1941 magazine article about Turkey’s Russian Frontier, people, history, etc WWII

Description: Selling is a 1941 magazine article about: Turkey’s Russian Frontier Title: On the Turks' Russian Frontier Author: Edward Stevenson Murray Subtitled "Everyday Life in the Fastnesses between the Black Sea and Ararat, Borderland of Oil and Minerals that Hitler Covets ” Quoting the first page “My friend Hassan Effendi lives deep in Asia Minor, far east of Istanbul. His little mountain village clings precariously to a steep slope. A roaring torrent tumbles below the town. Peaks of northeastern Turkey isolate Artvin from the outside world. News filters in slowly. Swarthy Laz adventurers come up from the Black Sea coast to trade split-hilted knives for Artvin bearskins. Dark-eyed Georgian smugglers sneak across the snowy Russian border. Now and then a strange donkey driver happens in from the south. If he has worked on the Asian caravan route past Ararat, he carries bits of news about fellow Mohammedans in Iran (Persia), Afghanistan, and India. An old man is Hassan Effendi. His years of toil are over. But, while awaiting the call of the Holy Cupbearer, he still preserves a happy interest in his friends and the world about him. Life has been generous, granting him many sons. It was through Ismail, his youngest son and my student at Robert College, beside the Bosporus, that I came to visit him in his highland home. In June I sailed out of the Bosporus toward the Caucasus. My first sample of Hassan Effendi's old-style Eastern hospitality came when our coastal steamer dropped anchor at the eastern end of the Black Sea, once sequestered but now a land of oil and potential turmoil. Beyond the next promontory lay Batumi and Russian Georgia, which Germany covets. As the rowboat grounded on the pebble beach, a smiling Turk, wearing a black fur cap and a silver-hilted dagger at his belt, came forward, grasped my hand, and carried it to his forehead. "Hassan Effendi awaits you; I bring you his salaams." For two days we rode through dark tunnels in semitropical undergrowth. Finally, fording a rushing mountain stream, we zigzagged up a long, steep slope and halted at the summit of a sharp ridge. Far below us Artvin sprawled in a spotlight of sun. In the depths of the valley a streak of silver wound in and out. Somewhere beyond the maze of white-capped peaks ran the Turko-Russian border. As we drew up before the garden gate, Ismail came out to greet me with warmth, but without effusion. In an upstairs parlor he stood respectfully at attention when his father entered, clad in a flowing silk gown. "You are welcome, Effendi," said the old gentleman with simple formality. He bowed low while shaking my hand in both of his. Then" without another word, he slid out of his slippers, settled himself cross-legged on the divan, and motioned me to a seat beside him. There followed a few moments of polite silence. Suddenly Hassan Effendi turned and greeted me again. He called for coffee and cigarettes, the adjuncts of Turkish hospitality, and began the extended and searching inquiries which are the cornerstone of Eastern courtesies. Hassan Effendi's two-storied manor was not only a home but a tribal headquarters. The patriarch occupied only a small room in the big, rambling building. Another wing was taken over by the sons of the household and their families. Numerous other rooms, which opened out on the long L-shaped hallways, were kept for guests. Furnishings were few, serving necessity and comfort. I soon sensed that people, not possessions, constituted this home. A Turk treats his house as a glorified tent. Wherever he happens to be-in a train, on a ship, or by the, bank of a stream-provided he has a basket of food and an armful of rugs, a Turk can sit himself down, arrange his few possessions about him, and play house in a charming and convincing manner. The family nucleus consisted of Hassan Effendi and his wife, their sons, daughters, grandchildren, and in-laws. More or less permanent boarders included several orphaned cousins, two widowed aunts, Hassan Effendi's aged brother, and an old friend of the family. Finally, there were the ubiquitous distant cousins and friends who, in groups or singly…" 7” x 10”, 26 pages, 21 B&W photos These are pages from an actual 1941 magazine. No reprints or copies. 41I2 Please note the flat-rate shipping for my magazine articles. Please see my other auctions and store items for more old articles, advertising pages and non-fiction books. Click Here To Visit My eBay Store: busybeas books and ads Thousands of advertisement pages and old articles Anything I find that looks interesting! Please see my other auctions for more goodies, books and magazines. I’ll combine wins to save on postage. Thanks For Looking! Luke 12: 15 Note to CANADIAN purchasers: Since 2007 I've only been charging 5% GST on purchases. Thanks to a recent CRA audit I must change to the full GST/HST charge. Different provinces have different rates, though most are just 5%. My GST/HST number is 84416 2784 RT0001 Powered by eBay Turbo Lister

Price: 14.24 CAD

Location: Hubbards, Nova Scotia

End Time: 2024-09-23T08:36:53.000Z

Shipping Cost: 1.66 CAD