Dear Olivia

by Mary Contini

  *

  Even before the ink on the new partnership was dry, Addolorata noticed changes in the warehouse. Without wasting a moment Vittorio got to work and within days every free space on the walls was plastered with advertising posters and sales offers. A crucifix and a lovely picture of La Madonna di Canneto were put up on the wall beside a photograph of a fat Italian in uniform with a smooth baby face that Addolorata thought was quite handsome. There were bright-coloured posters for Barilla pasta and Strega liqueur. There was also a poster of the Football World Cup, which Italy had just won, much to the delight of every customer who came in.

  Somehow everything was more exciting, more irresistible. Music rang out from a scratchy gramophone player: Verdi, Puccini, Caruso and the inni dei Fascisti, the rousing marching hymns of the Fascists.

  Vittorio and Domenico were in at seven every morning, smart in black cotton aprons with sleeves rolled up, passionately selling all the wonderful produce to anyone who came in. They sliced the mortadella and offered it to everyone in the shop to taste. They sold more in a day than the Valvonas had sold in a week. They opened the pecorino and grated it in front of the Italian women so that the smell assuaged their nostrils and they bought, not one cheese, but two, just in case the Crollas sold out.

  Poor Ralph Valvona didn’t know what had hit him. The company was swamped with an avalanche of enthusiasm and good will. What an energy these Crollas had. He started to feel just a bit overwhelmed.

  Gossip got round and everyone came to see what was going on. Business was booming. Everything was exciting! Everything was Italian!

  In Germany, however, another deal had been done, a sinister, evil deal that would impact on all their lives, impact on the world and make Maria’s worst nightmares come true.

  On Hitler’s orders over two hundred officers and soldiers of the SA, the stormtroopers of the German Nazi Party, had been arrested and shot in cold blood on Saturday 30 June 1934. ‘The Night of the Long Knives’ secured Hitler’s power and set him on his road to destruction.

  If Alfonso had had any idea of the allegiances that would form between this murderer and Alfonso’s hero, Mussolini, he would have been devastated. Like thousands of others he was hoodwinked by the positive propaganda that Mussolini generated. Innocently he encouraged many others to follow suit.

  At that moment they were all oblivious to the dangers ahead, seeing only good fortune and prosperity.

  20

  25 June 1935

  ‘Are you ready, girls?’ Alfonso was getting agitated. The bus was leaving in half an hour and he didn’t want to miss it. ‘Maria, are you ready?’

  At this rate they would miss the whole thing. ‘Maria!’

  He stood in the hall dressed in his Sunday suit, ready to go. It had been a busy day, the second day of the Roman Catholic Eucharistic Conference. Priests and parishioners from all over Scotland had been attending meetings and Masses celebrating the feast of Corpus Christi.

  Alfonso had been at the Cathedral helping with the arrangements. Now he was taking Maria and the girls to St Andrew’s Priory in Morningside where the Solemn Procession of the Blessed Sacrament was taking place that evening followed by High Mass. Domenico, Margherita and Vittorio were staying back to work. The shops were all busy with the extra people in town.

  As he called again, Olivia and Gloria came giggling from their bedroom, full of beans. They were smartly dressed in their St Mary’s primary school uniform.

  ‘Let me see you, girls. Stand straight.’

  They looked all spick and span, hair pulled back in pony tails.

  ‘You look lovely, girls! Now where’s your mother, and Filomena?’

  ‘Here we are, Alfonso. Don’t fret so much.’

  Maria looked very fetching in a straw bonnet with a bunch of yellow silk flowers pinned to a ribbon round the brim. She presented her youngest for approval.

  Alfonso smiled.

  Filomena looked like a little bride, a picture of innocence, in a white lace dress stretching down to her ankles, skimming her new white Start-Rite shoes. Her long white lace veil had a ringlet of white flowers on top. She wore her new gold crucifix on its heavy gold chain round her neck. She held her rosary beads and prayer book in her white-gloved hands.

  ‘Carissima. Bellezza di Papà!’ Alfonso kissed his youngest daughter and gave her a hug.

  Filomena pushed him off. ‘Papà, don’t. You’ll knock my veil off.’

  She took her sisters’ hands and the three of them trotted out into the fresh air.

  It was just as well they hadn’t missed the bus. By the time they got to the Priory there were already thousands of people there, in long queues at the gates stretching down Canaan Lane. The meticulous checking of entrance passes was taking a long time.

  The grounds were beautiful: manicured green lawns, colourful summer bedding and full canopies of thickly leaved trees. The altar was built up on a high plinth, guarded by four tall pillars dressed with swathes of red, black and gold. The spotless white linen, gold candlesticks, monstrance and chalices arranged majestically on top created a powerful image.

  Filomena saw her classmates and ran off to join them without a by-your-leave. Alfonso, Maria and the other two girls climbed the steep natural embankment so that they could get a better view of the service. The morning had been dull and misty but now the clouds had dispersed leaving a bright, warm summer’s evening.

  By the time the white-and-red gowned altar boys had lit all the candles, the numbers in the park had swollen to at least ten thousand. The senior acolyte announced, with the aid of a microphone that screeched across the park, ‘The solemn procession is about to begin. Please put out all cigarettes and refrain from talking.’

  Looking down at the crowd Alfonso whispered to Maria, ‘It looks like every Catholic in Scotland is here. We could be in Rome itself. Look at all the bishops and priests.’

  As he spoke, the first hymn started. The choir’s voices soared magnificently over the congregation.

  The procession moved forward slowly. Held aloft by eight altar boys was the statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Following behind were the First Communicants, girls in their pretty white dresses, then the boys in white shirts and shorts with scarlet ties and sashes.

  Holy Communion, c. 1934

  ‘Papà, Papà, there’s Filomena.’ Olivia waved enthusiastically at her sister. Maria grabbed her hand and pulled it down. ‘Shh.’

  Alfonso waved instead.

  Behind the children came the Holy Sisters of Charity, with their long black robes and winged white head-dresses. Walking straight-backed, they looked severe, their beady eyes grinding into the back of every child should they dare take a step wrong.

  Twenty altar boys followed on, then forty priests and three bishops from all over the country. Monsignor Salza represented the Italian community. Jesuits, the monks from Newbattle and the Irish Passionist Order from Prestonpans all took their place. Finally Monsignor McGettigan and Archbishop MacDonald took up the rear.

  As the Archbishop passed, the congregation genuflected and crossed themselves in a wave of obedience and respect. Scotland’s Catholics only made up 7 per cent of the population and it looked as if most of them were present.

  Olivia and Gloria thought the two-hour service was far too long and boring. Maria thought is was far too short and was disappointed when it drew to a close as the final Benediction was sung. The Blessed Sacrament was held high in the jewel-encrusted monstrance to a climax of singing, clouds of incense and the splashing of holy water.

  At the end, Alfonso felt quite overcome. ‘What a magnificent service. Wasn’t it wonderful! And Filomena had her first Holy Communion. Wait here, I’ll go and find her.’

  As he left, the senior acolyte took the microphone again. ‘Attention Please. Attention Please!’

  It took an age to silence the crowd who, to give them their due, had behaved impeccably throughout the service but were now desperate to talk.

  ‘Attention Pleas
e!’ He sounded very agitated. The crowd eventually quietened. ‘The Archbishop has requested that you remove your yellow conference badges before leaving the Priory.’

  This information was received with even more discussion and noise. Why on earth would the Archbishop ask them to do that?

  Alfonso returned with Filomena, who was delirious with excitement now that she had actually tasted the host. She pushed her sister.

  ‘Gloria, you were kidding me on. You said it tasted of chocolate. It does not.’

  Their father was in a hurry. ‘Maria, take off your badge. Filomena, take off your veil, cara, we need to go home.’

  ‘Oh, Papà!’

  Alfonso turned to his wife. ‘They’re worried there’s going to be trouble. Anti-Catholic protesters are outside. Come on. You keep hold of Filomena, I’ll keep hold of Olivia and Gloria. Don’t let go of her hand. In this crowd we’ll lose them. The bus is waiting; if we move quickly we’ll get away before any trouble starts.’

  They were lucky. The buses were waiting at the rear of the Priory, clearly marked with the Parish destinations. They all climbed on and as soon as the bus was full it moved away slowly, following a line of buses making their way through the crowds.

  As they drove onto the main road they heard loud speakers and a lot of shouting.

  ‘Is it a football match, Papà?’ Olivia was used to the racket of the crowd on a Saturday afternoon at Easter Road.

  Alfonso had no time to answer.

  Gangs of young men and women waving orange and blue scarves ran alongside the buses banging on the side and shouting anti-Catholic slogans. Without warning, a brick smashed through the back of the bus splintering glass all over the passengers on the back seats. The children all started to scream.

  A bottle smashed in the street.

  The bus conductor shouted out. ‘Get down! Get down under the seats. Cover your heads.’

  As he spoke, another brick smashed at the side of the bus, bouncing off with a great thud.

  Alfonso pushed Maria and the girls down. Looking out of the window he saw a black motor car with written cards on it, ‘No Popery! No Popery!’

  Loudspeakers called out incessant messages, ‘No Priest but Christ’, ‘For God and Freedom.’

  Ahead were mounted policemen with batons, charging forward to disperse the crowds.

  The bus took an hour to get out of the area, an hour in which they lay terrified under the seats. The women and children were crying, huddled together, frightened of the next brick coming through the window.

  Alfonso looked at Maria. ‘What’s all this?’ He couldn’t understand the force of anger against them.

  The next day they heard that the Protestant Action Leaders and Councillor John Cormack had been on the scene. Rioting and clashes with police had gone on all night. Some priests were attacked on Princes Street and had to get help from police officers to get into a taxi cab and make their escape.

  Alfonso spoke to the police in his shop the next day. ‘What’s all this about? Our celebrations were entirely peaceful.’

  ‘We did our best. The cells are full. Cormack rouses the mobs then stands back and tells them not to react. He’s a dangerous one. But don’t worry, Mr Crolla. We have everything under control. This kind of thing won’t happen again.’

  On Sunday, Alfonso spoke to the priests in the Cathedral. They had been shocked by the rioting but saw it as a minority pushing against their presence.

  The reaction in the press was against the antagonists, with plenty of support for the Catholics from all walks of life. It had been a frightful experience but it looked to all concerned as if it would not be repeated.

  Alfonso thought of the unrest that had gripped Italy ten years ago. Mussolini had put a stop to it all, clamped down on rioting and strikes, kept control of the situation. World leaders had reason to be thankful to him for stopping Italy descending into anarchism or ending up under the control of the Communists. People needed strong firm leadership. Otherwise, this was what happened.

  Britain had built up good relations with Italy through the popular Consul, Count Grandi, and Mussolini’s son-in-law, Count Ciano. They were both excellent diplomats and highly respected.

  By sheer force of his personality and charisma, Mussolini had also won the respect of other statesman such as Churchill and Eden. Indeed, in 1934, Churchill remarked that, if he was Italian, he too would choose Fascism.

  Mussolini wanted to re-create the Roman Empire in the twentieth century, entwining Fascism with the traditions of the Church. He adopted the ancient Roman salute. He took the symbol of the fascie, reeds bundled around an axe, the same symbol that lectors carried in ancient Rome as a symbol of authority. This same fascie symbol was also respected by the USA and used on the reverse of the mercury dime, on the statue of Lincoln, even on the floor of the House of Representatives.

  Mussolini instituted a new calendar. The year 1922, when he marched on Rome, became Anno 1, Year One. (He had in fact taken the train from Naples, and had simply been handed the premiership by the King, but he liked and promoted the image of a march!)

  In a masterstroke of modern propaganda he carefully marketed his image as a figure of fitness and health and athletic physique. Clean shaven and well dressed, he looked every part the modern movie star.

  It was forbidden to discuss his health, though he had symptoms of a stomach ulcer. And, because his birthday was never celebrated, Mussolini’s image remained eternally young. He posed bare-chested in the fields, working man to man with the peasants, encouraging increased production of food. He was a hands-on dictator of the people.

  His relationship with the Catholic Church was insidious. He opposed its control and spoke out against it until it dawned on him that its power was too great to ignore. His deal with Pius XI resulted in the Lateran Pact of 1929, ending a generation-long quarrel between the Church and the Italian state.

  Between Pope and Dictator they colluded to control the female population. Laws were introduced, from the sensible and well received, such as increased tax allowances for families and better child care and schooling, to regulations that went too far on the use of contraception and abolition of abortion. Mussolini introduced a tax on single men, and rewarded families with increasing allowances for every child. It was true. In Italy, families with seven children or more paid no tax at all.

  Mussolini’s plan was to increase the population of Italy. Falling birth rates since the 1880s, followed by mass emigration plus a world war, had reduced Italy’s population drastically. Mussolini needed higher birth rates to build up his armies of the future. The Catholic Church’s theology was simply to respect all life.

  The absurd became ridiculous. Mussolini decreed that women should not wear trousers as they were unflattering, that skirts should be worn two inches below the knee, his personal preference, and that women should be encouraged to be slovenly because such women were more proliferate.

  He created new holy feasts to reinforce his influence over the predominantly Catholic population: 23 March, the advent of Fascism; 21 April, the birth of the city of Rome; 24 December, National day of the Mother.

  Religion and state gradually became one voice.

  On the walls of towns and villages all over Italy he decreed that ‘Mussolini is always Right!’ If the Pope was infallible then so was he!

  Mussolini was voted Man of the Year 1927, in Time magazine. He was admired as the ‘Roman Genius’ by Churchill and as the ‘Saviour of the Italian Nation’ by the Pope, Pius XI.

  The up-and-coming Hilter was fascinated by him and fashioned the Nazi Party on the Fascist Party of Italy. When they met for the first time in 1934, Hilter came away impressed and inspired. Mussolini turned to his aid and whispered, ‘Non mi piace’. He referred to him as a ‘silly little monkey’.

  Mussolini looked abroad to increase his control. Those who had emigrated were also subject to his genius for propaganda. Funding to support Italians abroad was substantial. In Britain, London, Liverpo
ol, Manchester, Cardiff and Glasgow all had Consular Offices and Fascio halls.

  In Edinburgh, the Italian Consulate’s Office was in the premises of the Italian Bank, on the ground floor of the Fascio in Picardy Place. It was not clear who paid the rent or whether the bank was independent of the Consular’s office, but they did each other no harm. Directly across the road was St Mary’s Roman Catholic Cathedral and, across from that, the Playhouse Supper and Picture Theatre. The Palais de Danse Ballroom was in Leith Street, a stone’s throw away. Giovanni Crolla’s chip shop was on the corner, and a two-minute stroll down Leith Walk took you to the new ‘Continental Produce’ shop that Alfonso had opened in Elm Row.

  In effect all Italian registrations of births and deaths, banking, dealings, religious ceremonies, eating, gossiping, dating and dancing could be done within a golden triangle at the top of Leith Walk.

  Relations with the local authorities and local churches were positive. When the Italians were invited by the Lord Provost of Edinburgh to represent the Italian Allied Army and participate each year in Armistice Day marches or support charity rallies, Picardy Place became the natural assembly point.

  In the large, high-ceilinged double room on the first floor of the Fascio hall, the sign above the Georgian marble fireplace stated in gold scrolled letters ‘Respect the country that offers you hospitality’. On the opposite wall was the maxim ‘Onore, Famiglia e Patria’, similarly scrolled.

  Like that of a Holywood film star, a full-size picture of Il Duce dominated the room, with a smaller picture of the Italian king, Vittorio Emanuele, below him. A crucifix was respectfully hung in every room.