that Constantine ever used this sign or the better known XP sign described by Eusebius.

Eusebius says that when Constantine looked up to the sun he saw a cross of light above it, and with it the Greek words “Εν Τούτῳ Νίκα” (En toutō níka), usually translated into Latin as in hoc signo vinces, “In this sign conquer.”

The sign first appears on a silver coin from the reign of Constantine ca 317. But other coins that depict him quite overtly as the companion of Apollo the sun god were minted as late as 313, a year after the battle.

Whatever happened the night before the battle, Constantine entered Rome on 29 October, the day after the battle, and was met with popular jubilation. Maxentius’s body was fished out of the Tiber and he was decapitated. His head was paraded through the streets of Rome, while his disembodied head was sent to Carthage – the Ponte Milvio had been a symbol of military might, dedicated to the triumphant victory of Rome over Carthage in the Second Punic War.

Contrary to popular perception, the Edict of Milan in 314 did not make Christianity the imperial state religion, but merely promised religious toleration for all. Nevertheless, as Sean Freyne says: “The age of Constantine was indeed a golden age of a kind for the Christian church.” Constantine’s victory gave him total control of the Western Empire, paved the way for Christianity to become the dominant religion in the Empire and in Europe.

But I much prefer the story of how the bridge has become a symbol of peace and love in recent years rather than a symbol of marching, conquering Roman legions.

The Ponte Milvio has been invaded by an army of young lovers ever March 2007, when an Italian romantic movie based on the novel Ho Voglia di Te was released and started a ritual now wildly popular with young couples.

In the movie, a teenage couple is seen writing their names on a padlock and locking it with a chain around a lamppost on the Ponte Milvio. Both the novel and the movie were hugely popular with Italian teenagers, who began to imitate the practice on the Ponte Milvio, then throwing the keys into the Tiber in a gesture of undying love.

By April 2007, so many young lovers had imitated the ritual that the lamppost had begun to buckle under the weight of so many padlocks. The loss of the lamppost did not stop young lovers from throughout Italy coming to chain their locks to the bridge.
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Recently, the Mayor of Rome, in search of a solution, had all the lovelocks moved to the City Hall where they were put on display. But lovers arriving at the bridge can still lock up their love as the city has installed posts upon the Ponte Milvio where the lamppost once stood.

Clever entrepreneurs are selling padlocks by the Ponte Milvio for the throngs of teenage lovers ready to show their devotion, but have forgotten their locks. And the habit has spread throughout Italy, so that I noticed last month along the coastal walk in Cinque Terre that all along the Via Dell’Amore or the “Walk of Love,” linking Manarola and Riomaggiore, lovers’ padlocks have been clipped to the fences and railings along the trail.

For some young people in Italy, the 1960s slogan, “Make Love Not War,” still resonates with an essential truth today.

But I still think the Cross is a more powerful symbol of love than the XP symbol, or padlocks for that matter.

Walking along the Via Dell’Amore or the “Walk of Love,” linking Manarola and Riomaggiore (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Finding hope in Greece in the midst of economic and financial crises

Patrick Comerford
The political and economic crises that are besetting Greece have dominated European news for the past 12 months.

There have been two general elections so far this year, three governments have fallen, and a third is on the brink. The political parties that once dominated Greek politics are in a state of flux, the extreme right has become more visible and violent, and populist left has become more appealing as the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the European Union (EU) and the European Central Bank (ECB) demand increasingly harsh cuts in public spending.

As I write, the fears and prospects of a Greek exit from the single European currency, the Euro, continue to gather steam, and ordinary Greeks on the streets, fearing the prospect of being reduced to penury, wonder whether they have any friends left in Europe.

Ordinary Greeks are hard-working, family oriented, loyal and – by the standards of many European societies – disarmingly honest and trustworthy in their one-to-one encounters and personal relationships.

For those ordinary Greeks, the blame for their present distress lies not with politicians in the past who engaged in widespread graft and favouritism as they allowed public spending to escalate out of control, or with the business and professional classes, who have often avoided tax paying as if it were a summer game. Instead, popular Greek feeling blames northern European in general, German politicians in particular, and the German Chancellor, Angela Merkel individually, for the present crisis.

Greeks need no reminding that democracy has been their gift to civilisation. This is no idle replay of the scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, where everything is said to have Greek roots. But Greeks are constantly conscious that they have given the world philosophy, drama, theatre, comedy, architecture, arithmetic, and many and other concepts without which we could not regard ourselves as civilised.

On the other hand, in the popular press, Greeks are reminded constantly that the outstanding German contributions to Europe in the 20th century are the Nazis, the holocaust and the death camps.

It has been a difficult message for German tourists to hear in Greece this summer. After all, the sins of the grandparents ought not to be rained down on the grandchildren. Germans count for high proportion of sun-package-holiday tourists in Greece, and those who have come this year are most likely to be Germans who are most sympathetic to the plight of ordinary Greeks.

On the other hand, a close friend who is politically very astute, points out to me that many of the people in Crete who voted for the extreme-right party, Golden Dawn, in this year’s elections, were the grandchildren of people who lived in island villages that suffered brutally at the hands of the German invaders in the 1940s.

Crete has a strong and honourable tradition of resistance to oppression that dates back to the War of Independence in the 19th century. Crete was later than many other islands in being incorporated into the modern Hellenic state and this has heightened Cretan sensitivity to injustice and oppression, particularly during World War II, the Greek Civil War, and resistance to the colonels’ dictatorship.

But despite their pride in their culture, philosophy and democracy, Greeks seldom talk about their country a Biblical land. Yet the New Testament is written in Greek, and much of it is addressed to Greeks-peaking people. Readers of the Bible tend to forget that most of Paul’s missionary journeys involved lengthy stays in places that are now part of the modern Greek state – Thessaloniki, Athens, Corinth, and of course Crete.

I have been a regular visitor to Greece since the 1980s, and I have recently visited Greece three times in the space of 12 months: Kastellorizo, which is the most easterly and most remote Greek island, accessible only through Turkey; Thessaloniki, where my grandfather’s infection with malaria in 1916 led to his death but also, ironically, is one of the reasons why my father was born and therefore why I am here today; and Crete, which is almost like a second home with the frequency of my visits.

My friends in Crete reassure me that there island has been cushioned by the present recession in the Greek economy because of the foreign earnings that tourism brings in. But they have awoken to the reality that this tourism is not a bottomless well from which they can continue to draw from and drink liberally.

Hotels that I once stayed in were open for the high season, but one had only six guests in one week, while maintaining a full staff at reception, in the kitchen, in the bar, by the pool, for cleaning and housekeeping and for security. Other hotels have simply closed in the face of the downturn in tourist numbers.

Outside the tourist areas, shops are closing every day because of the combined effects of a drastic drop in custom and an inability to pay ever-increasing taxes and charges. I was told sadly that every family has a story of someone whose life has ended in suicide.

The head of Saint Titus is revered in a shrine in the church with his name in Iraklion (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

In the midst of all this despair, I still find Crete a deeply spiritual island, and my stays there have always included regular visits to churches with lengthy, historical associations, and monasteries that continue to maintain a life of prayer and spirituality that dates back to the Apostolic Church.

In Iraklion, the principal city of the island, one of the oldest churches is dedicated to Saint Titus, the companion of the Apostle Paul and the recipient of two of his pastoral letters. During the Ottoman occupation of Crete, the church was converted into a mosque, although its dome and square shape are part of the inheritance from that era, it is once again a living, thriving centre of liturgy and worship, and the head of Saint Titus has been returned as a revered and treasured relic.

But few tourists stay long enough in Iraklion. They are passing through on their way to the Minoan site at Knossos or to the package holiday destinations to east, such as Hersonissos and Malia, but they seldom explore the quieter side streets and squares.

Nestling beneath the rococo delights of the Cathedral of Aghios Minas, in one of those quieter squares is a Church dedicated to Saint Catherine of Mount Sinai, which was once the centre of intellectual and cultural life in Crete. The scholars here included the greatest poets, writers, artists and icon writers of the 15th and 16th centuries, and they were the lively interface between Byzantine culture and the Italian Renaissance. One of their best known students was the artist Domenikos Theotokopoulos, who moved to Italy and Spain where he was celebrated simply as El Greco.

Rethymnon, where I was staying once again this year, dates back to antiquity and classical times, but is fundamentally a Venetian city, with its churches and towers, palazzos and piazzas. Many of the churches date to the Venetian period, but even the modern ones too are decorated with fine Byzantine-style frescoes and icons.

During my week there I also visited three Greek Orthodox monasteries in the mountains above Rethymnon.

The first was in Adele, a small village with a population of fewer than 450 people, where the Church of the Monastery of Aghios Panteleimon (feast day 27 July) is one of the principal sights.

In the neighbouring village of Pagalohori, Moni Arsanios dates from the 16th century. Below, there were panoramic views out to the Cretan Sea; above me there were views up to Mount Psiloritis, the island’s highest mountain. The katholikon or main church in the monastery is dedicated to Aghios Georghios (Saint George), and a smaller church is named after Saint Mark the Deaf. But the monastery probably takes its name from a monk called Arsenios, who built the monastery in the 16th century.

The icon screen in the Church of Saint Catherine of Mount Sinai in Iraklion (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

The katholikon was dedicated to Saint George in 1600. When The Turks occupied Rethymnon in 1646, the monastery may have been deserted. In 1655, Bishop Neophytos Patelaros put the monastery under the protection of the Ecumenical Patriarchate, and the Stavropegic and Patriarchal status of Arsaniou was reconfirmed in 1778 and again in 1850.

But the Stavropegic status which the protection of the Patriarch of Constantinople gave to the monastery did not protect it from natural and political calamities. Many of the cells of the monastery collapsed under a strong earthquake in 1856, and ten years later, in 1866, the Turks destroyed what they could in the monastery to punish the monks for their revolutionary activities.

A new Church of Saint George was built in 1888 on the ruins of the old church, but the Turks returned in 1896 to burn and plunder the monastery. A year later, they murdered the monk Father Gabriel Klados, hanging his head on a tree in Rethymnon to use for target practice.

By 1900, it looked as though the monastery could not survive, but it was reconstituted in 1903. Further woes came with World War II, when the Germans executed Abbot Damianos Kallergis in 1941 for the support the monks gave to the Greek partisans and the resistance to the Nazis. But the monastery survived. It was renovated in 1970, the katholikon was decorated with frescoes in 1988-1990, and a museum and conference centre were founded.

Along with the visitors who come to the conference centre and museum, the monastery has a steady daily trickle of tourists. But the future of Moni Arsanios must be a matter of faith today as there are only three monks living permanently there. The two I met during my visit are in their mid-80s, the third monk is in his mid-40s.

The Church at Arkadi once featured on the Greek 100 drachma note (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Further up into the mountains above Rethymnon, following the corkscrew roads that weave their ways through olive groves and vineyards, across deep gorges and through pine-clad rocky outcrops and tiny villages, is Arkadi, one of the best-loved monasteries in Greece.

The first impression is of arriving at a fortress, with strong, thick, square fortified walls that can be entered only through one narrow gate that leads into a large square courtyard. Local lore says it was founded in the fifth century by the Byzantine Emperors Heraclius and Arcadius. By the time the principal church or katholikon was built in the 16th century, the monastery was celebrated as a centre of science and art, with a school and a well-stocked library.

When the Ottoman Turks captured Rethymnon in 1648, the monastery was pillaged. But the monks soon returned and the monastery continued to prosper, so that 18th century travellers and writers described it as the richest and most beautiful monastery in Crete.

In 1866, Arkadi became a centre of a rebellion against the Turks and almost 1,000 besieged people – many of them women and children – huddled together and died there on 8 November in one of the most horrifying stories of Crete’s struggle for independence and union with Greece.

The massacre was the ultimate expression of the rallying cry of the Greek War of Independence: “Ελευθερία ή θάνατος, Freedom or Death.” The deaths of so many women and children provoked international outrage, and the monastery remains a symbol of the struggle for independence in Crete.

Arkadi is a national shrine, and for many years it featured on Greece’s 100 drachma note. But Arkadi is also a working monastery, although there are only three monks there today. If the survival of the Greek economy is perilous, then the future of Greek monasticism is a matter for prayer too.

Keep Greece in your prayers (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Liturgy, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.
This essay was first published in Koinonia, Volume 5, No 19, Trinity 2, 2002 (October 2012), Kansas City MO, pp 8-11.

Where stories in canvas and stone illustrate our shared diversity and past

‘The Levy of Christian Children’ by Nicholas Ghyzis (1842-1901) in the National Gallery in Athens

Patrick Comerford

One of the best-known works in the collection of 19th century Greek paintings in the National Gallery of Greece in Athens is The Levy of Christian Children by Nicholas Ghyzis (1842-1901).

The Janissaries were introduced to the Turkish army in the 14th century as a permanent component in an army raised by feudal levies. The best of Christian boys, both in brain and brawn, were taken from their families as tribute in the levy known as the devsirme. The Janissaries were feared even by the sultans: Osman II in 1622, and Selim III in 1807 were killed by Janissaries, and it was not until 1826 that Mahmut II had the power and the strength to disband the Janissaries.

However, the blood of Greeks flowed through the veins of Janissaries, the viziers, and even the sultans. Despite claims by Ataturk in the 20th century to a pure Turkish identity, forced conversions, the wholesale transfer of villages and communities, and the families of the Janissaries and even the sultans themselves are guarantees that many Turks have Greek ancestry.

Scattered Turkish gravestones at a former mosque in Rethymnon ... is it possible to erase the memory of a once-pluralist society? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

While a significant proportion of Turks are of Greek (and Christian) descent, a significant number of Greeks are of Anatolian origin too. This conflict of identities may help to understand the way interfaith dialogue can contribute imaginatively to debates about European identity and the role of the European Union in conflict resolution.

If Turkey and Greece have been forced to play the role of protagonists, it is partly due to the fact that Christianity and Islam played similar roles in defining Greek and Turkish identities as the new Greek and Turkish societies emerged in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

But if religion, poetry, music and art played roles in setting the limits of those identities, it was more difficult to erase the monumental memories left behind in stone and architecture.

Memories in stone

Inside the Nerantze Mosque in Rethymnon ... built as the Church of Santa Maria, and in the style of Saint Mark’s in Venice (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Travelling through Crete this summer, I found how it was impossible to erase the memory of a once-pluralist society with a variety of religious buildings surviving in towns such as Rethymnon and Chania, although many churches had been converted into mosques by the Ottoman Turks and many mosques had been converted into churches after Crete became part of the modern Greek state.

During over three centuries of Turkish presence in Crete, churches and public buildings were converted into mosques: in Rethymnon, for example, the Loggia became the Kucuk Haci Ibrahim Agca mosque, the Church of Santa Maria the Nerantze mosque, Santa Sophia the Ibrahim mosque, Santa Barbara Monastery the Kara Musa Pasha Mosque, Saint Onofrio’s the Veli Pasa Mosque, and Saint Nicholas Cathedral in the Venetian Fortezza the Ibrahim Han Mosque.

The minaret of the Valide Sultana Mosque in Rethymnon ... named after the Valide Sultana Kosem, mother of the Sultan Ibrahim Han and the daughter of a priest from Tinos (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

When Crete became part of Greece, the Turkish population was expelled and the mosques became churches once again, sometimes with new dedications, so that the Nerantze Mosque became the Church of Saint Nicholas.

Later, those mosques that could not continue to sustain a life as churches became museums or public buildings: the Nerantze mosque later housed the Music School, the Loggia the Civic Museum and the Kara Musa Pasha Mosque became home to the Inspectorate of Byzantine Antiquities.

Although there are no Turkish Muslims living in Rethymnon today, the town still has many Turkish antiquities, including fountains, hamans, Ottoman balconies, and the substantial remains of eight mosques – seven in the town and an eighth mosque on the Fortezza. A ninth mosque once stood on the corner of Koronaíou Street and Riga Feraíou Street, but this was badly damaged by bombing in 1941 during World War II and was demolished. They are reminders of almost 300 years of a Turkish presence.

The Roman Catholic church in Rethymnon, which is run by Capuchin friars based in Chania and was built in the closing days of the Ottoman presence in Crete. It too is a reminder of the diversity once found in the town’s Christian population and a tolerance and pluralism that the Ottomans could exercise at times.

Jig-saw identities

Chania’s Greek Orthodox Cathedral stands in the square where Daskalogiannis was tortured and executed (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, I strolled through Chania, the former capital of Crete when it was an autonomous island in the 19th century, caught between the competing claims of the Ottoman Turks and the new Greek state. There I was reminded of the diversity and the jig-saw identities that go to make up the full story of Greece and its inheritance.

The Greek Orthodox Cathedral of the Three Martyrs, was built a century and half ago in 1862 on the site of a former church that had been converted into a soap factory by the Turks. It stands in a square where the Greek freedom fighter Ioannis Vlachos, known as Daskalogiannis, was tortured, skinned alive and executed in 1770.

The bells of the elegant Capuchin Church and Friary in Chania (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012) (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Across the street are two reminders that even the Christians of Chania had a diverse background and identity. The Archaeological Museum is housed in the former Venetian church of San Francesco. It too had been converted into a mosque by the Turks, and its campanile has long vanished, but an alleyway next door leads into a courtyard the elegant Capuchin Church and Friary.

A collection of domes over an old Turkish haman or bathhouse in Chania (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

A few steps down the hill, a collection of domes over a fashionable boutique look at first like a former mosque. But this is an old Turkish haman or bathhouse.

A fashionable boutique inside an old Turkish haman in Chania (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

A harbour-front mosque

The Mosque of the Janissaries on the Venetian harbour front in Chania was built in 1645 and is the oldest Ottoman building in Crete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

As I arrived at the harbour that afternoon, I was reminded once again of those Greek children who became the Janissaries and heartbreak of the devsirme depicted in The Levy of Christian Children by Nicholas Ghyzis as I visited the Mosque of the Janissaries on the old Venetian harbour front.

With nearby restaurants and horse-drawn carriages, the Mosque of the Janissaries is a major tourist attraction (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The Küçük Hassan Pasha Mosque, also known as Yali Mosque (the Seaside Mosque) and the Mosque of the Janissaries, is the oldest Ottoman building in Crete. It was built shortly after the Ottoman conquest of Chania in 1645, when the city became the Turkish capital of Crete.

The building stopped functioning as a mosque in 1923 when the last Muslims of Chania were transported to Turkey, and the minaret was later destroyed during the bombings of World War II.

The former mihrab in the Mosque of the Janissaries, now used as a centre for arts and crafts (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

But the mosque, its dome and its mihrab or prayer niche have been restored since then, and it has become a major attraction for tourists, with restaurants clustered around its walls and horse-drawn coaches making it one of the major sites on their tours. It once housed the Chania museum, and now hosts small art exhibitions and craft stalls.

The Athena Hotel claims to be one of the oldest in Chania, founded by a local Turk in 1659 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Lost in the narrow backstreets and alleyways behind the harbour, we came across more archaeological and architectural legacies from the Ottoman era, including fountains, old mansions and the hint of minaret here, an overhanging Ottoman balcony above, or what may have been a haman over there. The Athena Hotel claims to be one of the oldest in Chania, founded by a local Turk in 1659.

A restored synagogue

The former mediaeval Jewish quarter in Chania is still known as Evraiki (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

As we strolled through the backstreets behind the harbour, we soon found ourselves in the former mediaeval Jewish quarter, still known as Evraiki or the Hebrews’ Area Here there are narrow alleys and old charming buildings, many restored as hotels, restaurants, shops and bars, and there is even a bar called the Synagogue.

A bar called the Synagogue in the old Jewish quarter of Chania (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

We strolled on a little further and found Etz Hayyim, the 15th century synagogue. It is the only surviving synagogue on the island and has been restored in recent decades. On 29 May 1944, the entire Jewish Community in Chania was arrested and held in Aghia Prison, before being transported to Iraklion. There they were forced onto a ship that was to take them to Athens and certain transportation to Auschwitz. Tragically, the Tanais was torpedoed by a British submarine near the island of Milos, and the 276 Jews from Chania were drowned, along with 500 Italian and Greek prisoners and partisans.

The Jewish cemetery in Chania was destroyed too as the Nazis set about obliterating 2,300 years of Jewish life on Crete. For over half a century, the desecrated and deserted Etz Hayyim was the sole Jewish monument on Crete. But from 1996, the synagogue was painstakingly restored, thanks to the vision and determination of Dr Nikos Stavroulakis, a Jewish art historian, museum designer and curator whose father was from Chania.

The synagogue was rededicated in 1999, and continues to function, although very rarely is there a minyan or quorum of the 10 Jewish males required for formal prayer. The names of the 276 Jews who perished are inscribed on a plaque in a garden cemetery behind the synagogue.

It is a sign of the times – and a sad reminder of the dangers brought by the rise of the far-right in Greece today – that there is a permanent police presence outside the synagogue, even when it is closed. Yet, despite two recent arson attacks, the notices outside offer an inclusive welcome and Etz Hayyim symbolises the vitality of Jewish life in Crete.

A 20th century catastrophe

The Greek flag and an inscription in Hebrew over the entrance to the Etz Hayyim synagogue in Chania (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Commenting on the bitter irony of the forced removal of the Turks of Crete, the Cretan historians Alkmini Malagari and Haris Stratidakis have said “it came at a time when there was no longer any cause of division between the two communities.”

The basis of the exchange was religion rather than language or national consciousness. Greeks were defined not as Greek-speakers, for many of them still spoke Turkish as their first language, but as members of the Greek Orthodox Church; Turks did not include those Greeks who had arrived in recent waves from Anatolia and who spoke Turkish, but instead were defined by their Muslim faith, and included, for example, Greek-speaking Muslims from Crete.

The survival of mosques and synagogues in Crete illustrates how buildings call tell our shared stories (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

It is remarkable that the two principals in the Asia Minor Catastrophe after World War I, Eleftherios Venizelos and Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, should have been born where they were: Venizelos was born in 1864 in Chania when Crete was still part of the Ottoman Empire; Ataturk was born in 1881 in Thessaloniki, and spent his childhood and his early military days in what would become the second city of Greece.

Could Venizelos have remained a Turkish citizen? Could Ataturk, who enjoyed wearing suits cut by the best Armenian and Greek tailors of the day, have become a Greek citizen had he stayed in the city of his birth?

The survival of Turkish mosques and Jewish synagogues in Crete may raise questions about whether, in telling the story of how modern Greek identity was shaped, there is a place for the contribution of Muslims and Jews to the life and culture of Greece.

But they also illustrate in stone how buildings from the past call tell the story of our shared European heritage, and can contribute too to interfaith dialogue and political reconciliation.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Church History, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin. This essay was first published in October 2012 in the Church Review (Dublin and Glendalough) and the Diocesan Magazine (Cashel and Ossory).

A day in the West Country

A glass of wine beneath a spreading tree on the lawns behind the Talbot Inn in Quemerford, Wiltshire (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Patrick Comerford

Everyone had said it was going to be a heat-wave in London on Saturday [18 August 2012], with temperatures rising to 30 or higher. But, with a day off, it seemed like a good idea to head out into the West Country.

I caught an early train from Paddington out through Slough, Reading and Swindon and through flat green and golden fields to Chippenham in north Wiltshire. From there, it was a short bus journey through farmland and fields to Calne, where I spent the best part of the day.

In cooler sunshine than London was experiencing, I enjoyed strolling around the town and walking out as far as the former village of Quemerford, which is now an extended part of Calne on the road out past the White Horse and on to Marlborough.

The gates into Holy Trinity Church, Quemerford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Quemerford House was recently placed on the market, and the old name plate on the gates has fallen off or has been removed.

But, apart from a cavalcade of vintage cars that passed through Quemerford with joy, it was a quiet and sleepy day in this part of Wiltshire, where time had little meaning.

A curious clock in Quemerford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

After a stroll out in the countryside past Quemerford Farm, I returned to the Talbot Inn in Quemerford to sip a glass of wine and to read the Guardian before walking back into Calne.

The Tounson Almshouses,dating from 1682, and Saint Mary’s Church in Calne (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

I spent some more time in Calne, walking around the Green, through Saint Mary’s churchyard and courtyard, by the 17th century Tounson Almshouses, and by Doctor’s Pond, where Joseph Priestly is said to have “discovered” oxygen while he was working as a librarian for Lord Lansdowne at the nearby Bowood estate.

I have stayed at the White Hart, on the corner of the Green, on a number of occasions in recent years, and for a moment just wondered this afternoon whether I ought to have booked in there for the night, and lingered a little longer in the West Country.

Before catching the train back to London, I strolled around the old market town in Chippenham for an hour, and through the Saturday market.

As I was about to have a sandwich in a café by the Avon, I noticed seven swans a swimming in the river. But today’s weather was so good it was difficult to think of Christmas.

Seven swans a swimming in the Avon at Chippenham (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

When I got back to Ealing Abbey, it was a balmy and bright evening. I strolled down to Pitshanger Lane and had dinner in the local Greek restaurant, Atlantis. The conversations were about Athens and Thessaloniki, Olympia and Lesbos, Rhodes and Corinth, Crete and how to get to Kastellorizo.

After the weather we’ve had over the last few months in Ireland and in England, the summer celebrations and the memories we can cherish are going to be important when it comes around again to singing about seven swans a swimming.

A reminder of the values of democracy and fair play

Who allowed these horses’ hooves to trample on the highly-protected rings of the Olympic logo?

Patrick Comerford

The opening of the 2012 Summer Olympic Games, the Games of the XXX Olympiad, has been spectacular television viewing this evening. London 2012 lasts until 12 August ... so I may just miss the chaos at Heathrow Airport and the traffic congestion of the next two weeks when I arrive on 13 August.

This evening’s creative, exuberant and imaginative pageant is less about the Olympics and Olympian values than it was about celebrating the best of being British – just as the recent jubilee celebrations in England were more about pride in being English than a resurgence in royalism.

It has been a celebration of diversity in a positive and inclusive way, balancing humour and sensitivity, history and childhood, culture and fun, comedy and music, Shakespeare and the Archers, Handel and Punk, James Bond ad Mr bean, science and art, industry and agriculture, embracing all irrespective of age, gender, ethnicity or ability. There were the armed forces and the CND logo. There was the Archbishop of Canterbury and there were Sikhs in turbans. It was much more than the Anglo-Saxon inheritance abused by the Mitt Romney campaign with racist innuendos earlier this week. And it also makes me wonder how the Cameron Government can now continue to move against the NHS?
But I was baffled to see a photograph on the official website of the Greek newspaper Kαθημερινη earlier this week of members of the Household Cavalry riding down along a reserved Olympic Lane at Parliament Square. This may have been about British pride ... but what had it to do with the Olympics Games?

Drivers are struggling with the 30 miles of Games Lanes reserved exclusively for the 82,000 Olympic athletes, officials, VIPs, sponsors and accredited journalists. The horses of the Household Cavalry were hardly rehearsing for the dressage or show jumping events, nor were those horses among the animals in last night’s opening event.

London 2012 is so tightly controlled it is a wonder that the organisers allowed the horses’ hooves to trample across the highly-protected rings of the Olympic logo. The five-ring Olympic symbol and the words “Olympic”, “Olympics”, and “Olympiad” are not just owned and controlled by the various Olympic committees, but they are protected by a web of laws and regulations that severely restrict the use of the brands in promotion and advertising and restrict who can refer to the brands and under what circumstances.

The 1981 Nairobi Treaty on the Protection of the Olympic Symbol identifies the five-colour Olympic rings as the symbol of the games, and requires nations that sign the treaty to invalidate any attempt to register that symbol and to take steps to enforce against illicit commercial use of the symbol, other than on behalf of the International Olympic Committee.

British legislation means that using certain phrases like “supporting the London Games,” “lighting the flame,” or even just “2012″ in promotions around London could run the risk of liability if they are used in a context that suggests an association or reference to the 2012 Olympics.

While the main goals are to protect the official Olympic brands and to ensure that “ambush marketers” do not undercut valuable sponsorships, the practical outcome can lead to bizarre results – with broadcasters, bloggers and and non-sponsoring advertisers often referring to the Olympics as “the games,” or some other label that often leaves the rest of us wondering at times what they are talking about.

One implication for the increasingly overlapping world of advertising, news and social networking, is for the way the games can be referred to on social networking sites, including blogs and Facebook.

Who is going to differentiate between inadvertent, inappropriate and unavoidable uses of the Olympic words, brands and marks?

Who decides what is fair comment or fair reporting, and what is an infringement?

Olympic Air is an official partner of the Hellenic Olympic Committee

What about a night at the Olympia Theatre in Dame Street in Dublin?

Or watching a movie starring Olympia Dukakis?

Or what about booking a flight with the Greek airline Olympic Air, an official partner of the Hellenic Olympic Committee?

Olympic Air was formed from the privatisation of Olympic Airlines in 2009, and has a story that goes back to Aristotle Onassis and his Olympic Airways. When Onassis was looking for a new logo for Olympic Airways, the International Olympic Committee blocked his proposed design and so a new, six-ring logo was produced in yellow, red, blue and white. The first five rings represented the five continents, and the sixth stood for Greece.

Onassis had to find a new logo after the International Olympic Committee protested about his designs

Onassis chose the Olympic name because of his passion for ancient Greece. Many of his companies carried the Olympic name such as Olympic Maritime, and he followed the same naming pattern for his ships, with names such as Olympic Legacy, Olympic Palm and Olympic Explorer.

In these days when financial priorities are over-riding political considerations, when Angela Merkel those who are clamouring for a “Grexit” forget that European democracy has its roots in classical Greece, it is a pity that many forget that the Olympics too have their roots in classical Greece.

The first Olympic track at Olympia in western Greece

I have run the Olympic tracks at two Olympic stadiums. But before you think I’m boasting or deluded, let me explain that I gently lapped two Olympic tracks – the original track in Olympia, which I visited ten years ago while I was on holiday in Zakynthos in 2002, and the Panathenaic Stadium when I was on one of my many working visits to Athens in 1990s.

In all the fuss over the next few weeks we should not forget that Greece is the home of the Olympics, having invented the games in 776 BC as a sports festival in ancient Olympia, and having hosted the first modern Games in Athens in 1896.

The stadium in Olympia is part of a larger archaeological site. The track is 212.54 metres long and 28.5 metres wide and surrounded by grassy banks on all sides. All the seats were made of mud and the stadium could hold 50,000 spectators.

The Panathenaic Stadium in Athens on a €100 Greek commemorative coin

The Panathinaiko or Panathenaic Stadium in Athens, also known as the Kallimarmaro (Καλλιμάρμαρο, the beautifully marbled), is one of the oldest stadiums in the world, and hosted the first modern Olympic Games in 1896. It was rebuilt from the remains of the classical Greek Panathenaic stadium, and but was used originally not for the Olympic Games but for the athletic events in the Panathenaic Games.

The stadium was remade in marble by Lycurgus in 329 BC and is the only major stadium in the world built entirely of white marble. It was enlarged and renovated by Herod Atticus in 140 AD, and could seat 50,000 spectators. It was refurbished in 1870s, and again in 1895 for the 1896 Olympics.

The stadium is in central Athens, beside the National Gardens and the Zappeion, close to the Temple of Olympian Zeus, and Hadrian’s Gate, and a short walk from Syntagma Square and the Greek Parliament.

The Panathenaic Stadium in Athens was recently selected as the main motif for a high value Greek €100 collectors’ coin.

The home of the Greek Olympic Team in the Olympic Village ... they may feel at home, but are they planning on brining the Parthenon Marbles back to Athens?

The Panathenaic Stadium in Athens was used for some of the events at the 2004 Olympics in Athens, which marked the peak of an era of triumph and affluence in Greece that has vanished in the present economic crisis.

Eight years later, the Greek team that led all the nations into the London Olympic Stadium tonight, is the smallest in 20 years. The team of 103 athletes – 65 men and 38 women – have complained in recent weeks about the poor conditions in which they have trained, and many of them have had to cover their own expenses.

The team’s budget has been cut by over two thirds, and many Greek commentators have asked how prepared the athletes are and whether they can equal the four medals Greece won in Beijing in 2008.

“The crisis hit and the Greek state could not provide assistance. They told us we would get €30 million to help the athletes prepare, but gave us €8 million and then nothing,” says Spyros Capralos, president of the Hellenic Olympic Committee. The Greek Athletics Federation cannot cover its own needs and provided no assistance either. Private sponsors stepped in and partially covered the athletes’ needs.

In the past week, the Greek Olympic squad has lost two of its high-profile athletes. The world indoor high jump champion, Dimitris Chondrokoukis, was dropped yesterday [Thursday] after testing positive for banned anabolic steroid Stanozolol. He was one of Greece’s high hopes for a medal, and this was the second blow in two days for Greece,

The offending and offensive racist tweet

The Greek triple jumper Voula Papachristou was expelled from Greek Olympic team on Wednesday for her comments on Twitter mocking African immigrants and expressing support for the far-right party Golden Dawn. The Hellenic Olympic Committee ruled her comments were “statements contrary to the values and ideas of the Olympic movement.”

Her Twitter account contains several retweets and postings of YouTube videos promoting the racist and extremist views of Golden Dawn. Commenting on the widely-reported appearance of Nile-virus-carrying mosquitoes in Athens, she tweeted: “With so many Africans in Greece, the West Nile mosquitoes will be getting home food!!!”

Several of her retweets were original tweets by Ilias Kasidiaris, one of the 18 Golden Dawn deputies in parliament. A few weeks ago, during the election campaign, he struck one left-wing woman deputy in the face and threw water over another during a TV talk show. Papachristou tweeted to Kassidiaris on his name day last week: “Many happy years, be always strong and true!!!”

Her tweets caused public outrage and anger. Democratic Left, one of the three parties in the coalition government, criticised her “racist humour” and called on the Hellenic Olympic Committee to expel her from the Olympics. “Let her make any miserable ‘jokes’ on social media while watching the games on TV. She definitely cannot represent Greece in London.”

Eventually, she posted on her Facebook page: “I would like to express my heartfelt apologies for the unfortunate and tasteless joke I published on my personal Twitter account. I am very sorry and ashamed for the negative responses I triggered, since I never wanted to offend anyone, or to encroach human rights.”

It was a post designed to save her place in the Greek Olympic squad. Her expulsion is a reminder not only of the Greek origins of the Olympics and the danger posed to sport by racism but also of the need to defend Greece’s democracy and Greece’s place in modern Europe. As I watched the Greek athletes appropriately leading all the national teams into the stadium tonight, I hoped these ideas were not lost on the nations that followed them into the stadium in alphabetical order.

Speaking to the Athens News last week, the Greek Olympic mission chief, Isidoros Kouvelos, spoke of the importance of the Games for Greek society. “The Greeks are also fighting their own battle. The athletes will try to outdo themselves, because these people, this country, needs to have a success and needs hope,” he said. “Sport can give people hope.”

The doorways of Rethymnon open into the story of a town

The impressive Venetian doorway at No 12 Tsouderon Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Patrick Comerford

The streets of Rethymnon have such a rich architectural heritage that familiarity almost makes it possible to walk under Venetian archways and Ottoman kiosks or sahnisia and art noveau balconies or to pass by the doorways of once impressive mansions without casting a second glance.

The doorways and doorframes of Rethymnon are among the most characteristic features of the architecture of the old town, with their arched or straight lintels, integrated capitals, bases and cornices of porous stone, all part of the rich Renaissance heritage of this Greek island city. In no other city in Greece is it possible to see such a rich treasury of forms and decorative carving.

Much of the old town was rebuilt after the great fire of 1571, and so most of the older doorways have disappeared. Those that have survived are mainly from the last quarter of the 16th century or later. It is possible to see isolated examples of Gothic in a number of doorways, as well as the first four of the five orders of Italian Renaissance architecture – Corinthian, Ionic, Doric, Compound and Tuscan.

Details on the pillars at No 12 Tsouderon Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

A few paces down from the Pepi Studios, where I was staying until the end of last week, No 12 Tsouderon Street has an impressive Venetian doorway, flanked by a pair of Doric doorposts.

Details on the pillars at No 12 Tsouderon Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The space between is filled with horizontal layers of relief showing leaves, fruit and honeycombs or honey bees.

Bees or honeycombs on the doorway at No 12 Tsouderon Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The rounded triangles are filled with slender stalks and flowers in relief, and the lintel is decorated in a similar way.

The elaborate door at No 154 Arkadiou Street, once the largest private residence in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Around the corner from Tsouderon Street, Arkadiou Street has a rich collection of Venetian mansions and doorways. The three-story palazzo at No 154 Arkadiou Street is a Venetian building of outstanding beauty, and once the largest private residence in the old town.

The elaborate doorframe has columns extending from octagonal bases that support the architrave and the triangular pediment.

The bilingual inscription on the doorway, in both Greek and Turkish, has the date 25 November 1844 but this is clearly much later than the rest of the building, dating perhaps from renovations almost 180 years ago.

The doorway is all that remains of No 48 Arkadiou Street, yet it is one of the most richly decorated doorways in the old town (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Further east along the street, Pattakou Hani at No 48 Arkadiou Street, and Botonis Hani at No 50 Arkadiou Street, date from the last years of the Venetian era. They were used as saddlers’ shops until they were bought by the Ministry of Culture, but they still await restoration.

All that remains at No 48 is doorway. It is one of the most richly decorated doorways in the old town, but is almost hidden in the corner formed by a protruding building built next door. The capitals on the jambs are Corinthian, while those on the columns are of an individualistic nature, with strong Gothic elements.

The tall doorposts end in a semicircular lintel, and the rounded triangles are filled with winged cherubim in relief. The keystone takes the rich shape of an acanthus.

Until about a century ago or perhaps even later, there was a Greek-language inscription on the frieze, and a square fanlight between the porous stone lions which are now in a ruinous condition.

No 50 Arkadiou Street may have been the most impressive small Renaissance mansion in (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Next door, the Botonis Hani at No 50 Arkadiou Street may once have been one of the most impressive of the small Renaissance mansions – not only in Rethymnon, but in all of Greece. This house was built in the late 16th or early 17th century.

The Turkish doorway at No 198 Arkadiou Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Back west along the street, No 198 Arkadiou Street has a Turkish doorway, with plants carved on the capitals and blossom in low relief, clearly symbolic of the alem – the symbol of the Ottoman Empire – in the rounded triangles.

The Turkish doorway at No 12 Aghia Barbara Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

There is another Turkish doorway too at No 12 Aghia Barbara Street, with blossoms in the rounded triangles curving into a crescent at the bottom.

The Venetian doorframe at No 30 Vernardou Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The Venetian doorframe at No 30 Vernardou Street is one of the richest in Rethymnon, with a Latin inscription: Virtutue fulcida domus MCCIX Kal Iunii, ‘Virtue illuminates the house, Calends of June 1609.’

The doorway is unique in the town, ending with a pediment with rich carved decorations. The coat-of-arms of the Clodio family can still be seen in the in the centre of the tympanum. The remaining space is filled with leaves and flowers in relief.

The entrance to the Turkish bath or hamam at No 25 Radamanthyos Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The decaying doorway at No 25 Radamanthyos Street is closed and locked. But hidden behind it is town’s only surviving Trkish bath or hamam.

The doorway at No 47 Rhadamanthyos Street is one of the oldest in the town (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

No 47 Rhadamanthyos Street is a fine example of plain doorposts and an arched doorway – the simplest style of doorway in Rethymnon and perhaps one of the oldest surviving doorways in the old town.

The simple doorway at No 56 Niki Foka Street (Photograph: Parick Comerford, 2012)

At No 56 Niki Foka Street, there is a simple doorway with a straight lintel .

The restored house at Nos 66 and 68 Niki Foka Street has a doorway with Corinthian pillars (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The restored Venetian private house at Nos 66 and 68 Niki Foka Street has a doorway with Corinthian pillars rising to well-made capitals. The two rounded triangles are filled with the heads of warriors in relief.

Part of the frieze of the classical-style composition has survived with the last three letters of a lost Latin inscription: “...lus.”

The Corinthian capitals of the doorway at No 61 Tombazi Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The capitals of the doorway at No 61 Tombazi Street are Corinthian and there are heads of warriors in relief in the triangles.

This theme, which is heraldic rather than military, helps to date the building because it first featured in Italian architecture in the late 16th century

No 12 Koronaiou Street has one of the more interesting Turkish doorways in Rethymnon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The doorway at No 12 Koronaiou Street is one of the more interesting Turkish doorways in Rethymnon. It consists of pairs of jambs and columns, and is richly-decorated with plant designs. There are flower pots in the rounded triangles and above the capitals, and there is a vine with grapes in the frieze.

This kind of decoration was not common in Renaissance architecture. Instead, it shows the Turkish love of nature.

The Corinthian doorway of the Church of Saint Francis ... Rethymnon’s only example in of compound capitals (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

The excessive decorations of the Corinthian doorway of the Church of Saint Francis could almost be described as ostentatiously vulgar. But the doorway has the only example in Rethymnon of compound capitals – one of the five orders of Italian Renaissance architecture that I referred to earlier.

The architrave is in a number of overlapping levels, and the large acanthus flower on the keystone is worked in the direction of the ground, which is worth comparing with the keystone at No 48 Arkadiou Street.

The monumental doorway at Santa Maria Church indicates the splendour of the former Augustinian church (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Finally, the monumental doorway at Santa Maria Church – which the Turks converted into the Nerantzes Mosque – has survived intact and is an indication of the splendour of the former Augustinian friary church.

The door may have been modelled on the style of a Roman triumphal arch, which inspired many Italian renaissance architects. A pair of columns, of semi-circular section, with Corinthian capitals, flanks the wide entrance, with tall and narrow recesses in the intervening gaps.

The semi-circular arch is supported on a pair of pillars with simple capitals, and leads up to an emphasised corbel, which takes the place of a keystone. Unlike the pillars, which have no bases of their own, the columns stand on their own plinths. Above the capitals is the entablature, with architrave, dividing band and horizontal cornice, which is not a single unit but has two small recesses above the niches.