By Antonis Antoniou
At the English School
In 1954, a fellow villager voluntarily offered lessons to 13 students from the village to prepare us for the English School. Two of us passed — myself and Georgios Elias. There were two main reasons I attended ES:
First, the English School had a strong reputation. It was a government-run school. Graduates — even those who left before finishing fifth form — easily found jobs.
Second, my cousin Michalakis Ierodiakonou was a teacher at the school and spoke to my father. At the time, another villager, Kyriakos Christofi, was also a student there. In 1954, I proudly enrolled at the English School.
It had students from all over Cyprus — Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots. It was a completely different experience. We were spoken to in English, which made a strong impression on me. During my first year, I stayed at the ALKS boarding house in a room with 26 people.
I slept next to Aziz and Erdogan, both from Paphos. We never talked politics. Our relationship was always excellent. One example:
One time I caught the flu in the boarding house. A nurse (matron) looked after us and moved me to the infirmary for 3–4 days. Erdogan came to visit me every morning and evening — we chatted, and he even taught me some Turkish. That’s how close we were.
Joining EOKA
In May 1957, a teacher in Koma tou Yialou swore me into EOKA. I was 14 years old. My father had no idea I had joined.
When I returned to ES in September 1957, the EOKA coordinator “T.N.” — a quiet student from Dali — approached me and said I would be responsible for the three boarding houses. He requested complete secrecy.
I was among the first students at ES to join EOKA. Most of those active at the school weren’t formally organized but acted out of patriotism. From 1957, I was the one who swore in new ANE/EOKA student recruits at ES.
One day, two students from the Pancyprian Gymnasium came — one of them was Manolis Christofides. They asked us to create a hiding place for leaflets. We dug a hole near a tree north of the school, close to the kiosk, and placed a rusty tin inside. We covered it with a rock. Every Friday, we’d go to retrieve leaflets and orders.
I received instructions from people using the codenames “Agelaos” and “Agamides.” They left thin paper sheets — like cigarette paper — with instructions in the cache. I would distribute the leaflets to two boarders: one placed them on the first floor, and one on the ground floor — always in the early morning.
The goal was to educate ES students on Hellenic-Christian ideals and that the struggle was for Cyprus’s union with Greece. I followed orders to the letter.
Instructions also came from PEKA/EOKA. At the time, it was believed that Tassos Papadopoulos was the author. I gave the leaflets to trusted students so they could be informed and prepared with answers. The leaflets included Q&A sections to counter dissenters.
I was familiar with this process — back in my village, where there was a strong leftist movement, I was responsible for an ANE/EOKA group of 8–9 people.
Sometimes, we got into debates with classmates, especially those who supported Russia and criticized capitalism. We had to defend capitalism. But we were just 13–15 years old and easily radicalized. In 1958 especially, we were suspicious of everyone. We had no proof, but we believed some teachers and students were informants. Some students were also pro-British. I thought they came from poor families and saw ES as a chance to climb socially.
Strike team
Following orders from T.N., I formed a strike team. Members included myself, Giorgos Hatzikostis (from Katokopia), Zinos Savva (from Peristeronopigi), Christakis Polykarpou (from Morphou), Pampou Schizas, and Haris Theocharides — son of our cook Christos. Haris was especially helpful because he had access to fuel, which we used to make Molotov cocktails.
The instructions allowed us to act on our own initiative. Whether by command or initiative, we placed Molotovs. Our proposal was that the strike team should set fires.
On Sundays, we prepared the bombs in the cook’s storeroom. We used buckets of petrol to soak bags, sealing bottles with them. We used flammable strips as fuses — though sometimes they failed to ignite. We always targeted the assembly hall with Molotovs.
We’d only set fires on Sundays, making sure the rooms were open. Our aim was to burn down the entire English School. That’s how we believed we were helping the struggle. We never thought about the consequences for ourselves.
The arrest
In March 1958, as every Friday, we collected the leaflets and orders. I gave the leaflets to Zinos (one of my best collaborators) and Hatzikostis, asking them to keep them in their lockers, even though orders said I should keep them myself. I told them to distribute them in the coming days.
A few days later, on Tuesday, teacher Matthews came with staff and demanded locker inspections. They found bundles of leaflets in Zinos’s and Hatzikostis’s lockers and arrested them. Nothing was found in mine. Polykarpou had orders and swallowed them. He was interrogated too. It was clear the authorities had inside information.
On Friday, they arrested me — despite not finding anything on me. They took me to Serayi Police Station. Around 6:30 that evening, I was brought before a British investigator. He said he knew I was a good boy and asked me to talk. I told him I knew nothing.
He said Hatzikostis had claimed I gave him the leaflets. I said Hatzikostis was lying. The questioning continued politely until suddenly he slammed his hand on the table and slapped me twice. I started crying, and he sent me back to the cell.
On Saturday, I was brought back. He placed a pistol on the table and asked, “Do you know what this is?” I said no. He slapped me again and sent me back to the cell.
On Sunday morning, a policeman said that ES teacher Kostaras had called and gave a good reference for me, saying I was a good kid and might be released. Indeed, I was freed at 10:30 that night. I didn’t know where I was and had no money. I walked and ended up on Ledra Street. Eventually, I returned to the dormitory around 1:00 AM and went to sleep. But the next day, Monday, I wasn’t spared a caning from the headmaster, Griffin.
Looking back, I believe Zinos and Hatzikostis didn’t talk. Zinos sent me a message asking to visit him, but I didn’t go. I didn’t attend their trial either, out of fear. Zinos was sentenced to 6 months in prison, and Hatzikostis got one year. I heard Zinos later moved to Africa, but I lost track of him. Hatzikostis died a few years ago.
Departure from the English School
By 1958, the idea of leaving ES was gradually taking root. The decision was ultimately made by PEKA, and the order came orally.
In early summer 1958, PEKA/EOKA instructed us to urge Greek Cypriots to leave the English School. I informed the others that we’d received the order to leave. T.N. brought us the statement saying we were leaving ES to receive a Greek-oriented education.
I was one of the first to sign and, as instructed, sent it to the newspaper. I didn’t inform my father.
Manolis Christofides sent three students from the Pancyprian Gymnasium to warn/threaten the ES headmaster not to stop students from leaving or else he would “get it.”
There, they met the school secretary, Loizides, who told them: “Boys, go home and let our students get an education and find a job.”
I left ES and went to Rizokarpaso Gymnasium. The principal there examined me and placed me in the fourth form — not the fifth.
The school’s structure, teaching, and atmosphere were deeply disappointing.
When students found out I had come from ES, no one in my class would speak to me. They didn’t understand where I came from or why I left.
I was seen as a "little Englishman." One teacher even told me: “Now I will make you a real Greek.”
Memories from the Pedagogical Academy
In 1960, while I was in the fifth year at Rizokarpaso Gymnasium, I received a phone call from a member of EOKA who told me that the Pedagogical Academy (PA) would soon be accepting new student-teachers. He urged me to complete secondary school, as EOKA was forming groups with the aim of gaining admission to the Academy.
The following year, I sat the entrance exams. I performed well in mathematics, thanks to private lessons from Ierodiakonou, but not as strongly in other subjects. Despite that, I was called in by the Academy's director who told me:
“You did well in the interviews, but your written results were barely passing. Do you know why we accepted you?”
I replied that I didn’t. He grew irritated:
“You know very well. Do you know someone named Kostas Christodoulides?”
He had written a confidential recommendation for me. At the time, the Academy sought background information on all candidates. Those with leftist affiliations were typically rejected at the interview stage.
The years 1963–64: tensions and mobilisation
During my time at the Pedagogical Academy, in the years 1963–64, an officer from the Hellenic Force in Cyprus (ELDYK) summoned all male students and informed us that Turkish Cypriots were preparing for an attack. We were instructed to form defence groups, which, we were told, were being organised under the direction of Polycarpos Giorkatzis.
Cypriot army officers trained us each night on the Academy grounds. The “Sacred Battalion” of the PA was created and became part of Giorkatzis’ wider network. On 8 March 1964, the battalion was deployed to Paphos, where we took part in the battles of Moutallos. One of my fellow students was killed and others were injured.
On the streets of Nicosia
One day, I was on armed patrol with six others outside the Academy, on Kallipoleos Street in Nicosia. We had been given lists of Turkish Cypriot vehicle registration numbers and were stopping all cars driven by Turkish Cypriots for searches — both of the vehicles and the individuals.
At one point, we stopped a car carrying five Turkish Cypriots. As they were being lined up against a wall for inspection, one of them suddenly called out:“Andreas! Andreas!”
I looked closer and recognised him — it was Mustafa, a friend and former classmate from the Teacher Training School, who had stayed on and completed his studies there.
I asked him what he was doing. He told me he now worked at the Secretariat and lived in Limassol. I then turned to the others and told them to let the group go.
