by Philip Paris
‘Still a wonder after all these years, Signor Chiocchetti,’ said the priest, looking at the image above the altar.
‘I am very relieved that, of everything, this picture has survived so well. Although I feel it has faded slightly. But I’m afraid a great deal of the inside needs major restoration as well as the façade. I don’t think the condition of the building is good. In the three weeks that I’ll be working on the chapel, Father Cairns, I think only a fraction of the work needed can be carried out. I’m worried I’ll disappoint everyone, when so many people have gone to a great deal of trouble to get me here.’
Father Cairns appeared not to be bothered at all by this and gave a reassuring smile.
‘Signor Chiocchetti, we appreciated the short time available and the enormity of the task, but you can be sure of as many willing hands as you need. You’ve only to ask and people will be delighted to help. We’ve already had several offers of support from local Orkney tradesmen. Also, there’s an artist in Kirkwall, a man called Stanley Hall, who would be willing to work under your guidance to retouch the paintwork.’
Domenico was quiet for a while, looking up at the painting inspired by the image on the little prayer card, that he had carried throughout the war. When he finally returned to Moena this had been put in a glass frame and placed next to his bed. Before leaving for Orkney, he had removed the card and brought it with him. Domenico was both touched by Father Cairns’s comment and slightly daunted. There was to be a team of workers again, only this time they would all be strangers.
‘Perhaps not exactly like the old days of Buttapasta, Pennisi and the others,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘No, I suppose not, but maybe … new friends instead.’
Everyone else had tactfully remained outside. Domenico looked at the kindly priest. He held out his hand.
‘New friends indeed, Father.’
The chapel preservation committee organised a special supper. Although Domenico had been delighted to have been met at the airport by Ernest Marwick, it was not until the evening that the two friends had an opportunity to catch up on news. They enjoyed reminiscing about the days when Domenico had travelled to J. M. Stevenson in Kirkwall to buy poster paints with money from the chapel fund. Ernest Marwick recounted the story of the love letter handed over to the shop assistant, but Domenico could shed no light on who ‘Tony’ had been.
Domenico met Stanley Hall and the two artists immediately began an intense conversation about paints, colours and how best to tackle the restoration. Domenico was surprised at how much English came back to him as he had had little reason to use it in his home town. Only occasionally did Charles Ricono or Beatrice Linton have to step in. Domenico would have been happy to talk of paints all night, but there were several guests around the table who wanted to hear about his life. Bill Johnstone, who had started his own business after the war, was keen to know what the artist had done since leaving Lamb Holm.
‘Some of you may know that I stayed in the camp in order to complete the holy water stoup after everyone else had gone, apart from a small work party,’ said Domenico. ‘I caught up with my friends in Yorkshire only a week or so later and we worked for a while on local farms. My last ten months in England were spent with a group of Italians in Kew. We had to clear away derelict buildings but I was able to see something of London. We used to give cigarettes to the English driver to take a different route every day from our lodgings, so we could see more of the city.
‘Eventually, I boarded a ship in Southampton that took me to Naples and in February 1946 I was reunited with my parents, brothers and sisters, after being away for six years and eight months.’
There was much nodding in appreciation of the loss and waste of so many years. But people were eager for more and Domenico was not allowed to stop.
‘But what happened when you were home?’ asked someone further down the table.
‘I married two years later and Maria and I now have two girls and a boy,’ said Domenico proudly, taking out a picture and handing it around. ‘It would have been impossible to make a living as an artist in a small town, so I started a business as a house decorator. However, I paint landscapes and portraits when I can and sometimes I get the opportunity to work on religious statues for local churches and monasteries. Life is good. I am content.’
If Domenico thought this explanation would satisfy his audience he was wrong. They wanted to know how the Italians had arrived at Lamb Holm, what life was like in the camp and how he had found the work on the barriers. They wanted to hear about what he did before the war. And, of course, they wanted to know about the chapel.
It felt strange talking again about Buttapasta, Pennisi, Giuseppe and the others. When the Italians had returned to their homes in Italy they had been spread throughout the country. Keeping in contact had not been easy. People separated from families and loved ones were keen to catch up on lost years and wanted to get on with their own lives again. It was at this point that Ernest Marwick produced a large envelope from which he took out several black and white photographs.
‘Perhaps you might like to see these, Signor Chiocchetti, as we’re talking about the men who built the chapel,’ he said, handing the pictures across the table.
Domenico looked at the top image with an expression of astonishment. It was James Sinclair’s photograph of Giuseppe and him standing outside the chapel. He had never seen the result. The next photograph showed two dozen of the craftsmen outside the entrance. Domenico took great pleasure in pointing at figures and adding their names. There were other pictures showing various signs of camp life … prisoners gathered around the statue, athletes being given their prizes on sports day. It brought to mind the story of Shipwreck and how he had deceived everyone, even the doctors, for more than two years.
‘These are copies, so they are for you to keep,’ said Marwick, much to Domenico’s great pleasure.
‘I am very grateful,’ he said, going back through them again.
Domenico was not without his own questions and he fired a stream of them when he felt it was time for someone else to do some talking. The evening wore on. By the time they departed for their homes Domenico was sure of one thing that was very important to him; the Orcadians had genuinely taken the little chapel to their hearts and there was a determination in the community to do whatever was necessary to save it.
The next morning Charles Ricono picked up Domenico from the home of Beatrice Linton, who was his host on Orkney, and drove him to the chapel. Father Cairns was already standing outside the entrance and when the three entered Domenico was surprised to see two men taking the gates off the rood screen.
‘Mr Mowatt, the blacksmith, was keen to get started,’ said Father Cairns in response to the expression on Domenico’s face. ‘As we were discussing last night, the screen needs to be thoroughly cleaned. We appreciated that you won’t want a lot of dust in the air when you’re trying to restore the paintwork, so as much of the screen as possible will be taken to the forge to clean.’
Father Cairns introduced the men.
‘Some of the screen will have to be cleaned where it is, but we’ll fit in with you, Signor Chiocchetti, so as not to interrupt your painting,’ said the blacksmith. ‘When the screen has been cleaned and refitted, one of the local decorators is going to paint it with something that will prevent it from rusting again.’
Domenico nodded his approval and smiled. It appeared that a lot of planning had already been done before his arrival and it helped put his mind at rest.
‘You’ll find a stream of workers turning up today, Signor Chiocchetti,’ said Father Cairns. ‘I’ll stay here this morning to make introductions and ensure there is nothing I can’t get for you.’
Just as Domenico was thanking the priest, Stanley Hall entered and the two artists immediately began a detailed inspection of the interior. The blacksmith and his helper went back to dismantling the rood screen, while Father Whitaker and Charles Ricono took a walk around outside.
By mid-morning the chapel was buzzing with workers and Domenico had difficulty remembering the names of all the people he had been introduced to. As a joiner and his mate examined the doors and windows, two other men started sanding and cleaning the façade so that cracks could be filled and the whole thing subsequently painted white. Domenico spotted two people walking around outside whom he hadn’t yet met, but each time he saw them through one of the windows they seemed to be examining the roof. At eleven o’clock two local women arrived. Through the doorway Domenico could see that they were taking down the curtains.
‘Are they removing the curtains to protect them from the paint?’ he asked Father Cairns who was standing next to him and could see what Domenico was looking at.
‘No,’ he said with a laugh. ‘They’re taking the curtains away to give them a good wash.’
Domenico smiled. It did indeed appear that the Orkney people had organised themselves into a highly effective workforce. By lunchtime the blacksmith and his helper had taken away all of the rood screen that could be safely removed and the joiner and his mate had left, saying they would be back in a couple of days with a new door. Before they left a decorator arrived, examined the windows with the joiner, and agreed to come back the next morning to start preparing the frames to be repainted.
By the afternoon, everyone had gone except Domenico and the Kirkwall artist. The two men were glad they could work in peace and agreed to start by retouching the brick and stone effect that covered the walls of the nave. This was the largest area but only sections of it required retouching and was the easiest to repaint. The light was good and the weather warm so they left both east and west doors open. Domenico was happy. He had been reunited with the small part of him that he left behind all those years ago.
* * *
Later that evening, Domenico stood outside a house, checking once more the address he had written on a scrap of paper before leaving Moena. He knocked. Almost instantly the door was flung open and before he had uttered a word of greeting he was embraced by Aldo.
He wasn’t quite prepared for so many strong emotions to come flooding back but both stood with tears in their eyes, slapping each other on the back and then pulling apart to look at one another before embracing again. Eventually, Aldo moved away so that Ailsa, who was standing not far behind, could say hello. She gave Domenico a huge hug, which made the artist grin widely. Over her shoulder he saw a boy and girl. The boy was only about five and looked up at the stranger with wide eyes. The girl was perhaps ten and she moved towards Domenico with grace and dignity. The girl had Aldo’s finely chiselled features and Ailsa’s flashing eyes.
‘This is Beth,’ said Ailsa.
‘Hello, Beth,’ said Domenico.
Beth had rehearsed a welcome speech in Italian but when she looked at the kindly artist it suddenly seemed unnecessary, so she simply rushed forward and hugged him as though he were a favourite uncle, grace and dignity forgotten.
‘I think that, in the entire world, a hug is the best welcome that anyone can give or receive,’ he said laughing.
The little boy had taken hold of Aldo’s hand. Domenico knelt down.
‘And what is your name?’
‘Domenico,’ said the boy, half hidden behind Aldo’s leg.
‘No, that can’t be right. That’s my name.’
‘It is. It’s Domenico.’
‘Well, that’s amazing. We both have the same name. Do you think we look alike as well?’
‘No. You’re old,’ said little Domenico.
Everyone laughed at this, which made the boy smile and come out from behind Aldo’s leg.
‘Yes, you’re right there. Perhaps you’ll have to help me to get up.’
Domenico pretended the little boy’s aid was essential to getting back on his feet and so, with such an introduction, little Domenico took the artist’s hand and lead him through to the dining room because, as he explained on the way in confidence, he was actually quite hungry.
The two old friends talked late into the night, swapping news and recalling memories. Aldo had started a small café, which had been quite successful over the years. People enjoyed listening to the entertaining Italian, who sometimes had an entire room full of customers crying with laughter over a certain tale about a chicken. Ailsa had continued nursing, along with bringing up the children. Domenico could see they were happy and it pleased him greatly.
The next few days continued peacefully, with the two artists getting on quietly with their work. Various tradesmen came and went, each discussing with Domenico what needed to be done. He appreciated that they asked his opinion, but could see they were skilled men in their own fields and so was content that they carried on.
Domenico left the Kirkwall artist to continue working on the nave while he concentrated on retouching the paintwork in the chancel. He began working on the evangelists to the right of the altar, which took several days of meticulous restoration. He wanted to avoid making the retouched images look too new, as then they would clash with the other paintings that had simply faded slightly. It was a careful balancing act and couldn’t be rushed.
The telephone call from the BBC the previous year had completely shocked him, because until then he had not realised that the chapel had survived. When he knew he was coming back to Orkney Domenico asked the committee to obtain the address of the camp commander. Thomas Buckland, as he was now known, had replied to Domenico’s letter immediately, saying his doctor would not allow him to make the journey to Orkney but that Domenico was welcome to stay with him and his wife in Shropshire before returning to Italy. The details had been agreed.
By the end of the second week Stanley Hall was also working in the chancel. The weather stayed warm and dry and it was difficult to compare this Lamb Holm with the one he had landed on during a winter storm so long ago.
Father Cairns called every day to check that Orkney’s honoured guest did not require anything he could help to arrange. Domenico received many invitations, including one from the Kirkwall art club and so one evening he found himself in a church hall, helping the delighted members draw a still life. He autographed his own drawing and left it with the club as a souvenir.
One morning at the beginning of the third week, Domenico and Father Cairns stood together outside looking back at the chapel. Two men were giving the façade a second coat of paint. It looked brilliant in the strong sunshine. All of the woodwork in the building had been mended or replaced and painted, hinges oiled and polished. Even the bell was shining, having been thoroughly cleaned whilst work was carried out to strengthen the bell tower. The words S D Accord 1918 Aberdeen could once more be seen clearly. The badly-rusted iron cross was replaced with an identical bronze one made by a local craftsman. Giuseppe’s beautiful rood screen, now completely free of rust and dirt, was refitted and painted in red oxide before being given a final black coat. The effect was stunning.
‘You are pleased with your helpers, Signor Chiocchetti?’ asked Father Cairns.
‘Everyone has been so extremely helpful and kind, giving up so much of their time. I can’t thank you enough for your efforts Father Cairns.’
‘And the painting inside?’
‘That’s also going well. Mr Hall has been an invaluable help and I am confident the restoration of the paintwork will be completed by the end of this week. But you wanted to tell me something of the roof, Father?’
‘Indeed. We’ve had lots of advice on this, and as you know it’s the biggest problem with the building. However, the experts seem to agree that the best way to make it watertight is to apply a layer of bitumen on top of the concrete.’
‘That must be expensive to do?’
‘Well, like everything else, if an item or service has to be paid for the money has come from visitor donations. We’ve not had to make one single appeal. And I believe the generosity of people in years to come will continue to provide the funds needed to keep the little chapel in good repair.’
‘I am greatly m
oved, Father.’
‘So is everyone who steps inside, which is why they want to preserve it. As you know, Father Whitaker, who was so involved in helping to save the chapel in the early days of the committee, will arrive here from Lerwick on Saturday to take the service on the following morning. I think you may be surprised at how many people will attend.’
Domenico was about to speak when his attention was taken by the arrival of a van and a small bus, a group of excited school children emerging from the latter. Each of them had a garden trowel or something similar, while many emerged carrying potted plants. Father Cairns, who never seemed to be surprised at anything that happened locally, provided an explanation.
‘So much has been done to the building, the committee thought it would be a shame not to tidy up the surrounding area,’ he said. ‘The van is from a nearby plant supplier, who is going to take charge, but we thought it would be nice for local children to be involved in helping to restore the borders. Many of them have brought flowers from their own gardens.’
It was obvious the children had already been allocated individual jobs as they all knew what to get from the van, where to go and what to start doing.
‘They’re certainly not here to play,’ said Domenico who had been chuckling at the number of children who had said ‘Buongiorno, Signor Chiocchetti,’ in their soft Orkney accent.
The next morning Domenico was at the chapel early. He was alone. The restoration of all the paintwork was virtually complete. There was only one thing left to do. He quietly laid out his brushes and paints then took out from his pocket the tin holding the little prayer card. He opened it and removed the card, which he looked at for a long while before placing it at the feet of St Francis of Assisi, as he had done once before, in another life.