Bridges: A survivor remembers a father’s good work and a Turk’s kindness
September 23, 2005
ArmeniaNow
By Marianna Grigoryan
ArmeniaNow reporter
Red and white grapes twist in the old man’s hands, slipping into the bowl. Andranik Tachikyan {who is now 94} begins separating the sweet tasted bunches of grape – one to eat, one to make wine.
Memories of a tragic childhood are kept in a pasta package . . .He was a small child when he used to take bunches into his hands squeezing them and having fun of it.
Andranik’s family was well known in the Turkish city of Tripoli (now in Lebanon). His parents and ancestors, Andranik says, were wealthy famous people possessing a big garden, a pharmacy, endless fields of wheat and tobacco and a mansion that they lost in one day when the mass extermination of Armenians began.
“My father was Dutch, his name was Pierre Van Moorsel. He was a famous man, a doctor and engineer, who had built several bridges,” tells Andranik, taking his father’s visit card from a pile of papers. “My mother was Armenian, her name – Arshaluys. She was a kind woman, who lost almost everything during the genocide and stood against all the pain and trouble alone.”
[...]
“I was small; there are some dates and names I can’t remember, but there are several things I remember very well,” tells Andranik. “The Turks on horses with swords in their hands either killed people or threw them into the river. The scene was horrifying. Although my father was a Dutch, they killed him and my older brother as Armenians. We were shocked and horrified. We did not know where to go and what to do without father. We left home, fame, wealth and took the way of refuge – starving and barefooted.”
Andranik remembers their gardener, a Turk, reached them in a difficult moment and “saved us away from the sword”.
“Our Turkish gardener was very loyal to my father and our family, because we treated all of them very well. As soon as the massacres began, he saved us, endangering his own life. He took my mother, my sister and me under a bridge my father had built,” he says. “Everything went wrong, people could not save their children from the Turks’ swords; we would not survive if it were not for the gardener.”
Andranik remembers the grass was high under the bridge and the gardener kept them there.
“We stayed there for a while. Every day our gardener would secretly bring us sunflower seeds, hazelnut oil cake and we ate it until the Americans entered Tripoli,” he says. “Then the Americans found us and sent us to Greece by sea.”
[...]
“Everyone cried by the ship, for they couldn’t believe they have been saved at last. My mother would also cry, she would squeeze us to her breast and cry loudly,” he remembers. “Then the ship took us to Greece. We move to Armenia from Greece.”
[...]
Note: Above are excerpts from the article. The full article appears here. Clarifications and comments by me are contained in {}. Deletions are marked by [...]. The bold emphasis is mine.
ArmeniaNow
By Marianna Grigoryan
ArmeniaNow reporter
Red and white grapes twist in the old man’s hands, slipping into the bowl. Andranik Tachikyan {who is now 94} begins separating the sweet tasted bunches of grape – one to eat, one to make wine.
Memories of a tragic childhood are kept in a pasta package . . .He was a small child when he used to take bunches into his hands squeezing them and having fun of it.
Andranik’s family was well known in the Turkish city of Tripoli (now in Lebanon). His parents and ancestors, Andranik says, were wealthy famous people possessing a big garden, a pharmacy, endless fields of wheat and tobacco and a mansion that they lost in one day when the mass extermination of Armenians began.
“My father was Dutch, his name was Pierre Van Moorsel. He was a famous man, a doctor and engineer, who had built several bridges,” tells Andranik, taking his father’s visit card from a pile of papers. “My mother was Armenian, her name – Arshaluys. She was a kind woman, who lost almost everything during the genocide and stood against all the pain and trouble alone.”
[...]
“I was small; there are some dates and names I can’t remember, but there are several things I remember very well,” tells Andranik. “The Turks on horses with swords in their hands either killed people or threw them into the river. The scene was horrifying. Although my father was a Dutch, they killed him and my older brother as Armenians. We were shocked and horrified. We did not know where to go and what to do without father. We left home, fame, wealth and took the way of refuge – starving and barefooted.”
Andranik remembers their gardener, a Turk, reached them in a difficult moment and “saved us away from the sword”.
“Our Turkish gardener was very loyal to my father and our family, because we treated all of them very well. As soon as the massacres began, he saved us, endangering his own life. He took my mother, my sister and me under a bridge my father had built,” he says. “Everything went wrong, people could not save their children from the Turks’ swords; we would not survive if it were not for the gardener.”
Andranik remembers the grass was high under the bridge and the gardener kept them there.
“We stayed there for a while. Every day our gardener would secretly bring us sunflower seeds, hazelnut oil cake and we ate it until the Americans entered Tripoli,” he says. “Then the Americans found us and sent us to Greece by sea.”
[...]
“Everyone cried by the ship, for they couldn’t believe they have been saved at last. My mother would also cry, she would squeeze us to her breast and cry loudly,” he remembers. “Then the ship took us to Greece. We move to Armenia from Greece.”
[...]
Note: Above are excerpts from the article. The full article appears here. Clarifications and comments by me are contained in {}. Deletions are marked by [...]. The bold emphasis is mine.
posted by Vahe Balabanian at 7:43 AM
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