Dear Olivia

by Mary Contini

  Giovanni, known affectionately by everyone as ‘Johnny’, was now a young, good-looking boy of fourteen. He and his brothers and sisters had half-heartedly attended Loretto Catholic School in Musselburgh, off and on, when his parents could afford the fees. A shilling a week, plus the tram fare, a penny up and a penny back, was a lot of money to find. He and Lena had left school and were now working in the shop full-time. It was standard practice among the Italians that the children left school as early as possible to help build up the family business.

  Johnny’s job was to sell cones from a barrow, which contained a freezer with chilled inserts filled with freshly made ice cream. When the Port Seton swimming pool opened in the summer of 1933, he was a fixture at the door of the pool selling ha’penny cones and sliders. The outdoor freshwater pool was a great attraction. Built to the east of Port Seton harbour, ten minutes from the café, it had an Olympic high dive and a 30-foot deep end. The problem was you had to pay to get in so, as often as not, Johnny and his friends still swam at the back of the rocks, free of charge.

  One morning in late September there was great excitement in the village. Round the corner, along from the Boat Shore, an automobile was heard sputtering and splattering in jerking jumps along the untarred road. Children poured out of alleys and doorways into the street, running barefoot, following the glossy new black car.

  Johnny with his ice cream barrow, c. 1934

  At that time there were only about four cars in the whole village, apart from the van that ‘the Store’, the Co-op, used to deliver groceries to the surrounding farmhouses. At the weekend, if the weather was good, big open-topped charabancs came down from Edinburgh and discharged smart families from the town onto the Links for a Sunday stroll. With their fancy hats and parasols, the families made rich pickings for Johnny.

  But this was a Wednesday. Whose car was this? It must be someone important.

  The shiny black Ford 8, chunky at the front with a squat fat rear, looked very smart. The windows were rolled down and the driver had a dark jacket, dark hat and a big sweeping moustache. He looked like a foreigner.

  The children ran ahead and shouted to Cesidio to come out of the shop.

  ‘Sis, Mary, Johnny, come and see! It’s one of your Tally pals in a big fancy car!’

  Cesidio and Marietta came out of the shop door, Cesidio in a spotless white cotton coat over his waistcoat and tie. Marietta had a long white apron over her dark skirt, three inches from floor level. Her sleeves were rolled up and she was wiping her hands, which were covered with flour, on a dish cloth.

  ‘Anna, Lena, come and see. Zio Alfonso is coming along the High Street in a fancy new car.’

  The girls appeared at the front of the shop, and the boys, hearing the commotion from the street, put their heads out of the window of their upstairs bedroom.

  ‘Look at that, Alex. What a cracker!’

  Alessandro, Marietta’s youngest, should have gone to school but was ten now and often stayed off school if there was work to be done at home.

  Both boys’ heads disappeared from the window as they ran down the outside stair of the house to see Zio Alfonso’s new car.

  The car came to a shuddering halt about two feet from the pavement in the middle of the street. Within seconds it was surrounded by men and boys, all fascinated by the newness of the car. It was an aspiration of every man and boy to own an automobile.

  ‘Marietta, darling!’ Alfonso got down from the car and went over to greet Marietta. He looked like a very prosperous man in his tailored dark suit, crisp white collar and short, fashionable dark spotted tie. He still sported a waistcoat and watch fob, but Marietta noticed the buttons were straining a bit over his belly. His ubiquitous white handkerchief in his top pocket was ironed to crisp perfection. As he removed his trilby hat, she also noticed an ever so slightly receding hairline, giving him a distinguished look.

  Alfonso was in his prime.

  ‘Cesidio, compare, come stai?’

  The men greeted each other as compare as a mark of respect. Alfonso kissed the girls on each cheek and held each of them away from him, looking them up and down and giving them a low whistle under his breath. ‘Bellezze! Anna, you’re looking lovely! Cara, can you fetch the children out of the car for me?’

  In the back of the car, clambering to get out, were Alfonso’s young daughters, Olivia, Gloria and Filomena. At nive, seven and six, these three were like a second family to Alfonso. His oldest children were all teenagers now and working in the shops.

  The girls were dark-skinned with thick black hair all cut short with a straight fringe over their brown eyes. They were all dressed in the same cream knitted suits with pleated skirts and sturdy black shoes, white ankle socks folded over with a cuff. Their pretty round faces were beaming.

  Anna with her father, Cesidio, c. 1932

  It was a lovely warm morning, a typical Indian summer. Alfonso took a deep breath, enjoying the sea air.

  ‘Anna, take the girls down to the Boat Shore to play on the sand for a bit. Take Alex with you. Come back at one. I’ll have your dinner ready.’ Marietta helped Anna take the girls’ socks and shoes off and tucked their skirts into their knickers. ‘Let them have a paddle but don’t get their clothes wet. Zia Maria won’t be pleased.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Anna, darling. Let the girls enjoy themselves. Cesidio, come and have a look at the car. Do you want to have a drive?’

  Cesidio gave an appreciative whistle. This was Alfonso’s first car. He let Cesidio drive it for a turn round the village, showing him how to start and stop it. Cesidio couldn’t resist pumping the horn and waving every time he saw one of his customers.

  ‘By tonight the whole village will be thinking I have a new car and they’ll all be in to have a look. I’ll have to cook extra fish!’

  When they got back to the shop, the local boys had congregated to hang around the car. Cesidio took Alfonso round to the back of the shop and down onto the foreshore. They walked along to Bell’s Rocks so that they could look over to see the children playing. It was such a clear day Alfonso could see the Forth Railway Bridge away in the distance.

  The girls were sitting in the sand making a shop out of rocks and happily selling each other pretend ice creams on cone-shaped shells.

  Alfonso took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves. He patted his friend on the back.

  ‘Well done, Cesidio. You’ve done a great job here. Who would believe you would have your own business, home and family, and all doing so well?’

  ‘It’s thanks to Zio Benny.’

  ‘Zio Benny’s been wise for us all. When I travel round the villages there are so many families now that he has helped, working hard and making a good living.’

  ‘Alfonso, congratulations. I hear you have been honoured as Cavaliere from the Italian Government. What an honour! Marietta was wondering if we should all bow when we see you now that you’re Cavaliere and Vice Consul. I’m surprised you still want to visit your cousins out here in the sticks!’

  Alfonso laughed. ‘Marietta can take all the mickey she likes. If her pasta isn’t up to scratch I’ll have her arrested! Now, Cesidio, a bit of business.’

  They stood at the water’s edge looking out over the calm sea. A few fishing boats anchored offshore were waiting for the tide to allow them to come in to harbour.

  ‘This must do you good, this fresh air, compare. I have here the Census Form from the Italian Consulate. The Government wants to register all emigrants. This census will help them make sure all their records are up to date.’

  ‘That’s fine. What do they want to know?’

  ‘Just your family members: wife, children, place of birth, that sort of thing. You wouldn’t consider joining the Fascio yet, Cesidio? At the moment we’re up to 50 per cent membership. I need to get my numbers up so that we get our grants from Italy.’

  ‘No, Alfonso, mi dispiace. Marietta’s dead set against it. The children want to join though. They’ve been going up to the dan
ces and really enjoying it. Marietta doesn’t want the girls to mix with the Scots boys, and yet she doesn’t want us to join the Fascio Club. I told her she can’t have her cake and eat it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Cesidio. If the children want to put their names on the Balilla list they can go to the meetings and the Italian lessons. My Vittorio and Domenico go and are speaking beautiful Italian. You’d never know they were brought up in Scotland when you hear them speak. Tell Marietta we have an Italian Mass on Sundays. That might sway her.’

  ‘I’ve heard there’s a chance the children can get a holiday in Italy.’

  ‘Yes, young Joe Pia runs the Cubs at the church so he’s taking over as our children’s leader to organise the trips. I’m hoping to send the girls when they get a bit older. Would Lena and Giovanni like to go with Margherita? Maybe next year?’

  ‘I think they’d love that. There’s no way I can afford to send them myself. You’re right, Alfonso. It’s important they learn about their heritage. They were both born in Italy after all. They are Italians. Do you have news from Picinisco?’

  As they walked back up to the shop Alfonso told Cesidio all the news. He corresponded regularly with Pietro. Alfonso’s father had died a few months before. Alfonso had found it devastating that he had not been with his father when he had died. He felt as if there was something unfinished between them. Alfonso’s dream of going back to see his father settled and successful was not to be. The saddest thing was that his father had never seen his youngest children.

  Thinking of Tadon Michele now with Cesidio, Alfonso was overcome with homesickness and longing for his family in Fontitune.

  He stopped and looked at Cesidio. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. There were tears in his eyes.

  ‘Sai, Cesidio, the youngsters will never understand the sacrifice we have made, this longing for home that is deep in our souls.’

  ‘La lontananza. I know what you mean, Alfonso.’

  ‘They do feel a passion and excitement for Italian things, especially Vittorio, he’s mad for Italy. He’s mad about Italian football! But this agony, this tearing inside, they’ll never understand that. When I think of Tadon, living his life away from us all, not knowing his grandchildren, I …’ Alfonso stopped, not wanting to cry in front of his friend.

  ‘You know, Cesidio, sometimes I am desperate to go back home!’

  Cesidio was shocked at the strength of Alfonso’s emotions. He understood completely. Often he would sit on the rocks alone and look out to sea, thinking of the life they had left behind. Always he wondered if the sacrifice had been worth it. Was it a better life here? Sometimes he wondered.

  As if to pull them from their melancholy the children came squealing across the rocks, balancing on the stones in bare feet, screeching with fright for fear they would fall, and laughing joyously when they slipped into a rock pool and wet all their clothes.

  They shouted to their father. ‘Papà! Aiuto! Help!’

  The men went to help Gloria and Filomena, who were drenched, and carried them back to the shop.

  Anna followed, holding Olivia’s hand. ‘Zio Alfonso. You should send them down here for their holidays. Look what a good time they’ve had.’

  Marietta had a steaming ashet of pasta laid out ready with a rich red sugo and pieces of pork and fillet of beef studded with garlic and parsley.

  ‘Wash your hands, ragazze. Come and eat with us, Alfonso. Everything is ready.’

  As they ate, Cesidio poured a glass of wine and added a drop to the children’s glasses, which were filled with Dunn’s lemonade. Alfonso tucked a serviette at the children’s necks and then tied one round his own.

  Alfonso (far left) and Maria Crolla (second from the right) with friends, c. 1934

  ‘Buono, Zia Marietta, grazie.’ Olivia was very polite and, as the oldest child, had been warned by her mother to tell Zia Marietta that her cooking was good.

  ‘Grazie, Olivia. How are you enjoying school?’

  ‘I like it sometimes. But the children laugh at my pepperoni panini and tease me for smelling of garlic.’

  ‘Who’s in your class?’

  Olivia knew this question referred to other Italians, children whose parents Zia Marietta would know.

  ‘Eduardo Paolozzi. We call him Eddie!’

  ‘Olivia, tell Zia Marietta what the teacher said to you on the first day.’

  ‘Miss Wilson went round the class with her pointer and asked us all what our names were. When I said Benita Olivia Crolla, she said “I’ve never heard such a silly name. We can’t have that! Olive is fine. We’ll call you Olive.” I don’t like being called Olive. The children call me Olive Oil, Popeye’s wife!’

  ‘They don’t mean anything by it, Olivia. Here all the women call me Mary Coppola because that was the name of the Italian lady who had the shop before me.’

  Alfonso was concerned that some of the immigrants wanted to anglicise their names.

  ‘It’s not right, Marietta. It’s OK for a bit of fun but I have heard that a few of the Italians are applying for naturalisation. We have talked about it in the Fascio. I think it’s all wrong. We are Italians first and foremost. We can’t deny our roots.’

  Cesidio didn’t approve either.

  ‘One of my cousins is applying. I don’t understand. We’ve fought for our country alongside the British. We’re allies after all. Look at Marietta here. She was born in London but she’s still Italian.’

  Alfonso asked Marietta, ‘You don’t want to change your name, do you?’

  ‘No, why would I? But I do worry. Your Mussolini is strong, but he could make a wrong move. There is a lot of prejudice around. Here we’re part of the community but I get the impression in town it’s not as simple.’

  ‘You’re right, Marietta. That’s exactly why we need to keep in touch with our Government in Italy. It needs to know the problems we still face. But there is really nothing to worry about. Mussolini is well respected in British Government circles and, you know, we’ve been working here for twenty years now. The locals all know us and trust us. There’s many a man been glad of our fish and chips!’

  They were eating in the back shop and talking in Italian. Anna jumped up and down to serve the customers as they came in. She ate quickly. Then she called the girls through to the shop and sat them on the wooden counter, playing with them. They licked ice cream cones with raspberry sauce dripping down the side.

  ‘Cesidio,’ Alfonso thought this was a good time to talk some more business, ‘Olivieri from the Italian Bank has asked me to encourage you to open an account with it. He wants as many Italians as possible to support it so that it can become well established.’

  Marietta had gone to the front shop to get some ice cream but she kept her ears open. At the mention of Olivieri she came back in. She was quite sharp.

  ‘Alfonso, don’t talk about Olivieri to Cesidio. Your own wife doesn’t like the man and I know she is not happy that you want to put her savings into the bank.’

  ‘Now, Marietta, don’t be so suspicious. Olivieri is a good man and the bank is doing really well. If we Italians don’t support each other’s enterprises we won’t be able to reap the benefits.’

  ‘Well, Alfonso, Olivieri is very unlikely to come out here to buy a fish supper from me, so I think we’ll keep our money in the Bank of Scotland. Anyway, I don’t want Italians knowing my business.

  ‘Now, did you bring down my pecorino and salsiccie? Are they still in the car?’

  Alfonso was secretly a bit scared of Marietta and wasn’t going to argue with her. She was very strong, and a bit cunning, he thought. Look how well they had done down here, out in the sticks. He knew Cesidio; he was a great chap but not as ambitious as his wife.

  He brought in the pacco, which was warm from being in the back of the car. He left the car doors open because the car was now stinking like a barnyard.

  ‘Marietta, have you been to Valvona’s new premises on St John’s Hill?’

  ‘No, not yet, b
ut I’ve heard it’s a very good shop.’

  ‘Oh it is. It’s quite big, the shop’s on the first floor, the warehouse in the basement. He has good produce from the London suppliers, Donatantonio, Parmigiani and the like.’

  ‘Does he have ice cream makers? We need to get a new machine.’

  ‘I don’t think he has, but he should, shouldn’t he?’

  ‘I know a supplier in Eyre’s Hill in London. He had a business right next door to my father’s.’

  ‘Good, Marietta. Give me the name and I’ll get in touch.’ Alfonso liked to be the middle man, make a few extra pennies here and there.

  ‘We’ll have to go and have a look at Valvona’s. I’ll see if his salsiccie are better than yours, Alfonso.’ Marietta always liked to tease Alfonso. She knew just how to keep him from being too bossy, coming down from Edinburgh trying to put ideas in their heads.

  Alfonso liked to leave a good impression at these encounters. He was a Cavaliere after all. He had been honoured because he was well known for helping the Italians. He liked to pass information to them that would be mutually advantageous.

  But this woman was a challenge. He’d gained no ground all afternoon with Marietta, although he had eaten a marvellous lunch.

  It was time to collect the girls and get ready to go home.

  ‘Thank you for lunch, Marietta. Look at the children. They’ve had a wonderful day. They look like scugnizzi, Neapolitan ragamuffins.’

  ‘Don’t blame me, Zio Alfonso.’ Anna didn’t want to get into trouble from Zia Maria. ‘When you get them home you’d better have plenty of soap and water.’

  ‘That reminds me, Marietta, Antonelli told me if you take the old cooking fat from the fish range to the soap works in Prestonpans they’ll make it into soap for you.’