It was September 1942 when my mother enrolled me in school, although I was only six. At that time, children could start going to school at the age of seven. I was turning seven on November 22nd, so my mother insisted on my registration. Well, she fought for it. Her argument was simple: losing an entire academic year because of three months was a pity.
And abracadabra, I, a six-year-old, was allowed to go school. How exciting.
I quickly learned the alphabet and started reading the first-grade book. I finished it fast and asked for another book. Soon, however, my school attendance became infrequent as I caught one after the other whooping cough, conjunctivitis, and several common colds and was most of the time confined to bed. But I managed to graduate.
Schools were closed in 1943 when Greece suffered a harsh German occupation. My mother and paternal uncle, an elementary school teacher out of work, used their time teaching me. Being eager to continuously learn more, they soon surpassed what should have been introduced in the second class, and we continued with the third and fourth class materials.
In the fall of 1944, schools finally opened, and according to regulations, I had to enroll in the second grade. I soon realized that I knew what was taught. Being bored, I raised my hand and told the teacher that I already knew what she was teaching us. The teacher quickly managed the situation and arranged for me to be upgraded to the third grade.
But this was not the end. After a few days in the third grade, again, I knew the content of the lessons in all subjects. Without hesitation, I raised my hand and told the teacher the same story. This time unable to decide without authorization, she had to consult with school administrators. I presented a problematic case, having already skipped a grade. Still, they agreed to let me go to fourth grade, believing I would soon find the lessons difficult and return to third grade. However, to their surprise, I progressed well in the fourth grade.
Meanwhile, because many children had been taught at home, the Ministry of Education allowed all children to take an exam, the successful outcome of which would enable them to enroll to a higher grade. I took the exam and passed it!!
In this way, by the time I was nine years old, I found myself in the fifth grade. However, I represented an unwelcome anomaly. School administrators were troubled by several parents who, after finding out about my case, demanded their children be given another chance for advancement. To avoid more complications, the school administrators called my mother and told her that my recent school history was creating serious problems and that I was no longer welcome.
Not being able to attend this elementary school two blocks from our home made it impossible to find another one nearby. My mother finally managed to convince the administrators of a school to accept me, even though it was far from our house and we were not living in the school periphery. However, the difficult times prevailing throughout the country finally made my anomalous acceptance a little easier.
While it was great that a school was found, it was tough for me to walk for half an hour to go to school and another half an hour to return home. Having little physical endurance after many years of inadequate food, walking to and from school was exhausting, and I had to nap when I returned home.
Living in a family of adults, I always had to be quiet at home and needed to have some fun at school. I finally had the opportunity to act like an energetic child, often disturbing the class. My behavior, of course, was not permitted, and I was continuously punished. My palms would get swollen after being hit with a heavy ruler several times.
Elementary school graduation ended pleasantly with a party at a fellow student’s home. I felt proud because a good-looking boy in my class, whom I liked, danced all evening only with me!
However, my complicated school life was beginning. Finishing elementary school at a very young age created problems. At that time, the Ministry of Education passed a regulation that allowed a child to be admitted to secondary school at the age of twelve only. But I would be only 10 after three months.
My mother and uncle were pulling their hair in despair: they could not keep me out of school until I was twelve. They had to find a way to change my birth date. Usually, such a change would be impossible. But these were not normal times. It was the post-World War II era in Greece. In Edessa, where I was born, the Germans burned and destroyed half of the city in retaliation for a German soldier shot by Greek resistance. Later, it was occupied by Greek communist guerillas, and many official buildings were burned. Under the difficult times that Edessa had gone through, it was easy to claim that my birth certificate had been destroyed.
Because my uncle knew the local officials, he altered the records as having been born there in November 1934. This date of birth was not only two years before I was born but also one year before my parents were married.
I was delighted because I could finally go to school. Learning to be independent at this early age, I presented myself to the secondary school entrance exam, not accompanied by my mother, as all the other girls did. I felt exhilarated and successfully faced the exam.

Despite the easy entrance exam and my doing well in school, I paid a psychological prize. I spoke so fast that my teachers could not understand me. My brain was working overtime, and my speech could not keep up. They became sure I was giving the right answers only because my written assignments were correct. This condition lasted for two years.
I attended an all-girl secondary school because there were no all-gender public secondary schools then. However, although my school was a public school, several students belonged to wealthy families because of its good academic reputation and location in an affluent neighborhood.
I was lucky that, at that time, students had to wear a black uniform with a white collar. But, of course, there was a wide variety in the material of the uniform. Rich kids wore silk uniforms, and the rest of us cheap cotton ones. Moreover, social class differences could be visible in the type of shoes and the quality of jackets and overcoats. Although the uniform aimed to eradicate class distinctions, it could not achieve it.
I developed chilblains on my fingers during the first two years of school due to malnutrition. These chilblains were characterized by oozing liquid, which made it impractical for me to wear my woolen gloves as they would become soaked. Consequently, the cold weather exacerbated the issue, causing my hands to freeze.
Despite my poor clothing appearance, many rich girls befriended me mainly because I was an outstanding student willing to help them with complex school tasks.
Also, I went to the French Academy School four times a week. I felt proud because most students were male and much older than me. I excelled and was awarded wonderful books for my outstanding performance. Learning French was an opening to the wide world by being able to insatiably read French and Russian literature translated into French.
To my great delight, I soon discovered I had a photographic memory. I could look at a page for a few minutes and remember its content. It was extremely useful as I did not have to study for many hours and had time to read interesting books.
But I did not admit my great memory even to my mother, afraid she might become concerned and take me to doctors to examine me. I had this ability for a long time, and it only gradually diminished starting in my middle 40s.
At school, I was unruly. If a girl could not answer a question, I would jump in and answer it. In general, I was a pain in the neck for teachers. I could not keep quiet, moved my legs, talked to my neighbors, and changed seats whenever I felt like it. I got often punished and a few times was sent out of class. I was not bothered by the punishments; I was almost amused.
The Greek language teacher suffered the most from my noisy behavior. She got so fed up and angry with me that she finally sent me to the school principal, a woman at that time, requesting to be expelled from school.
The principal gave me a lecture but did not expel me because I was an excellent student. While the principal wished to see my mother, I convinced her it was impossible because my mother was working. In fact, she was not working, but I did not want to upset her. My mother never found out I misbehaved in school, and when, many years later, I told her, she could not believe it.
I did not hesitate to complain when I felt I was treated unfairly. I did that when the French school teacher gave me a grade far below my performance. Surprised, she said: “I admire you, such a little girl, fearlessly standing up for her rights’. I felt good because my protest resulted in fair grading.
When I was 14 years old, I got invited to a party of a fellow student, a very pretty 16-year-old. I was surprised because I was only asked to attend parties once I discovered the reason. She was interested in my 22 years old cousin and thought getting closer to me would provide an easier way for her to reach him.
At that time, I did not have nice clothes or shoes. I had to wear my aunt’s old blouses and skirts as well as shoes that never fit and ruined my feet with torturing corns. Moreover, I had psoriasis all over my arms, and my mother had spread red cream to treat my condition. She made me wear an old and worn-out pullover to cover this atrocity. With this miserable appearance, I arrived at the party and saw all girls wearing beautiful dresses and shoes. I felt lost and did not feel like talking to anyone. I did not dare to dance, wearing baggy clothes and shoes that did not fit me. I could not wait for the time to leave.
During my last year in secondary school, my life was radically changed. Every evening, I attended three hours of university preparatory classes. For the first time, I was sitting with boys in a class. And what I was learning was more difficult but more interesting than the content of school classes. In school, I kept quiet and moved to the last row, where I tried to study difficult material that could help me pass the university entrance exam.
After high school graduation, I continued studying alone in my aunt’s empty apartment. But I still needed to feel confident to take the exam for civil engineering. Instead, after looking for another month, I took the entrance exams for the Agricultural University, the content of which was similar.
Because there were 980 candidates for 60 entrants, the competition was tough. I did not expect to succeed, but it would be a helpful exercise. After a few weeks, I went to see the examination results. I could not believe my eyes seeing my name as the last successful entrant. Exhilarated, I walked from the Agricultural University to our house, a long distance requiring an hour and two different transportation means. And I did not just walk; I mostly jumped up and down.
Finally, my dream was turning real: before I was 16 years old, I would sit in the university mostly with boys (only one other girl had succeeded) more than three years older than I, and I would have to compete with them. The idea did not scare me: it exhilarated me!