The image with its peculiar cloud might be a coincidence, but not necessarily. It was taken on May 22 this year. Next year marks two hundred years since Laskarina Bouboulina died; today, it is just one hundred ninety-nine—Hydra's own Little Golden-Hood who grew up to become a heroine. The donkey standing in our neighbour's garden is named after her, Laskarina, but always called The Little Red Riding Hoof because of her unusual red fur. There are many stories to tell about her, but not now. For now, we will focus on a tale in many versions, but only this one is truly authentic.

Here follows an educational tale that might have been told to the children of Hydra in the 18th century when the cruel Ottomans still occupied Greece. It was not until 1821 that the Hydriots and other Greeks could overthrow the oppressors, the Turkish wolves who had been feasting on Greeks since Constantinople fell in 1453. This tale, deeply rooted in history and culture, provides a unique perspective on the war of independence and the liberation of Greece.

In general, I want to warn against the Brothers Grimm and other storytellers of the past, as their tales are equally gruesome. They did not hesitate to push a wicked witch into the oven, roast her alive, or trick a troll into splitting open its belly. The culprits were always children, often a girl and boy together. The adults stayed cowardly in the background. This is what the little children used to live with; they were told after evening prayers and something to stimulate their dreams. Nowadays, we censor children's reality; Donald Duck and the chipmunks Chip and Dale can no longer shoot nuts at each other; Tintin and his swearing Captain Haddock must retract what they said in the 1930s; Asterix and his indomitable Gaulish warriors retroactively repent so as not to disturb the present order. But now, let's move on to the tale from Hydra for those who dare to read it.

In my authentic version of Little Red Riding Hood, the protagonist is named 'Laskarina Bouboulina', which holds significant meaning in the story's context. This tale version can be traced back to the 10th century, adding to its historical and cultural significance. According to oral tradition, it really happened at a time when there were still occasional wolves on Hydra. This unique twist on a familiar tale is what makes it so intriguing.

In the old French and Italian versions of the story, Little Red Riding Hood is depicted as independent and clever, adding depth to her character and making the story more intriguing. In my story, which has Arvanite roots, she is more like a twelve-year-old girl. Independent creatures who think they know everything about the world but are still fragile under the bold surface.

Prepare to be surprised. The tale of Little Red Riding Hood, which we thought we knew so well, takes a different turn. The little girl, known as 'Little Golden-Hood', is not the one who meets a tragic end. The wicked wolf is caught and devoured in the end, a twist that keeps us on the edge of our seats. This unexpected twist adds a new layer of intrigue to the story, making it a compelling read for all.

Only listen. The true story begins something like this:

There was once a little peasant girl, pretty and excellent as a star in its season. Her real name was Laskarina, but she was often called 'Little Golden-Hood' because of the beautiful little cloak with a gold-coloured hood she always wore. This hood was given to her by her grandmother, who was so old that she did not know her age; it was supposed to bring her good luck, for it was made from a ray of sunshine, she said. And as the good old woman was considered something of a witch, everyone thought the little hood rather bewitched, too.

And so it was, as you will see.

One day, the mother told the child, "Let us see, my Little Golden-Hood if you know how to find your way yourself. You shall take this good piece of cake to your grandmother for tomorrow's Sunday treat. You will ask her how she is and come back at once without stopping to chat on the way with people you don't know. Do you quite understand?"

"I quite understand," replied Laskarina gaily. And off she went with the cake, quite proud of her errand.

But the grandmother lived in Episkopi, another village, and there was a big pine wood to cross before getting there. At a turn of the road under the trees, suddenly, "Who goes there?"

"Everybody's friend Wolfie the Turk," said Wolfie, licking his lips. He had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to devour her when, at the exact moment, he perceived some woodcutters who might observe him, and he changed his mind. Instead of falling upon Laskarina, he came frisking up to her like a good dog.

"Yassou! My nice Little Golden-Hood," Wolfie said in the softest voice he could manage, his tongue almost licking his lips in anticipation. So the little girl, her innocence shining through her eyes, stopped to talk with the wolf, who, for all that, she did not know in the least.

"You know me, then!" said Laskarina. "What is your name?"

"My name is Wolfie." He thought it unnecessary to mention the Turk part; some Hydriots were a bit sensitive about that. "And where are you going, my pretty one, with your little basket on your arm?"

"I am going to my grandmother's to bring her a good piece of carrot cake and some Retsina for her Sunday treat tomorrow."

"And where does she live, your grandmother?"

"She lives on the other side of the woods in Episkopi, the last house in the village, near the windmill."

"Ah! Yes! I know now," said Wolfie. "Well, that's just where I'm going; I shall get there before you, no doubt, with your little bits of legs, and I'll tell her you're coming to see her; then she'll wait for you."

Wolfie cut across the wood and arrived at the grandmother's house in less than five minutes. He knocked at the door: toc, toc.

No answer.

He knocked louder.

Nobody.

Then Wolfie stood on his hind legs, put his forepaws on the latch, pushed and opened the door. Not a soul in the house. The old woman had risen early to sell herbs in Hydra town, and she had gone off in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her embroidered nightcap on the pillow.

"Good!" said Wolfie to himself. I know what I'll do." He shut the door, pulled on the grandmother's nightcap, and put it down to his eyes. Then, after drawing the curtains, Wolfie lay down all his length in the bed.

In the meantime, the good Laskarina went quietly on her way, as little girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies, watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the butterflies which fluttered in the sunshine.

At last, she arrived at the door.

Knock, knock.

"Who is there?" said Wolfie the Turk, softening his rough voice as best he could.

"It's me, Granny, your Little Golden-Hood. I'm bringing you a big piece of cake for your Sunday treat tomorrow."

"Press your finger on the latch, then push, and the door opens."

"Why are you still in bed? Have you got a cold, Granny?" she said, coming in.

"Ahem! A little, a little . . ." replied Wolfie the Turk, pretending to cough. "Shut the door well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, and then take off your dress and come and lie down by me. You shall rest a little."

Laskarina undressed, but she kept her little hood upon her head. The poor little thing was stunned when she saw what a figure her Granny looked like.

"Oh!" cried Laskarina, "how like you are to Wolfie, a friend of mine, Grandmother!"

"That's because of my nightcap, child," replied Wolfie the Turk, hesitatingly.

"Oh! What hairy arms you've got, Granny!"

"All the better to hug you, my dear child."

"Oh! What a big tongue you've got, Grandma!"

"All the better for answering, little child."

"Oh! What a mouthful of great white teeth you have, Grandmother!"

"That's for crunching little children with!" Wolfie the Turk opened his jaws wide to swallow Laskarina.

But Laskarina threw her head to the side crying, "Mamma! Mamma!" so Wolfie the Turk only caught her little hood.

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" Wolfie the Turk drew back his head in pain, crying and shaking his jaw as if he had swallowed red-hot coals. It was the fire-coloured hood that had burnt his tongue right down his throat.

The hood, you see, was one of those magic Arvanite caps they used to have in former times, in the stories, for making oneself invisible or invulnerable. Laskarina had gotten it from Granny, who had let Hydra's witch sew it. So there was Wolfie the Turk with his throat badly burnt, jumping off the bed and desperately trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs on Hydra were at his heels.

At the exact moment, Granny arrived, returning from Hydra town with her long sack empty on her shoulder. She had had a good morning at the market and had sold out her herbs to the last sprig.

"Ah, we have a guest. A bandit!" Granny cried, "Wait a bit!" Quickly, she opened her sack wide across the door, and the maddened Wolfie the Turk sprang headfirst into the sack.

Wolfie the Turk was caught and swallowed like a letter into a mailbox. The brave old dame shut her sack, opened the trapdoor to the house's cistern, emptied the sack, and closed the trapdoor. Wolfie the Turk, still howling, tumbled into the water deep down and subsequently drowned.

"Ah, you scoundrel! You thought you would crunch my little grandchild! Well, tomorrow, we will make her a muff of your skin, and you shall be crunched, for we will give your carcass to the dogs," laughed Granny heartlessly.

Granny hastened to dress poor Laskarina, still trembling with fear in the bed.

"Well," Granny said to the child, "without the witch's golden hood, where would you be now, darling?" To restore the child's mood, Granny made her eat a good piece of cake and drink some wine, after which Granny took her by the hand and led her back to the house.

Laskarina promised over and over again that she would never stop to listen to a wolf so that, at last, Granny forgave her. And Laskarina, the Little Golden-Hood, kept her word. And in fine weather, she may still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood, the colour of the sun. But to see her, you must rise early, just before sunrise.

Fortunately, it ended as it did, for Laskarina grew up to be a brave revolutionary and was important during the war of independence when Hydriots and other Greeks drove out all the wolves and liberated Greece.