by E. Graziani
“Hi, Bruna,” he said, barely looking at me. “Off to school?”
“Yes. It’s my last year.” I was twelve years old and the fifth grade was the last year of school for many of us in the mountains. “Have you heard from Mario?” I had to pick up my pace to keep up with him as he moved toward the main road.
“No, not lately.” Edo shook his head. “Father is worried. Mario has been sent far away to Russia, you know.”
“Yes, I heard.” His brother was such a good soul. “I’m sure he’s all right.” What else could I say?
“I hope so.”
“Where are you off to?” I asked. He stopped for an instant to answer.
“To the forest, to cut some wood. I’m taking it to Castelnuovo to sell.” Castelnuovo was a fairly large town to the north of us, downhill all the way. “I may be able to buy some oil for the family on the black market. There’s no oil to be found around here.”
I had heard of this “black market.” Since everything was being rationed, scarce goods were being traded or bought illegally for a high price. My eyes widened with concern at this prospect.
“You must be careful, Edo. I hear that you can be punished if you’re caught dealing in the black market.”
Edo smiled. “The money from selling the wood is not only for that. I would like to study one day. I want to be a tool and die maker after the war.”
“Good luck with that. You know, Cesar cut and sold wood in Castelnuovo, too,” I told him. “That was before he worked at the factories in Fornaci di Barga. He told me that he would chop wood, walk all the way down to Castelnuovo to sell the wood. Then he would buy bread with the money and eat it on the way home.”
Edo smiled and nodded. Then he waved at me and said, “Enjoy your last year at school.” I nodded back shyly as he continued to walk to the main dirt road toward the woods and I continued on my way to the schoolhouse.
At seven in the morning sharp, the doors opened and our two teachers led an assortment of children from both Eglio and Sassi into the small building. Our day started with our pledge to Mussolini and our “fatherland.” In addition to arithmetic and grammar, we were instructed in patriotism and the need for courageous action and had to study Il Duce’s “Doctrine of Fascism.” It was a philosophy that glorified war and rejected peace. We also had to study Mussolini’s “Decalogue” which was modeled after the Ten Commandments.
It consisted of ten rules that stated the role and proper conduct of citizens. Citizens must obey, serve, and protect the government; citizens must protect Il Duce; citizens must serve as soldiers; and above all, citizens must never question or contradict Mussolini, because he “is always right.”
Our school was strict and traditional. We were expected to be clean and tidy. Our hands were inspected every morning. If our fingernails were dirty, our hands would be smacked with a pointer. We had to recite our arithmetic perfectly or be punished by standing in the corner facing the wall. While boys were encouraged to join youth groups where they learned their duty to their country as soldiers and warriors, girls were taught that they needed to be good mothers and to have many children. After school, the girls would converge at the seamstress’ house in the neighboring village of Sassi for sewing lessons. There we would practice sewing our hems, embroider our linens, and exchange some village gossip. We tried to escape the grim reality of the outside world that was creeping up on us all.
Part Three
Il Duce Overthrown
1942 – 1943
The war continued to escalate in Europe and North Africa. Mussolini’s armies were badly supplied and poorly led. They often needed help from the Nazi forces. Defeats of the Axis troops stretched across the Mediterranean to the African continent.
In Italy, the people grew angry with Il Duce. The partigiani, or partisans, were part of the Italian Resistance and they battled underground against the fascist government of Mussolini alongside the Allies. The partisans and the fascist Blackshirts clashed constantly, often with innocent civilians caught in the middle. Rations, low morale and frequent defeats led to widespread dissatisfaction with Il Duce within the country.
Food rationing became widespread in Europe. In Italy, there was not enough food or supplies for the population, and people grew weary of the war. The Resistance mounted as Mussolini’s fascist policies gave more money and resources to war efforts and less to the people.
In October 1942, British troops defeated the Germans and Italians in North Africa, sending the Axis forces into confused retreat. The Allied victory in North Africa was important, since it permitted the later invasion of Sicily and the Italian mainland in the summer of 1943.
In September 1943, the Fascist Grand Council, the main body of Mussolini’s government, along with King Victor Emmanuel III, King of Italy, removed Benito Mussolini from power. Il Duce was imprisoned and Italian Marshall Pietro Badoglio formed a new government. In turn, the Badoglio government surrendered Italy unconditionally to the Allies.
Weary of war, most Italians were glad, but some remained loyal to Mussolini. For a short time, while all of Italy was under the new government, the villagers in Eglio were happy. Their soldiers, brothers and sons and husbands, were returning home from war. But how long would this last?
Chapter 9
July 1943
War came to our village slowly at first. Initially, we lulled ourselves into believing that it would be over before long. At first, the fighting had seemed far away, but as time went on, food and the most basic of necessities became more difficult to find. Shoes and clothing could not be purchased, not because of a lack of money, but because by the time the mountain towns had their pick there was nothing left. Simple everyday things like tools, lamps, and oil were hard to come by. The war effort’s ravenous appetite for resources took everything away from the people.
The villagers had survived three years of war, food rations, and funerals. All the men in the village had been sent off to serve throughout Europe, Northern Africa and Russia. Letters often brought bad news about another death. When some men did come home, it was because they had been wounded or maimed. They were the lucky ones, since they came back alive.
At the beginning of the war, women and men had willingly given their gold wedding rings to aid in the war effort. For many women there was no need to keep the ring now — their men were dead. There were rumors of the horrible conditions on the Russian front, where many Eglio men had been sent. Cold and desolate prisoner of war camps awaited those who survived the brutality of the frozen Russian front.
Meanwhile, I, like everyone else, was hungry. Very hungry. There hadn’t been a delivery of food supplies to Eglio for weeks. Mamma still had money and tickets in our ration books, but there was nothing left to purchase. Food and sundries were not getting to the village. Through the early winter, we relied on the food from our grandparents’ plot of wheat and corn. Some dried plums and potatoes were harvested and saved. When that ran out, we had to settle for roots and scarce wild greens.
My fourteenth birthday came and went, with only a bit of wild dandelion greens, some goat’s milk and cornmeal polenta for my celebration. Only Mamma and Mery were there. My other sisters were still away, working in the cities. More women were now working in the steel factories in place of the men who were off fighting at the fronts.
There was no domestic livestock left to slaughter, not even a rabbit. We had slaughtered the ones that we could manage without. Some cattle and chickens were spared for their milk and eggs. Naturally, everyone in Eglio and Sassi sold, bartered, or shared what they had. But when there was nothing left to share, we had to make do. It would be better for us soon, once we could harvest the vegetables we had planted in the spring. But for now, we ate chestnut meal. Chestnuts could always be gathered from the woods. I was getting sick of it.
The last time I had smelled the delicious aroma of bread was just before Alcide was drafted. At
the time, we were only one year into the war and there were rations already. Mamma had managed to scrape together enough flour to bake a small loaf of bread. She asked Mery and me to save it for Alcide, since he was now the only one working and bringing in some money. My eyes were drawn to that little basket on the hearth. I knew that inside the neatly folded linen napkin was a heavenly, fresh-baked loaf of scrumptious bread. I also knew that I could not have any. Occasionally, I would sneak over to open up the napkin and look at the loaf, warm and fragrant. I would draw close to it and sniff the mouth-watering aroma. Then I would wrap it back up neatly, just as it was before, for Alcide. I had to keep reminding myself that it was for my brother so that he could remain strong.
I was beginning to hate Mussolini. I hated him because he was the reason for our misery. Everything had changed because of him and Hitler. I didn’t understand what Il Duce wanted for our country. I wasn’t sure what they were fighting for, but surely it could not be worth all this suffering. What was he gaining by having his people endure this agony for so long? I kept my thoughts to myself, of course. I knew that the fascist Blackshirts were everywhere, looking for enemies of Il Duce.
My mother told me there was an underground resistance movement against the fascists, but no one spoke out loud about it. Secret bands of partisans traveled with guns through the countryside fighting the fascists. I heard that there were partisans around Eglio, but I never saw them. Even though I couldn’t possibly understand what that meant, it gave me a small sense of security and a glimmer of hope, knowing that there were groups of people who were trying to make things better for us. The Italian Resistance was growing stronger and the widespread dissatisfaction with Mussolini among the people was increasing. Though many villagers supported the resistance, in general they were frightened by the fact that when the partisans sabotaged Nazi operations, the Nazis would retaliate by taking it out on the villagers.
To make things worse, the winter seemed to drag on endlessly. The drabness and isolation of it had taken a toll on us. I had spent most of the winter evenings reading to my mother and Ida by the light of a lonely little candle. Although a robust fire was kept burning in the hearth in the kitchen, I longed for warmth and good weather to be able to wander in the woods again.
Finally spring made an appearance, and I roamed the gentle slope from the fields above the village to gather up some greens. I had learned through trial and error that the farther away from the village I ventured, the more abundant the wild harvest. My old shoes were worn through to the insides and mud seeped through the holes so that it was hardly worth even wearing them anymore. It had rained heavily the previous night; the lightning and thunder still frightened me, but I was thankful that the bleak winter was over.
I looked skyward at the heavy clouds that had given way to a thin ray of sunlight on the mountains that morning. There was still a blanket of fog over Barga, one of the largest towns in the Garfagnana Valley that could be plainly seen from Eglio. The wildflowers grew once again on the hillside and the sun felt warm on my face. It gave me renewed hope.
As I approached the village I heard a commotion. Most of villagers were in the piazza and there was an uneasiness in the air. People were milling about and talking, some still in their wooden shoes from their barns. I looked for mother but didn’t see her.
I approached Maria the storeowner and Eva. “What’s happening, Maria?”
“Oh my goodness, Bruna…” she answered, agitated.
“It’s about Mussolini’s government,” said Eva, her eyes wide.
“What about it?”
“Bruna!” shouted Armida from behind a group of old men. She pushed her way through. “I just came back from your grandparents’ fields to tell them and your mother,” she said breathlessly. “We just heard the news over the wireless…Il Duce has been overthrown. The king had him arrested.”
“Is the war over then?” I looked from one person to the next, asking no one in particular, still clutching the dandelion greens. I smiled feebly and thought that that should be a good thing.
“It means,” said Alfezio, hobbling gleefully into the crowd, “that there is hope that soon this wretched war will end. There is hope that the partisans and the resistance will prevail.”
I spotted my mother and ran to her from the other side of the piazza. Mery ran ahead of her to hug me. “Did you hear?” she said, a great smile on her face.
“I did. Armida just told me. This means that now our boys and men can come home.” I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
My mother, perspiring and dirty from the fields, reached us. All she could do was hold her daughters tightly among the buzz of the villagers. “Mamma, they’re coming home. Aren’t they?” I searched my mother’s face for reassurance.
“I hope so,” she said. But she seemed as apprehensive as everyone else.
“It means nothing,” said Oreste, our closest neighbor, to Alfezio. “We could be worse off than before. We are wide open now. Italy is open to any country who pleases to attack it.” Sadly, Oreste’s intuition proved to be right.
Chapter 10
Not long after, the new Italian government under King Victor Emmanuel surrendered to the United States and Britain. And exactly eight days later Cesar returned home!
Twilight was coming and the red sun hung low in the horizon as he strode up the dirt road. He looked as though he was returning from an extended walk instead of two years at war. I looked down the road to see if Alcide was behind him as he always was. But he wasn’t.
Cesar recounted how he and the other men in his regiment cheered when they heard that Mussolini and his fascist government had fallen. They abandoned their posts on the frontier and buried their uniforms so that they would not be captured by Mussolini sympathizers or by the Nazi army to be to be taken as prisoners-of-war. Many destroyed their rifles by breaking them in half over their knees so that they couldn’t be used anymore. Others threw them in the river, but Cesar said he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His rifle had saved his life so many times, he couldn’t destroy it. He emptied his gun of any bullets and he buried the rifle deep on the slope of a hillside. That way, no one could use it to kill anyone anymore. In eight days, hiding and walking on mountain paths and back trails, he was home, but many others still were not.
Mamma wiped the tears from her eyes, as she gathered up her son and held onto him. There was applause from everyone in the village, as had become the custom to welcome the soldiers when they came home. “I’m so happy you’re safe,” she said, her hands gently caressed his face as if he was a little boy.
The tears came again and Cesar asked if Alcide was home yet.
“Not yet,” said Mamma.
“Have you had any word?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head.
“He will be home,” said Cesar, convinced. “He’ll be here soon. He was stationed much farther on the Greek isles.”
“Yes, Mamma,” Mery added. “They will all be home soon.”
Cesar later told my mother and older sisters of the firefights in the harsh cold of the mountains in winter. He talked about the frenetic pace of the hikes the guards had to take in order to patrol the border. According to Cesar, the shortage of supplies and the inadequate quality of equipment made the soldiers’ jobs very difficult to carry out. He tried to keep the details from me by avoiding conversations while I was around. What I was able to gather was that many of his friends didn’t make it home and were buried there.
As the weeks passed, more of the men from the village returned home. Edo Guazzelli was one of them after only a brief time in the military at basic training. He had been stationed at the base in Modena, north of Florence, in the interior. Just as they were preparing to ship him out, Mussolini’s government fell.
There was still no sign of Alcide.
Part Four
A Divided Italy
1943 �
�� 1944
When the new leaders of the country, Marshall Pietro Badoglio and King Emmanuel III, surrendered southern Italy to the Allied forces, the Nazis wasted no time in taking northern Italy with unparalleled efficiency. Hitler’s army seized control of Rome. Mussolini was freed from prison by German commandos on September 12, 1943 and became the “puppet” leader in the fascist-occupied territory with Hitler in control. Meanwhile the Allies controlled the south, attempting to defeat the Nazi regime that was gripping Europe.
Italy was now divided into two parts, with the Allies in the south and the fascists in the north. Nazi troops began to move farther into the central portion with Mussolini and his socialist republic. Now Tuscany was right between the lands occupied by the Axis and the Allies. Before long, there were German troops in the heart of the Garfagnana Valley, near the village of Eglio.
Italian citizens tried to cope with the pressures of wartime living, invasion, occupation, and the division of their country. Ordinary people continued to secretly fight in the resistance. They sought and killed fascist collaborators and hid Jews. But there were also many Italians who remained loyal to Mussolini and fascism. For the villagers of Eglio, in the path of the Nazi invaders, there was the ever-present danger of raids.
Chapter 11
When the news about the Allies landing in the south of Italy had come over the wireless, it had given us renewed hope that freedom from tyranny and chaos might be close at hand. “Italy will soon be liberated,” the villagers said to each other. Patiently, we waited. The Italian Resistance continued to fight for the cause. Meanwhile life in the villages went on.
