28 250 Courtesy of Korman Kocaismail 31

Tina Kemran is from the Mehmet Katri & Sari Mehmet family tree's.

This page is dedicated to her father Seyit Mehmet 1925-7.11.2007

Tina Kemran

Courtesy of Tina Kemran  8 Courtesy of Tina Kemran 13 Seyit Mehmet Ramadan & Gokmen hasan mehmet onbasi Corporal Seyit Mehmet Ramadan, during WW2. Courtes Corporal Seyit Mehmet Ramadan. Courtesy of Tina Ke Corporal Seyit Mehmet in Egypt WW2. Courtesy of Ti

These poems were written by TINA KEMRAN. Daughter of Seyit-Ali Mehmet 'Fgaga'.  One is dedicated to her Amca (uncle) who gave his life fighting for the British Commonwealth during WW2.  The story of this family can be found on the history of the Kavaz family.

I find it to be one of the most emotional poems I have ever read. A fitting tribute to an uncle she never knew. At the same time her sentiments can apply to any Fellow Luricinali or person who served in the British army. Its worth bearing in mind that these young men were volunteers who only joined because they believed in fighting the Nazi's in order to create a more democratic life for future generations. We shall forever be in their debt.


All poems and information on this page are the Copyright of Tina Kemran.

Copyright, designs and Patents Act 1988

Tina Kemran

Courtesy of Tina Kemran  6 Courtesy of Tina Kemran  7 222525_10150165583773859_554858858_6692603_7522470 Tina kemran

Corporol Hussein Mehmet Ramadan,

Cyprus Regiment 1939-1944

For Corporals * Hussein. M. Ramadan. Hassan. M. Ramadan & Seyit. M. Ramadan

Cyprus Regiment 1939-1950


Commonwealth Soldier


Commonwealth soldier please die for me,

Your King and Country is in dire need,

Of your body and soul to fight to be free,

Of all persecution, oppression and greed.

Enlist voluntarily, fight like a man -

Lay down your identity, by sacrificing your land.

Never complain, never ask why?

The Motherland needs you, at this moment in time....


Proud old soldier, what is your story?

Standing there, in all your fine glory.

What horrors have you witnessed,

What atrocities have you seen -

Did you take part in battles,

Where you would rather not have been?

You wear your medals with so much pride,

But underneath your dapper jacket -

You cannot disguise the hidden scars,

Of what war really means.


For Freedom we cry an endless ocean.

For Freedom - we deny it to those -

Who have, yet, to know it!


*Died in Italy, 9 September 1944

By Tina Kemran, Niece of the deceased

 Ancona War Cemetery

The war was not over but the Allies were advancing on all fronts, sadly tragedy was to engulf the family. It was late in 1944 when Hussein was leading a convoy in the mountains of Italy. As it had been raining the roads were narrow, slippery and treacherous  without any warning an American convoy suddenly came head on from around the bend. His motor bike skidded forcing him off and caused terrible injuries and he died. The official version was 'battle accident' and he was buried at the Ancona military cemetery where he still lies today. His tombstone he is listed as 'Corporal Hussein Mehmet, CY/1217'.

Corporol Seyit Mehmet Ramadan,

Cyprus Regiment 1939-1950


Corporal Seyit Mehmed Ramadan, witnessed many historical moments during WW2 (  ie: the bombing and destruction of Monte Cassino).  

As a 17 year old, one night,  in March 1944 whilst on Guard Duty, he saved the life of his Platoon, whilst they slept.  Apparently, he heard a noise in the distance and, of course, shouted out for them to halt and identify themselves.  When no response came, after the third? time, he let out a shot.  Obviously, everyone awoke and they went to investigate further, in the dark of the night, only to find a dead soldier.  When my dad had seen that he had a bullet wound to the forehead, he got very upset but his Platoon Commander told him that it was a very good thing that he had done, because he had saved all their lives.  As, obviously, had he not done so, or was shot himself, the German soldiers would have proceeded to kill the rest of the platoon, whilst they all slept.


He escaped death on many occasions.  The first was when they were on a ship, one night before landing, and they were being bombed.  He was convinced, he would not see his 18th birthday!  On another occasion, whilst in Haifa (Palestine), he was walking down the main street, when he was stopped by some Jewish Freedom Fighters (who were not averse to killing the odd British Soldier) and only escaped with his life, because he told them he wasn't English but Turkish Cypriot!  That convinced him to leave the Army and so, in June 1947 he was demobbed and returned to Cyprus.

He received a letter in recognition for his service's from Prince Charles, which acknowledged Seyit's contribution to WW2,




I was only fifteen when I ran away to fight,

enlisted in the army, because it was right.

Light on my feet, as any boy is,

I did not envisage the hell hole, I found myself in.

War, I saw and did not like it

friends I lost, my spirit blighted.

What right did we have to live,

Whilst they had no choice but to lay down and die?

No, I am no hero, I was just lucky to survive.

Who turned out the lights, old chap?

Who turned out the lights?

I was not ready to meet my maker, I, the baker's son.

This war was one to end all others, but the lesson will never be learnt!

So many of us, young innocent lads, lost our lives.

blown-up in the night, all over the sky,

leaving our mark as the enemy flew by.

Tina's mother Gökmen

the photo was taken in 1955



Seyit Mehmet and Gökmen


More poems by Tina Kemran





Mamma is now gone.  Far away to pastures new,

where birds sing beautifully for the few who

understand their lyrics and hum in time to

their sweet tune, which eases the pain that

runs through their veins, to hearts shattered

by those who wish to exterminate and obliterate

all traces of humanity by offering insincere

promises that fail to materialise and end up

being buried alive under old forgotten trees,

that are starved of air - never seeing the light

of day because, like us, they have no say.

No opinion as to how mankind should express its

desires, in barren lands that offer no respite

from prying eyes and over-sized mouths - who talk

the talk in a thousand tongues and take to the

streets to express their ideals but are shot down

like flies by ancient minds, who only accept that

which is true to them and kick-in-to touch the

new-fangled thinking of a generation that dares to

believe that they can compete in a world where

everything is sold and life is so cheap!

The brave charge forward but are dealt a cruel blow

and are cut down to size, so that this becomes a

lesson which teaches them to accept the status quo

and tow the line that has been passed down from

those who know better and show us the way in which

we must think and stick to our place - by never

answering back or questioning what it is that we

must never, ever know!


Copyright 2005

T. Kemran






Why are we born, if only to die?

Is this the real world, or only a lie?

What causes such catastrophe?

is it really meant to be

Death and destruction

cannot be God's instruction

The massive deduction of human life,

overwhelming tragedy and incomprehensible strife?

Where are the angels

when you need their help?

Why do they not manifest,

when life is put to the test?

Are they at rest?

Or are circumstances not considered to be the best?





A woman of no consequence was she of no importance,

receiving no respect and expecting nothing less.

A martyr to destiny, a victim of her life,

a useless inconvenience, as a mother and a wife

A pointless individual, a scarecrow and a fright,

a worthless human being, who had yet to see the light.


What drives a woman to drink and drink,

to the depths of depravity to sink and sink,

so low into a hole of endless grime

and a bottomless  pit of piss and sick?

Loss of dignity, loss of pride,

no longer a mother or a wife.

A slave to the bottle, a betrayer of her child,

a wretched lost soul, tortured inside/out.


No exit-No entry into a society that expects you to fit in,

by singing for your supper, your lover and life!

To the rest of the world, she is dead and buried,

gone for good, out of site, out of mind,

never to darken their door again,

not even bothering to visit her grave,

denying her the respect of three babes.


Copyright 2005

T. Kemran







Hang your head in shame world, hang your head in shame,

as the displaced shuffle silently by and the starving ask you why?

Hang your head in shame world and look the other way,

suppress the sighs of the children, as they lay down to die.

Turn your big blind eye world, when the oppressed are strung up high,

ignore the cries of the people, as you bomb them from the sky.



Hang your head in shame world, hang your head in shame,

drown out the tortured voices, with your hypocrisy and lies.

Hang your head in shame world, hang your big fat head in shame,

and hail all the bullies who portray what is evil, as play their part so well,

whilst their consciences they do sell.


Hang your head in shame world, hang your head in shame,

for, at your door, the blame does lay.


Copyright 2005

T. Kemran

Poems by Tina Kemran,

Seyit Mehmet Ramadan in Egypt during WW2

Tina 2

Seyit Mehmet Ramadan

This poem by TINA relates to the sweat and toil of her parents. In trying to establish a life as early immigrants in a land far from the way of life they left behind. No doubt it echo's the feelings of all our parents and grand-parents who went through the same trials and tribulations of early life as immigrants.




(Dedicated to my parents G and S Mehmet)


Up at dawn, no time to yawn,

for my mother this is the norm.

Her body is weary, her hands are worn,

pin-pricked fingers all battered and torn.


She makes ties for a living, from morning 'til night,

sews them all up and presses them right.

Off they go with the lady next door,

beautiful silk ties for the rich to adore.


The labels say 'Hartnell' but we know much more,

created by 'G' who's been up since four.

Sold in Harrods, to the high and mighty,

hand-made silk ties at inflated prices.


Threading needles is not very nice,

when you are young and want to get on with your life.

Endless cotton bits on the floor,

cushions stabbed with needles punctuated and sore.


Twenty-four-seven, 'G' toils and sweats,

in a back room in Bermondsey, she expects nothing less -

only to work hard and do her very best.

What did she expect when she came to this land,

a young girl of seventeen, with no language at hand?

For fifty-one years she has struggled along, sacrificing her dreams

in order that we never have to be in the same position as She.


My father works hard for his money,

waiting tables is not very funny.

'Til two in the morning, and then up again at six,

Four hours sleep on a bare kitchen floor,

with only used tableclothsto lay down as sheets.


Aching feet and tired legs, for a grateful tip,

you have to be seen to beg!

The rich and famous, he's at their beck and call

and only he knows what goes on behind closed doors.

For fifty-seven years he has struggled along, sacrificing his dreams

in order that we never, ever have to be in the same position as He.



Copyright 2005

Tina Kemran