Dear Olivia

by Mary Contini

  He invited them in. His shop was full of Italian produce: wine, tins of tomatoes, garlic and pasta. Maria was impressed that he had chairs for his lady customers who sat and relaxed while the Scottish assistants made up their orders.

  ‘Is this your lovely wife, Alfonso? Complimenti.’

  Signor Valvona took Maria’s hand, bowed gracefully over it and kissed it.

  ‘Complimenti. How are you settling in, my dear?’ He spoke in a dialect from south of Picinisco. ‘It’s difficult, I know. Once you learn to say a few words you’ll see that the people are very friendly. They like it if you can talk to them; otherwise they are a bit suspicious.’

  He looked sideways at the two girls working behind the counter and lowered his voice. ‘Guarda, Alfonso. È meglio lavorare con gli Scozzesi. It’s better to employ Scottish staff. Then the customers are not shy to come in.’

  They bought a few provisions, including a bottle of wine to take to Alfonso’s uncle, Benedetto, then said their farewells. Alfonso carried the shopping. Maria put her hand on his arm.

  She felt slightly less conspicuous in her new skirt and blouse. But she noticed the more elegant women always wore gloves and a hat. Maria wore a scarf over her hair with the ends tied around at the back. She looked more like the working women who stood chatting at their doors or were on their hands and knees whitening their front steps with chalk. These women looked up and stared as the strange couple passed.

  ‘More “Tallies” by the looks of them.’

  ‘More trouble!’

  Benedetto Crolla’s shop was in the main street of the fishing village of Newhaven. The houses here were very pretty: two-storey low cottages, whitewashed, with sea-blue-window ledges. Outside stairs led to flats above. Women sat at the bottom of the stairs baiting the lines for their menfolk. Old, bushy-bearded fishermen sat with cowled sweaters and pipes in their mouths, repairing their nets. Children ran up and down the street, barefoot and poorly dressed, playing with skipping ropes or kicking tin cans around.

  Benedetto Crolla had come over from Italy more than a decade before. His shop was a stone’s throw away from the port at Newhaven where he had come off the ship from Antwerp. He was settled in Newhaven and was a driving force in helping others from Fontitune come across to Scotland and get started. He had helped Giovanni start; now he would be happy to help Alfonso.

  Benedetto saw them through the open door and came out of his shop to greet them. He was a gentle-faced man with swarthy skin, sultry eyes and a thick head of dark hair. Zio Benny’s moustache was fabulous, curling at the edges giving his face a look of authority. He was an incongruous Italian in the middle of this Scottish fishing village but looked very much at home.

  ‘Vieni, vieni.’ He ushered them into his shop and after kissing Maria and the baby he enthusiastically gave her a seat at a table behind the counter. He thanked them for the wine and immediately opened it, calling his wife to bring out some fennel biscuits.

  ‘These taste exactly like your mother’s biscotti di finocchio, Alfonso.’

  ‘They should, my dear,’ Zio Benny laughed. ‘They are made exactly the same way.’

  Benny’s wife took Maria through to the back shop to show her how to make the biscuits and to let her feed Domenico. The men sat and talked.

  ‘Well, Alfonso. How are things settling down?’

  ‘Not bad at all, Zio. Maria is over the shock of the journey and I think she is settling. She’s very shy. She’s unhappy living with Giovanni and his family. It’s very cramped in the cellar. Once we get started on our own I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s expecting again so we need to find somewhere quickly.’

  ‘Senti, Alfonso. Here the bars can’t open on a Sunday because they’re not allowed to sell alcohol. If you have a café and sell tea and coffee, you can open on Sunday when all the other shops are closed. There’s a shop in Easter Road, about ten minutes from Elm Row. Signora Rossi, who owns it, is a widow. I’ve been to visit her. She tells me she’s not managing. She has no family so she may be happy to talk to you, to sell her shop. Have you any money?’

  ‘I’ve saved a little, not much. Giovanni has some money he can lend me to get started. Emidio is going to take the Elm Row shop. Giovanni has found another place in Union Street for himself and his family. Fish and chips, Pesce e patate.’

  ‘Bravo. Bravo. Tell him to come down to the market in the square here to buy his fish. He can buy them straight from the boats.’

  ‘What about moving out of the city, Zio Benny? I sometimes think Maria would be happier away from so many people.’

  Benny knew all about it. ‘There are shops just outside Edinburgh, further down the coast in Portobello. They do good business in the summer. Valvona’s family have a café there and the De Marcos. Further east again is a fishing village called Musselburgh. The Di Rollos and Scapaticci families are there. They do very well, very well.’

  ‘What about the next village?’

  ‘Prestonpans? Antonelli is there. He is the cousin of your Di Ciacca relations. Talking of which, look at this.’

  He brought an envelope out of his back pocket. His address, ‘Crolla, Newhaven’, was written in a beautiful sweeping scroll, three lire Italian stamps were on the top right-hand corner, stamped with Frosinone. Benny showed Alfonso the letter inside.

  ‘It’s from Cesidio. You know, the Di Ciacca boy? He’s coming over to help me. I’ve sent him the five-pound note so he says he’ll be here within a month.’

  They both laughed. The ‘five-pound note’ was now a standing joke.

  ‘He’s twenty-two now and he’s done his National Service. He wants to marry young Marietta and bring her to Scotland. Your Maria will be pleased about that. They get on, I understand.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s good news, very good news. Maria!’ Alfonso shouted through to his wife, who came with Domenico in her arms, his mouth covered with his first taste of Cadbury’s chocolate.

  ‘Guarda, Alfonso. Look, he likes la cioccolata!’

  Maria was really happy to hear that Marietta was coming. What a difference it would make to have one of her friends here. They all talked together for another half hour, about her relatives at home and how Don Dioniso was. Somehow the conversation always returned to Italy.

  As they made their way back up towards the city centre, Maria felt really contented and happy, for the first time since she had arrived. Perhaps Alfonso was right. There was a chance they could survive here.

  She moved towards him and reached up to kiss his cheek. He didn’t kiss her back, just patted her hand on his arm and straightened his back proudly. He felt pleased with himself. If he could do a deal with this Signora Rossi, things might take a turn for the better.

  By the spring of the next year, Alfonso and Maria were settled in a new shop and a new home. Signora Rossi had been relieved when Alfonso and Giovanni had called on her. She had no idea how to run a business and had been more than happy to accept the hundred pounds Giovanni counted out in front of her.

  Alfonso had not taken on the shop lightly. He had walked the length of Easter Road from top to bottom to see what other shops were trading. There was a good selection: two post offices, the Buttercup Dairy, Rankin’s fruit shop and a grocer’s shop. Simpson, the newsagent and tobacconist, sold some chocolates and cigarettes.

  Alfonso made sure there were no other Italian shops that sold confectionery. There was Demarco’s, but it was a good distance away, right at the bottom of Easter Road. Italians didn’t open shops in opposition to each other. He called on D’Agostino in Leith Street and Valente in Great Junction Street, his nearest Italian neighbours. They were happy to hear that he was taking the café.

  The front windows of the shop were decorated with Fry’s and Cadbury’s brands. The travelling representatives from these manufacturers dressed the windows with their products free of charge for a commitment of steady orders. Inside, the shop was long and narrow, with a high ceiling, and walls lined with wooden shelves. The backs of the shelves we
re mirrored, making them look deeper and full of stock, even if there was just one row of goods. A wooden counter stretched down the right-hand side with a till and scales at the door.

  Behind a glass partition was a small seating area with six or seven round marble tables and chairs. A fire at the back wall and glass lamps made the whole area cosy and warm.

  Alfonso felt very proud to stand behind his own counter. The customers were suspicious at first, but were gradually enticed by his charming manner. As soon as he knew their names he greeted them personally, making them feel important. He was especially careful to treat the women with the utmost respect, but was gracious and flattering to them as well.

  He took Valvona’s advice and employed Scottish women to help behind the counter and serve the teas. Mrs Glen, a tall, thin, pernickety woman, lived next door. When she saw the new Italians putting a sign in the window advertising for help, she went in. Alfonso liked the look of her and offered her the job. Alfonso needed two other assistants. Mary Praties and Lilly Rough fitted the description perfectly: young, fit, hard-working girls.

  Alfonso and Maria rented a first-floor flat across the road in Rossie Place. It had a living room with a fireplace, a gas ring and a sink with cold running water. The small bedroom held a double bed, with enough room for Domenico to sleep between them. Some of the flats in the stair shared a toilet but this one had a toilet of its own, a huge luxury for the couple.

  For the first time in her life, Maria had a room she could share alone with her husband. Even though he spent most of his time in the shop, she felt happy looking after their new home, cooking, washing and caring for their boy. The new baby was due soon. She felt very hopeful.

  Domenico Crolla, aged 3

  At the end of the night, after a busy day, Alfonso counted out the pennies that he had collected in his till with satisfaction. They owed Giovanni the money for the shop but Alfonso was convinced he could pay it off in a few years.

  At last, everything started to make sense. They were on their way.

  10

  On a Sunday evening when their own shops were closed, Emidio and Giovanni would go down to Easter Road. They liked to sit in the back room of Alfonso’s café with a bottle of wine and a pack of cards. They talked and shared problems but, best of all, they relaxed, playing scopa for farthings, often well into the small hours.

  One evening, a little later than normal, Giovanni and Zio Benny arrived with a young man.

  ‘Ragazzi, guarda! Look who’s here? You’ll never guess.’

  Alfonso stood up to see who it was. ‘Cesidio! Hey, guaglione! Welcome! Welcome!’ Alfonso embraced his friend and kissed him on each cheek. He hadn’t seen him for over a year, since that day in the piazza on the feast of Sant’Antonio.

  ‘How are you? You look great.’ Alfonso poured his friends glasses of wine. Maria had made some pizza. Alfonso told the men to help themselves.

  ‘Sit down, sit down. Tell me all the news.’

  The men sat down in front of the fire. Cesidio looked very well, more confident.

  ‘When did you arrive?’

  ‘Just yesterday. I left Picinisco five days ago.’

  Emidio wanted more pressing news.

  ‘How is your romance progressing, amico?’

  ‘Oh, pretty well, I think. Marietta and I are engaged. As soon as I have saved enough, I’ll go back to marry her. She is really keen to come over. Zio Benny is going to help us.’ He slapped his uncle on the back in appreciation.

  ‘Have you finished your National Service?’ Emidio thought Cesidio looked as if he was just out of the army.

  ‘Yes. It was not exactly strenuous. Good fun. But don’t tell Marietta.’

  ‘What’s the mood in Italy?’ Giovanni asked.

  ‘No better than when you left, maybe even worse. They say Italy is unified but the North doesn’t want to know. The politicians are not really interested in the South.’

  ‘Are there still a lot of men going north for work?’ Alfonso was concerned. He had heard rumours of trouble in Europe. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Maria, afraid to worry her.

  ‘Yes, but there’s still a lot of unrest; the factory workers are striking for more rights. They work something like seventy hours a week. It’s as bad as on the land!’

  Alfonso nodded to Emidio.

  ‘We saw that when we were in Torino, didn’t we? A lot of strong men ready to stand up to the politicians.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s more sinister than that, Alfonso.’ Cesidio lowered his voice. The shop was closed but he was afraid in case anyone should hear. ‘I’ve heard that the Fiat factory is increasing production.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Emidio couldn’t understand what Cesidio was going on about.

  ‘Production of rifles! Not cars. Rifles! What does that tell you?’

  The men were all shocked.

  ‘What do you mean? Come on, Cesidio, tell us.’

  Cesidio didn’t like to arrive among them and bring bad news:

  ‘Fiat is planning to supply the warring parties, whoever they are. Whatever side they are on.’

  Alfonso took this in.

  ‘What warring parties? They must know something. They wouldn’t switch production if they didn’t know war was coming?’

  Cesidio had more bad news. ‘Mi dispiace, ragazzi. When I was in London I called in to see Marietta’s family. They’re really worried.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, the word is Austria–Hungary is going to war with Serbia, and all the signs are that Germany will join them. Italy could be stuck in the middle. Who do you think we’ll side with?

  Emidio stood up. He was agitated. ‘What are they saying in London? Will Britain go to war?’

  ‘I hate to say it, but it looks as if it’s on the cards. In London they think Britain will be at war in months.’

  Emidio was anxious. He had married by now, and his wife, Carolina, was expecting. He had responsibilities, and a lot of debt. He couldn’t see how they could survive here if there was a war. He looked to Zio Benny.

  ‘What should we do? Zio, should we pack up and go home? What will happen if the Italians join in and we’re called up? The women will be left here alone.’

  ‘To be honest, Emidio,’ Benedetto said, ‘they’re much safer here. Scotland is far away from Europe, you know. They would be in more danger in Italy than here.’

  Cesidio agreed: ‘Emidio, I don’t think we’ll be called up. It really looks as if Italy will stay neutral if there is a war. Our government is in such a mess. I doubt they could even work out how to call us up! They’ll do better to sell Fiat’s rifles than try to fire them!’

  Alfonso was quiet. They all had wives and children here now. My God, if they had to go to war!

  Giovanni had been listening intently. He spoke up. ‘Boys, we need to keep our heads. We need to make sure our families are not in danger, and the best way is to make sure people here see us as friends.’

  Benedetto spoke next; these two had lived longer in Edinburgh.

  ‘Listen, lads. I’ve got an idea. There’s the National Relief Fund, to help needy causes, war widows, that sort of thing. The business people always give money, help the community, you know.’

  ‘We give every year, don’t we?’ Giovanni remembered giving money to this fund before.

  Benny had given ever since he had arrived, as had nearly all the Italians.

  ‘Yes, every year. Alfonso, you and I, we’ll go round all the Italians and encourage them to give as much as they can. The amounts are printed in the Scotsman newspaper, usually with the names and addresses of the donors. That’s good. It lets the local people know that we’re still contributing, that we’re doing our bit.’

  ‘Good advice, Giovanni.’ They all agreed that at least it was something to do.

  Alfonso lifted the flask and poured some more wine. ‘Have another drink, Cesidio. What a conversation to have on your first night. Here, deal the cards. Let’s see if you
r luck is any better than your news.’

  They had been right to be worried.

  Events moved quickly and, like all the people of Europe, one way or another, the next four years of their lives were going to be caught up in a war.

  On 28 June 1914 Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated in Sarajevo, triggering the bloodiest slaughter the world had ever seen. If they had known what was coming, would the men have decided to take their wives back to Italy? Who knows? As it was, by the following year, when Italy eventually decided to join in the war, the British and the French had been fighting for the best part of a year. Hundreds of thousands of men had already died.

  The effects of the war were all around them. There was no peace of mind. News filtered through from their customers, dreadful news. A neighbour’s husband had returned with no legs. Another had lost an eye and was in a hospital, having gone mad with the horrors he had seen. One lived with the news that her son was ‘missing presumed dead’. What kind of agony was that to live through?

  The Italian wives, feeling vulnerable in a foreign country, were particularly frightened. Powerless to do anything, they turned to their faith. They prayed incessantly: for the men fighting in the war, for Italy to remain neutral, for their children. The Cathedral at the top of Leith Walk became a refuge. They went to Mass daily, praying fervently for peace. They prayed alongside the Scottish Catholic women whose men were already fighting, wounded or dead.

  By Easter 1915 there was talk that Italy would soon take sides. On 23 May, news came that Italy was joining forces with Britain, France and Russia. Italy had failed to side with its traditional ally, Austria. Instead, Prime Minister Salandra had signed the secret Treaty of London on 26 April 1915. In return for their invasion of Austria, the allies promised significant parts of Habsburg territory as a reward. Italy, the youngest and weakest of the European nations, wanted to support the British and hoped to become a stronger member of the Alliance.