Thursday 25 January 2018

Love that is passed on

Emma leant forward and hugged her husband. She breathed in deeply as she enjoyed the smell of his aftershave. He had been using it when they first met thirty years ago and it never failed to remind of her of those first intoxicating kisses.

 She  moved her head away so she could look into his eyes and smiled at him,

'Off you go now darling. Valeria said she might come round later.'

Federico pulled her back towards him and held her tight and stroked her hair.  Then he stepped back and shrugged on his jacket and kissed her.

When he spoke his voice was full of concern.

'Are you sure you'll be alright here on your own?'

Emma opened the door and beckoned him through, she took a deep breath and smiled broadly.

'I'll be fine. I feel as though mamma is still here with me. Her loving presence will always be in this house.

Emma  closed the door behind her husband and walked towards her mother's bedroom.  She let her gaze wander round the room drinking in all the precious memories. How many times had she found solace in that big bed. In the middle of the night when darkness made her fears so terribly frightening she would run and snuggle down next to her mother and feel so safe, all fears melting away.

Emma walked towards the bed with its big old wooden bedhead, so old fashioned now, that had had been the witness of so much in their family life.
She  buried her face in the pillow as she had done as a child whenever her mother went to Siena to look after her own mother, Emma's Nonna Vittoria.
As Emma breathed in the scent of lavender and rose that her mother had always worn she let the tears come. It was painful but at the same time a comfort. Emma had been brought up to not show emotion, to get on with things and put on a brave face. Now though, her tears felt like a tribute, a salute to her mother's memory.

 'Oh mamma, mamma, I miss you so.'

A shaft of sunlight shone across the room. It felt like a sign, like an angel was showing her what to do. She knelt down and  took  a small wooden chest out from under the bed where she had placed it the day before.
One of the removal men had found it tucked away in the old cellar.
 He had handed it to her with great reverence as though it contained hidden treasure. It looked like someone had tried to open it.
  There was no key and she struggled to pull it apart so she could see what was inside.
She tried to imagine what it could contain, maybe some jewels or special coins.

She  gasped as she forced the lid open.
There was a huge pile of letters carefully arranged and tied in bundles with faded red ribbons. Emma lifted the first one out of the chest. It was addressed to her father in her mother's beautiful handwriting. She didn't know what to do. Maybe she should ask Federico and Valeria to come and help.
She felt like she was prying. Her mother had always been rather aloof and severe and never would have approved of Emma rummaging through her belongings.  She was reluctant to read them but somehow she wanted to, to feel part of her mother's life again. She felt like she was the guardian of her mother's memories.

Emma didn't know much about her mother's intimate feelings. They had never had cosy chats and heart- to- heart talks.
Her phone pinged and she looked at it. A message from Valeria, 'mamma ti voglio bene, se hai bisogno chiamami.'
How different things were these days. She pressed call and her daughter's beautiful face appeared.

'Ciao mamma' come va?'

Emma smiled and brushed the tears away from her face and smiled at her daughter,

'Oh Valeria tesoro, stavo pensando quanto sarebbe diverso oggi per mamma e papà. Sono cosi contenta di poter vederti ogni girono. La mia nonna poi, cosa avrebbe dato per avere avuto questa possibilità.'

Valeria smiled back, 'Yes it's amazing, how things have changed in such a short time'
'I'll let you get on I just wanted to  make sure you were alright.

The phone call had brought her back to the present.  She walked round the room and touched the blanket that her mother kept on her favourite armchair. It was there that she had sat in the afternoons, knitting and doing crosswords until her eyesight had failed her.
A sadness came over Emma and she sat down in the chair.

She tried to think of stories her mother had told her of her youth.

There was just one anecdote that her mother  loved telling. A warm feeling came over her as she recalled her mother telling it to her in this very armchair.

In the Summer of 1939, her mother, Elisabetta,  had gone to the mountains in the north of Italy for a short holiday with her two brothers, Alberto and Enrico.
There they had met Toni, Emma's father, who was staying at a hotel called 'Il Paradiso'. Toni was a quiet serious young lawyer. He told them that he had been invalided out of the Army due to his severe asthma and the doctor told him the mountain air would do him good. It was soon evident that he took great pleasure in Elisabetta's company.  He would ring her every day and each time he rang their hotel to ask to speak to her, Elisabetta's  brothers loved to shout out to her,

'Hey Betty, there is a call for you from Paradise.'

When the time came for Elisabetta and her brothers to return home, Toni had already mentioned marriage and soon after he came to Siena to ask Elisabetta's father permission to marry his daughter.
Toni and Elisabetta were married in Siena in 1942 and settled in Toni's hometown in the north of Italy.

Emma knew that her mother had suffered during the war, she had not been able to travel to Siena and had gone for two years without being able to see her family. Communications had been extremely difficult.

That was about all she knew.

The temptation to read the letters was strong.

Emma went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. There was the old china biscuit barrel shaped like an elephant that Emma had loved as a child. She took a biscuit out and brushed it against her lips thinking of her mother buying them for her, knowing they were her favourites.

Her phone rang again. It was Valeria.

'Mamma, I keep thinking of nonna Elisabetta. I miss her so. Please could you look for her recipe book? I would love to learn to make her special recipes.'

A lump came to Emma's  throat. Her mother had been such a wonderful cook. How she would miss all those happy family meals.

When she spoke she tried to sound bright and positive.

'What a good idea Valeria, we can carry on all Nonna's traditions.'

Emma went back to the bedroom and picked up the letter on the top of the pile. She looked towards the photograph of her parents on their wedding day. She blew them a kiss.

' Forgive me for reading your personal letters mamma and papa, but I want to feel you near me again.'

She gently opened the first letter. It was dated 1942.

Caro Toni, dear Toni,
It won't be long now before I can call you my husband, my love. Just the thought of calling you so fills my heart with a joy I never knew could be possible, to lie next to you and wake in the morning and be able to kiss you on your eyes and awaken you, it is a dream that I never dared hope for.
Some more wedding presents arrived today. A pretty pink rug for the bedroom and a glass lamp. I can hardly bear to wait to see your dear face illuminated by its glow and to step on the soft carpet in the morning with my bare feet as I slip from your arms.

Emma stopped and gulped down her coffee. The pink rug was under her feet, worn thin over the years. She tried to imagine what it must have looked like when it was new. She took off her shoes and wriggled her toes in its softness. The glass lamp was there too. Her father would read by its light every evening. Emma wiped away a tear and carried on reading.

Oh Toni, Alberto and Enrico send their best regards. They still love to tease me about you coming from Paradise. They have all their friends laughing. But you do my dearest, you do. You are heaven sent.
Please tell your dear mother and father that all is arranged here for them to stay at the Hotel. I am so longing to call them mamma and papa. They have already shown such great kindness to me. My own dear mother and father have arranged for a short holiday on the Tuscan coast after our wedding. I can hardly contain my excitement at going to see your beloved mountains with you for our honeymoon. You are such a dear. To see the mountains that you love so much together, as husband and wife, will be an emotion beyond my dreams. You say there is a mountain called the Rose Garden where we are going, it is such a romantic name.

Emma had to stop. The letter was so personal, so warm and full of love for her father. She broke down in tears, an unfathomable pain in her heart, but there was happiness there too, knowing that her mother had felt such intense love.
She knew her parents had spent their honeymoon in their beloved Dolomites and every Summer they went to the mountains for their holidays. Her father always seemed to find solace there, it was where he could drive back the demons that haunted him since the war in Ethiopia.

Emma put the letter back and then picked up the packet underneath. These letters were written in her mother's familiar handwriting but were addressed to her grandmother Vittoria in Siena. She opened the first one. It was dated 1943

Cara mamma, dear Mum,
You are always in my thoughts, along with dear papa, and my dear brothers.
How brave Alberto is to be putting himself in such danger. For you dear mother it must be so hard to re-live what yourself had to do. Poor Enrico with his broken leg, but at least he is near you. Toni is working hard but has had to find a new partner. I have got a bicycle now and it is easier for me to find luxuries such as butter. Yesterday I cycled for thirty kilometres to a farm near the mountains. They gave me butter and eggs and some of the maize flour that is so abundant here. I have tried to make tomato preserve but it is not as good as yours dear mamma. How I miss the flavours of your cooking.

Emma put the letter down. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother on a bicycle. She tried to read between the lines of the letter. She knew that her grandfather Paolo had been a military doctor in the First World War. Her grandmother, Vittoria, had travelled around with him and given birth to three children on the way. These stories had always been told with humour and love. Emma was beginning to realise what a gift that had been, to hear women in her family talk in such a reassuring way.
Emma thought of what life must have been like then. She thought of her beloved country. She liked to think of it as an elegant leather boot with the toe gently swinging in the Summer breeze. She knew that the First World War was a tragedy and the mountains near her home bore many scars. The Second World War was more difficult to understand. Reading her mother's letter reminded her of things her grandmother had told her. Friendships were torn apart and families forced to flee. Italy became a country at war with itself. Her paternal grandmother, Marta, had always been wary of expressing any views and told Emma to be careful, that many an enemy has been made by talking about politics. Emma thought she was being dramatic but even now all these years later, Federico avoided to talk about politics.
Emma picked up another letter addressed to her grandmother. She gave a start as she noticed the date, November 1948. It was when she was born.

Cara mamma, dear mum,
My dearest treasure is sleeping now and so I can at last write to you. I cannot find words that are good enough to describe the joy in my heart. She is so beautiful and has the sweetest, dearest nature. Her little hands already hold mine so tightly. Her little head is so soft and silky. She has your dark hair and dare I say your blue eyes. We have called her Emma, after your dear mother from Venice. Toni is enthralled, he sits and stares at her for hours. It will not be long now before you see her for yourself and can hold her in your arms. She makes the dearest little noises. Oh mamma now I know how you must love me, I know how you must feel about me. I have been thinking of you so much bringing me into this country during the First World War, I feel so blessed to have brought Emma into a country at peace. Surely this must be the start of a new hopeful era for us all.

The tears were streaming down Emma's face, she sobbed into her mother's pillow. She felt the full deep, heart- wrenching pain of her loss. When Emma was born her mother must have realised at last the full power of a mother's love. She thought of the love linking the women in her family, like a chain. Vittoria, Elisabetta, Emma, Valeria.
Italian women reaching back into the past and onward to the future united by the immense power of their love for each other.

She went to gaze out of the window. To be a woman, to love a man, to be a mother, to love a child, that is what kept society together, that is what kept a country in health.

She jumped as the doorbell rang, breaking her reverie.
It was Federico, standing there with a huge pizza and a bottle of wine. Her heart lurched as he held it towards her.
He grinned at her

'I thought you might like this, '

He kissed her on her wet cheeks.

'Oh Federico, thank you, thank you.'

Then she saw that Valeria and her boyfriend, Marco, were standing behind him holding a cake box from her favourite Pasticceria.

Later when they were all sitting round the kitchen table where Elisabetta had served so many delicious meals, Valeria's boyfriend stood up.
He cleared his throat and held up his wine glass.

'I know this is a sad occasion and I would like you to know what a privilege it was to know Nonna Elisabetta. I too will miss her terribly.'

Marco paused and wiped his eyes. His voice was low and full of emotion when he spoke, his words coming out in a rush.

'I don't know if this is the right moment but we can't wait any longer to tell you.
Valeria and I are expecting a baby.'

There was a lot of laughing then and hugging and kissing.
Emma felt her mother's love warming her. She felt her presence, all  the love that her mother had given her and then  passed on to her daughter, was now in this room.
 
The beautiful dome of Santa Maria del fiore


Le Pale di S. Martino del Castrozza


New Beginnings

The last rays of the January sunlight glided across the room.  They turned to the fairy on top of the tree like a spotlight. Her wings twinkled and sparkled and Greta looked up and smiled at her as she went to the window to admire the sunset.
Greta had always enjoyed taking down the Christmas decorations. She had a ritual to welcome the Twelfth night full of good luck omens and portents.  This year though she wanted to linger for awhile, she needed to go over the events of the last few weeks.  Greta had wanted to keep the decorations up for a while longer so she could hang on to the happiness that she had felt putting them up with her little cat Timmy. It felt like she needed to keep them longer sort of in his honour.
Paul  had brought up the boxes from the garage before leaving for work that morning and had helped her unwind the lights and carefully packed them away for next year.  Now it already seemed like it was time to move on.
Greta had a ritual for putting up the decorations. At the end of November she would put on her favourite Christmas Cd or a film, make a cup of tea and warm a mince pie and then start decorating the tree.

Each decoration had a story behind it.
The angel on the top from their honeymoon, the baubles made by her niece,  Polly, The Provencal figures from her French mother-in-law, the wooden snowmen and hearts from their holiday in Austria.  When she'd finished, Greta would step back and admire her work, she saw it as a sort of happy memory tree that would protect and warm the house through all the dark December days.

Timmy had played with the tinsel while she was wrapping it round the tree.  Tears came to her eyes and there was an ache in her heart. How she longed for those days to return now. She wanted to immerse herself in the cosy comfort of the days leading up to Christmas.
The evenings now seemed too bright, she was being hurtled too briskly into the New Year and she didn't feel ready.

Her phone rang and she saw it was her sister, Joyce.

'Hi Joyce, have you seen the sunset it's beautiful'.

Joyce was her big sister, older by nine years. 

'Yes it's beautiful isn't it? Mind if I come round after work?' Is Paul working?'

Greta felt a surge of warmth towards her sister,

 'I'd love to see you. we'll finish up the mulled wine. Paul's doing a shoot in London and won't be back till late.'

Joyce worked in an Animal rescue centre and now her elder daughter Polly was following in her footsteps. Greta had married late and then been told it would b difficult fo her to conceive but she had always enjoyed being a popular auntie. She'd seen how much it took out of her sister, looking after Polly and an autistic little boy and how important it must be to have the right man by your side. Joyce's husband Martin was a great family man, always there for his wife and daughter and helping to look after his son. He did voluntary work in the day centre that Ricky went to,  reading stories and building models. Her parents, Anne and Malcolm, often helped out there too and the people that worked there told them this all helped create a family environment for the children.

 Greta was already well into her thirties when she met Paul  on a Fashion shoot in Paris. It was love at first sight. He was the photographer and used to being up close and personal with the most beautiful women in the world. She had fallen in love with him the minute they had met in the make-up room where she was adjusting the look of a model. The moment he entered the room she felt as though a fire had been lit inside her, warming her. It was still burning strongly, just the thought of him made her quiver with excitement.  Greta was the make-up artist and it took her a while to realize that Paul's gentle banter was aimed at her as he moved around the room. It was still a source of wonder that he had chosen her.

Paul was from a large French family and they had gladly welcomed Greta into their warm, comforting clan. Greta and Paul joined them whenever they could for their family get-togethers in Rouen. Anne and Malcolm were always finding excuses to go and visit.  Polly had spent her gap year with them and was very proud of her perfect French accent.

Greta wound some tinsel neatly into a bag and picked up the little Father Christmas that Paul's sister had given her one year when they had spent Christmas in France. A tear fell as she thought of  Timmy playing with it. His little paws quick as silver making the Father Christmas swing to and fro. He'd got tangled in the tinsel and she'd taken a photo of his astonished little face, as it draped over his ears like a halo.
There's no way of knowing what's going to happen from one Christmas to the next, Greta thought as she tucked the Father Christmas away. She couldn't have known, that long ago Christmas that it would have been the last time she would help her grandmother decorate her tree. She couldn't have known ten years ago that it would be the last time she received a Christmas card from her grandfather saying, 'to a special grand daughter.' She couldn't have known this was her last Christmas with Timmy. The man that had come to the door to tell her had looked so stricken that she had found herself asking him in and making them both a strong cup of tea.  They were both in tears when Paul came home. As always, he took the situation in hand. He told the man that it was a dangerous road and there should be warning signs, to try and console him.  They exchanged addresses and then together gently took care of Timmy.
He had been a tiny kitten, just a scrap when Joyce had brought him home from the Animal Rescue. Joyce believed in Cat therapy. A wild abandoned kitten had worked wonders on her son Ricky, bringing him out of his shell in a way that astounded the doctors.

'He's perfect for you Greta.  He even looks like you with his big brown eyes and shiny dark fur. Would you like to give him a home.?

Greta hadn't needed asking twice. Timmy entered their lives and hearts. He used to wake them up in the morning, carefully wrapping his paws around their necks.
He would always be waiting for them by the door and run round the house to express his joy. The vet said he'd never seen anything like him. Lately though he had shown the signs of his years. Greta paused her hand caressing the soft fur of a toy hedgehog that she'd bought in Cornwall, Paul had been taking photos for a documentary about a seal sanctuary and she had been doing a course and then working as a volunteer at the hospital, doing the patients' make-up.
Greta put the last bauble in its box and looked at the darkening sky.  She could see the reflection of the tree in the window. It looked vulnerable without its decorations. She felt a wave of sadness as she thought of all the Christmases past, all the precious treasured memories, each one a symbol of the strength of her family and their capacity to sustain each other as the years go by.

The last bottle of mulled wine held just enough for Joyce.  Greta prepared a tray with mince pies and some cheese straws  her sister's favourites. The doorbell rang and she went to greet her sister and settled her in front of the fire.

'Ooh doesn't it look bare without the decorations? and without little Timmy.' She put her hand over her mouth appalled by her insensitivity.

'Sorry Greta, I didn't mean to mention him. I know exactly how you feel.'

She put her arms round her sister and held her tight. She glanced up at the tree.

'You've forgotten the angel, she's still on the top, what's she holding in her hand? It looks like a magic wand.'

Greta sat back and looked at her sister.

' You know Joyce I was taking off the decorations and thinking about all the past. All the joys and sorrows and how much you've always helped me. I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful sister.'

'Oh go on Greta you'll make me cry, you're a wonderful sister too. I'll never forget the day you were born, my own personal baby doll.'

'It's been hard for me this Christmas losing Timmy like that. I know you understand. I hadn't been feeling well all Christmas, and I'd put it down to being so upset, but then I went to the doctor and he told me to do a pregnancy test. The angel is holding the results.'

Joyce's shocked expression almost made Greta laugh but just then she heard Paul's key in the lock.

' Hey Greta, cherie', he rushed to kiss her.' I came home early, you said you'd got something important to tell me.'

The sound of his voice still made Greta weak at the knees and she sat down again to face her sister, but she had gone, quietly letting herself out so as to not to intrude in the intimate magic moment that she knew herself so well.