War in My Town Read online

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Graziani, E., 1961-, author

  War in my town / by E. Graziani.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-927583-71-5 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-927583-72-2 (epub)

  1. World War, 1939-1945­—Italy—Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  PS8613.R395W37 2015 jC813’.6 C2014-908151-0

  C2014-908152-9

  Copyright © 2015 by E. Graziani

  Managing editor: Carolyn Jackson

  Editor: Sarah Swartz

  Designer: Melissa Kaita

  Cover photographs © iStockphoto and Shutterstock

  Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.

  Published by

  SECOND STORY PRESS

  20 Maud Street, Suite 401

  Toronto, ON M5V 2M5

  www.secondstorypress.ca

  This book is dedicated to my mother and father,

  Bruna and Edo, and their families.

  To the people of Eglio and Sassi in Garfagnana,

  Tuscany, Italy — may they never forget.

  To my husband, Nanni, for his patience and understanding.

  And to my daughters, Julia, Alicia, Michaila, and Chiara,

  for sharing me with the written word.

  Contents

  Prelims

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Preface

  Part One Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part Two Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part Three Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part Four Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Part Five Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Part Six Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Landmarks

  Cover

  Frontmatter

  Contents

  Preface

  Start Reading

  Backmatter

  Preface

  This book is based on the personal accounts of my mother, Bruna Pucci Guazzelli, and father, Edo Guazzelli. The events in Eglio (pronounced el-i-o, with a silent “g”), a village in northern Tuscany, occurred during World War II, between the spring of 1940 and the spring of 1945. But it is important to understand a few things before the story is told.

  I am a first generation Italian Canadian. I was born, educated, and raised in Canada. In addition to having been blessed by my parents’ decision to immigrate here in 1958, there were also many advantages to being raised in an Italian household. First of all the food was great. Second, I could always count on boisterous family gatherings in which cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and paesani (fellow villagers) were unconditionally welcomed and expected. Third, our Italian culture and history was a regular topic at the dinner table, and both my brother and I listened respectfully to the stories my mother and my father proudly shared about their younger years. Listening to them as a child, their stories fascinated me. As a teen, I admit they were a little annoying. As an adult, I began to appreciate them. Today, I am grateful to have heard these accounts and to know where my parents came from.

  The stories that stayed with me were the old retellings of events that took place in their Northern Tuscany village during World War II. These narratives, as with most things in life, range from the tragic and the appalling to the awe-inspiring. Tragic, because war means killing the “enemy.” The enemy is always a group of individuals: men, women and children, the elderly, and the infirm. Appalling, because of the cold-hearted, systematic, and merciless campaign of Jewish genocide that began in 1933 Nazi Germany under Chancellor Adolf Hitler and resulted in the murder of some six million innocent people by the war’s end in 1945.

  We know why World War II was tragic and appalling, but why awe-inspiring? I think because of the triumph of the human spirit and the power of the will to live. It is a testament to the resilience and resourcefulness of people and the power of love for family and friends, staying together to overcome the upheaval of war and becoming all the stronger. It is a tribute to the unselfish willingness of people to assist one another in times of profound adversity. It is a witness to small everyday miracles, such as a young girl growing into womanhood despite the turmoil surrounding her.

  What happened in my mother and father’s native Italian village during the Nazi occupation was not unique. There must have been millions of similar stories. What made them so special to Bruna and Edo was the fact that retelling these events kept the people who perished alive — for them and for the next generation. Their essence and spirit lived on in my parents’ memories. We still feel them near us when we speak of them, kindly and lovingly.

  For this reason, I am retelling my mother’s memories. None of the people I have written about are fictitious. They are one hundred percent real. The events that took place in the village of Eglio before and during the Battle of Garfagnana on the Gothic Line in the last days of World War II need to be told. My mother claimed that sometimes, when we only look at the big picture, we lose sight of the important little things. She was right. Though I studied wars from the Dark Ages through to the First and Second World Wars at university as a history major, I rarely focused on the people, the individuals who suffered and died, and the lives that were lost. For each death, in each war, there was a family shattered, a lifetime of wonder stolen, dreams unfulfilled, future generations unrealized, a story incomplete. Humanity should not lose sight of this fact.

  My mother’s story starts on the eve of Mussolini’s declaration of war on France and Britain in 1940. But war in Europe had begun long before that and although this is a story of an Italian village and the common people victimized by Nazi soldiers, not all Italians were victims. Italy was a fascist nation, allied with Germany as one of the Axis nations. Initially, racism and anti-Semitism was not a part of Italian fascism, though it was part of Nazi fascism. Unlike Hitler, Mussolini was not as interested in genocide. But eventually, Mussolini adopted these terrible racist policies, too.

  Adolf Hitler and his followers believed that they were the so-called “superior” Aryan race, and that all “inferior” people, such as Jews, Roma (gypsies), and disabled people, should be killed. Within Germany, the Nazis began waging a war on the Jewish people by creating unfair laws, and restricting their freedom. At first, Jewish people and other non-Aryans were not allowed to practice law or work in the civil service, to become journalists, or own land. All Jews had to wear stars and Jewish children were no longer allowed to go to school. Later the laws became more deadly. The Nazis established the first concentration camp for Jews in Dachau in 1933, and by 1945 that number would grow to more than one thousand camps, throughout Europe. As Germany invaded other nations,
these laws became the laws of those countries, too.

  Under Benito Mussolini, Italy joined forces with Nazi Germany. After becoming increasingly disenchanted with their leader, the Italian people revolted against him and put him in prison. Under a new leader, all of Italy surrendered to the Allied nations at that time — Great Britain, Canada, the United States, Russia and the opposing French Forces — from July to September, 1943. But soon after, the Nazis captured and occupied Central and Northern Italy including Tuscany — where this story takes place. Mussolini was freed and again came into power in this part of Italy under Nazi Germany. On October 13, 1943, one month after Italy surrendered to Allied forces, it declared war on Nazi Germany, its onetime Axis partner.

  Eglio in the Garfanana area of Tuscany. Poggetti, the family home, is the darker house at the lower far right.

  Now the battles between the fascist Axis and the Allies were heightened and in 1945, the “Gothic Line” was one of the last European fronts in World War II. The Gothic Line passed through the Garfagnana region in Northern Tuscany, where my mother’s village of Eglio is located.

  My hope is that in passing on her memories, the people my mother recalls will not be lost. Maybe her little corner of the world and the everyday heroes who still inhabit her stories will live on in others.

  Part One

  Italy Before the War

  Benito Mussolini, or Il Duce (the “Duke,” in Italian) as he was called, first rose to power in Italy in the 1920s. After World War I, there was much unemployment, poverty and bitterness amongst the Italian people. Amidst the suffering, Mussolini made promises of a better life to the workers, farmers, and businessmen. He was a strong speaker and he took advantage of the chaos in Italy at this time. Though he was elected by the people, once he was in power Mussolini became a brutal dictator, took control of the army and enacted laws so that no one could speak against him or oppose him. He created the Fascist Party.

  This was the beginning of fascism. The Italian word fascio — meaning a bundle — is a symbol of strength through unity and the image of an axe in a bundle of rods became the emblem of the Fascist Party. Under Mussolini the party combined violence and bullying to gain control of the Italian government.Critics of Mussolini were beaten up by his supporters, the Blackshirts. Newspapers that didn’t support him were shut down, and political rivals who criticized him were intimidated by his armed Blackshirts. As Mussolini’s power increased, he began invading other nations. He believed that it was Italy’s destiny to expand, just as it had during the Roman Empire.

  Germany was also in economic disarray after World War I. By 1933, Adolf Hitler, called the Fuehrer (the “Leader,” in German), had modeled his government after Mussolini’s fascist government. Hitler created the Nazi Party and took power in Germany. He and his henchmen, called the Brownshirts, crushed everyone who did not agree with the Nazis, first inside the country and then outside.

  Hitler began building his military and secret police, conquering as many nations as he could. While many countries opposed him, some countries, like Italy, joined him. Italy and Germany formed the Axis, an alliance between nations, in November of 1936, even before Italy joined Germany in war. The Axis nations would later include Japan. The Axis began aggressively invading and occupying nations in Europe and in the South Pacific. These antagonistic actions resulted in the retaliation of other nations, the Allies, which led to World War II.

  Our story begins before Mussolini’s declaration of war. Though war in Europe had begun long before, in my mother’s remote village of Eglio, it was still a peaceful time, untouched by the turmoil in the rest of the world. But all things change. For the citizens of Eglio, change would come gradually once a new war began.

  Chapter 1

  Easter Sunday, March 24, 1940

  Wonderful days like these in my beloved village in the hills of northern Tuscany are the ones that I remember and cherish the most. Good days, surrounded by my family. I smile to myself as I imagine opening the bedroom shutters to gaze out into the valley below as I had done hundreds of times before, my mother and brothers and sisters downstairs. A beautiful spring day, crisp and pristine. The rolling hills spread before me like folds in a giant carpet, punctuated with snow capped mountains in the distance. Miniature towns and villages dot the green landscape as if placed there by strokes of a brush on a painting. I take a deep breath and draw in the smell of the earth from which I came. The red soil of the tiered hillsides grows our food and nourishes us, our family, our citizens. The quiet majesty of Garfagnana is like an elixir. I am part of it and it is part of me. It always will be.

  The days spent with my beloved family, in my treasured village in Tuscany before the start of the Second World War are the ones I value the most, because we were at our most innocent.

  Ding, dong, clang! Ding, dong, clang! The bells in the tower rang out their familiar peel, heralding the end of Easter Sunday services. The participants left our little church soon after, eagerly heading home to an indulgent holiday lunch. There were more people than usual because some had returned home to Eglio for the holiday from their work in the cities and abroad.

  As my sister Mery and I emerged from the little grotto chapel into the brilliant early spring sunlight, I was as happy as any eleven-year-old could be because my entire family would be home — all six of my siblings. They would be there until the next day, an entire day of comfort and security, of sharing old stories, laughter and gossip, before they had to return to work at all their various places of employment outside the village. It made my mamma so happy to have us all at home together. It happened rarely because most of my brothers and sisters were all grown and quite independent. All of them worked; except for me and Mery. We were the youngest. Mery was four years older and, unlike me, one of the most beautiful girls in the village.

  We removed our scarves once we were outside the church and let our hair flow freely in the warm spring breeze. Our friends waved to us. “Happy Easter! And to your families, too,” they shouted before walking home. Our older sisters and Mamma had gone to the earlier mass that Easter Sunday, as they had a large meal to prepare for the rest of us for lunch, a daunting task. My brothers had attended the Easter Vigil mass last evening.

  As we left the little church, Mery gave her friend Mario a shy last glance before clasping my arm and hurrying me forward. Intensely curious, I puzzled about it as we bustled home.

  “Mery, I saw Mario pretending not to watch you during mass,” I said innocently.

  “Quiet, Bruna!” snapped Mery, furrowing her brow. “He was doing no such thing. Now hurry up and let’s get home.” But I saw the far side of Mery’s full lips curl slightly into a smile as she looked away.

  Our pace quickened on the sloping cobbled path as we moved closer to home, impatient for the festivities to begin. All that week, Mamma had been very busy cooking our favorite goodies. Before every sacred holiday, she and the other women in Eglio took turns using the cavernous local bakery ovens to cook their wild boar, torts, and breads. Our entire village was enveloped with a delicious aroma for days before the celebration.

  As we rounded the corner at Evelina’s house, Mery inhaled a long breath. “Mmh!” her nose pointed toward home. “Bruna, I can smell the rice and potato torts from here. Can you?” she asked, turning to me and smiling broadly.

  I sniffed the air. “Yes. It’s heavenly. I think Mamma is the best cook. I’m so hungry,” I announced, dramatically, holding my stomach. On holidays such as this, I felt a keen richness in my soul. Though we were poor, Mamma worked hard to provide us with all the little extras at feast days. Even without a father to provide for us, we nonetheless felt we lacked nothing.

  Mery and I chattered away as we hopped from one stone to another in our best shoes. The ruckus coming from our little house was hard to miss. Suddenly, Mery stopped. She grasped my arm and halted, fixing her gaze intently toward the house. “Is that — ” Mery stopped in mi
d-sentence for effect. “Why, I thought I heard…”

  I stared at my sister. “What?” I demanded. “Heard what?”

  “Nora! I hear Eleonora,” said Mery, wide-eyed. “She’s arrived! She must have come while we were at mass. Now everyone’s here!”

  The two of us bolted for the double door. Mery was the first to get to it. She threw it open and burst inside. I was on her heels.

  The sight that greeted us was glorious. There were our older brothers and sisters, some standing, some sitting on stools or stairs — wherever they could find space in the tiny kitchen — engaged in boisterous conversation. Aurelia was the eldest sister at twenty-seven, followed by Cesar, who was twenty-five. Eleonora was the next in line at twenty-three, then Pina, twenty-one. Alcide was born four years after Pina, which made him seventeen.

  Mamma was bent over the hearth, tending lovingly to the simmering first course of the feast, a delicious beef stew, or spezzatino, complete with carrots, potatoes, and sweet onions. She reveled in having her seven children all together.

  “Here are the little ones! Look there!” came a shout from Aurelia as she tugged on Eleonora’s arm.

  “How lovely you two look in your best dresses,” cooed Pina, peeking around one of my brother’s shoulders. Pina had a smile that could light up the dreariest of rooms.

  “Well, what did the old priest have to say this morning? More fire and brimstone? We’re all going to hell?” Alcide was a tease. Mamma delivered a half-hearted smack to his arm. Cesar, strong and fearless, chortled at the sight of our slightly built mother cuffing his large, younger brother. Alcide, as tall as a lamppost, was the joker of the bunch, with a shock of black hair and a natural flair for narrating and embellishing the most ordinary of events. Cesar was shorter and stockier than Alcide, but strong. Cesar was the man of the house, since our father did not live with us. When my mother and the children returned to Eglio, our father had decided to stay in Brazil, where my siblings were all born.