Flash! Bang! It's either Greek Easter, or the outbreak of war

Tony Kelly survives Orthodox celebrations on the island of Symi, where one elderly tourist likened it to the Blitz

I Have a tip for the Turkish government - if you're planning to invade Greece, choose Symi at Easter, this year on 27 April. No one would notice the odd bomb amid all the fireworks and the dynamite.

This is not entirely a joke. Symi, a two-hour ferry trip from Rhodes but not much more than a grenade's throw from Turkey, is the sort of place where the next Aegean War will start. The first thing I noticed was a Greek flag on a lump of rock; then as we sailed into the harbour our boatman hauled down the crescent and star (we had been in Turkish waters) and screwed it into a ball.

It was an argument over a flag which nearly led to shots being exchanged in January - and such is the state of alert on Symi that a boatload of tourists taking a joyride to an uninhabited island is enough to set off a wave of panic.

Symi grew rich on sponge-diving and boat-building, and the results can be seen in the elegant neo-classical houses which climb in layers above the harbour. Many are now in ruins, their crumbling colonnades bearing witness to the decimation of the local population under first Italian, then German occupation. Only 3,000 islanders remain, divided between Yialos, the harbour area, and Chorio, the high town, 375 stone steps away. But one by one the houses are being restored by Symiots returning - and by a growing community of expatriates.

Those who return year after year (and there are many) are apt to burst into tears at the first sight of the harbour, leaping from the boat to exchange hugs with shopkeepers. A few like the island so much they decide to stay - some, like "Mr Bob" the sponge-seller and Jean "and Tonic" the bar-owner, have become part of the furniture.

After celebrating one Easter at home, I arrived on the Wednesday before Orthodox Easter a week later. The boat was crowded with Symiots laden with flowers, eggs and presents. The more devout had already begun their Lenten fast - no meat, fish, dairy products, alcohol or olive oil for a week before Easter. For a Greek, going without olive oil must be harder than giving up ouzo.

Maundy Thursday is the day for dyeing hard-boiled eggs (red for Christ's blood) and baking Easter pastries. The bakery near my villa in Chorio was a hive of activity all day as women arrived carrying trays for the communal oven. That evening in church, the priest read the Gospel story of Christ's Passion a dozen times in ancient Greek in a service lasting over three hours. Old women wore heavy black dresses, teenage girls came in black mini-skirts. You make an offering, light a candle, kiss the icons, stay a few minutes, then return to the courtyard to chat, gossip and flirt before moving to another church to do it all again.

On Good Friday the women of each parish decorated Christ's funeral bier with wreaths of petals in preparation for the solemn evening service re-enacting his burial. Two hours of plainsong was followed by a procession around the harbour, led by a girls' choir with the papas in tow. Our Lord's body, wrapped in a shroud, was guarded by four soldiers with automatic rifles.

Before the service had begun I received a warning of the dangers of a Greek Easter. Relaxing on a bench outside the church, I became aware of shouting and realised I was sitting on a live firecracker. One more second of inaction would have left me with a terrible shock and a hole in my trousers.

That was the prelude. Later, as the procession moved around the harbour, distress flares lit up the sky and fireworks exploded at the priest's feet, slung reckleasly by boys as young as seven. Every step was a flirtation with danger. Bemused tourists looked on in fear and bewilderment and swore never to book another off-season break without reference to the Orthodox calendar.

If Friday doesn't get you, Saturday will. Simply getting to church is like crossing a war zone; getting back requires a miracle. But it was worth it to experience the most moving moment of all. At five minutes to midnight the church was plunged into darkness to symbolise Christ's death; moments later the priest appeared from behind the iconostasis, carrying a lighted candle. "Come, take the light," he intoned, and we surged forward to light one another's candles from the sacred flame. "Christos Anesti", Christ is risen, we greeted each other as we followed the priest outside, each person trying to keep their flame alive for luck.

At midnight the earth exploded. Bells rang out, the sky turned pink, dynamite rocked the hills, windows shattered, people ran for cover and the Turkish army across the water probably went onto full alert. "I relived the Blitz last night," an English woman in her nineties told me the next morning. The priest continued to chant serenely as crackers went off all around him. At last, when it was safe to do so, we walked back down the church steps creating a flickering procession with our lighted candles.

Most people headed home to break the Lenten fast and make the sign of the cross on their front door with the holy smoke. I had a date at Giorgio's Taverna, to eat mayirista Easter soup - a blend of eggs, lemons, rice and the offal from the Paschal lamb. It tasted, well, fairly offal.

Sunday is the day of feasting, when families head into the hills to barbecue a lamb on a spit before returning for the climax of the festivities in Symi town. An effigy of Judas was dressed in a (Turkish?) sea-captain's cap and carried down the steps from the high town to the harbour to meet his demise. An accordion and a saxophone played and a group of dancers in folk costumes danced around his body. His pockets were stuffed with fireworks, his clothes doused in petrol. Finally he was set alight and disappeared in a series of explosions. Children stood yards away, oblivious to any danger. In the distance another bit of mountain blew away. I think it was dynamite - but it could have been the start of war.

Greek Orthodox Easter falls on 27 April this year. The writer was a guest of Laskarina Holidays, St Mary's Gate, Wirksworth, Matlock, Derbyshire DE4 4DQ (01629 822203). He stayed in Villa Sofia. A fortnight on Symi for Easter 1997 costs from pounds 309 per person, based on two people sharing, including flight and ferry.