Through Her Eyes: An Infidel’S Perspective

By Cynthia B. Huntington

Sheila, a registered nurse and Pan Am stewardess meets a Turkish
Professor in Istanbul. After a whirlwind romance they marry at her
Yorkshire, England home and move to Istanbul to live with his parents
while their apartment is completed. To Sheilas surprise, his cosmopolitan
personality is replaced by the suspicious, paranoid behavior common
among his peers. Sheila, an adventurous, outgoing person is now confi ned
to his mothers house unless accompanied by a family member and all
correspondence must be approved by him.
The book recounts her adventures over the next two years leading
to her divorce and escape from Turkey with their son, dressed as a girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462814411

Cynthia B. Huntington

Cynthia B. Huntington grew up in Yorkshire, England. Adventurous of spirit she left home at 16 to be an au-pair in Copenhagen and Lyon, France. After returning to England she trained and became a registered nurse before being recruited by Pan American World Airways as a stewardess fl ying the New York / Middle East / Africa routes. She was introduced and later married a Turkish professor. After they divorced, she moved to the US and eventually remarried. This marriage ended after 30 years. Since then she built and ran a Bed and Breakfast in Mexico. Now she builds custom Moorish-style homes and writes memoirs.

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Copyright © 2011 by Cynthia B. Huntington.

Cover concept by Cynthia B. Huntington.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book is based on the life story of the author. Names, places,

and other details have been changed and fictionalized

to protect the identities of the individuals involved.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my son Jan who began life in Turkey

during the time of this memoir.

Contents

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

PART 1

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PART 2

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

PREFACE

This story is mainly true, but it is fictionalized and softened. Names are changed. The protagonist is named Sheila, but is actually the author. It tells of a young woman from the North of England, a trained registered nurse, who becomes a Pan American World Airline stewardess in the early 1960’s. It was a very glamorous job, and Pan American Airways was the most Experienced airline in the world, with stewardesses from all over Europe, US and parts of the Orient.

While on a trip in Istanbul Sheila is introduced to a Turkish professor by a family friend. He is charming, handsome, well educated, well travelled and she loses her heart to him. Sheila thinks love conquers all and is willing to give it everything she’s got. After an exciting year of meeting each other while Sheila continues flying, they marry secretly. (Pan Am girls were not permitted to be married or even engaged at this time). The wedding reception is in England and she takes her wedding presents to Turkey, like a dowry. The marriage and the birth of her son are very unorthodox and she relates the experiences of living among Turks, as she and her husband head towards a very necessary but difficult divorce. Sheila’s mother states that Sheila has ruined her life and will never recover, coming home with a baby in arms. Sheila thinks, Just you wait and see, I will recover…

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Many thanks to Eva Hunter, David Alles and Gerry Camp for their guidance and support throughout this project.

PART 1

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CHAPTER ONE

Meeting Her Turkish Mother in Law

They walked arm in arm across Valiconagi Caddesi, the main street in Istanbul, toward the apartment where his parents lived. Quick Sheila, Erol said, pretend to be carrying the suitcase. I don’t want my mother to think I’m carrying it.

Sheila was surprised to hear the urgency in his voice, almost fear behind the spoken words, and even though she felt a twinge of indignation, she immediately put her hand near his on the handle. They continued across the busy street. Sheila wondered what had become of his wonderful gallant manners. It sounded as if he were afraid of his mother. Wouldn’t his mother expect him to carry his wife’s suitcase? Was Erol’s mother peering at them from behind the lace curtained windows of the apartment? She saw them move.

Even though these thoughts occupied her mind, she was still aware of the sound of passing traffic, cars mingling with carts and horses hooves, buses, the venders’ noise and the tinkling bells of the knife sharpener as he passed by on the sidewalk. A slight breeze sent the aroma of spices, mingled with traffic exhaust, into her nostrils. Then as they reached the curb she saw the tea vendor deftly dodge the foot traffic without spilling a drop from any of his glasses of tea on a round tray of antique brass suspended from his index finger. She was back in Istanbul with all its mysteries, promises, and suggestions enticing her.

The building she would live in was beautiful, she thought. Detailed stonework around the doors, French-windows, and balconies made this proud six-floor French Colonial building stand out elegantly. It had been built in the late l890’s and looked more like the buildings in Paris.

Inside the French Colonial building, the door to the first floor apartment opened wide. Erol’s mother Anajim filled the space of the open doorway. She was of medium height, rather plump, had black hair and an olive complexion, but a thin face and sagging pointed nose that over the years was getting nearer to her prominent chin. In spite of this, her posture was regal. Behind her stood the maid who had worked there since Erol was a little boy.

His mother Anajim, hugged and kissed him. The maid extended her arms and spoke the words with love, "Erol bey, hos geldiniz, hos geldiniz, (Erol sir welcome home, welcome home)." and they were inside the foyer of a grand old apartment building.

Anajim, her mother-in-law, stood back to survey her speculatively with dark unfriendly eyes. She made no attempt to embrace her or to take her hand. She turned away and walked into the living room. Erol and Sheila followed. Although Sheila could not understand what her mother-in-law said, she knew it was not complimentary by the tone and angry facial expression. Erol later explained: She was ranting about his marrying an infidel, who was all looks, with no practicality. He reassured her that once his mother got to know her and all her domestic abilities, she would grow to love her. Sheila was not fully reassured.

Anajims picture.jpg

Anajim, Sheila’s mother-in-law

Erol turned to Sheila quickly and said, Sheila get out the embroidery you were doing yesterday; my mother must see it. Sheila pulled her embroidery out of the large bag she carried her sewing supplies in and handed it to Erol, who handed it to his mother. It was not her best piece because it was very complicated and had become tiresome to her, and she had let months pass without continuing until the day before. Sewn in the center of the finest hand woven natural linen was the map of Denmark. That alone had taken months of her spare time; the stitches were minuscule. There were five different couples depicting their national costumes from the various geographic areas of Denmark. The varying styles of regional cottages were near the corresponding couples. It was something Sheila had started four years ago, she needed concentration and at least two hours of uninterrupted work at each sitting.

The mother looked carefully at the complicated and well executed piece of Danish embroidery. She examined both sides equally, running her fingers over the stitches on the back of the piece that were as neatly executed as those on the front. Sheila had won first prize for the whole of the British Isles for needlepoint and design in 1960. This had shocked the Sisters at the hospital where she had trained and worked as a registered nurse, for they thought she was out having a good time when not in uniform, not quietly stitching away.

Suddenly Erol’s mother spat on the delicate piece, dropped it on the floor, and trod on it as she left the room. Sheila was horrified, but she could not help noticing the beautifully pedicured sandaled feet that were trampling her piece of art. The toes were straight and the nails were perfectly enameled. Her heels were smooth. Sheila bent quickly to pick up her embroidery and stared aghast at her husband. Erol’s gaze dropped to his feet in discomfort at his mother’s uncivilized and uncalled for behavior. I’m sorry, darling, that is terrible of my mother. Please try not to take it too seriously. And he continued, She’ll grow to accept and like you eventually, I feel sure. Sheila said nothing.

Erol followed his mother into the kitchen and said, Mother, Sheila is not just a pretty doll but is an accomplished cook, dressmaker and a certified physician’s assistant, and she isn’t afraid of work. He pointedly worded her nurse’s work as physician’s assistant, because a nurse in Turkey is often an older woman who can no longer work as a prostitute. But his mother dismissed all his explanations and still would not welcome the new bride into the household.

Sheila knew that her mother-in-law would be difficult at first but didn’t expect such open hostility. She thought it would be more subtle, and of course she had no recourse. Her husband showed her to his room. Her suitcase must have been carried there by the maid because it stood between the two single beds which were on either side of the bedroom. It was not a big room, but it held a large armoire of heavy carved oak and two matching chests of drawers, a mirror over one, and an armchair near the French windows that opened out overlooking the patio. The patio was part of the concierge’s apartment on the ground floor, and Sheila could hear him talking loudly to his wife as she opened her suitcase.

They are Armenian, said her husband, as he watched her unpack her suitcase. And as you learn Turkish you will begin to differentiate their strong Armenian accent from regular Turkish.

Sheila was surprised that there were still Armenians in Turkey after the genocide which had taken place in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in the then Ottoman Empire.

Tell me why the Turks systematically rounded up the Armenians and marched them into the dessert to die, said Sheila.

My parents tried to explain that to us when we were growing up, but they didn’t really know why, and they were as shocked as everyone was, at what happened. said Erol.

Sheila continued, It was the forerunner to the German Holocaust, wasn’t it? Did the Germans have anything to do with it, do you think?

Oh, yes, they were advisers at the time, and remember the Turks were with the Germans in the First and Second World Wars, you know!

Erol, it surprises me that during both those wars the Jews were safe and honored in Turkey; how was that?

Erol stroked his chin slowly, and replied, The Jews, most came here after the Spanish inquisition, with advanced knowledge of textiles, printing and businesses, and never asked anything of Turkey, they only gave. They were appreciated for all the work they did, and some of my best friends are Jews, he laughed.

Sheila did not laugh; this whole subject added to the bad feeling she had after meeting Anajim, her mother-in-law. There are still some Armenians and even Greeks here in Istanbul. I was born in Salonika which is now Greece. We mix and match, and everyone seems to get along well now. Sheila continued to unpack her clothes, and Erol went to the living room to greet his father, who had just returned. As he was leaving he added, We can discuss this subject in detail later, but now I must greet my father. You wait here until I call you.

Twenty minutes later Erol called Sheila to come back to the living room and meet his father. She quickly combed her hair, powdered her nose, and refreshed her lipstick. She had better live up to the pretty doll picture her mother-in-law had of her. She walked into the living room, smiling shyly, accompanied by her husband. Her father in law greeted her warmly in great contrast to his wife. He held her close in his arms, too close for comfort, and kissed her on both cheeks. The embrace lingered a little too long, Sheila felt. He was called Baba, and he was of medium build, not tall but fair with blue eyes.

He said in Turkish, Now I have five daughters-in-law, two of whom are foreigners. One is Russian and one is English; this will bring fresh blood into the family line. That meant there was already an ‘infidel’ in the family, which consoled Sheila a little, even though it did not seem to have paved the way for her with her mother-in-law.

All four sat in the living room where tea was served from a Russian samovar that the maid brought in, together with lump sugar in a silver bowl, and a delicate silver dish filled with tiny almond sugared cookies. They drank slowly, seriously, from small crystal glasses. Sheila’s father-in-law placed a lump of sugar between his front teeth and sucked the tea through the sugar until it dissolved, to be replaced by yet another lump.

Her mother-in-law was well dressed, in a silk floral frock, with handmade lace collar and cuffs. Around her neck was a gold necklace of carved roses that were bigger near the center, and matching gold ear-rings were hanging from sagging holes in her earlobes. She wore several gold bracelets and bangles of varied types on both wrists, some with different colored jewels, and two very ornate finger rings. One had a cluster of deep red rubies, the other had multi-colored stones. Her skin was light brown and the bangles looked well on her, and her hands were beautiful and well manicured. She appeared to be dressed for this meeting. Sheila wondered if she dressed like this every afternoon, or was it because of Sheila? Was she competing with her mother-in-law for Erol, her youngest son? Her mother-in-law held her glass daintily and placed it on the cut crystal saucer precisely. Everything she did was careful and regal, and exaggerated.

Anajim, Sheila later learned, had married at fifteen and had her first child at sixteen. She had thirteen living children and several miscarriages. The marriage had been arranged by both sets of parents. His parents had come to her house, and after traditional pleasantries were over, Anajim had to make the coffee, each cup with kaymak fluffy bubbles, which must cover the complete top of the coffee cup. It was considered an insult to serve it with an incomplete coverage of bubbles. Therefore each cup had to be made separately. She then had to serve them, the man first. Probably the maid in the kitchen helped to make the coffee, for it did take experience.

Anajim told Sheila that later on that same week, one of Anajim’s future sisters-in-law was sent to spend the night in her bedroom, to hear if she snored or worse still, broke wind!

Her groom was twenty four and she was merely fifteen when they married. While married and pregnant most of the time, she knew her husband had a mistress. In fact, she knew of several over the years; she was to tell Sheila about them all, after she got to know her.

One day years ago, while Anajim looked out of the French windows overlooking the main street in Istanbul, she saw the present-day mistress. She was wearing make-up, a long brown fur coat, fashionable boots, and carrying an expensive leather handbag. Anajim opened the French windows wide and screamed out to her, You bitch, you whore, you slut, leave my husband alone, to his wife and children, you wicked, wicked bitch.

The mistress turned her face toward the open window; she smiled, and sashayed across the street. Yes, her life must have been hard, and now it was her turn to make the lives of her daughters-in-law miserable.

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CHAPTER TWO

The Eligible Bachelor

Sheila had first visited Istanbul when she was a stewardess with Pan American Airways. Of all the cities she had visited this was by far the most fascinating. She was enthralled by the museums, the fabulous Hagia Sophia, Topkapi Palace and the Blue Mosque, the Kapali Chasir (Covered Bazaar), and the Hippodrome. The music, wailing in the background, telling of unrequited love, fascinated her. The food was rich yet light,