Mamma Mia... That's Life!

by Valerie Barona

  “Twenty-nine of us: twenty-four students, four teachers and the head teacher.”

  “Beh, speriamo che non vi perdete,” he said.

  “Yes, I hope we don’t get lost, too,” I agreed.

  Although my main worry was another. When speaking to Italians, even those who I didn’t know, I had a habit of forgetting to use the formal ‘lei’, especially if they were good company and about my age. On hearing that the head teacher would be one of the group, I knew I’d have to be extremely careful not to lapse into the informal manner of speaking. However, the evening before our flight, I had something even more important to think about. Checking the weather forecast before choosing what clothes to put in my hand-luggage, I saw that temperatures in Dublin were somewhat lower than the ones in northern Italy. After much debate and a quick phone call to my sister in Winterborne Kingston, I decided to take my winter jacket – just in case – and was I glad. Gale force winds and cold rain met us off the plane at Dublin Airport the following afternoon.

  A coach took us to our hotel and after freshening-up, we donned our coats and braved the elements to visit the town. Showers stopped as quickly as they started and we all commented on the marvellous rainbows that appeared. Our first stop on our sightseeing tour was the Bank of Ireland which had originally been the Irish Parliament.

  “Perchè non ci sono le finestre?” a student asked.

  “That’s a good question. I looked it up on the Internet but couldn’t find an explanation for it not having any windows.” I thought for a moment and then added, “perhaps glass cost too much at the time of building.”

  Another student, who hadn’t heard what I’d said, repeated more or less the same thing so I deducted that the theory had a feasible ring to it. Even so, it bugged me to think I hadn’t been able to give them an answer. Italians, by nature, want to know the reason behind a fact and a simple perhaps to their why just isn’t appropriate – as I’d found out during my first course with the Beginners Group. English lessons went well until we had to study the past tense and I introduced irregular verbs.

  “Perchè alcuni verbi sono regolari e altri sono irregolari?” a student asked me.

  “Well, because some are regular and some are irregular,” I said, helplessly wondering who had invented the list of verbs in the first place.

  “Come facciamo a sapere quali sono regolari e quali no?” asked another.

  “There’s no rule. You just have to learn the list of irregular verbs,” I explained to a sea of accusing faces.

  “Sorry,” I added, hoping that an apology might alleviate the situation. It didn’t. The fact that there are no rules for certain grammar points in the English language left me feeling very inadequate and I couldn’t help saying:

  “Well, what do you expect? We drive on the left side of the road…”

  With all this in mind, I vowed to find out the reason for the Bank of Ireland being windowless.

  The statue of Molly Malone was next on our itinerary but holding an umbrella while checking the road map flapping uncontrollably under the effect of impromptu gusts proved a feat in itself. In the end, we resorted to verbal directions and asked a friendly Dubliner who offered to take us there. As we walked along the rain drenched streets, I asked him if he knew the reason why the Bank of Ireland had no windows. He stopped in his tracks, scratched his head then shook it.

  “Do you know something? I’m a Dubliner and I’ve lived here all my life but I don’t know why there are no windows in the building. I never thought about it before. Can you believe it?”

  “Cos’ha detto?” asked an attentive student who had understood my question but had missed the answer.

  “He doesn’t know why there are no windows in the Bank of Ireland,” I said, somewhat smugly. If a native couldn’t tell us, I didn’t feel quite so inadequate. I changed the subject and like all true Brits, decided to talk about the weather – the climate in Dublin seemed a lot cooler and damper than Poole.

  Unfortunately, when we arrived in Grafton Street, all we found was a wet, grey slab where the statue should have been and a local policeman explained that it had been removed a few days earlier for maintenance work. Instead of immortalising the infamous fishmonger with her cart, we took a group photo with the kindly Irishman and then Monica explained Molly Malone’s story. Standing on the exact spot where her statue had been, Monica sang the famous Molly Malone song and I followed with an Anglo rendering of ‘Cockles and Mussels’! It caused quite an attraction and I was sorry not to have had a hat to pass around the crowd…

  Strolling through the famous Temple Bar area gave us a glimpse of Dublin by night. Street entertainers offered typical Irish music, Dubliners dressed up as Leprechauns allowed themselves to be photographed – for a price, and human statues beckoned to anyone who looked their way. The smell of freshly cooked dishes filled our nostrils and dividing into groups, we decided to find somewhere to eat.

  “Venite, venite! Abbiamo trovato un posto!” one of the students shouted to us. The head teacher had found a pub large enough to accommodate 29 hungry Italians. While Monica translated for the group upstairs, I looked after the students downstairs in a dimly lit area which gave the impression of serving as a night club. An extremely helpful young Irish waiter distributed menus and cutlery and whispered several phrases which, unfortunately, I couldn’t understand. His Dublin accent foiled me completely but too proud to admit it to the group, I improvised.

  “Che cos’ha detto?”they asked me.

  “The waiter wants to take your orders and I offered to help him,” I said, crossing my fingers.

  As we were finishing our fish and chips and Irish stew, the waiter appeared and once again he said something I just didn’t understand. As soon as he left, I announced that he’d come to check that all was well and a general muttering of how kind he was filled the room. The next time he came downstairs, I could tell he had a problem and trying very hard to decipher what he said, all was revealed. The place we had taken over had been booked for 10pm for a hen party with a male stripper. I quickly explained the situation to the group and muffled a laugh when some asked if they could stay. The waiter interpreted their query correctly and said it was by invitation only. We left as quietly as Italians could.

  Walking back to our hotel, I found myself together with the head teacher as well as my travelling companion, Ilaria. The continual showers couldn’t dampen our lively conversation and we arrived back at our hotel in no time.

  The next morning, I enjoyed watching the reactions as several Italians tried the full Irish fried breakfast. They gingerly inspected the black pudding before smelling it then prodded the white pudding.

  “Why don’t you eat a fried breakfast?” asked a student sitting opposite me.

  Tucking into my cereal I told her that my bacon-and-egg days were over.

  “I always used to when I went to school but now I prefer a lighter breakfast.”

  “Ah, you want to be thin not fat,” another student quipped.

  “Good! You remember your adjectives,” I was suitably impressed.

  Half an hour later, we set off for St Patrick’s Cathedral and I had the challenge of speaking Italian and translating simultaneously making as few mistakes as possible. The young guide inside the church was very helpful and showed us where to find Jonathan Swift’s tomb. On a whim, I asked her if she knew why the Bank of Ireland had no windows.

  “Yes, I can tell you,” she said. “It’s because the government put a tax on glass and it was too expensive so they built it without any windows.”

  “Great! Thank you very much.” Now I could put the record straight and both the Italians and I would be happy.

  No one can visit Dublin without going to the Guinness Store. However, several members of our group chose to do something else so we went our separate ways. Once again, I found myself with the he
ad teacher and Ilaria and together we pulled our first pint of Guinness. Not having a penchant for any type of beer, I gave my perfect glass to another Italian who accepted it gratefully and downed it as if it were water.

  We spent a while at the top of the building, literally drinking in the spectacular views from the glass dome of Dublin. The students lapsed naturally into their mother tongue and as the Guinness kicked in, the volume rose slightly as they enthused over the panorama.

  “E’ ora di pranzo,” one of the group announced, as we trooped out of the store and the others agreed that lunch was a good idea.

  Despite the cold weather and unpredictable showers, we managed to see everything on our itinerary, even fitting in a train ride to a picturesque fishing village where we stopped for a succulent evening meal of fish and chips finishing off with an Irish coffee. What more could we want!

  Epilogue

  After living nearly forty years in Italy, I have obviously become a native. I can proudly say I drive like an Italian, gesticulate like an Italian, discuss football like an Italian and – even though it’s taken years – I try and cook like an Italian. Sometimes I get irritated when I go shopping and find a Back Soon! sign on the shop door and sometimes I wish the shops didn’t close for lunch and a siesta, but now I tend to accept it; I also have the choice of going to the shopping centre where the shops are open all day if I want to.

  I often have a craving for sausages and baked beans, bacon butties, gravy, apple crumble and custard but thanks to Julie and Gino, who opened their very own multi-ethnic restaurant recently, I can treat myself to Fish and Chips with Sarson’s malt vinegar whenever I feel like it. After twenty-five years, my weekly coffee mornings in Morbegno with Julie are still sacred, giving each other support and advice when needed, together with a lot of laughter.

  My family in England would probably say I also speak like an Italian, too – the usual ‘sì, sì’ becomes ‘yes, yes’. Occasionally, I Italianise an English word and vice versa but when I’m in teacher mode, I sincerely hope that nobody can fault my grammar. I enjoy working at the CTP, which has now become the CPIA (Centro Provinciale Istruzione Adulti or Life Long Learning Centre for the County of Sondrio), with a new head teacher – who also speaks a little English! Cinzia has been promoted to deputy head and is busier than ever. I asked her once if she actually went home to sleep or whether she had a bed hidden away in a corner. Monica is still responsible for foreign languages and helps out with Italian classes, too. Both of them work tirelessly but with a smile, their enthusiasm and professionalism inevitably rubbing off on whoever they meet.

  While chatting to them after our lessons, Monica confided to me recently that she has always wanted to write a grammar book for English students, which explains the reason for her cabinet bursting with reams of photocopies just waiting to be put to good use, and asked me if I would be willing to work on the project. With that in mind, neither of us will be retiring for a very long time. Finding myself on the staff and teaching in a classroom on a regular basis, albeit evening classes, is like a dream come true.

  Michele is still working – even though he’d rather be retired – especially on cold, dark winter mornings when he has to get up and I’m snuggled beneath the duvet. Just for a change, his favourite football team, Fiorentina is causing him grief this season; the players aren’t performing as well as expected. However, when they manage to win a match, everyone in the Barona household is happy – at least until the next game.

  Michele and I are very lucky to have two great children who have given us five grandchildren to date – one never knows if anymore will come along in the future… and Villa Barona is almost always full of little people shouting and singing at different decibels. Playing with the grandchildren keeps us young and if I find it increasingly difficult to sit cross-legged under the table, I’m not going to tell anyone – yet.

  The majestic mountains encircling us, which I once found so stifling and ominous, have since become a gentle green palisade, and when I venture out of the Valtellina, I actually find myself missing them. I don’t miss the English beaches so much since our family summer holidays on the Adriatic coast, and last but not least, Baker Moments are extremely rare these days – probably due to my fairly hectic schedule. I came from Poole to Piussogno a lifetime ago, unsure as to whether I’d ever be able to adapt fully to village ways – but, quite honestly, now I could never move away from my adopted home and our family and friends. In fact, life couldn’t be better!

  Acknowledgments

  Firstly, a big thank you to my family for their ongoing support, especially when I’d disappear into my study at the wrong time – invariably when I’d invited everyone for a meal – because I’d suddenly have a brainwave and just had to write it down.

  Heartfelt thanks to my son, Alex and daughter, Elisa who had the job of vetting the book. They also played an important part in helping me find the exact photo for the book cover when they suggested going out for an ice cream one afternoon.

  A big thank you also goes to my daughter-in-law, Lorena who checked the Italian dialogue for me.

  I’d like to thank my aunt, Eileen Burton for her advice on various aspects of the book.

  Special thanks to my sister-in-law, Debbie Baker who gave me helpful suggestions where needed.

  Thanks also to my brother-in-law, Gordon Kerr who answered my last-minute queries, giving sound advice and helpful hints.

  Special thanks go to Kathy Stallard who was my number one critic, making the appropriate corrections when needed. Many thanks, also to her husband, Colin for his help with technicalities regarding the chapter on microlighting.

  Thanks to Ivan Guglielmana who gave helpful suggestions with the chapter describing my claim to fame as a Hardcore singer and more importantly, coming to the rescue when my ‘techno’ abilities failed me and I couldn’t make the cover photos for the book exactly as I wanted them.

  Thanks to my loyal friend, Julie Schindler for her unfailing support and talking me through imaginary literary problems while sipping cups of coffee in our favourite bar in Morbegno.

  I’d like to thank everyone who gave subtle hints and ideas when writer’s block set in with a vengeance.

  And lastly, a huge thank you to my husband, Michele for waiting patiently for his meals, knowing that sooner or later, something would appear on the table! Thanks to him, my children and grandchildren, the true significance of Mamma Mia… That’s Life! comes to the fore – the family.