“THE OLDEST MAN”

Greymouth Evening Star, 1 September 1934, Page 12

“THE OLDEST MAN”

TIME TO AN EASTERNER. Zaro Agha, the “world’s oldest man,” is dead, and the Turkish Government is erecting a statue to ms memory, writes M. E. “Manchester Guardian.” That Agha was anything like a hundred and sixty years old is highly improbable. But that he believed it himself is quite likely. One must have lived amongst the peoples of the Near East to realise how vague is their idea ox time and their sense of accuracy. Thus, a hundred years is a long time; five years a short time. You may prove that it was seventy ydars, not a hundred; three years, not five. They agree you may be right, but why fuss. Three or five —what does it matter. Till lately, when the West swept down upon them destroying old ideas like a raging torrent, time has been of no value and, even to those above the peasant class, of no meaning. 1 well remember the evening when a friend and I arrived thirty years ago on the shores of the Bay of Antivaii after a long day’s ride. Then it was not a port with wireless apparatus, it was a mere cluster of huts. A woman, the only innkeeper, led us into a room with three beds and a table, am began to lay a meal. When it was ready, to our surprise, the Austrian Vice-Consul and a handsomelydressed old Montenegrin came in to share it, and our hostess informed tio with awe that he was the brother-in-law of the then reigning Prince Nikola of Montenegro. The old man spoke only Serb and was anxious to talk with us. The Vice-Consul acted as interpreter. The old man said he had met two English women in 1863 and none since. The English were a strange people and said and did incomprehensible things. For example, he had been told they said “Time is money.” The Vice-Consul eagerly atssured him that they did indede, but the old man was not satisfied. He wanted to hear it from English lips. We corroborated the fact. He was deeply puzzled: “But what does it mean? It has no sense. What is time, I ask you?” He spread the fingers .of one hand and ticked off on them the eras of a life. “First you are born. Then you live. Then you die. And in God’s name, where is the money?” The West- accuses the East of unpunctuality. But the East reckons time from sunset. When the sun drops below the horizon it was twelve. Thus time shifts every day. But after many years I failed to make my dear old Albanian guide, Marko, understand, this. “In London,” he would say, “I dare say the sun sets at different times; many things must be different there. But in Albania it always sets at twelve. It is better, for then one knows the time without a watch.” It was customary never to sup till at least an hour after sunset. I found this most exhausting in summer. Arriving at say, 7 o’clock, after some twelve hours’ hard travel, I wanted only food and sleep. But to get food before nine was impossible. To do me honour an elaborate meal was sometimes prepared. Then I starved till nearly ten and was too exhausted to eat. Winter came and I lodged at Marko’s house. About half-past four, when I was busy writing, in would come Marko to lay the table. “What is this, Marko?” “We are getting yo.ur supper ready.” “Supper? But it is not 5 o’clock.” He would shake his puzzled head and say: “Lady, in the mountains you used to complain that supper was so late and you were so hungry. Now I get it ready at the same time—an hour after sunset —and you say it is too early. But it is nearly bedtime! I wish you would explain what you want.’ And he sighed.

When it comes to years, the question of age is vague in the extreme. No written records were kept till very lately; Even if a record did exist no one could read it, and anyone might claim it as his.

ALL CENTENARIANS. All grandmothers and grandfathers in Macedonia, Montenegro, or Albania were quite commonly asserted to be a at least if they had a lot of descendants. As both boys and girls often married well under twenty ?t was possible to have great-grand-children at sixty. The old people handed on local history in tales and ballads, and were often believed to have taken part themselves in the events related. And though an old man might modestly disclaim this for himself, he believed that his father or grandfather was certainly there. Old Adge (uncle), of Lohja, in Albania, was a local celebrity. He dwelt in a large communal house surrounded with descendants and relatives who chorused admiringly that he was a hundred and ten. An alert and humorous old party, grey-eyed, and well-preserved, he was renowned for refusing to go to confession because he had never sinned. I asked how many men he had shot, and he grinned aond said: “Plenty. But never dishonourably nor for money.” He was certain he was a hundred and ten. A middle-aged nephew came forward and asserted that when he was a child Old Adge already had white moustaches. That proved it to ever.vone’s satisfaction.

Four years later I wanted some special tobacco seed, and. told Old Adge was the expert on the subject, off I rode. The old man was highly flattered and delighted and insisted on giving me the seed and a lot of chestnuts too* And the admiring family stood round and said, “You have had a gift from a man who is a hundred and twenty.” I mildly suggested that when I was there before Old Adge was a hundred and ten. “Oh, that was long ago!” said they. They were not lying. They simply had no idea of time. Indignantly they protested that if I had been told a hundred and ten I had been misinformed. Old Adge was a hundred and twenty. Old Adge was excited. He set to work to prove his age. “You know the old town down on the plain where they find old money?” (the excavated ruins of the Roman town Didclea). I did. “Well,” said Old Adge triumphantly, “my grandfather lived there at the time -when the people who made those moneys were there!” Marko was filled with awe. “In the time of the Romans,” said Old Adge firmly. The company then enthusiastically agreed that he was probably a great deal more than a hundred and twenty. And that is, how time was till lately reckoned in the East.