Page 2: A Prisoner of War Remembers
Civitella-Roveto
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Vincenzo led the way and we followed at a discreet distance. He seemed oblivious to the Fascists and Germans alike and whistled gaily as he preceded us. The path wound and wound, ever descending, until it appeared that we were going down into the valley itself. He suddenly stopped and proudly pointed out a rambling old building ahead and said "Casa". Then we saw his father, Domenico, the "most unforgettable character" I have ever met. He was standing at the open door watching our progress and must have been well aware that we were prigionieri before we reached him, but, if any thought of the danger in which he placed himself by offering us his hospitality entered his head, it was totally unapparent. Taller than the average Italian, he was well-built and did not look his fifty-three years for there was no sign of grey in his head of black hair. He had the most perfect set of natural teeth I have ever seen. His appearance was striking, his black eyes and Roman nose being particularly impressive. During the first World War he was in an Alpine regiment and I imagine that he must have made an excellent soldier. Originally of French peasant stock (his surname was de Blasis), for generations his forebears had tilled the same soil and planned their husbandry in such a manner that they were practically self-supporting. To this fact, to his intelligence, initiative, pure Christianity and other sterling virtues, the three of us owe a debt of gratitude it would be impossible to repay. He gave us a cordial welcome and introduced us to his wife Angelina and to his daughter Elvira. Then in true Italian fashion he brought out the wine. Dear old Angelina started to cry and supplicated the Madonna to protect us, but at the same time made assiduous preparations for the gigantic meal to follow. Every now and then she desisted from her rolling and mixing to bring us some titbit: first an apple, then some figs, with each offering making further supplications. Angelina lived up to her name and I rank her amongst the Saints. She was totally illiterate and could not even speak proper Italian, but only the village patois. Owing to a strict upbringing she considered us to be heathens and yet she risked everything for us. Later on, when the Germans arrested Domenico on the suspicion of harbouring escaped prisoners, she still baked bread for us. We did full justice to an excellent meal (our first proper one for many days) over which we learned a lot about our hosts. Domenico's elder son, Archangelo, was a prisoner-of-war in America and he was worried about not hearing from him. He explained that the family normally lived a more gregarious life in Civitella, where their proper home was situated, but that they were then living in the barn on their farm because the Allies frequently bombed the German troop concentrations in the valley below. His father must have been quite a large landowner for, on his death, the property was divided amongst the three older brothers - the fourth joining the priesthood. Each of the three brothers then farmed several acres and there were sizeable barns on each property. The two other farming brothers also harboured three escapees each and it is to their credit that we were all able to rejoin our armies when the Cassino line, some thirty miles away, eventually broke. I noticed that during the meal Domenico kept a watchful eye on the path outside, but although several people passed, there were no callers. When the meal was over Domenico amazed us by saying that we must stay with him until our troops arrived. We gently, but firmly, declined the generous invitation and retired to our beds of straw with the full intention of crossing the valley at first light next morning under Vincenzo's guidance. Domenico did awaken us at four, as arranged, but he had a suggestion to make. We were tired. Today was the Sabbath. Why not stay and (as he put it) "fare fiesta" and depart really refreshed on the morrow? We readily agreed to this enticing proposal. Long afterwards we learned that a party of Fascist soldiers had actually searched the building while we were asleep. By some manoeuvre or other Domenico managed to keep them away from the small loft where we were soundly sleeping. We most certainly did "fare fiesta" on that Sunday. The whole day was one long meal. We retired to our straw that night after a repetition of the previous night's arrangements and determined that nothing would prevent our leaving next morning. Four o'clock came and Domenico woke us with a cup of ersatz coffee. His face was wreathed in smiles. We couldn't leave now. Now we would have to stay until our troops arrived. He then opened the window and there was the explanation. Snow. The autumnal appearance of the countryside of the previous day had, overnight, been transformed to a world of white, as we later saw. We could see that the continuance of our journey under the changed conditions would be much more difficult. Nevertheless, as we told Domenico, we couldn't possibly stay longer with him. He would be running far too great a risk in harbouring us indefinitely. Besides, what about the food position? He would brook no arguments. He had plenty of grain cached away for a year, and as he enumerated the dangers of travel in snow-covered mountains we realised that our chances of reaching our lines were indeed infinitesimal. Did he realise that our troops mightn't get up for another month? He just shrugged his shoulders. It was approximately seven months later that I said good-bye to him. It was obviously unwise for us to stay in the barn, so he took us to a small grotto hidden in a chestnut grove about thirty yards distant. There was just enough room in it for the three of us to sit huddled up. It was bitterly cold so he brought us a lighted brazier which he replenished with live coals from time to time during the day. He also brought us a sufficiency of food and wine and he was most abject in his apologies for the poorness of our accommodation. However, we repaired to the barn kitchen, after nightfall, for the evening meal and then it was back to the grotto again. |
