REFUGEES: Innocents' Day

Peace had come to battered, impoverished Greece; the Communist guerrillas had been driven out, perhaps for good. But last week, on Innocents' Day (the Church calendar's anniversary of Herod's Slaughter of the Innocents in Judea), Greece had a day of mourning—for 28,000 children abducted by the bandits and now living on foreign, Communist soil.

A two-gun salute from Mount Lycabettus woke Athenians at dawn. Church bells tolled and flags drooped at half-mast. Newspapers appeared with black-framed front pages. Places of amusement were closed all day, and for half an hour all traffic stopped, streets emptied, doors were closed and blinds drawn.

Queens Do Not Beg. Earnest young Queen Frederika, mother of three, broadcast a poignant message from the royal palace. She begged for the return of the 28,000 children living in exile "as a mother—because queens are not supposed to beg." Added Frederika: "The civilized world has remained silent too long."

The civilized world had made some well-meaning but ineffective protests. UNSCOB (the U.N.'s Special Committee on the Balkans) had verified the mass deportation of Greek children. The U.N. General Assembly had called on Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Rumania for the return of the children. These governments had finally agreed to return any children called for by petition of their parents. Up to last week the Greek Red Cross had forwarded 8,000 petitions, but not one child had been sent back.

Not Even Goodbye. In the palace with Frederika was a group of black-clad peasant women huddled at her side. Kaliroe Gouloumi, from Gorgopotamos, in Epirus, remembered how the Communists took her children: "They were in our village for a year. First they took our animals, then our food, then our children. I had three." Kaliroe wiped her eyes with her black shawl. "They did not even let me say goodbye. They said they were no longer my children but their children."

Said Kleoniki Kiprou from Monopilo Kastoria: "First they hanged the priest, then they cut off his mother's hands, and then they ordered us to follow them. What could we do?" In Albania her eight-year-old girl and five-year-old boy were taken from her and a rifle was thrust into her hands. Tapping the weapon, the rebel capetdnias said: "This is your husband, this your child." Kleoniki was forced into the battle of Vitsi. She deserted and got back to her village—without her children. In Fourka Konitsa, the villagers learned in advance of the guerrillas' abduction plans. They hid the children in ditches. The guerrillas, frustrated, took Sofia Makri and 20 other mothers to the mountains and tortured them. Said Sofia last week: "They hung us from pine trees. They burned our feet with coals. They beat us. When we fainted they revived us with cold water from the spring. Fourteen of us died up there but we did not tell. When the Greek army entered our village they found the dead living, for out of the earth came our children."