George the
fascinating Bulgarian
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
Part 1
It was the 60s and I was the face of Global in
Oxford Street, London on reception. Foreign
Visitors would pick someone sitting at the long
reception counter and queue up until it was their
turn.
I gasped when I saw this extraordinary middle-aged
man with huge brown wavy sideburns that didn’t
leave much room for his obviously foreign
features. I was mesmerised and hoped desperately
that he would come to me. He did and thus
enigmatic George entered my life.
I was an immature twenty something and he was
probably at least 48 which seemed old.
He wanted a holiday package deal on a beach in
Mallorca. I said I would try and get him what he
wanted.
He volunteered his phone number and, looking me
straight in the eye, said in a charming polite
manner, ‘I do hope you ring me soon’.
My heart was thumping as I subliminally got his
message.
English men or boys never made eye contact
especially in your personal space. So I knew he
was no way English and was attracted to me.
Part 2
George told me how he and Demeter had escaped the
Communism Regime in the 60s that suppressed his
talent as an artist and his early interest in
architecture.
Without money they somehow managed to secure
their bodies under the belly of the train heading
for Istanbul. George had meticulously planned the
route and knew that the train slowed down when it
arrived at the Turkish border. It went five times
just inside Turkey, the road to freedom.
They jumped off the train when it slowed down and
unhurt began the trek to freedom only to be
captured and imprisoned in a detention centre.
It was a nightmare waiting and waiting to apply
for a permanent visa to America the land of their
dreams.
But then came word that Bulgarians especially
from a Communist Regime were looked down on and
despised.
George then made the decision to emigrate to
Australia who wanted new blood for their evolving
continent. I have no idea if Demeter also applied.
He never said.
So George began a new free life and trained and
eventually qualified as an architect. He applied
for and got Australian citizenship.
However, after 20 or was it 30 years, he decided
he wanted to move to London as the capital had
more culture.
Part 3
I never fell in love with him but over the years
grew very fond of him.
His main love was his handmade Green Morgan which
I rarely saw as I think he must have left it in a
garage.
He lived in a bedsitter in Bayswater close to
Notting Hill Gate end but still W2 postcode.
He would make his daily Bulgarian yogurt himself
from a mother source he got from his sister in
Sofia. It would ferment on his bedsit radiator.
Greek yogurt was not available in the UK in those
days. I thought it tasted sour and horrible. What
did I know?
George told me how he had confidently walked into
Bush House in the West End and told ‘them’
that the UK had to have a Bulgarian radio station
with a broadcaster reading the world news weekly,
or was it daily. Naturally he offered himself for
the job having had some radio broadcasting
experience in Australia.
Demeter, his lifelong friend found work as a
radio broadcaster in Germany. It helped that he
had, so he boasted, a wealthy uncle residing in
Switzerland.
The years rolled by and then I encountered him
when he actually was broadcasting but I never
heard him speak. I remember he told me that if he
coughed,
he would have to immediately press a special
button to drown the sound! I gathered he may have
been drinking ‘on the job’.
Later he went upmarket to a small top floor flat
in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea with Demeter next door.
By this time he was painting and told me he
signed the name Dascal as his art signature.
He also spoke of Hollywood and doing business
with the movie producer and art collector Sam
Spiegel.
He was the only person in the world to call
meJilka as Jilliana hadn’t been born.
Written
4/9/26 in Nightingale, London.
|
