I just did not go back. Not for 11 years. Seems incredible now but after 3 years in London and 2 trips around the Continent (Europe) I found Greece and my greek. I came out on holiday from London with a friend and found a job for the summer in a hotel on the island, working with my husband's cousin. We visited Marthitsa on her name day. Word went round the neighbourhood in an instant that there were some foreign girls (think 'aliens') at her house and in another instant the funny little cave like house was filled with eager 'sightseers' peering in at us, including all the male cousins. And that's how I met K.
At the time he was already in the Navy working on a destroyer and had a tiny roof top 'apartment' (think store cupboard with a bathroom) in Piraeus. We married without his parent's blessing but for me it didn't matter, we lived in the city, a long way away. With the first child came acceptance, even though it was not a boy. My mother in law told me she would not have objected if I had a dowry, a house of course, which my brothers should have provided, unbeknown to them, when we married.
Meanwhile my mother in law, through some educated neighbour, had written a letter to my parents telling them to come and take their daughter back home. They would find a nice Greek girl for their son. On the wedding day the Priest almost backed out because someone had phoned and threatened him a with a lawsuit if he carried out the ceremony. Back then Naval officers were not supposed to marry without the permission of a senior officer.
Reading all that I am gobsmacked that I am still here, legally married, 40 years later, with a Greek family!