Autumn 1953 / Yücel Akyürek

 

AUTUMN 1953

 

An American Boarding School at the Skirts of Erciyes, Central Anatolia

 

This story is based on its Turkish version “Sonbahar 1953” published in my book “Yolboyu” by Yeni İnsan Yayınevi, July 2019, Istanbul

 

A couple of years ago, my trip extended to the Ihlara valley in Cappadocia. When I found myself at the bottom of the canyon, meandering trough the dry Central Anatolian plain, I felt a strong sensation of belonging there. The banks of the peacefully flowing stream were rich with vegetation of all kinds, taking shelter from the hot summer sun and cold winter winds on the terrain. On both sides were the early Christian chapels dating from the same Roman era carved into tuff cliffs, similar to those found elsewhere in the Goreme area.  The rocks housing the chapels had split into random chunks, which looked like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be re-assembled.

 

Ihlara Valley near Cappadocia, Yucel Akyurek

                                                      

As I strolled along the stream surrounded with green yellow and crimson colors of autumn, I came across shrubs with few surviving leaves offering brownish-purplish clusters of small fruits that looked very familiar. Without hesitation I took a handfull to eat. The taste unmistakenly was of those long forgotten small tough berries, that grew on cliffs at Kayabashi in Talas* sixty years ago. Did it have a name? I am not sure, dardagan maybe. The seeds were disproportionately larger then its edible parts. It tasted somewhere between carob and oleaster abundant in the region and required equally extensive chewing labor to extract a feeble sugary taste from. The taste, odors and colors took me to my eleventh autumn in 1953.

Although Turkey was not directly involved, those were years of recovery from the destruction of the II. World War. Daily ration stamps, still visible throughout the pages of our birth certificates indicating that bread and two meters of cloth allocated, were reminiscent of the severe shortage of  food and  other essentials of our early childhood. The Korean War was just over with more than one thousand casualties on our side; the Truman Doctrine was in effect; and Turkey was the new member of NATO. Stalin’s expansionist claims over the straits of Marmara and Turkey’s north eastern provinces, was the basic fear behind the anti communist frenzy concurrent with the  McCarthyist movement in USA.

The rising profile of the Turkish Democratic Party in 1950 kindled hopes for a new form of democracy after 25 years of single party administration. But  it also brought  a loose climate of political, economic and a religious opportunism as opposed to the secular soberness of the founding years of the Republic and of Ataturk’s reforms .

Throughout the summer, streets were ringing with two unusual tunes. The first one Avara Mu (I am a drifter) was an Indian film music that gained instant popularity like that of the Pied Piper of Hamelin . It was an appeal to the deep rooted sentiments of fatalism and submission which would evolve into a cult of self pity to be called “arabesque” in later years. The second one was an unsophisticated propaganda song outpouring from radios, hailing America as the true and eternal friend in the strugle for freedom:

Amerika, Amerika

Turkler dunya durdukca 

Beraberdir seninle

Hurriyet savasinda      

Ankara, Istanbul, Vasington,

İzmir, San Fansisko...

Industry was at an infant stage with sugar and textiles to start with. The Kayseri Airplane Factory, defying all common reasoning, was an outstanding reflection of the progressive spirit of the Republic. It produced more than 100 planes in joint venture between 1932 and 1940 until it was finally reduced down to a maintenance plant in 1950. 

My father was an engineer working for the Highways Department in Samsun, a relatively large city along the the Black Sea coastline. I think he knew about Talas American Boarding School for Boys through his relatives in his hometown Safranbolu and was prepared to afford the fees for the school despite having my younger brother nine years old and my baby sister next in line.

When my father and I stepped onto the slow freight and passenger train bound for Kayseri, which was the only sensible means of transport in those years, I didn’t know what to expect until we arrived at  upper Talas and suddenly saw the weird looking building for the first time right in front of me.

                        

                            Main school building of Talas standing in solitude. Mustafa Senalp 

    

In the dormitory on fourth floor we hastily spread the mattress over the bed, placed the wrappings under to be utilized in spring for its trip back home,  stored my things in the cupboard, and placed the empty suitcase above.

I tried to view myself in sympathy through my father’s eyes when saying goodby, but he decidedly walked away showing no sign of hesitation or regret.  The first and the most difficult part of my journey, which would last for three and a half months until the end of the first semester, had thus begun.

                                                            

                             The Majestic erciyes 3916 m. above the sea level as viewed from 

                                              the Kayseri Plain,  Bill Mathews 1952-54** 

Staring mesmerised in solitude down to the Kayseri plain from Kayabashi, the clouds of dust were turning into dirty yellow in the light of the slowly setting sun. The magestic Erciyes, with its snowy peak dominating the road to Talas was now hidden behind Alidagh a relatively minor foot hill in the range. A swarm of small grass flies was floating in the air lazily, keeping at a distance from my face. I felt for a moment as if time was coming to a halt, entangled in the distant sound of ezan, the call for prayer. An aching, almost saline, sensation of gloom and boredom came to settle in my soul, as if to stay there forever.

The big bell, recovered from one of the old Greek Orthodox or Armenian churches in the vicinity called for supper.  Years after my graduation when I visited Talas, I remember wondering whether it was me growing or the bell loosing size.  The sound of the bell, echoing from the hills around, could follow us into every cove as if to grab us by the ears and bring us back to school.

                                                          

                                          Alidagh a small foothill of the Erciyes range, 

                                      as viewed from the school yard,  Mathews 1952-54

The first sight of the dining hall was assuring. The water pitchers and the drinking cups of copper, hammered to shape and polished with tin, were already on the starched table cloths with napkin rings of the same make.  Nothing seemed alarmingly different, exept for Miss. Wilhelmine Corman, who was standing near the food service window more like a living statue of authority and discipline than a motherly symbol of love and affection. She was in charge of all household works. Although I do not ever remember seeing her smile, she never showed any signs of unhappiness on her face either. With a big cluster of keys she carried along and with her plain dress like that of a nun, she generated an air of reverence and intimidation. She would surprisingly turn into a most affectionate person when she was attending to her dogs Lady and Lord and taking sick students over from our nurse Miss. Hemingway at the infirmary for the night. If rumors were true, she must have found refuge in Talas with Americans, after leaving Germany for some reason during or after the Second World War.

                                                        

                               Dining Hall with Miss Corman standing by the service window,

                                                              Bill Mathews 1952-54

 

When the last light of the first day was slowly fading away, the misery accompanying me to the dormitory, was turning into desperation. Although my head was buried under the blanket I could still hear sounds of crying from the neighbouring beds.  I would not cry out loud no matter what. Two boys at the far end, who came from the same city, were jumping up and down noisely on their beds displaying exeggerated joy in support of each other. It was obviously a pretence to cope with the situation but all the same, acting out of line would later have its consequences! 

During the first night I was able to hold myself without a trip to the toilettes, which were located outside the building on the other side of the play field for sanitary reasons. But what about tomorrow or the day after? It was not possible to keep it up forever. The next day I was awake waiting for someone to go first and immediately took after him.  We started descending the floors getting support from each others presence and from the reverberating sounds of our footsteppes on stone flooring. The walls of the building inside and out were of beige volcanic tuff without plaster and paint, chiselled to form a rough texture. The 25 Watt electric light bulbs placed at every other stair landing, was slightly more effective than an oil lamp on walls and on the grey mozaic flooring.

Although I did not have a devout background, I could not help looking for hypothetical creatures to pop up around every turn of the staircase: goblins guarding the burried treasures,  demons slapping those who urinated onto the mosque walls, or ghosts chasing people in darkness. For a moment I thought, “should I have taken with me the small Koran from under my pillow just in case”, but immediately dismissed the idea for it would be highly improper to have it with me where I was going. God, knowing all our thoughts by definition, would certainly consider my respectful attitude.

Repeatedly reciting a prayer from memory, we made it to the exit of the building where the bell was. The outside of the entrance was also lit by 25 watt light bulbs which cast exponentially growing shadows as we moved further away to cross the whole length of the playing field. Waiting for each other to return, I had already found my first friend.

Together with another boy, who also had discovered the delight of the brownish-purplish berries before the others, we quickly finished the ones that were within easy reach on the rocks at the left side of Miss Corman’s oval shaped house. Now it was time for others further away, which needed co-operation. Holding hands in confidence and testing the strength of the small tree, we extended out a meter or so for the berries from the cliff, which was around six or seven meters higher than the ground below. I now had a second friend.

                             Kayabashi Cliff with Miss Corman’s oval house and shrubberies, 

                                                                    Tuncay Sergen

                                                         

The feelings of gloom and despair were gradually giving way to the curiosity of discovering our surroundings. First of all, the school grounds did not have any strict borders. The walls around to retain terraces were built without any binding mortar. The whole area around the school, within the range of the sound of the bell, over half a kilometer in radious, was totally ours to play in. This area covered rolling slopes, small valleys, ruins of deserted contry dwellings, and wild almond trees remnant of orchards once well cared for. The fences or the walls of the still tended vineyards were no obstacles. Outside class hours in late afternoons, how far away we could wander was for us to decide. The freedom of roaming around was a gift that made life tolerable at the beginning and so enjoyable later.

  

                                       The Terrain as viewed from the school back yard,

                                                               Bill Mathews 1952-54

                                     

In our first year when we were reluctant to go too far away, the flora and fauna of the the terraces within the school property full of wallnut and apricot trees were also sufficiently rich to keep an exploring mind on track.  The Monkey Garden was especially interesting. It looked like a small depression area, protected by three steep cliffs on three sides and opening to the play ground on the fourth side. The name was inspired by the ropes and the pole for climbing and the bars used for gymnastics. The place in our minds was a perfect setting for the Tarzan films very popular at the time.  Years after graduation, it was disappointing to hear that a sports hall was built on this piece of land that constituted the most vivid part of my memories of those years.

The few surviving grapes that I found among wild lilies on the terrace to the right of the main entrance were the first of the delicious Talas species that I sampled. Despite their thick peel and large seeds, they were very tasty. Knowing of course that the organized trips to the neighbouring vineyards in later years were inappropriate, we still could not help make ourselves believe that the expeditions were a sporting challenge and the grapes were a treat just like the wild berries that we freely helped ourselves with. The school administration must have had difficulty with the proprietors unless they also regarded this as a charity within tolerable limits. Lacking the ability and the courage to do so during our first year, it was more practical to buy the grapes from the old man with a hand scale who lived at the top of a hill tending the vines on the terrace.

      

                                         The vinyard at the hilltop, Bill Mathews 1952-54

The lizzards in and out of the the holes on walls and rocks with rolling eyes were fairly large.  Judging by the names given to them by older students, we had reasons to belive that they were capable of snatching our protruding body parts. Going out to the nearest ruins just outside the school grounds, poking sticks into the cracks, getting the angry vampire! bats out, and running back in panic needed at least a brave team of three.

The teaching staff was completed two days after the start of classes with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Meyering arriving with sun browned faces, noisely on a motorcycle from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.  They were cheered joyfully in English by the older students. Mr. Meyering’s red beard was gone the next day.

The courses in the prep class was not too difficult or boring. Along with our regular English courses, we were also singing in English in our music classes. Our repertoire included New England ballads, Napolitan tunes such as funiculi funicula or santa lucia, and the largo part (with lyrics Messa Dear) from Dvorjak’s New World Symphony. The music courses were basicly a training for the ears. I can confidently say today that the best way of teaching English is together with songs in English. Music classes naturally, were my favorites.

The age group of our young American teachers were somewhere between our parents and our brothers or sisters which made them much easier to communicate with. School principal Mr. Scott with Mrs. Scott were comparatively older, their two doughters preparing to go to a Turkish primary school in Lower Talas. None of our teachers seemed to be plaintive about the difficulties experienced on their part here at this rural location, farthest of the American Board Schools in Turkey: one in Tarsus, one in Izmir and the other at Uskudar / Istanbul. They have gained and kept our well deserved love and respect with their uncompromising attentiveness and consideration despite all our efforts to wear their patience down in many instances.

In one of the many get together sessions in later years when I said:

“we’ve had so much fun!”  to late Mr. Edmonds, the school pricipal succeeding Mr. Scott, in confession of our mischievous childish playfullness, he answered:

“we’ve had our part of the fun too!”, leveling us even and implying that there were no losers.

I believe that good humor is also one of the most valuable assets we have gained from Talas.

After graduation and even up to now, we have always been in close contact especially with our direct teachers and lifelong friends Robert / Dorothy Keller,  William / Jean Griswold,  and Thomas Goodrich. Throughout their career in the American Board, Kellers resided in Istanbul until very recently. Mr. Griswold and Mr Goodrich (the New Yorker in Talas) both became professors of  history who have books and other publications mainly on Ottoman Empire.

I believe that Talas had as much influence on them as it had on us. 

As days passed by, we came to realise that the difficulties we faced in our daily lives did not result so much from the lack of resources of the school, but more so from the pre-contemplated principles of a spartan education. We would gradually have to acquaint ourselves with the rules and act accordingly. Crabbings, complaints, excuses and seeking protection from others were unwelcomed. Mr. Scott and later Mr Edmonds would observe these principles, in balance with a watchful eye just in case.

Usually the older students did not cause serious problems for the younger ones. Although the student population of the whole school was only 164, a spirit of fraternal hiararchy was prevailent.  Merits for gaining respect as an elder brother included bravery, rihtfulness and being just. You were expected to accept all challenges, take sides with the rihghtious and refrain from using foul force or bullying younger ones. Getting a beating in a fair fight was no emberrassement as long as you did not chicken out or cheat. The backside of the workshop was the most approriate location to settle accounts. Nothing in Talas passed unnoticed or unaccounted for.

The first critical weeks would determine as to how you would be rated for the rest of the school years, or sometimes even for the rest of your life. I have always been been able to relate the later attitudes or the life styles of some of my school mates back to Talas years.  Friends were easy to find and easy to lose. The ability to establish and keep good relations was the best position one could take against being left out, picked on or being pushed around.  To qualify for an acceptable status among peers, it was a difficult task for an eleven year old to survive the everyday tests for worthiness, dependability and possible weaknesses. The worst part of the whole thing was that anything done could not be undone.

Talas could easily turn into a nightmare for those who were spoiled as a single child without having to share anything with their brothers and sisters;  for those who were desperate for recognition, most probably because they didn’t have it back at home; and for those who were fussy about things such as food. A slight embarrasment would accompany receiving food parcels of trifling things such as hazel nuts or pistachios fom home even if you were to share it generously with friends. Prospects of keeping everything to yourself was not a real option in the presence of others anyway.

Breaking away from all parental sentiments was an inevitable gesture for growing up!

Although the general term gicik, used to define unacceptable acts or individuals which meant smart or irritating was deterrent enough, the specific nicknames assigned were usually much more offensive. Those who had minor physical defects or those who were easily scared of dark for instance were the prime nominees. A concensus was not necessary for assigning a nickname to someone from the start. If  it suited in general once pronounced, it would swiftly spread to all and would go into effect publicly.

Nicknames were not graceful or metaphoric at all. They were usually blunt descriptions of  the misfortunes or of the perceptions. Although the worst part of nicknaming was over within a few weeks, I still had to be very careful because I was one of the two shortest boys in class. A passive or a desperate standing was usually not the best line of defence. Instead, threats of counter attack could prove to be very usefull in many instances. Sooner or later, all settlements would have to be reached through concessions. The strategic and tactical lessons I learned in Talas have proven to be very valuable throughout my whole life. 

Most probably because my father took literally the recommended list of clothings in the same school letter, or because sports outfits were not so readily available then on the markets, most of us during the first year were stuck with dark color suits which had to be worn almost everywhere. The dark blue or brown jackets that we kept on ourselves while playing tipcat or leapfrog changed color with dust and dirt. Especially when playing marbles, the knees of our pants would wear out because of frequent contact with ground. Those who could visit their parents residing in Kayseri on weekends were lucky enough to get them cleaned or changed. Mainly for this reason, I could not make peace with dark blue and brown outfits until much later in life.

We were lucky to avoid serious injuries when playing very rough games. Uzun eshek was one where the other team of players would pile on the other team acting as “donkeys” bending in a row locked to one another, until one would collapse. Enseye tokat (slap on the nape) was another that looked like a collective punishment rather than an entertainment. One would be facing the other direction in front of a crowd, trying to identify the individual who hit him at the back of his neck, to exchange positions with. No one was forced to join the game, but being left out of things was not a better option. Needless to say, those who received the worst treatment were the usual unfortunate lot.

Game of marbles required mastering. You were bound to loose at the beginning until you  acquired the required skills. We all carried in our pockets small cream boxlets to relieve the pain of the deep cracks formed on our lips and hands due to extremely dry mountain air. When we had to press our hands onto the ground to secure a stabile course for the projected marble, the blood clotted fissures covered with oily cream would mix with dust and  turn into a terrible sight. The two cloth towel rolls at the lavatories, with a length of a meter or two each, were not nearly enough to keep the hands of 164 students dry.

Winter was slowly approaching while strenghening ties with one another through mixed feelings of kindness, hostility, jealousy and reconciliation. As the days and our jacket sleeves were getting shorter, the outdoor games gradually gave way to indoor games such as Chinese Checkers and to library reading. The Illustrated Classics was a true treasure. Les Miserables, Ivanhoe and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court were my favorites.

Most of us from all grades who stayed at nights in the school over the weekends and our teachers who also enjoyed our company at leisure, all looked forward to Saturday evenings which resembled happy family gatherings. It was a time of creative joy trying to bite apples floating in water with our hands tied behind our backs, trying to whistle with our mouths full of biscuit crumbles, running faster without putting out the flame on the candles in our hands, and  frog jumping with our feet in sacks. Small theatrical performances written and staged by older boys  were other delights that we could hope to watch from time to time.                                                                 

In late afternoon, Mr. Griswold’s English class was over and it was time for his music class. He was determined to shift our minds from the Turkish sentence structure which went  in the order of  subject object verb into subject verb object  in English, and to correct our pronounciation of letter v which always mixed up with w. With our vigilant, pre-adolescent voices, we started singing laudly the little Tommy Tinker who sat on a clinker and the jingling bells on a one horse open sleigh.

     

                                                  Class singing “Jingle Bells”, Mathews

 

When I turned my eyes in the direction of the window facing the inner court, the first snow of the year was falling.

 

Yucel Akyurek

April 24, 2014, Istanbul

 

With special thanks to Tom Goodrich for his valuable input.

 

 * Talas was a boarding school for boys at intermediate high school level first set up by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (Board) in 1880’s at a small settlement near Kayseri, located in Central Turkey. It operated until 1967 when it was closed.

 

** Bill Mathews was was a schhool teacher in Talas and later a doctor in Talas Clinic. He has a remarkable collection coloured  phographs of Talas from 1950’s