'This is London...'

There were many in the room and they all had a stern and worried expression. An atmosphere of mystery. [...] The door to the hallway was closed. The shutters were tightly fastened, leaving no holes or chinks. All the lights were out [...] and if they were gathered there and were taking so many precautions, they were right to do so because they were about to embark on a risky job. To listen to the radio! A terrible crime that our conquerors harshly punish. The commands are clear and categorical, nobody should listen to any stations other than the German ones. And yet all of Athens gathers at night and pricks up her ears. Silence. Anticipation. We are all waiting. In front of the radio the arch-conspirator had settled. A character of his time. Probably a man once, now a bag of bones judging from his neck emerging like a match through his tragi-comically wide collar. A long face, he wears glasses, he is bald and jittery. A wide hand stretches out and with his fingertips he holds and plays with the button, trembling. [...] What does he expect to hear? What do the others expect, leaning anxiously over the radio - to pick up some news of relief. Silence, we said. Anticipation. What will London say tonight? Only the small light of the radio's lamp falls on the faces and creates an atmosphere of suggestion and mystery. It purrs, whistles, screams and there is the signal and there is the familiar voice: - This is London!... Emotion. Now there are no people, no faces, no breathing, not a sound - only ears. Big ears, small ears, hairy ears, fat ears, rosy ears, small ears, large ears, all pricked and turned towards the voice coming from the end of the world. Ears and only ears. Ears in the air, on the walls, on the table, on the chairs, on the sideboard, on the couch, thirsty ears taking in every word. This is London calling.

(Dimitris Psathas, Cheimonas tou '41, Athens, Maris, 1979, pp. 46-48)