in Athens in 1950. Manos Hadjidakis initiates junior Menu Commander in “his company” the Initiation looks like it’s going to be Holy Week. “Strange,” comments Menis Cumantareas many years later in “Planodio trumpeter” (Kedros, 1989). “Those whom I had never heard talked about aunts, many even expressed contempt for the catechisms that families sent us, while themselves, as soon as Passion Week arrived, began to go to church fanatically. (…) On Maundy Thursday and Good Friday the group visited the Metohi of the Holy Sepulcher in Plaka.”

The names of the group today cause some confusion: “In addition to Hadjidakis, the parish included Tsarouchis, Argyrakis, Moralis, Elitis, Koundouros, in whose house on Heraclitus Street we listened and re-listened to Carmina Burana. “.

Let us trace the brilliant narration of the commander: “Everyone reverently listened to the Bridegroom’s procession, and sang praise every time the procession of the shroud stopped at the crossroads to give a breath of redemption to the events.”

The commander sees him gatso, “thick and impenetrable” and crosses his arms with rapture, while “the April sun from Anafiotika made me shudder with pleasure. (…) Holy Week was not a spectacle of hypocrisy and piety, as we had been taught until then, but a ritual in which Dionysus and Christ played one of the main roles. A modest tour of the then still unlit streets of Plaka passed without tourists and barbaric sounds. (…) After the detour, the procession descended to Bakaliarakia, a cave in Kidafinaion, where an appetizer of cod, garlic, pickled octopuses and olives followed, the whole fast … (…) And from Bakaliarakia the procession, through the steam of wine that Dionysus treated Christ to, Adrian was deployed , Philellenon entered, heading towards Syntagma, which was modestly lit by lanterns lined up like a provincial square, with the Old Palace and the Unknown Soldier in the background. We ended up at Giannaki, the eponymous coffee shop of the time, on the corner of Bucharest and the University. (…) I returned to my father’s house, upset. Sunday the next day, with my family in Agios Vassilios on Metsovou street, was comparatively devoid of mystery…”.