by Mary Contini
She went through to her bedroom and found Cesidio on his knees. She knelt with him and finished his last prayer with him. They embraced. She kissed him as if she would never see him again, passionately and with all her love. Through her tears she tried to laugh. ‘Now, remember, when you come back I’ll finish off that kiss.’
He held her close and kissed her again.
‘Amore mio, it will be fine. They’ve nothing on me. We’ll get out of this.’
‘Look after Alex.’
‘Don’t worry. They can’t keep a sixteen-year-old boy who was born in Scotland and whose mother was born in London. We’re in Britain, not Nazi Germany. And at least Johnny is still here so you’ll have him to help you get this sorted out. Go and see Alex Craig in the morning. He’ll help us.’
The whole situation was ridiculous. They couldn’t believe it.
‘Can you hurry up, please.’ The detective was becoming agitated.
When they came into the sitting room again, Anna and Lena were crying, Alex was hugging his sisters, visibly shocked. Johnny went over to his father.
‘Dad, I’ll come and find you tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’ll come and get you.’
Cesidio had fought in the First World War. He knew that tomorrow was no longer a guarantee for any of them. He held his oldest son close and kissed him.
‘Ci vediamo domani, figlio mio. I’ll see you tomorrow, son. Tomorrow.’
After he had kissed his daughters and his wife, Cesidio’s courage almost deserted him: ‘God bless you all.’
He put his arm around Alex’s shoulder. They went together out of the door. He stopped at the top of the stair. Down below was a silent crowd of about two hundred, all his friends.
One of them shouted up, ‘We’ll look after the women, Sis. Don’t you worry about them.’
Cesidio’s eyes filled up with tears. He started to walk down the stairs behind his young son. Half-way down he stopped and looked back at his wife and three children: ‘God Bless you.’
Then he looked at his customers and friends of the last twenty years. He shivered: ‘God Bless you all! God Bless the King!’
In the back of the car, Alex wept. He sat close to his father, who whispered constantly to him to give him courage. He knew he would be all right. They drove to Edinburgh. In the dark, with only slits of light from the headlamps, it took over an hour. When they passed along the sea road at the winding bends on the way into Musselburgh, Alex was terrified that the car would fall into the sea.
The car swept past Arthur’s Seat and up the Royal Mile. Cesidio started to have a sense of foreboding.
‘Alex, remember, whatever happens, your mother and I love you. You know that, don’t you?’
Before Alex could answer, the car drew to a halt. The detective in the front got out and opened the door on Alex’s side. He looked inside.
‘Get out, lad. Bring your case.’
Alex got out. He was in the middle of the square in front of St Giles’ Cathedral. He recognised the Mercat Cross; he had laid a wreath there once with Zio Alfonso.
A policeman put his hand on his shoulder.
Alex looked round at the car, waiting for his father to get out.
The detective slammed the door shut and, banging the roof of the car twice, signalled for it to drive away.
Back in Cockenzie, after crying inconsolably, Marietta and the girls had fallen asleep all huddled together in Marietta’s bed. Johnny had convinced them it was all a terrible mistake. The best thing to do was to get some rest. It was pitch black outside; it was impossible to do anything until it was light.
They would get up very early and get to Edinburgh first thing. Zio Alfonso would know what was going on. He would be able to help them.
Of course, Johnny couldn’t get to sleep. His mind was racing. What really was going on? Why had they taken Alex and not him? Why had they come through the night? He walked up and down, up and down.
When he eventually sat down on the settee, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
Loud shouting outside in the street woke him. He hurried to the window at the front and looked out. It was barely light. Below he could see the Black Maria. The officials were back again.
Some locals were shouting.
‘Leave the laddie alane. For God’s sake, man. They’ve done nothing wrong.’
Johnny saw the men climb the stairs to his house.
So, they’d come back for him. He got dressed. By the time they were all awakened again by the knock on the door, the second time that night, he was ready to go.
Before he let them in, he went to the kitchen, to his mother’s cupboard, and took a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate, hiding it in his trouser pocket. He grabbed a handful of notes from the sugar bowl in which Marietta hid her housekeeping money.
Anna had opened the door and was crying, shouting at the men.
‘Anna, don’t worry. I’m glad they’ve come. I’ll find Dad and Alex quicker. We’ll get them released. Mum, go in to Edinburgh tomorrow. Go to Picardy Place and see the Consul and go to see Zio Alfonso. He’ll be able to help.’
Marietta was distraught. ‘Madonna mia! My husband and both my sons! I’m a British citizen. I’ve only lived four years in Italy all my life! Look, I’ll get my passport.’
She couldn’t understand. She collapsed again in tears, all her courage deserting her. The men were waiting at the door, embarrassed that they had had to come back. They didn’t want to look incompetent. They wanted to get away as soon as possible.
Johnny kissed his mother and reassured her. ‘Mum, this is better. I’ll be fine. I’ll find Dad and Alex. I’ve got some money. When I see them, I’ll give it to them. We’ll be home by lunch time.’
‘Give this to Cesidio, he forgot it.’ She pushed a one-inch metal container into his hands. He didn’t need to look. He knew what it was, his father’s figurine of St Francis carrying the baby Jesus.
‘Give it to your father when you see him.’
He embraced his sisters. Then Johnny, the handsome, carefree charismatic boy that everyone loved was taken from his home, branded as an enemy alien.
It was dawn as he walked down the stairs. The crowd were still at the bottom of the stairs; they had been standing guard, protecting their friends all night.
Alex Craig, out of uniform, was standing apart from the crowd. He shouted across:
‘Don’t worry, lad.’
Others in the crowd called out:
‘Johnny, come back soon, lad.’
‘Good luck, find yer dad and yer brother!’
‘Good luck, lad!’
Someone started to sing … ‘Will ye no come back again …’ Others joined in.
Marietta stood at the top of the stairs with her two daughters, in their night clothes, and wept. In the space of a few hours her world had been ripped apart. The country she had left years ago had imposed its power and ruined her life, from thousands of miles away.
29
The next morning, after a sleepless night, when Marietta heard a knock again she rushed to the door. That must be Cesidio and the boys home. Thank God. She knew it had all been a mistake.
She was devastated when she saw Constable Craig standing with his helmet under his arm.
‘Mary, can I come in?’
They hadn’t opened the shop. The milk delivery was still lying at the back door. Margaret, Jeannie and Tommy Dougal were all in the front room, just as distraught as Anna and Lena at the night’s developments.
‘Come in, Alex. Come in please. I’m so glad to see you. Where are they? Do you know where they’ve been taken? Why have they been taken?’
‘I am not at liberty to say. I don’t know where they are. Honestly, Mary, I don’t know. It’s Mussolini. It’s him declaring war. You’ve all been classed as enemy aliens.’
Anna was incensed. Anger was taking over from fear. It was Italy that had declared war, not them.
‘What do you mean “enemy aliens”? Mum was born in London. Alex and I
were born here. You know us. We’re no more enemy aliens than you are!’
‘I am only doing my job, Anna. I know this is not right but I have my instructions.’
‘What do you mean instructions? What instructions?’ Lena was listening to all this and was beginning to get really frightened. Of the three of them left, Lena was the only one who had been born in Italy. The policeman hadn’t come to see if they were all right. He’d come to take her away. She sat down shocked, deadly white with dread. What was going to happen next?
‘Mary, I have instructions from the War Office. I am sorry but you have to go. You have to leave the coast, to move at least thirty miles away.’
Marietta didn’t understand. What did he mean? What did leave the coast mean?
‘Is that where they are? Away from the coast?’
‘I don’t know where they are. I just know that you and the girls have to leave. You have fourteen days to get organised and then you have to report to the police station to tell me where you’re going. Meanwhile I have to confiscate the wireless from the shop, and any maps you might have.’
Now Anna was confused.
‘If we have to leave the coast, why can my dad not come with us?’
‘Anna, I’m not allowed to say anything.’
‘Please, tell us what’s going on. Why are we enemy aliens? What does it mean?’
‘Anna, there’s a war on. The forces have just crawled back from Dunkirk. The Germans are on the coast of France getting ready to invade. Your country has just declared war. What do you expect? The government doesn’t have time to talk to every person.’
He lost his temper. He couldn’t believe he was doing this to his friends. He was caught up in this whole mess as well.
‘We’re at war! At war! Don’t you understand?’ He calmed down a bit. He lowered his voice.
‘Mary, I shouldn’t be telling you this but my wife, Ines, her uncle, Tognieri in Dunbar. He’s been lifted as well.’
Anna was stunned. She started to cry. She looked at her mother, incredulous.
‘But, Mum, don’t they know? This is our country.’
In Brunton Place the same scenario was played out. Two detectives called on Maria and issued her with an instruction to leave the city within two weeks. They confiscated her wireless and refused to give her any information about her husband and sons. Her English was so poor her daughters had to translate every word.
The shops were lying empty with smashed windows and broken doors. Most of the stock had been looted. Miss Dennison had come along in the morning asking for instructions. Maria didn’t know what to do. She was left with three young daughters, three wrecked shops and an instruction to leave her home.
They tried to telephone the Consul, Gayfield Square Police Station, then Margherita in Glasgow, all to no avail.
Miss Dennison asked permission to employ a carpenter to board up the shops. She asked Maria if she had any cash to pay the man. Maria had a little money but was reluctant to hand it over. She refused and told Miss Dennison to write a cheque.
‘Mrs Crolla, there’s no money. I’ve been warning Mr Crolla over the last year. Most of the Italians owe him money. Their shops have all been destroyed. He’s not going to get any of it now, is he?’
Maria looked at Miss Dennison. The two women did not really get on with each other but they both knew Alfonso. His heart ruled his actions, not his brain.
The carpenter refused to take a cheque and Maria had to give the man a quarter of her cash.
Olivia went with Miss Dennison to watch the front of the shop in Elm Row get boarded up. Olivia was shocked when she saw the shop. Everything was ruined. Between them they swept up and tried to clear the broken debris from the shop. As the man nailed secure boarding at the front, Olivia couldn’t understand how Mussolini had betrayed them all. Someone must have betrayed him. The banging of each nail made her shudder. She felt the man was striking her with every stroke.
Maria spent most of the day outside the police station in Gayfield Square, with Gloria and Filomena. There were at least thirty other Italian women there, all in various states of distress: Giovanni’s wife, Preziosa, now over sixty years old, Emidio’s wife, Carolina, Achille’s wife, all of them. When Olivia came across she was devastated to see her friend Vera standing forlornly with her mother. She embraced her friend.
‘Olivia, they’ve taken my father.’
Olivia didn’t have the courage to say the same words out loud.
When Marietta got off the tram with Anna and Lena at Picardy Place, they were relieved to see Maria. Marietta rushed across the street.
‘Oh! Maria. Thank God. Where’s Alfonso? I need to talk to him. They’ve taken the men.’
Maria looked at Marietta and burst into tears. She couldn’t get a word out. Olivia was forced to speak up. She took a deep breath to stop herself from crying.
‘Zia Marietta, they’ve taken Papà as well, and my brothers. We don’t know where they are. We don’t know anything.’
Anna put her arms round Olivia. They clung to each other and wept.
‘I thought Zio Alfonso could help us. Now he has gone, who will look after us?’
Some of the women whispered to Maria that one of their sons, or their father or husband, had not been picked up. Each had gone into hiding. Tonight they would sleep in the park or go into the country to avoid being caught.
They noticed a few of the women were absent. Rumours flew around that some had been arrested as well. This added a further wave of fear. What if they took the women next? What if they were separated from their daughters and younger children?
The Archbishop and two of the priests came to the police station to object to what was going on and to protest at the treatment of the women and their families. They were told in no uncertain terms to keep out of it.
The Consul had kept out of it. He and his officials were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had been arrested as well.
Many women had babies or young children; a few were pregnant. Most of them had very little cash and no means of getting money from their husbands’ bank accounts, assuming their husbands had money in bank accounts. It had happened so quickly. No one was prepared. Every family was affected. Every family was shattered.
Maria realised there was nothing to be done.
‘Come back to the house, Marietta. There’s no good staying here.’
That night, the rioting broke out again, though thankfully on a lesser scale. In Brunton Place, they prayed incessantly, rosary after rosary. Maria’s faith was stretched to the limit. Had her God deserted her? Every hour that passed, her despair increased. She was desperate not to leave her home in case Alfonso came back or tried to get in touch.
On the third night, they barricaded themselves in again. There was nothing to do but pray.
There was another loud knock on the door. The girls and their mother screamed in terror. What now?
Olivia opened it, her mother standing behind her. Two policemen stood on the landing.
‘Mrs Crolla, may I come in? I have a warrant to search the house.’
Olivia spoke up. It was the local policeman. She recognised him from the shop.
‘My mother doesn’t speak English very well. What are you looking for? They searched the house on Monday night; turned it upside down. They didn’t find anything.’
The policeman felt uncomfortable.
‘Olive, I’m sorry, my dear, I’ve to look for a wireless.’
‘Why? They took it away. We don’t have one.’
‘Well, there have been reports that you,’ he lowered his voice, aware that the walls had ears, ‘that you are sending radio messages to Italy. That you are spies.’
Olivia shook her head, incredulously. What was he talking about?
He continued, ‘There are reports of mumbling in Italian every night at exactly six o’clock for at least an hour.’
The other policeman nodded.
‘You can’t deny what three people have reported, M
iss Crolla. There are witnesses. And we heard something just now, before we knocked.’
Olivia was no older than his own daughter. Her eyes were large and shocked in her pale, beautiful face. He felt very sorry for her.
‘It’s our rosary!’ She shouted at him, furious that three people had reported them. ‘We are not spies. We pray our rosary every night at six o’clock. Listen, listen.’
Terrified, she started to pray, nodding at her sisters to join in.
‘Madre di Dio, prega per noi, peccatori, adesso e nell’ora della nostra morte, Amen.’
They chanted the words in Italian, over and over again, just as they had been doing, non-stop.
Gloria’s voice was shaking. Filomena burst into tears.
‘Please,’ Olivia was distraught, ‘please, just leave us alone.’
*
After being separated from his father, Alex had been driven to the west end of town. He noticed high-security gates of a large compound. They drove through.
In a stark room, two officials behind a desk asked him questions, looking down all the time at forms and lists in front of them.
‘Name?’
‘Alessandro Di Ciacca.’
‘Date of birth?’
‘19 September 1923.’
‘What age are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
The two men looked at each other, not saying a word.
Alex was petrified. They’d taken him from his father. He was completely alone. He was afraid to say anything unless he antagonised them. It was two in the morning. They were not exactly in a good mood.
The questioning went on. Who was his father? Who was his mother? Where was he born? Where were they born?
Was he a member of the Italian Fascist Party?
Alex’s stomach lurched. He’d been on holiday to Italy two years ago but that was all.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what the answer was.
They took him to a shower room and told him to strip and scrub himself. They searched him and shaved his hair. He was issued with two sets of prison underwear, shirts and a pair of trousers. On top, one man piled a set of bed linen. He was marched along a stark, concrete corridor with one electric light bulb dangling from the ceiling and pushed into a cell.