by Philip Paris
He could not speak and she pulled him to her and held him tightly. He buried his head on her shoulder. It was a long time before she let go of him and when she did it felt that this was their goodbye, even though they had several hours left together before he returned to the camp. This moment, standing in the kitchen, was their parting.
‘You’ve brought a parcel,’ she said at last, wiping away her tears.
‘I made something for you.’
‘What is it?’
‘You must open it.’
She went over to the table and untied the newspaper to reveal two wrought iron candlesticks.
‘They’re beautiful.’
‘I wanted to give you something. I had thought about making a ring, but perhaps one day …’ He stopped, unable for a moment to finish the sentence. ‘One day you will meet someone else and a ring might be difficult to explain. But no one will question where two candlesticks came from and when you light the candles you might think of me.’
‘It’s a lovely thought. Thank you. I will treasure them always. And what are these?’ she asked, picking up a bundle of papers that had been underneath the candlesticks.
‘They are poems I’ve written while in Camp 60.’
‘I have something for you,’ she said.
Fiona took an envelope off the dresser and pulled out a photograph of her that had been taken a few weeks earlier at the Kirkwall studio of James Sinclair. He studied the image for several minutes in silence.
‘I don’t need a photograph to remember your beauty but it is the best present you could have given me. Thank you.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘But there is one other thing I would like.’
‘Name it,’ she said.
He put a hand in his pocket and removed what appeared to be a small lighter. He had made many over the months and had even given one to Mr Merriman as a present. This one appeared to be old and was certainly battered. Fiona looked puzzled until Giuseppe pressed a secret catch that allowed the ‘lighter’ to open into two empty halves, like a large locket.
‘I made this to hide a lock of your hair, which I will keep with me always.’
Without speaking, Fiona walked over to a drawer by the sink. She rummaged around inside to gain some time then brought over a pair of scissors.
‘You do it,’ she said handing them over.
He carefully cut a small piece of hair so that no one would notice and put it into the ‘lighter’. She took it out of his hands to study more closely.
‘Such items tend to disappear easily and occasionally they are taken by guards during the searches carried out when changing camps,’ said Giuseppe. ‘I’ve made this one to look worthless and it obviously doesn’t work, so no one will want it.’
She gave it back and he put it away inside his jacket.
‘Everyone has gone for the day,’ she said.
‘I saw your parents at the service. I was glad I could say goodbye to them. They looked very tired. What about Rebecca … and Bill?’
‘I had to bribe Rebecca to go to a friend’s after work. But she sends her love and said to pass on her wishes.’ She hesitated. ‘Bill has gone out walking. He can’t bear to be shut in, but visits places where he doesn’t think he will meet anyone. Sometime he goes out at night, in the dark. It’s very difficult for him.’
‘It is difficult for all of you.’
‘Bill is a good man. He will come around eventually, but he has had no time to adjust. Tell me about the service,’ she said, trying to lighten their conversation.
‘It was very moving. Padre Giacomo’s sermon was good, but the highlight was when Aldo walked in. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the entire chapel. The rumour is that he is remaining on Orkney while his leg mends and that he is going to …’
‘Marry a local girl,’ said Fiona finishing his sentence.
‘Yes, but how did you know?’
‘Because he’s marrying Ailsa.’
‘Ailsa? From where I sat I couldn’t see the girl Aldo was with and then I was keen to get away. It seems so long ago when she helped you get rid of the guards at the hospital.’
They were quiet for a while. Giuseppe took her hand and kissed it.
‘There is something else,’ he said. ‘In the chapel, I have left something for you.’
‘In the chapel?’ What is it?’
‘You must find it.’
‘But how will I know what it is?’
‘You will know because you are looking for it, but I don’t think anyone else will ever notice it, even though it is there for everyone to see. It is in the very heart of the building.’
Fiona knew he was not going to tell her any more so accepted she would have to go to the chapel to find out.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We can’t stay indoors all day. Bill isn’t the only one to know secret paths and places where you are unlikely to meet anyone. I’ve made us a picnic. I don’t want our last day together to be full of sadness.’
Fiona and Giuseppe walked hand in hand down empty country tracks and talked about their futures and their hopes. Every moment was filled with a memory to be treasured, but their time together was over quickly. They had both agreed he should leave before any of her family returned and by midafternoon they were once more standing in the kitchen, facing the final goodbye.
‘I have one more thing to ask,’ said Fiona.
‘What is it?’
‘When you eventually return home, tell your wife about me.’
‘Tell her? Why?’
‘Because, Giuseppe, you will not be able to hide it. You are too open and she will guess. And if she asks and you deny it, then it will always be a barrier between you both. It would be better to confess what has happened and suffer the consequences.’
‘She might not forgive me.’
‘I think she will. You have been away a long time. It may take a while but I believe she will. Trust my woman’s instinct in this.’
Giuseppe’s walk back to the camp was the loneliest he had ever made. But it was over. Upon reaching the gates he went straight to the chapel and was still kneeling in front of the altar when the trumpeter announced supper. Giuseppe had said his goodbyes and his prayers, what the future held in store only time would tell. He got up and went to join the others in the mess hall.
Giuseppe’s was not the only farewell taking place that week. Carlo obtained permission to visit Dino’s grave and a few days after the service he caught a lift into Kirkwall on an army truck then walked the mile or so out to St Olaf cemetery. No one else was about and as he had plenty of time he started to read the headstones. Some were very old and he saw the same surname repeated often, where generations of an Orkney family were buried near to each other. Carlo tried to work out the various connections but sometimes the writing had worn away too much or he simply couldn’t fathom the links.
He moved on and came across the graves of servicemen killed in action during the First World War and the war still taking place. He was struck by how death had brought people together on that one spot who were perhaps so different during life. A ‘Boy, 1st Class’, aged only sixteen was buried next to a Petty Officer of forty-eight. Deckhands, airmen and mechanics lay in the ground yards from each other.
There was a headstone for a leading photographer from HMS Tern, a reference that appeared on many graves. Carlo had heard of HMS Tern, which was an airfield north of Stromness. It was the custom of the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm squadrons to name land bases from which they operated after ships. He knew of another, north of Kirkwall, called HMS Sparrowhawk and he soon came upon several graves of men from this squadron.
Carlo walked on, reading the inscriptions at the bottom of the headstones. Two unnamed sailors were ‘Known Unto God’. A leading airman of nineteen had ‘made the supreme sacrifice’, while an airman of twenty had ‘answered the last call’. Carlo had shed many tears for Dino and had been determined this day should not be a morbid parting, but the waste of so much young life weighed heavily
.
He stopped suddenly in surprise when he came across the headstones of two Germans. He couldn’t tell if they were airmen or sailors, only that they had been in their twenties. Carlo supposed in death men could no longer be enemies. They had followed orders and fought for their country.
He left the German graves behind and walked over to stand by the place where Dino was buried. It was in a corner of the cemetery by a tree. Carlo thought Dino would have liked this because there were lots of birds in the branches and they were singing away for all they were worth. At the bottom of Dino’s headstone, underneath the name and date, it simply said ‘A good man’.
There was so much he had wanted to say but now that Carlo stood in front of Dino’s grave he felt it unnecessary. Dino would know what was in his heart.
He turned suddenly and walked away, out of the cemetery gates and headed towards Kirkwall. He didn’t look back.
31
The few remaining days passed quickly and the morning of departure arrived. Although a cold wind blew steadily, it was a dry and bright morning as the Italians gathered on the parade ground. They were to walk to St Mary’s where a fleet of buses was waiting to transport them to Stromness, from where the old steamer St Ola would take them across the Pentland Firth to Scrabster. Then they would make their way to Thurso and catch a train all the way to York.
Domenico and Major Buckland stood outside the chapel, near the gate. Domenico had been granted permission to remain with the small detachment of British soldiers who were to clean up the camp, dismantling and packing equipment that could be used elsewhere.
‘It was good of you to allow me to stay behind and make the holy water stoup, sir,’ said Domenico. ‘When that’s done, the chapel will be complete.’
‘It would have been a pity not to have finished something so important. Major Booth and his party should be here for about ten days while they load everything worthwhile into trucks. You can’t leave equipment like the kitchen ranges or beds to simply rot, not in times of war. They’ll be put to good use in other camps.’
For a while they stood in amiable silence and watched the men lining up on the parade ground.
‘It will be strange when it’s empty,’ said Major Buckland. ‘In one morning the camp will have changed from a noisy, vibrant place full of Italians shouting and waving their arms to … well, I think it will be a desolate place. Best to pull it down as quickly as possible. Let it return to nature.’
‘And the chapel, sir?’
‘I truly wish I could make you a promise, Domenico, or that I had Padre Giacomo’s conviction that the chapel will be here for generations to come. When the rest of the men leave next week, I’ll have no authority or influence at all over what happens here. The land will be given back to Mr Sutherland Graeme and technically it’s meant to be in the same condition in which we took it on.’
‘The Orkney people said they would look after the chapel and so did Mr Sutherland Graeme.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you can rely on them but, between us, I fear bureaucratic orders from London and also the Orkney winters that will beat the chapel mercilessly.’
There were shouts from the parade ground and the first lines of Italians began to march towards the gate. During the previous few days the entire camp had been busy washing, mending and ironing uniforms. Buttons and belts had been polished and boots cleaned, while the camp barber had been working late every evening.
Someone had even gone to Aldo’s friend at the power station to obtain extra oil so the men could grease their hair. Bill Johnstone had been presented with a lemonade bottle, which contained a beautifully carved crucifix, in thanks for all the oil he had supplied. Several Orkney families had also received gifts over the previous few weeks. They ranged from an engraved rolling-pin to a scaled down model of Milan cathedral, which had been painstakingly made out of matchsticks.
The men marched towards the gate with pride and precision. It could not have been a greater contrast to the night when they arrived, shivering and sick from their journey, full of dread and resentment. As the NCO at the front of the first platoon reached the chapel he saluted Major Buckland and called out.
‘Eyes right.’
The men turned their heads smartly to face the British officer, who returned the salute. Domenico had tactfully moved several steps away. He would join the men in a couple of weeks, but he still felt a pang of sorrow at seeing them leave. A few caught his eye, especially the imposing figure of Buttapasta. He winked as he drew level and Domenico broke into a big grin. Major Buckland had to hold back a smile when he saw Shipwreck, his walking stick pointing to the sky from his rucksack and the trophy he had won on the athletics day fixed to the top.
Unfortunately, Padre Giacomo had taken ill suddenly the day after the service and was expected to be in the military hospital for quite some time, so he wasn’t amongst those leaving that day. The men in Camp 34 were to remain on Burray for a few months longer, whilst the sixty Italians who were billeted near Stromness were staying in Orkney for the foreseeable future. Sergeant Major Fornasier was near the middle of the column. He marched up to Major Buckland and saluted smartly.
‘I would like to thank you, sir, for all the help and kindness you’ve shown the men during their stay here.’
‘I appreciate your comments, Sergeant Major Fornasier. I hope you and your men return to Italy as safely and as quickly as possible, though only God knows when this war will be over.’
The two men looked at each other. They had met as enemies and were parting as friends. Major Buckland shook the Italian’s hand with great warmth.
Sergeant Major Fornasier stepped back, saluted and marched away to join the rear of the column that was just passing by. Domenico and Major Buckland watched as the last of them marched out of the camp and down the road. They walked to the gate, where they stood for a long time, following the column with their eyes as the men left Lamb Holm and headed towards mainland Orkney across barrier number one.
They were Churchill’s Barriers, the greatest engineering feat of the Second World War, defying the predictions of many who said the job could not be done. They had held back the tide. The project had consumed over 900,000 tons of rock and concrete and taken more than four years. Men had been injured and had died during their construction, but they had been built. The sea had been tamed and no vessel would ever again enter Scapa Flow between those eastern islands.
At St Mary’s, Major Booth was waiting by the buses along with a couple of Balfour Beatty men and a small delegation of Orkney people, including Patrick Sutherland Graeme, his daughter Alison and granddaughter Sheena. There were thank you and farewell speeches from every quarter. Their lives had been thrown together and now were to be separated. No one knew if they would ever meet again.
Gifts were also exchanged. Sergeant Major Fornasier presented the seven-year old Sheena with a cleverly made wooden toy, which consisted of a series of ducks on top of a board. When this was moved, a weight hanging underneath made the ducks bob up and down. She was delighted. So was he. Their brief contacts with local Orkney children meant a great deal to the Italians during their captivity.
Although Giuseppe and Fiona had agreed they would not see each other again, he still looked for her at the farewell ceremony, and then again as the men lined up to board the St Ola. He searched frantically, but saw no one. She was there, hidden, observing the scene on the quayside through her father’s old monocular. It had been difficult to pick out Giuseppe at first amongst so many men dressed in similar clothing. However, when Fiona finally spotted him, she followed his every movement and knew he was looking for her.
Fiona stood watching the men as they filed on board the ship. She could no longer identify Giuseppe amongst the crowded men on the decks. Eventually, the steamer cast off and began its journey across the Pentland Firth. She remained long after the St Ola was out of sight.
Fiona caught a bus to Kirkwall, picked up her bicycle and cycled to Holm, but instead of going to
the farm she ended up at barrier number one. A couple of workmen from Orkney Council were examining the new tarmac surface, but apart from them there was no one around. She went across the causeway and cycled to the gates of Camp 60. Fiona propped her bicycle against the fence and thought she might have to pretend there was something wrong with it, while she waited for a chance to enter the camp. However, there was nobody around so she simply walked in.
She had been in the chapel only once, on the evening they had attended the concert in the mess hall, but on that occasion it had been full of local people having a tour before the performance. This time it was empty, and she wasn’t prepared for the stillness and quiet that enveloped her. Fiona knew exactly where to go. Giuseppe said what he had left for her was in the very heart of the building. The vestry and chancel together were the same length as the nave, which meant the centre of the building was the point at which the two gates in the rood screen met.
She pushed them open and gasped. Giuseppe had made a heart out of wrought iron and embedded it into the concrete floor, to form the stop for the two gates. Only when the gates were opened was the heart revealed. Anyone entering the chancel would be looking at the altar and the images, not at their feet. Fiona understood why Giuseppe thought very few people would ever spot what was so obvious and, of course, those who did would have no idea of its true meaning.
She curled up on the floor and ran her finger around the outline. Fiona thought of him at the forge, secretly making the one thing not in Domenico Chiocchetti’s design. She imagined him heating and shaping the metal until he felt it was perfect then afterwards carrying it around in his pocket, ready to fit when the last part of the rood screen was complete. To Giuseppe and Fiona, it meant more than anything else in the building. She leant over and kissed the heart, but the metal was cold and hard. He was gone.
32
Apart from the work party of a dozen British soldiers, Domenico was now the only resident in the camp. As he lay in bed that first night, he thought of all the times he had wished for quiet in order to get some uninterrupted sleep. Now he lay for hours, unable to settle, used to being surrounded by others.