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13
Refugees Again
Story of an Armenian Girl (Part eleven)
by Serpouhi Tavoukdjian
And so we moved to Ismid. We made the change as quickly as
possible. Now we were pitifully poor. We had hardly enough to
eat. But father was a merchant by instinct, and he again started
up a little business. A friend in the city who had known us for
a long time asked me to help in his store. He would pay me a
salary of ten Turkish pounds a week. I was glad to have the
work, but I asked that instead of paying me in cash, he would
give me that amount in merchandise. This I turned in to my
father's store, and it was more profitable to us in this form,
because it could be turned into real profit.
As the months passed, our business began to prosper once
more, and we had enough to eat and wear. It seemed that our
dream of a happy home life restored was to be realized. However,
this time of peace was not to last. War came again in 1922, this
time between Greece and Turkey, and all Armenians were ordered
to leave the city of Ismid. Great battleships were anchored in
our harbor, and warships from the United States and other
countries came to look after their national interests.
All this happened very suddenly. I was counting money in the
goods stores where I worked on afternoon, when I looked out and
saw people fleeing through the streets. I ran outside and asked
the cause of the excitement, and was told to "Hurry, hurry
fast! The Turkish soldiers are coming again." I was all
alone in the store, and we had good displayed outside under the
windows. I tired to take down these things and carry them in and
get the heavy front doors shut. But the excitement and terror
overcame me, and I feel fainting across the threshold.
A man who knew me was passing. He saw me fall, and stopped
long enough to pick me up and put me inside. Soon the owner of
the store came running. He closed and securely locked all the
doors and windows, and tried his best to help me run away. But I
was so faint and weak I could not hurry. After he had pulled me
for a distance he left me. Then I went as fast as I could, which
was really very slowly, to my own home. It was deserted-not a
soul was there. As I stood frightened before the locked door,
some Greek soldiers passed and showed me the shortest way to the
seashore of Mustafa Kemal were coming. In the distance I heard
the sound of shooting.
Then I was in a great crowd, and soldiers passed carrying
wounded men. I ran and ran, the best I could, and finally got to
the seashore, but I could not find my people. All the Armenians
waited there for several hours, wondering what next would happen
to them. But at last word came for us disperse and go home, for
the Turkish troops and had withdrawn from the city.
When I reached home, our family was reunited once more, but
only for a few hours. The next day there came another alarm. We
must again hurry to the shore. This time I could run with the
crowds who came by the shop, and was fortunate to find my own
people. There were thousands of Armenians on the shore, waiting
for small boats to carry them out to the big ships and safety.
All day we waited, and as the battle turned in favor of the
Turks, the Greek civilians came too and joined our crowd. Of
course, every one was anxious to get away. It was like a herd of
stampeding cattle.
It became late at night, and there was still a large crowd
waiting for the small boats. In our group were several of our
Seventh-day Adventist friends. As we looked back toward the
city, we could see a dull glow across the sky, and we knew that
once more our homes and everything we possessed except our faith
in God and our hope for eternal life, were gone. What a feeling
of loneliness and utter discouragement came into our heart.
Refugees again! But we could thank our heavenly Father for life
and for each other. Then, all at once, there was a place for us
in a boat. Then we were on shipboard. Now we could thank Him
also for deliverance once more.
The following day we were safely landed in the Greek port of
Tchardak. We were almost empty-handed, for we had left home in
Ismid so hastily that we brought nothing but the clothes we wore
and a little light covering for sleeping. Indeed, it is true
that all a man hath will he give in exchange for his life.
Somehow my father secured a tent, and under its shelter we
resumed life where the hand of Providence had led us. Once more
he started a little business. With the small amount of money he
had, he bought a few notions-needles, thread, stockings, and
such things. Then he and my stepbrother sold these from door to
door. Little by little he collected enough to open a small shop.
Then he found a home for us, and we were glad to go into a
house. My stepmother and I were busy always with crocheting and
knitting for the store. Also we baked cakes and cookies for
sale.
As my father's business began to prosper, and he was now
safely established outside of the domain of the treacherous
Turk, I felt that the time had come for me to do something about
my education. I had always been possessed of a great desire to
go to school again.
It was hard for father to consent for me to leave him, but
after we had talked it over and considered the matter from every
angle, he finally said I could go if arrangements could be made
to work my way. He was not able to help me financially. I was
very willing to help myself. We consulted the good pastor of our
church about the opportunities of Constantinople. He told us
that a man with whom he was acquainted, was coming to see him on
business in a few days, and promised he would tell this man
about me, and see what could be done.
The morning after this appointment I was in a hurry to see
the pastor. "Did you tell your friend about me?" I
asked, all excited.
" Serpouhi," he said, "I am so sorry. I forgot
all about you. And he is just now gone to take an early
train."
I was very much disappointed. Father and I had both been
praying that if it was the Lord's will, He would open the way.
For a moment I was tempted to wonder if the Lord, too, had
forgotten me.
But in a short time word came from the pastor that his friend
from Constantinople had returned. There was a mistake of some
sort in his ticket-I believe he had forgotten to get his
vise-and he could not go until afternoon. I have always been
sure that God sent him back, for before he left the next time he
knew all about my problem.
"You surely must come and go to school," he said.
"I will see what I can do when I reach home, and write
you."
In a few days I had a letter telling me to come to
Constantinople at once.
It was very hard to say good-by to father this time. The
tears coursed down his face, which was lined with suffering, and
holding me close, he said, "Serpouhi, if I never see you
again in this world, I will pray that we may meet in the New
Jerusalem. Let us both be faithful to the right. Let us always
be careful to do God's will. Wherever you go, little daughter,
whatever you do, remember that father is praying for you."
When I reached Constantinople, I found that the plan was for
me to live in the home of a Seventh-day Adventist minister, A.
M. Buzugherian. Therefore, though I was in a strange city, I was
not among strangers. I shall never forget the kindness of these
people nor their solicitude for my happiness. After I had been
with them several weeks, I met another friend, a nurse who had
often been in our home in Ovajik in the old happy days before
the deportation, when some of our family were ill. It was from
her, as a little girl, that I really gained my first inspiration
to be a nurse. She was glad to see me again, and asked me to
come and stay for a while with her. She would have me help her
with her work, and would teach me English. This was a real
opportunity, and I was so eager to learn that I gratefully
accepted. I stayed with this friend about a week.
At that time a Seventh-day Adventist orphanage was opened in
Constantinople. Mr. and Mrs. Aaron Larson came from America to
take charge. After they had become acquainted with me, they
asked me to come and stay with them. I did so, and helped with
any work there was to do in their home, and with the care of the
forty-five children in the orphanage. Mr. and Mrs. Larson taught
me more English and also gave me Bible studies, which I
appreciated very much.
For about a year the orphanage continued in Constantinople.
Then there was danger again from the Turks, and since all our
children were Armenian, we moved to Salonika, Greece.
At the same time when our orphanage was obliged to move, the
Armenians were also driven from Tchardak, and my father and his
family fled to Salonika with other refugees. Word was sent to
the Seventh-day Adventist church there that the orphans were
coming, and many of these friends came down to the boat to meet
us when we arrived. To my surprise, there was my father! It was
a happy reunion.
I stayed in the orphanage altogether four years. While I was
there I received a letter from a relative who had come to
America some years before. He asked me it I, too, would not like
to come to this land and go to school. I was very happy, for I
wanted so much to become a nurse. I had applied for entrance to
Greek hospitals, but there were so many Armenian girls asking to
be taken in for training that they had no room to receive me.
When I first consulted the consul, he told me that I could
not go to the United States. I was very sorry, but after two
years it was finally arranged. They were closing the orphanage
just then, and it seemed providential that the way had opened,
for I had nowhere else to go.
My father could not help me. He did not even have a home for
his family. They were with the other refugees in long,
overcrowded shed shelters, provided by the Near East Relief. I
had been earning a very little money for my work in the
orphanage, and every cent of this gave to them. My stepbrother
was also able to earn a little and helped. This gave them food,
but little more. My father did, however, manage to get together
a few handkerchiefs, some spools of thread, and thimbles,
needles, and ribbon. These he placed on a small table outside
the shelter building, and sold to the refugees. This was his
store now. He had so little!
My kind friends in America gave a few dollars each to make up
the sum of money necessary to pay my transportation. This was
sent to G. A. Greaves, the minister in Salonika. Therefore I had
my ticket when I left Salonika for Pirĉus, the port of sailing.
Also my good friends there gave me $50 American money. I had a
statement from the Greek government which served as a passport.
When I visited the consul in Salonika and got his vise, he
looked over all my papers, and told me I must have a vise by the
consul at Pirĉus; then everything would be in order, and I
could go aboard the boat.
When I visited the consul at Pirĉus, I had to speak through
an interpreter because I do not know the Greek language. I
thought he told me, after he had put on his seal, that my papers
were now finished and I could go aboard the ship. This was on
November 8, 1924.
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