by Mary Contini
He pulled a look of mock sorrow.
‘Not for a long time, Alfonso. You’re quite right. You’re still in my bad books.’
Alfonso moved over and kissed her cheek.
‘I see your Margherita is friendly with the Conetta boy. They look pretty chummy over there.’ Marietta had heard rumours that Margherita was going to marry Tony Conetta, one of her nephews from Glasgow.
Maria looked over at her oldest daughter. She had turned out to be a very beautiful young woman. She was slight, and today, in her pale blue-and-white spotted summer dress with a straw hat perched on top of her dark hair, she looked a picture. ‘Well, she’s twenty-five now. It’s past time. You and I were married with three children by then.’
‘Maria, can you imagine that? At her age we had already come over here, following our husbands, almost penniless, babes in arms. We had no idea what was ahead of us.’
‘I know. I know.’
Maria was thoughtful. Things had been quite hard for her and Alfonso recently. She worried about the future. What if there was a war? What if the boys are called up to fight? She tried not to dwell on that today. The sun lifted her spirits.
‘Look how lucky we’ve been, thank God. I know it’s been hard. Speriamo. Please God our children have it easier. You and I, Marietta, our job was to make the change. They’ll never really understand the worry, and I don’t want them to.’
‘You know, we can’t complain. We’ve got good men, hard-working and faithful. They love their children first, that’s how it should be.’
They looked over at their husbands and laughed. The two men had fallen asleep, flat-out on the grass, hats pulled over their foreheads, snoring loudly. The Chianti had got the better of them.
The Crollas and the Di Ciaccas c. 1939
‘Anyway, Margherita is getting married in October. He’s a good boy. Nice-looking.’
‘Where will she live?’
‘Glasgow. Tony has a fish and chip shop there. I’ll miss her. But I think she’ll be happy. It’s a bit more glamorous than Edinburgh.’
‘It’s a lot more glamorous than Cockenzie!’
The women laughed again.
Vittorio and Domenico came over with Johnny. They ate standing up, sharing some pizza and beer.
Vittorio tried to waken his father. ‘Papà, come on, it’s nearly three o’clock, time to organise the races.’
Alfonso groaned. At fifty-one, he was definitely not fit for races. He had put on a bit of weight over the last few years and would much prefer to lie in the sun.
‘Come on, Papà. We need to get a move on.’
Once he was up, Alfonso felt better for his sleep. They walked to the centre of the park, encouraging the youngsters from all the family groups to follow them.
‘Right, boys. Get the rope ready. Let’s start.’
He took a whistle from his top pocket and gave a shrill blow. Everyone looked up from their picnics. Here we go. Alfonso’s in charge. All the youngsters and children rushed forward. This was the best part of the day.
They went through the races: hundred yards, five hundred yards, sprints for the youngsters, egg-and-spoon race for the mothers, fifty yards each for the Balilla and the Giovanni Ragazzi. Vittorio kept the score, whipping up a frenzy of competition between the east-and west-coast Italians.
As the heat of the day cooled, everyone gradually joined in so that, by the time the Glasgow versus Edinburgh football match began, the whole crowd, of almost three thousand, was crammed along the sidelines, cheering and shouting, clapping and whistling.
‘Forza Glasgow, Vai, Vai!’
‘Oh! Dio!’
‘Oh! Madonna!’
‘No…!’
‘Gooooooooooooooooal!’
With a final push in the closing seconds of the match, Glasgow won by three goals to two. The Conetta boys were fierce competition, beating the Edinburgh lads into submission.
To much hullabaloo, Tony was presented with the Fascio Football Cup by Alfonso’s eldest daughter, his new bride to be. Everyone cheered and whistled. A wedding in the autumn was a great thing to look forward to. Most families in the park were related to each other one way or another; many of them would be involved.
With the help of his young sister, Domenico got the heavy rope from the basket and laid it on the ground.
Alfonso stood on an overturned lemonade box and, after blowing the whistle to call for quiet, shouted through the megaphone: ‘Ragazzi e Ragazze, for the Seventeenth Annual Ferragosto Celebration for Il Fascio della Scozia, avanti! Step forward for the tug-of-war and the top prize of the day, the Il Duce Mussolini Silver Cup!’
This was the big moment of the day. It was a fight to the last. Never mind the football, it was the show of strength that mattered.
‘Team leaders, step forward.’
Tony Conetta stepped forward for Glasgow.
Everyone cheered.
Domenico Crolla stepped forward for Edinburgh.
Hurrah!
A hush fell over the crowd. Glasgow had won the football. Would they win the tug-of-war as well?
‘Call your team, one at a time.’
‘Glasgow, Frank Conetta!’ A cheer from the crowd.
Edinburgh Italians, c. 1939
‘Edinburgh, Achille Crolla!’ Cheers from the right.
‘Glasgow, Aristide Di Ciacca!’ Johnny’s first cousin, Cesidio’s brother Louis’ son. More cheers.
‘Edinburgh, Johnny Di Ciacca!’ Cheers from both sides; the Di Ciaccas had many more relatives in Glasgow than Edinburgh.
‘Glasgow, Landy Conetta!’ The Conettas would be a force to reckon with, all tall strong men.
‘Edinburgh, Alfonso Crolla!’ The young ones in Glasgow burst out laughing. Alfonso was not exactly in his prime.
Maria whispered to Marietta. ‘He’ll add weight to the back. They’d better not laugh at my Alfonso.’
‘Glasgow, Hughie Hilly!’ Hugh was an Irish footballer who had married one of the Glasgow Italian girls. He was a wiry, strong man and would be a good opponent.
‘Edinburgh, Monsignor McGettigan!’ Edinburgh would have the Church on its side.
‘Glasgow, Father Rossi.’ So would Glasgow, albeit a younger, fitter Church!
Father Gaetano Rossi was a young Italian priest who had arrived in Glasgow the previous year to complete his ecclesiastical studies.
And so it went on until there were ten on each side, men and boys, fired up to win the cup.
Olivia was given the whistle. She had been primed by her father. She was to wink at him just before she blew it to give the Edinburgh team a head start. Vera and Wefa were her cheerleaders.
Tony had primed Margherita to keep an eye on her father to give the Glasgow team a head start!
They lined up: shortest and smallest at the middle, heaviest and oldest at the back. They were all strong men, used to carrying hundredweights of potatoes, boxes of fish and cases of lemonade. They shouted at each other to make each other laugh. This was a serious competition; any tricks were allowed.
Olivia stood to attention on the lemonade box. She straightened her back and jutted out her chin, then put the whistle to her lips.
Both teams stared ahead, eyeballing the opposition.
Alfonso kept an eye on Olivia.
Margherita kept an eye on Alfonso.
Tony kept an eye on Margherita.
Margherita, c. 1939
Olivia winked to Alfonso. Margherita winked to Tony. Everyone burst out laughing. Olivia blew the whistle and they were off!
Edinburgh pulled. Glasgow lurched forward.
Glasgow pulled back. Edinburgh held their ground.
A huge roar went up from the crowd. Everyone yelled, each side shouting louder than the other.
The youngsters went wild, jumping up and down, ecstatic with excitement.
The Glasgow boys pulled with added strength. They crouched down near the ground and dug in their heels, pulling the Edinburgh boys nearer to the line, now ragge
d and in disarray.
The Edinburgh crowd groaned. They were going to lose.
The Glasgow boys concentrated. ‘Tira! Tira!’
The Edinburgh boys slackened a little and Achille fell over. Everyone laughed. That’s it. They edged towards the line.
The crowd groaned more loudly.
Jumping up and down on the lemonade box, Olivia was beside herself with excitement and the fear of losing. She needed to help her Papà. As loud as she could manage she yelled out over the microphone:
‘Gioventù d’Edimburgo!… A chi la vittoria?’
Hearing her take on Mussolini, everyone burst out laughing. The Edinburgh team, inspired by her spirit, all yelled back in unison while they gave a final superhuman heave of the rope:
‘A noi, la vittoria. A noi!’
They pulled and pulled until they all fell on their backs and, keeping the rope taught, they pulled the Glasgow boys over the line and on top of them.
Alfonso eventually pulled himself from the rummage that had tumbled on top of him. Olivia called again through the megaphone, beside herself with joy.
‘A chi la vittoria?’
Good-humoured in defeat the Glasgow contingent gave an almightily roar:
‘A voi! A voi!’
Olivia, Wefa and Vera ran round the park shouting praise to Il Duce and enthusiastically shaking hands with all the winners.
Anna and Alex hadn’t been to the picnic because the shop had been really busy. But now they closed the shop half an hour earlier than usual, keen to go to the dance. Margaret, who was by now part of the family, and Alex had cleaned up. They just had time to get changed before Willie Lees came to collect them in the taxi at eleven o’clock.
Marietta had taken Lena, Anna and Margaret into Edinburgh the week before to buy them new dance dresses from Jenners. She had treated them all to afternoon tea in the North British Station Hotel. Now they were all excited at the thought of joining the revellers at the dance. They had worked since seven that morning but were still full of energy.
Johnny, Marietta, Anna, Alex, Cesidio, Lena, c. 1938
When they arrived at the Assembly Rooms in George Street, almost at midnight, the dance was in full swing. The stunning chandeliers glittered in the main ballroom reflecting the colours of the girls’ dresses. The men were in evening suits, one or two in British army uniform. There were three or four young American Italians in uniform as well, billeted in Glasgow and scooped up by the Glasgow Italians to enjoy a bit of local hospitality. They were much in demand by all the girls.
The Big Band was playing ‘When the Saints Go Marching in’ and it looked as if everyone was up on the dance floor, dipping and diving, having a wonderful time.
Anna immediately found Johnny and Olivia, who were sitting at a table with the Conetta boys. The music was intoxicating, the atmosphere in the room electric. Having recovered from losing the tug-of-war, the Glasgow boys were making sure they got more dances from the Edinburgh girls.
Alfonso went to take Maria up to dance. She laughed.
‘It’s too fast, Alfonso. Wait until a slow dance comes on.’
Alfonso sat down beside her. ‘Do you know, cara, this has been one of the happiest days of my life. Just to see everyone enjoying themselves, all together, hasn’t it been just perfect?’
Maria took his hand.
The music stopped and as everyone hung around on the dance floor waiting for the next tune, Vittorio took the microphone.
‘Signore e Signori, thank you all for making the effort to join the seventeenth Ferragosto Celebrations. I think we can all agree that it has been a spectacular day!’
Applause filled the room.
‘I have three announcements to make. Firstly I’d like to announce that next year’s Ferragosto will be held in King’s Park, Alva Glen, Stirling.’
‘Hurrah!’
‘The second is that after many years of hardship I am happy, no, thrilled, to announce that, finally, the convenience of modern appliances has reached the outskirts of society. Cesidio Di Ciacca has finally purchased a meat slicer for his shop in Cockenzie!’
This ribbing was followed by a huge roar of laughter. There was enormous rivalry between the families, especially among the young.
‘And finally, the top presentation of the evening, after a tremendous competition and, for once, no cheating …’, a groan from the crowd, ‘… the prize of the Il Duce Silver Cup for the Tug of War goes, for the fifth consecutive time, to … Edimburgo!’
This was accompanied by more rapturous applause and much stamping of feet.
‘And, if you please, Cavaliere Signor Alfonso Crolla, as Secretary, could you please step forward.’
Alfonso loved nothing better than taking the stage. Not to be outdone by his son, he went to the microphone.
‘Amici, thank you for this honour and for your support. We are living in dangerous times but I am confident good will prevail; Il Duce will not let us down. We are Italians, an honourable nation. As representatives of Italy, in this our adopted home country, we have a unique job to do, to continue to support the cordial relations that have built up between our two peoples. Keep your faith and you can’t go wrong. God will not let us down either.’
Applause greeted this and a groan from the young ones. They didn’t want any serious war talk to spoil their evening.
‘No speeches, Zio Alfonso, let’s dance!’
‘Well, why not.’ Alfonso got the message; these youngsters just wanted a good time. He’d show them a good time.
He turned to the band leader, ‘Maestro, La Ballarella.’
The older couples in the five hundred-strong crowd cheered and stood up. This was the dance of their youth; forget the jitter bug and Charleston.
‘Andiamo,’ Alfonso called on his friends, ‘let’s show these youngsters how to dance!’
He pulled Maria onto the dance floor, Cesidio took Marietta and Benny and Giovanni stood up with their wives. The other older couples followed and, as the familiar Italian music started, they automatically fell into line.
With rhythmic clapping and encouragement from the youngsters standing around, they danced the traditional courting dance of la cioceria.
Throughout the evening, family after family lined up proudly in front of a hurriedly pinned-up black tablecloth to get their photograph taken. Husband standing proudly behind wife, brothers and sisters staring modestly into the camera, backs straight, chins out, eyes strong and determined.
Today of all days was the result of long hours of hard work and was an achievement as important and satisfying to the young people as if they had just been awarded a university degree.
Well after three in the morning they all stood and sang the National Anthem of Italy, then of Britain, and finally with most enthusiasm, because they loved the tune the best, ‘La Giovinezza’.
Finally the lights went down and the band played the last waltz, ‘The Moonlight Serenade’.
Alfonso went over to Maria again. ‘Is this slow enough for you?’
Maria was happy. Margherita was dancing with her fidanzato; Vittorio was dancing with Margaret from Cockenzie; Johnny had taken Olivia up, and Domenico was with one of the D’Agostino girls. Gloria and Filomena were dancing with each other.
Alfonso held Maria close. He pressed his cheek against hers, his skin rough with stubble. He smelled of his usual cologne. She relaxed in his arms. She felt safe when she was close to him like this. The music seduced her and she closed her eyes. She felt like a girl again; all the emotions of that day they spent alone on La Meta all those years ago came flooding back.
As if Alfonso also sensed it, he pressed her towards him.
‘Ti amo per sempre, carissima,’ he whispered in her ear, sending a thrill down her spine. ‘I’ll love you always. Everything is going to be all right.’
Sagne e Fagioli
Pasta and Bean Soup
This soup is traditionally prepared during Lent without the pancetta. It is best eaten the day af
ter it is made, once the flavours have mellowed. If possible use fresh red and white mottled borlotti beans (in season October– November). Otherwise use dried beans which have been soaked overnight or a tin of ready-cooked beans, rinsed of their salty juices.
200g borlotti beans, taken from their pods if fresh,
soaked overnight if dried
3–4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 whole clove garlic
a piece of ‘cottica’ (the rind of prosciutto) or 50g
smoked pancetta, finely chopped
small piece peperoncino
6–8 cherry tomatoes
sprig of rosemary, leaves finely chopped
water
sea salt
Parmigiano Reggiano, freshly grated, to serve
Warm the extra virgin olive oil in a saucepan and flavour it with the garlic, cottica or pancetta and crushed peperoncino. Add the fresh or dried beans, then cover with cold water, about a litre and a half, and bring to the boil. Add the tomatoes, the rosemary and a drizzle of oil and simmer gently or cook in a low oven until the beans are softened. Fresh beans will take about 25 minutes, dried the best part of an hour.
Once the beans are soft take a few spoonfuls and pass through a sieve to thicken the soup. Remove the cottica and garlic clove and check seasoning.
for the pasta:
’Sagne
Lasagne Pasta Sheets
The soup is most delicious if you make some home-made pasta, roll out thin sheets (’sagne) and cut them into irregular squares to cook in the soup. Alternatively, you can use two to three handfuls of broken pasta pieces, short tube pasta, ditali or a broken egg pasta like papardelle.
160g ‘00’ Italian durum wheat flour