| Χιλιάδες κομμάτια ελληνικών αρχαιοτήτων φιλοξενούνται στο Βρετανικό Μουσείο. Η εκστρατεία μας δε ζητάει την επιστροφή όλων αυτών. Ζητάμε την επιστροφή των Γλυπτών του Παρθενώνα στην Ελλάδα για να επανενωθεί το Μνημείο. Πιστεύεις ότι είναι δίκαιο; Αν ναι, βοήθησε να γίνει πραγματικότητα. Πες το δικό σου “BRING THEM BACK!” |
Thousands of pieces of Greek antiquities are hosted in the British Museum. Our campaign does not ask for the return of them all.
We ask for the return of the Parthenon Marbles in Greece and the Reunification of the Monument.
Do you believe this is fair? If yes, help this come about.
Say your own “BRING THEM BACK!” |
http://www.bringthemback.org
My Special Place Karitsa and the Parthenon Marbles
Arm in arm with her older sister, Peta, seven-year-old Miriam set out on foot from her grandparents' home in Karitsa just before eight in the morning to walk some five hundred metres to the village school. It would take them a quarter of an hour to negotiate the steep mountainside full of obstacles, rocks, and cliffs that were often buffeted by fierce winds. Being the littlest, and a visitor from Australia, she was not used to walking along such rugged tracks, particularly against strong winds like that.
But the effort was well worth it. Miriam had cottoned on that every day a new adventure awaited her at the one teacher school that opened its doors at a quarter past eight every morning and, like all the other schools in Greece, sent the kids back home for the day at about one in the afternoon. At the school Miriam did arithmetic, reading, spelling, grammar, history and along with all other Karitsa kids enjoyed national celebrations like 25th of March and May Day. At recess breaks, which lasted some twenty minutes, she loved playing hide and seek; darting on this and that side of the dry creek bed, behind prickly holly bushes, box elder trees and crippled trunks of wild olive trees.
Dream, dream, dream; what's in a dream...
My Special Place Karitsa and the Parthenon Marbles
Short Story written in 2000, based on childhood reminiscences at an ancestral village
By Miriam Katsambis (Aged 15)
By Miriam Katsambis (Aged 15)
But the effort was well worth it. Miriam had cottoned on that every day a new adventure awaited her at the one teacher school that opened its doors at a quarter past eight every morning and, like all the other schools in Greece, sent the kids back home for the day at about one in the afternoon. At the school Miriam did arithmetic, reading, spelling, grammar, history and along with all other Karitsa kids enjoyed national celebrations like 25th of March and May Day. At recess breaks, which lasted some twenty minutes, she loved playing hide and seek; darting on this and that side of the dry creek bed, behind prickly holly bushes, box elder trees and crippled trunks of wild olive trees.
