“I was young but he was very persuasive” - Maramures stories

Patru ushered us onto the terrace of his traditional wooden house, quickly closing the gate behind us to keep his barking dog at bay. He wore a black hat and a blank, closed expression that he maintained for the duration of our visit. He lives in a small village in Maramures, Romania. I was there with the objective of capturing some of the stories of a culture slowly disappearing, and to photograph those who told them.  

Maramures is a region in northern Romania, close to the border with Ukraine. It has a complicated history and at different times has been under Hungarian and Romanian rule. Today, many of the villages lack young people, most having left for work in the cities or overseas. Almost everyone I met mentioned having a relative in the UK, Germany, Australia or elsewhere. Some had moved temporarily. Others had put down roots, bought property and invested in their education and career, making return unlikely. This rural exodus has a negative effect on communal life, traditions and cultural heritage. Many elderly people are left to fend for themselves and to manage difficult tasks including bringing in the harvest. After discovering the work of photographer Vlad Dumitrescu I was inspired to visit the region. Vlad acted as my guide, interpreter and fixer throughout my time there.

After a few moments on the terrace, Patru showed us into his house, where we met his wife Anuta. Although the morning was comfortably warm, the large, traditional stove was in use and the room was hot and clammy. “It’s for the cucumbers, they need to be kept warm,” said Anuta, pointing to a row of plastic pots on the windowsill. She told us that Patru had suffered a stroke two months earlier and had lost the use of his right arm. “We lost our cow because of this,” she said, “I tried to take over looking after her but she was aggressive, unmilkable, so I decided to sell her. We used to keep many animals, now we only have a dog.”

I admired their wooden house. “It’s one hundred years old,” said Anuta. She sat beside the window, sewing the cotton scarf that is seen hanging on the walls of many Maramures homes. The older village women are skilled at various types of needlework. Although tailoring was mainly a male pursuit in this region, women would embroider decorative elements on to finished garments. They would also spin and weave, skills learned from their mothers, grandmothers and other women. 

The room contained a small table, a few wooden chairs, the stove and a bed covered in thick, colourful blankets. A painting of the Last Supper hung on the wall together with other religious pictures and family photographs, including of the couple in their younger days. I would see similar pictures displayed in every house I visited. “We have been together for 52 years. I married him when I was 16. I was young but he was very persuasive and my father agreed to our marriage,” Anuta said. Patru is 78, his wife ten years younger.

She asked if we’d like to see their other room. It was considerably colder than the first one and the couple use it as a store for various household items including more blankets, a small oven, pickles and preserves for the long Maramures winter. The walls were covered in brightly coloured stencilled patterns. This room was also much darker and to continue her work, Anuta had to sit very close to the window. The white, hand-made net curtain admitted enough light to illuminate her face and hands. Patru stood behind her, watching her work. The scene reminded me of an old Flemish painting. They had already agreed to be photographed and I captured the moment with my camera.

When we left the couple accompanied us outside to say goodbye. Anuta leaned over the terrace. “Come again,” she said. Patru still did not speak, but remained in the shadows, eyes only for her. 

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