La Strada Da Seguire: The Road to Follow

by Susan Toscan

  Agnes, I have some sad news that I thought you would like to know. Brad’s wife Madeline has been killed in a car accident. Brad had moved his family back to Sydney ­earlier in the year, and now he and his daughter are living with relatives of his late wife. Her family has offered to help him raise his little girl, so he will be staying in Sydney. He won’t have to go to the war, as he is a single father. I know that he finds it frustrating having to stay at home when so many are going overseas to fight, but he knows that he can’t leave Maddy so soon after her mother’s death. We all respect his decision to stay with his daughter. Life is not easy for the men who do not go overseas to fight.

  I know that you have not seen him for a couple of years, but I thought that you would like to know.

  I will visit soon. Your loving sister,

  Betty

  The graceful internees

  One of the biggest shocks to the Griffith community was the internment of some of the Italian men in the area. The Italian migrants were loved and respected. Generally, people knew that it was ridiculous to think that these families had any sympathy for Mussolini, but as Frank and Maria had already discovered, there were still a few who held resentment in their hearts.

  Some of the men were sent to the internment camp at Hay, about 100 miles west of Griffith. One of Frank’s cousins and close friends, Antonio—who had sung at his daughter’s weddings—was in the group. He and his wife had come to Griffith just after Frank and Maria. They were hard-working people who could not comprehend why Antonio had been singled out. When he heard what had happened, Frank went to see the local police sergeant, with whom he had a good relationship.

  “Mac, what are you doing locking up my cousin Antonio? You know he is a good bloke and a hard worker. We need all the men we have to do the work around the farms. This is crazy!”

  “Look, Frank, believe me, I hate doing this, but I have my orders. I know most of the blokes who are being sent to Hay, and I don’t understand it either. I don’t think that it will be for long. I did hear that Antonio had a brother fighting for the Germans, but that’s all I know.”

  “God, Mac, I have a couple of nephews fighting for the Germans. You had better take me to Hay as well.”

  “Shush, Frank! Keep your mouth shut. I know that the young Italian blokes don’t want to fight with the Germans, and I know that you fellas here hate what the Germans are doing as much as we do—but the politicians have decided that this is what has to happen for now.”

  Frank went to see Antonio before he boarded the train to Hay. A large group of Italians had gathered at the station to support the families being left behind.

  “Antonio,” Frank said, “I talked to Sergeant Mac, and he assures me that this will only be for a short time. I keep thinking I should be going with you, but since they’re not taking me, I will do my best to help your Jacinta and the boys.”

  “So che non sarà molto prima che ci portano indietro!” Antonio replied—I know that it won’t be long before they bring us back! “Bloody mad to think that we would do anything to help the Germans. We’ll do our best to keep busy. Probably be forced to play a lot of cards and drink a lot of wine. We all have a supply with us. Mac wouldn’t stop us from taking our vino.”

  Frank responded by fondly patting his cousin on the back. “You’re a good man. I’ll bring your family over to see you in a couple of weeks.”

  The train left Griffith station in mid-May 1941, and the men arrived at the camp very late in the afternoon. Looking out across the flat, dry land, they saw a few galvanised iron sheds behind a barbed-wire fence. Antonio knew the area, and he knew that the river was not too far from there; he could see the line of trees in the distance. He looked around at his friends. There were 15 men from Griffith and another 10 or so from other areas. “Welcome to the holiday paradise of Hay,” he said playfully, trying his best to cheer everyone up.

  “This is no holiday, and it certainly is no paradise. Look at those sheds! We’ll be cooked alive in the summer,” said one very despondent man.

  “Well, aren’t we lucky that it’s almost winter. Let’s go and see what accommodation they’ve prepared for us.” Antonio led the group through the gates. The policeman with them, whose name was Jack, did not even bother to shut the gate behind him. He did not like the idea of putting these men out here any more than anyone else did.

  The internees went into the biggest of the three sheds. The walls were lined with bunks, and there were a few blankets placed on each bed. There was a metal-box fireplace in the middle of the room that looked like it would be used as the heating. It was very basic, but the men knew that they had to make the best of it. There was a toilet and shower shed next to the sleeping quarters, and the other shed housed the kitchen. The kitchen was a good size, with a very large slow-combustion stove along the wall and a long trestle table with an assortment of dusty chairs around it. There was even an icebox that was cold. This cheered the men up.

  Jack explained that some women from the town would come out each day to cook for them. Antonio was quick to respond. “Look, Jack, we don’t want to be any trouble, and we Italians, we are pretty good cooks. We never tell our wives this, so let’s keep it our secret. We will be happy to cook if you bring us food. Must be good, fresh food and beef, not mutton. We do not much like mutton.”

  Jack smiled and thanked Antonio. “That sounds good, mate. I’ll let them know, and we’ll arrange to get food out for you. I know that they’ve left you some cold stuff for tonight and some bread and butter for the morning… Oh, yes, one of the ladies in town is Italian, and she gave us this for you.” Jack turned around and opened one of the cupboards. To the great delight of the men, there was a coffee percolator and a big bag of coffee beans.

  “Now we know that we will survive. We have vino and now coffee; thank you, Jack. You want to share a vino before you leave us?”

  “That’d be great,” Jack said. He was grateful for the way these men were behaving. He was sure that if he had been forcibly taken away from his family for goodness knew how long, he certainly would not be as polite as these men. Sure a good few of them were understandably angry, but they were not taking it out on him. They were just disappointed and frustrated at the way they had been treated by a government that did not seem to care or understand.

  “Thanks, all of you. I know this is not satisfactory, and I will do my best to get you all home as soon as I can. I’ll leave you all now. I apologise again, but I will have to lock that bloody gate. See you all tomorrow.”

  The internees were held in the camp for six months. During that time, they established gardens that kept them supplied with fresh vegetables. Rather than being confined to the internment camp every hour of every day, they worked around the local area, helping out the townspeople. They were eventually allowed to go down to the river once a week, and in the warmer months, they could even have a swim. Their families visited at regular intervals, and in general, it was not too difficult a time for them.

  Nevertheless, they were all very pleased to return to their homes when the government finally realised what a waste of time and money the whole thing had been.

  Part Two

  T h e E n d l e s s W a r

  How can we say goodbye?

  As darkness began to fall, Frank came home from working on the farm. He called to his wife as he approached his house. “Maria! Maria! I just saw Michael. He’s returned from the training camp.”

  On hearing Frank’s excited voice, Maria ran from the kitchen to meet him.

  “It’s wonderful that he’s home, Frank, but for how long?”

  “I didn’t ask, bella, but it will not be for long. My heart breaks for that young family,” Frank said sadly. “I pray that they will be all right.”

  “Now that both Michael and Steven are back, hopefully, we can all get together tomorrow.” Maria looked so worried that Frank put his arms around her. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, “How can we say goodbye to those two boys? I am jus
t pleased that Flavio does not have to go, even though he is chomping at the bit.”

  As Flavio was Italian, the Australian army would not let him enlist. However, his contribution to the efforts at home—working on the farms and helping out so many families whose men did go to fight—was invaluable.

  Frank shook his head. “I have so much trouble trying to come to terms with the fact that my son-in-law and my good friend could be fighting against my nephews. The world certainly has gone mad. Maria, I keep the picture of our village in my mind constantly, and I hate to think that it will be devastated by yet another war.”

  Even after so many years in Australia, almost every day, Frank found himself thinking back to his life in Cavaso. He and his wife fell silent, each with their own thoughts of their little village so far away.

  Frank could see himself and Maria sitting on one of the benches in the village square that was overlooked by the church where they had been married. They had had so much fun in the square—so many parties under the shade of the huge chestnut trees. The old men would sit there, playing cards every day during the summer months. He could still see the women gathering to chat after church, and the kids playing and annoying the old men.

  He wondered if the restaurant across the road from the church was still there. It was there that he and Maria had first gone out for a meal together. In Cavaso, everything was close together—the school next to the church, and the houses in neat rows along the street. The landscape of the village and surrounding area was majestic, nestled in the foothills of the Dolomite Mountains. From the village square, people could look down to the farms that were scattered around the outskirts of the village.

  Maria too had been reminiscing, and now she spoke as if her heart was breaking. “Oh, Frank, so many lovely memories of our home… and then the mem­ories of what we went through in the last war. Thinking about all that happening for a second time is too much.”

  Maria and Frank held each other, sharing the happy and sad memories of the past.

  To Tobruk

  The troop ships—the Mauretania II and the Queen Mary—departed from a wharf on Sydney Harbour. It was early 1941, and the ships would be heading towards their eventual destination of Tobruk, Libya, via the Suez Canal.

  Michael was made a corporal of the Ninth Australian Division the morning of the departure. He was very surprised, and a little flustered, by his unexpected promotion. Seeing this, his commanding officer took him aside to speak to him further about it as the soldiers waited on the dock ready to board their ship.

  “Corporal Houston, you have proved to be an outstanding soldier in the course of the training program. You are a little older than the majority of the men, and we have been impressed with the good leadership qualities you have demonstrated.”

  Michael was aware that this was an honour, and he knew that he should be pleased, but he did not want the responsibility of being in charge of other men. He also knew that he was very afraid, and he did not believe that he was capable of that level of responsibility. He tried to explain this to the officer. “I think that you have the wrong bloke, mate… I mean, sir. I’m just another scared, confused soldier.”

  His commanding officer smiled and patted Michael’s shoulder.

  “We are very good at picking the men with the necessary skills to take a leadership role. You have a strong sense of self-preservation, and you know how to inspire the men around you. You know how to keep the men motivated, and you already have their respect. All these qualities make you the perfect choice for the rank of corporal. Congratulations, Michael. Stay safe.”

  Realising that he had no choice but to take up the promotion, Michael shook his commanding officer’s hand and moved off to join his men.

  They all clapped as Michael walked towards them; they had worked out what was going on. Steven had been watching with pride as his friend talked to the officer. He knew that Michael was a special person: he was compassionate and understanding, but he was also tough when he needed to be. He would never ask anything of his men that he would not do himself. A shrill whistle brought the men to attention. Steven just had time to shake Michael’s hand before they were instructed to move. The men slowly filed up the gangplank to board their allocated ships. They were all feeling very confused. Still not knowing where they were going, they were anxious about what the future held for them.

  Once all the men were aboard, they were shown the layout of the ship. The sleeping quarters were crowded, and it was extremely hot and airless below decks. The soldiers were not used to living in confined spaces—and being on a ship was very confining.

  After the first night, most of the men took their blankets and slept on the top deck. The officers were not pleased about this. Each day the men were told to stay in the cabins below deck, and each night they went up onto the upper deck regardless of the orders not to do so. After about a week, the commanding officers gave up, no longer bothering to keep repeating themselves. The Aussie soldiers were already bucking the system, but it seemed irrelevant in the circumstances. The officers knew that these men were a special breed. They were never going to be perfect soldiers, but they certainly would be soldiers with attitude. They were going to need all of the attitude they could muster to fight the war that waited for them in the Middle East.

  Since the training camp, Michael’s name had been shortened to ‘Mick’. Michael knew that his mum would have hated that, but he personally didn’t mind it. It reminded him of his days at school and the attempts of his friends to call him Mick—only to be reprimanded by his mother, who refused to have her son’s name shortened. He rather liked the idea that he was going into this dreaded war with a name different to the one that his family and friends at home used.

  As the voyage continued, Michael found that he was having trouble writing letters home. Each time he started to write to Agnes, he became lost in his memories of the day he left. He could still picture his lovely, young wife standing on the platform at Griffith railway station with their three beautiful children. Little Neil was in her arms, and Frances and Patricia were standing next to their mother. They looked so confused; they kept asking Michael where he was going. “Daddy, will you be back next week after you look after the sheep?”

  “No, darling, Daddy is not going to look after the sheep this time. You remember Steven’s Dad, Bert? He is going to take care of the sheep while Daddy and Steven are away at the war. He will take good care of them until we get back.”

  It broke his heart to try to explain to a five- and three-year-old that he was going overseas to fight in a war that they could not possibly understand. Michael had no idea when he would see his family again. How was he going to get through this without his family close to him? He kept asking himself the same question, but he knew that he would have to cope one day at a time. He was sure that this was how Agnes was dealing with their separation.

  He was determined to do the very best job that he could. He was part of a massive force moving towards an enemy that threatened the world, and he intended to play his part in crushing that threat. He finally managed to get down what he thought were some reassuring words to his wife.

  My darling Agnes,

  We left Sydney a week ago and the days on the ship are long and the men are restless. We play games and do some training exercises to maintain our fitness, but generally we spend a lot of time doing nothing. We play cards a lot as you can imagine. I have been helping some of the young blokes write letters home. They seem to find it particularly hard to write something to their mothers.

  They do not want their families to worry, but they are afraid to write what they are really feeling. In some cases the young ones do not have the best literacy skills and this embarrasses them. I try to tell them how brave they are just being on this tub, and that going to fight for their country it is a pretty amazing thing to do. It helps me a bit to know that my words help the young fellows feel proud of themselves. They eventually get the letters written and I hope the words I g
ive them will reassure their families.

  I have to admit that I feel like an old man, there are so many young fellows, and I am sure some have lied about their ages! It makes me sad.

  I will write again soon my love. Hugs and kisses to you and to our three beautiful children.

  Michael

  Michael kissed the envelope as he sealed it. Knowing that Agnes would hold that envelope, he wanted to put as much of his love into the letter as he could. He would often see other men doing the same thing, and while it seemed a little futile, it was somehow ­important, and he understood that.

  Three weeks into the trip, the ship reached the port of Fremantle. The men were allowed ashore to let off some steam. They had strict orders to return to the ship by midnight, but quite a few hours after the deadline had passed, there were still many stragglers who stumbled up the gangplank singing raucous songs and smelling of alcohol. As the corporal, Michael was supposed to take disciplinary action, but he could not quite keep a straight face when issuing orders to these men. He had been living with them for the past few weeks now, and he knew they were just being boys. He was pleased that they could relax for the night, at least; he also knew that the hangovers they would suffer would be punishment enough, especially as they would be heading into rough seas in the next day or so. Michael secretly envied these young men. It would have been so good to drink enough to block out the pain that he felt at having to leave his family behind.

  They arrived at the port of Bombay in India almost two months after leaving Melbourne. The men were very shocked at the poverty they witnessed in that city and did not stray too far on the night they had leave there. They had been given some rather shocking information about the kinds of diseases that could be contracted in that part of the world. This made the majority of the soldiers very cautious, and as a result, they were reasonably well-behaved. Of course, there were the few who still had to test the boundaries, but that was at their own risk. Once again Michael chose not to discipline the last men to creep aboard the ship in the early hours of the morning. He simply nodded to the men as they passed him. “Go straight to the sick bay and get an antibiotic shot; I have told the doc to use a very blunt needle!” The men followed their corporal’s instructions and came back rubbing their backsides.