Etimologie și statistici pentru numele Tzamouranis

Răspândire: 3% prenume, 97% nume de familie.
Prenumele Tzamouranis a fost găsit de 1 ori în 1 țări. (USA)
Numele de familie Tzamouranis este folosit de cel puțin 25 ori în cel puțin 4 țări.

Nume de botez Grigorios Tzamouranis (1) Vassiliki Tzamouranis (1) Kalliopi Tzamouranis (1) Alex Tzamouranis (1)

   

Tzamouranis scris invers: Sinaruomazt
Cuvântul conține 11 litere - 45.45% vocale și 54.55% consoane.

Anagrame: Uzroatnasmi Zarmuntosai Tsiormuazna Ustiarzaomn Omtiaznusar
Greșeli frecvente in scriere: Tzomouranis Tzamoulanis Tzamourranis Tzamouraniss Tzamouranys Tzamouranjs Tzamouranes Tzamouranisa Tazmouranis Tzamouransi Tzamourains



Rhymes: maharanis Janis Kiwanis Pakistanis zanies prairies chaplaincies platys ladies

Tzamouranis înseamnă: -
George Tzamouranis says: My surname originates from the Peloponnese region of Greece, a region known in late medieval times as "Mani", an Arabic word meaning "castles". My dad, Efthymios Tzamouranis, was born in Kalamata in 1925. Everybody called him "Thim-Yo". His parents hailed from the villages of Akkovo and Pipperitsa, close to the provincial town of Tripoli. Dad survived the German occupation (1941-44) by scavenging for scraps of food around the military barracks. He then took the first boat heading for New York City at the end of WW2. There was famine in Greece in the mid-1940s, as the departing German troops had taken with them everything that could be moved, including all livestock, and had simply blown up everything that couldn’t be moved. No sooner were the Germans gone, in October 1944, when a bitter civil war erupted between the forces of the far-left and the royalist far-right, each side claiming to be “the saviours” of the country ! The civil war was to drag on for another four years. Dad spent ten years in New York City, during which he completed two, quite distinct, degrees at Columbia University, in Chemistry and in Economics, and eventually began a career in journalism. By the 1950s the Marshall Plan megabucks were transforming postwar Europe and the Greek economy was booming. Dad moved back to Greece, and settled in Athens, as he was now writing political columns for "ToVima", the leading broadsheet of the centre-left. He married in 1960 and had two children : a daughter, born in 1963, and myself, born in 1965. Dad was rubbing shoulders with members of parliament every day, particularly with the leading luminaries of the centre-left : the elder George Papandreou, his son Andreas Papandreou, and also with another notable MP, Georgios Mavros. Dad's political editor was Yorgos Romaios, who himself went on to be a socialist government minister in the early 1980s. While it would have been quite normal for a journalist with "ToVima" to run for parliament in the political party of the Papandreou family, the military takeover of April 1967 put an end to dad's political ambitions and also left him jobless, as publication of the newspaper "ToVima" was now suspended. Dad was not merely disappointed with the United States, he was furious ! After three difficult years, dad was allowed to leave Greece, for the UK, in July 1970. So it was that mum, dad, my sister and myself landed at Heathrow and settled in Wimbledon, where I was to spend the rest of my childhood. Dad died, in Wimbledon, of cancer of the liver, in 1975. I remember him telling me that he had survived the war years on dry crusts of bread dipped in olive oil, and on potato peelings from the kitchen bins of the German troops. His daughter, who is my sister, turned out to have phenomenal musical talent and was already taking lessons under the famous concert pianist, Dame Phyllis Sellick. My parents made sacrifices for my sister's piano lessons. We all admired her. She was always winning trophies at piano competitions. We never owned a motor car, and I can remember my sister waiting for that wretched Number 93 bus to get her from Wimbledon to Putney, then having to catch another bus to get her to East Sheen, where her piano teacher lived in an elegant house, on Fife Road, beside Richmond Park. We lived in a small flat in Wimbledon. Those piano lessons had to cease after dad's untimely death, and my sister turned her attention to her regular school activities instead. My sister is now the stockmarket analyst Marina Tzamouranis, married (since 1990) to the RBS analyst, Julian Hardwick. They have two children : Alexander Hardwick, now aged 23, a Cambridge graduate of Classics ; and Susannah Hardwick, now aged 21, a future primadonna. I'm confident that the heading I've given to this article will prove itself true : I’m astonished ! The Greek diaspora has, indeed, given us a new Maria Callas. After all, it was my sister, Marina Tzamouranis, who gave her daughter a musical upbringing, playing the piano to little Susannah from the day she was born. Julian Hardwick had no musical background at all, but he did provide them with financial stability as a reliable husband and father should. Even after the stockmarket crash of 2008, and the partial takeover of RBS by the British government, on whose orders the stockbroking arm of RBS was closed down and all its analysts found themselves redundant, he rose admirably to the challenge by serving as unpaid manager of the Stoneleigh Youth Orchestra where his daughter, Susannah, was by now the lead violinist. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Susannah is a London-based soprano and is now studying at the Royal College of Music (since September 2017). She spent the previous academic year (October 2016 – July 2017) at Oxford University during which she was a choral scholar in the Choir of Merton College, a highlight of which was singing as the soprano soloist for the first radio broadcast of Robin Holloway’s A Christmas Sequence. She has also sung with the Elysian Singers (BBC Proms performance) and is a member of the Rodolfus Choir. She has performed extensively as a soloist in both Oxford and London, in venues such as the Royal College of Music’s Amaryllis Fleming Concert Hall and the Chapel Royal in Hampton Court Palace. She originated the role of Kitty in Anna Karenina, a new musical premiered at Oxford University, and is a soloist with Oxford-based early opera company Theatron Oneiron, most notably in their concert performance of François Couperin’s Leçons de Ténébres. Other productions include Ottavia in L’Incoronazione di Poppea (Woodhouse Opera), Johanna in Sweeney Todd (RicNic Oxford) and Suor Angelica (Lunchbreak Opera). ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I admire her success ! I admire her phenomenal talent ! And I just CAN'T BELIEVE that this 21-year-old soprano happens to be my niece ! I've only met her on one occasion : in the spring of the year 2000. She was just two years old ! I remember her seated at her grandma's kitchen table, in Wimbledon, listening to Schubert's "Trout Quintet" on the radio and swinging her tiny feet to the rhythm. She was born with perfect pitch, a very rare gift ! By the mid 1990s, my own decline into mental illness (some sort of schizophrenia, to be exact) made me an outcast from my relatives. I ended up staying in homeless men’s hostels and nightshelters far away from London, and my sister did not wish her children to see me. I learned about their progress in life from occasional snippets of information, from the rare phone calls which I made to my mother. Strange, so very strange ! And sad ! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I was told Susannah went on to play first violin with the Stoneleigh Youth Orchestra in her early teens, continually touring continental European cities. She's now the leading soprano with the Rodolfus Choir. In the spring of 2017 she sung before Pope Francis, at St Peter's Basilica, together with the choir of Merton College, Oxford. I hope to see her performing, someday, at Glyndebourne, or at La Scala, Milan, or at the Vienna State Opera. And perhaps she might visit, someday, her grandad's humble birthplace in southern Greece. There, in the foothills of the mountain range known to locals as "The Prophet Elias", the folks will tell her : "Susannah, this is a land where the pace of life has always been set by the donkey. A land where olive-oil lanterns are always kept lit, continuously, before the smoke-blackened icons of the saints, in the hope that good fortune will follow, from generation to generation." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Susannah Hardwick has never known her grandad, Efthymios Tzamouranis. She was born more than twenty years after his death. I hope she might learn something about him from this article. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ As a sixth-former, Susannah must have been the star performer on musical evenings at King’s College School, Wimbledon. She attended KCS from the age of 16 to 18. I wish I could have been staying somewhere near London, just to get to hear her sing ! [ I remember that same school where I had sat my A’level exams at the tender age of 17, back in 1982. Back in those days, KCS had been a “boys’ only” school, where they crammed the A’level curriculum into us from the ages of 15 to 17, then cast us all adrift into the big, bad world at the tender age of seventeen ! ] On the internet, Susannah is mentioned in a musical review for her brilliant rendition of “Morgen” by Richard Strauss. I don’t know this song ! At this moment I’m seated inside the Shankill Public Library, here in Belfast. I search for “Morgen” on YouTube and listen to it, on an old recording by Dame Janet Baker, and on another old recording by Elizabeth Schwarzkopf. I print out the words, in German and in English, in large print, from the Wikipedia article on “Morgen”. The lyrics to “Morgen” now grace my living-room wall, just above the mantelpiece. Morgen ! Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinen und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde, wird uns, die Glücklichen sie wieder einen inmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde… Und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen, werden wir still und langsam niedersteigen, stumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen, und auf uns sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen ...

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