Dressed in Pink to make the boys Wink

    The strong smell of Italian coffee that pervaded the apartment every morning reminded Yvonne, as she woke up, that she was in Italy, staying with her son and his family. The bedroom was in complete darkness, the shutters tightly closed, but it was the aroma of coffee that told her it was morning. The door opened a crack letting in some dazzling sunshine and she sat up as her little granddaughter Ginevra came to stand by her bed,

    'Nonna,' she whispered, 'Are you awake?' 

Without waiting for an answer she carried on, trying hard to speak in English, 'Papa says you want tea because you're English, mamma is making it and she says you can meet me from school tomorrow, she's going to tell the teachers that you're coming , you'll meet my best friend Olimpia and her nonno Bruno.'

    The door opened further and the room was flooded with light as her daughter-in-law Carlotta rolled up the blinds with a flourish and handed Yvonne a mug of pale tea,

'Here Vonny, I hope this is ok, Paul said the Italian coffee was giving you heartburn.' 

She held out the mug and Yvonne took it gingerly in her hands.

 Inwardly she grimaced at being called 'Vonny'. All her life she'd been Mrs. Shaw at the school where she'd worked and Yvonne for her family and close friends. 

Ginevra bounced onto the bed snuggling up to her, 'Oh Nonna you smell like violets, the ones mamma puts in the cupboards to stop moths eating our clothes.' Mamma says we can go shopping today, just you and me.' Her eyes grew huge and she bounced harder on the bed.' We can have jeans and pink sparkly tops and nail varnish and lipgloss.'

Carlotta looked a bit embarrassed. ' It's just an idea I had Vonny, there's a film Paul and I would like to see and we thought we could drive into town and go to the cinema while you two go to the new department store,' she stopped and grinned, 'If that's ok with you.'

Ginevra covered Yvonne's cheek with litle kisses and she felt something shift inside her heart, a lump came to her throat and she thought she would cry. It was a new sensation and she turned away, put down her mug and swung herself out of bed.

At nearly seventy Yvonne was very proud of how agile she still was and put it down to long walks and good genes. She lay back on the pillow feeling bemused and reflecting on where life had taken her.

 Here she was in Italy staying with her son Paul and his Italian wife Carlotta and their four year old daughter Ginevra. 

Yvonne's husband Ted had died when Paul was just ten and she had sent him to boarding school thinking he would be better off there than on his own with a grieving mother. She had dedicated her life to her teaching and never looked at another man. 

Paul had been working as a sports journalist in London when he met Carlotta, a nurse from Italy who had come to improve her English.  When they had had Ginevra they decided they wanted to bring her up in Carlotta's home town surrounded by her vast extended family.

 Then there was Covid and lockdown and only zoom and Skype for her to see the little girl and now Paul and Carlotta had asked her to stay for a few months to get to know her. She smiled to herself remembering the warm and enthusiastic welcome she had received on her arrival.

She washed and dressed quickly and joined the family for breakfast.

Ginevra was dipping a croissant into a bowl of milky coffee and glanced up at her as she sat down.'You wore that jumper yesterday Grandma and that skirt. ' She held out her free hand wriggling her fingers which sparkled with pink nail polish. 'Look! Would you like me to do your nails before we go shopping.?'

The little girl sounded so eager, her curly hair bounced and shone and her dark brown eyes gleamed with excitement, Yvonne didn't know how to react. She heard her mother's voice from her  childhood. She'd been a dour woman, always seemed to be disappointed in something or other. She had spent a lot of time at the kitchen sink looking out of the window, commenting on the neighbours as they walked past their house. 'Look at Dorothy, she's no better than she ought to be. ' 'Look at Mrs so and so, mutton dressed as lamb. Look at that Molly, she's no better than she thinks she is, all these mini skirts and beehive hairdos, she's asking for trouble.She'll have to get married, mark my word.'

Lost in her thoughts she realized that Ginevra was holding her hands and she looked down to see her nails painted a bright pink. Before she could stop herself she snatched her hands away and called out aghast 'Oh my goodness, ' Carlotta laughed and said in a soothing tone, 'No worries Vonny, it's only Barbie polish, it just peels off.'

Yvonne was dismayed to see Ginevra's bottom lip trembling. She put her arm round the little girl and whispered in what she hoped was a soothing tone, 'It's lovely Ginny, I love my nails like that, thank you.'

Ashamed of her reaction she stood up and said, 'Right everyone the cinema and shopping  my treat.'

When they arrived at the department store Ginevra lead her to the children's department and proudly told the assistant that this was her grandma from England and she was learning Italian and was coming to live with her. The assistants immediately warmed to the litle girl and helped her pick out a pair of jeans and a pink top with unicorns and sequins. She tried them on and twirled around in front of the mirror beaming at her reflection. Yvonne couldn't help thinking of how her mother would have pursed her lips and mumbled about  being vain. 

With their purchases in a smart colourful bag Ginevra tugged at Vonny's arm and pointed to the Ladies section, 'Now you Nonna,we must get you some jeans then we can go running and climbing because that long skirt is no good.' In a whirlwind Yvonne found herself trying on a pair of jeans and a plain pink jumper. Ginevra clapped her hands, 'oh Nonna you look beautiful just like Barbie.' Yvonne felt ridiculous and glanced at the assistants to see if they were laughing at her.  To her surprise they were looking at her with admiraion and muttering about her'linea bella'. Ginevra whispered to her in English, 'Nonna they are saying you look like a model and have got a beautiful bottom.'

Yvonne chuckled and stroked Ginevra's curls, 'Well nobody has ever said that to me I'm sure.' Ginevra beamed, 'Keep them on Nonna they're much nicer than that brown skirt.'

As Yvonne and Ginevra were walking across the square to join Paul and Carlotta at the coffee bar a little girl and an elderly man walked up to them. Ginevra jumped up and down waving, 'Look Nonna it's Olimpia and her Nonno Bruno,' Olimpia ran towards them and there were cries of 'Ginny' and 'Ollie' and a lot of embracing.  Then somehow they were all walking together across

the square and Olimpia's nonno was telling her about how he used to work in London but had retired to Italy when his wife died.

Paul and Carlotta were sitting at one of the tables in the square and they stood up when they saw Ginevra running towards them. When they caught sight of Yvonne their mouths dropped open and Paul came towards her beaming, 'oh mum, you look great, I knew there was a butterfly in there somewhere and I knew that Ginny would find her.' He enveloped her in a bear hug and whispered,' Welcome to Italy mum, we're  going to have a lot of fun.'

Yvonne had to hold her breath to stop the tears. Bruno pulled out a chair for her and tipped his head towards her and smiled in a way that made her feel something wonderful stir deep inside her

.  Her  mother's voice  came to her again but it sounded different. her gloomy disapproval was gone and instead it was like a gentle caress full of warmth and hope, 'That's my girl dear Vonny.'

 

 

 

 

Italian stories

 

Northern Italy, October 1935

 
    Toni looked at the back of his mother's head as she turned to stir the risotto. He was filled with such tenderness and he was glad that she couldn't see because she would have broken down. He wanted to stroke her hair and hold her but knew that would alarm her. She would see it as a sign that he would not return.
His father burst into the room relieving the tension and bringing an atmosphere of normality as he sat at the table and poured himself some wine.

'So you're going then? Off to fight for a worthwhile cause, following the path of the great Roman emperors, conquering the world. Building an empire. I can tell you, all your great ideals will be left behind once you see the reality of war.'

Toni ignored the sarcasm in his father's voice. He joined him at the table, poured some wine and raised his glass.

'Lucio will be in my regiment. We're leaving next week. We're stopping at Tivoli and then on to Africa where we'll be trained in artillery.'

His mother, Lucia,  slammed the saucepan of risotto on the table and served it out with her ladle beating on the bowls.

'Men have such short memories, it's all madness. All that suffering in the Great War was meant to end it all. It was terrible for me, going off on my own with a small boy, not knowing if I'd ever see my husband again, losing my brother, nothing to eat and making clothes out of old bits of material and never knowing when it would end.' She paused and held out her left hand. 'They want my wedding ring, to fight for what? Well they can have it for what it's worth'.

Toni and his father looked at her in astonishment, their spoons in mid air. She never talked about the Great War and seemed to pretend it have never happened. 

Lucia had grown up in the last years of the Belle Epoque before all illusions were swept away for ever.

 She had been the most elegant, sweet and dainty young woman, her head full of romance and deeply in love with her dashing husband, Filippo, who showed such promise as a brilliant Penal Lawyer. When the war arrived in their Northern Italian own she was forced to go away to Genoa to stay with distant relatives for the war years. Toni's father had stayed behind in their home own. His high standing in his profession meant he was needed there, he dealt with the toughest cases and the most hardened criminals. Filippo  was a handsome man and there were many women left behind seeking male company and a warm companion to comfort them amidst the harsh realities of life in war time. 

When Lucia and Toni returned the marriage was never the same again and Lucia had poured all her love ono her young son, stifling him.

Lucia  went back to the stove and brought out plates of polenta and salami. She handed round Filippo's favourite spinach with ham and cream and poured herself a small glass of wine.

'Well I'm glad that Lucio will be with you. He is so big and strong and will surely look after you. Though I can't think why he wants to leave that lovely girlfriend of his, Betti.'

Toni rolled his eyes.
'Oh mamma, you are funny, look don't worry, I'll look after myself. I'll be back soon with lots of interesting things to tell you.'

  Lucia breathed in deeply and went back to the kitchen to return bearing her speciality 'Tirami su' and setting it on the table with a flourish.

'Tuck in now, they won't have this in Africa.

 Toni was about to reply when he noticed his father's expression. He was looking at his mother with such love and a sort of regret. Toni could see  what might have been between them if the war hadn't got in the way. The moment passed and his father got up whistling an American yankee tune from the war, Over there, over there'.

 
He felt that his father was making fun of him and went to help his mother clear the table.
Toni had recently qualified as a lawyer, following in his father's footsteps. Instead of Penal law however he had decided to specialise in Civil Law. For once his father had supported him and they worked together in the same studio. Toni had always loved learning and finding things out. He had sailed through school and university with the greatest ease. His school friends had often teased him and called him a swot but it really was just what came naturally to him. Toni's excellent results gained him an award and a prize trip to The United States.He was fascinated by the American way of life, the democracy, the variety of races all working together and the efficiency. On his return he had found that his friends were all talking passionately about politics in a way that made him deeply uneasy but he went along with them for friendship's sake.

 

 Lucio had talked him into going off to fight for Italy in this African campaign but Toni wasn't looking forward to it at all. Part of him though wanted the young girls to see him as more of a man and admire his strength instead of always being in awe of his academic brilliance. Part of him felt that with him out of the way his mother and father might rekindle their relationship.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The station was swarming with young men in uniform trying to find their groups. Toni soon spotted Lucio, smart in his brand new kit and his hair full of Brilcream. He went over to him and was soon joined by a few more friends from university smoking their free cigarettes.

They were told to get in the second carriage.




The whistle blew and Toni leaned out of the window to wave to the people who had come to see them off. 

Toni felt sick but pulled his cigarette packet out and tried to stop his fingers from shaking as he lit  one.They were on their way, there was no going back.

XXXXXx

The train stopped in Tivoli and they were taken to accommodation and told their training would begin the next day. The training was tough and  Toni was relieved when they were told they were going on a sightseeing trip to the Villa Adriana. Lucio had already seen it and was enthusiastic.

 
'You'll love it Toni, a brain box like you. All I can remember is that it was built between 118 and 138 BC by the emperor Hadrian.'

The villa Adriana was indeed magnificent. Toni wandered around taking photographs and imagining himself as an emperor creating such a beautiful place. The layout of the rooms could still be seen and it was evident that Hadrian had a great love of architecture. There was even a room that looked as though it had been specially designed for romance. It was at this moment that Toni decide to grow a moustache. He would go back home as a conqueror and an emperor.
While they were at Tivoli letters started arriving from home. Lucio quickly gathered a whole pile from Betti, all scented and sealed with hearts. He told Toni they were full of passion and her undying love for him. Toni felt embarrassed about his letters. They were also full of passion and undying love but they were from his mother. Luckily they weren't scented.
Up until the visit to Villa Adriana, apart from the training Toni and Lucio had almost felt like tourists.
'Italy is such a beautiful country. Everywhere you look there is something,' Lucio was reading a guide book and started talking about studying Archeology when they came home.
'Well the Romans certainly did all the hard work for us,' Toni grinned at his friend.
'I think you'd be interested in the Etruscans Lucio, I'll lend you a book about the Necropolis at Tarquinia.
Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from a young skinny boy from Milan.
'We're off lads. They're sending us to Maddaloni tomorrow ready to embark for Africa next week.'
All thoughts of studying and home were put aside, they were on their way.
Maddaloni was a lovely town built on a hill near Caserta, from there they were taken to Naples and marched onto their ship.
As they left the port, Toni looked at the spectacular view of Vesuvius in the distance. Lucio came up to him looking nervous.
'Well Toni, this is it. We're following the steps of our forefathers, Hadrian and Caesar.'
Toni thought how his father would laugh if he heard that.
 He took one last look at his homeland laying there before him in the setting sun and followed Lucio to their bunks.


xxxxxxxxxxx

The Field Hospital in Somalia was full of wounded soldiers. Toni didn't dare lie down in case the sickness came over him again. His temperature was still very high and he couldn't stop shaking. His eyes were glued together. He felt terrible. Physically he was so weak he could hardly stand up and had to rely on the auxiliaries for everything. He just couldn't remember what it felt like to feel normal and his father's words kept ringing in his ears. He couldn't think what he had been fighting for.

Most of all he felt wretched and completely useless.

 Just after a week's training Toni had caught the dreaded African sickness. Two  men had already died from it in the same room and he felt doomed.

The doctor came to stand by his bed. He was wearing a mask in the hope of keeping the deadly virus away. The doctor was a kind man from Cosenza. He had served in the Great War on the frontline in the mountains near Toni's home town.

He spoke softly, occasionally throwing in some words in Toni's local dialect.

 

', You're over the worst now Toni. If you can survive the first few days you'll be alright.'

 

He paused and cleared his throat, 'You won't be able to fight ever again. This infection leaves a weakness in the stomach that would make military life impossible. Although I don't understand soldiers, you're very brave but I just want to save lives.'

Toni didn't feel brave and he didn't want to fight any more. He just wanted to cling onto life and go home.

'Thank you doctor but you're the brave one, not me.'

The mere effort of talking had worn Toni out and he collapsed against the rough pillow. There was a commotion as a young man was brought in screaming in agony and calling for his Betti. It was Lucio.

Toni turned to the doctor in alarm.

 

'What's happened to him ? He's my friend from home.'

 

The doctor shrugged  'he shot himself in the leg. '  He sighed heavily, 'It happens more often than you'd think.'

 

The doctor walked over to Lucio and whispered some soothing words. Lucio immediately calmed down and looked around the makeshift ward. His haggard, dirty face lit up when he saw Toni but was soon replaced with an expression that looked to Toni like shame.

'Hi mate, good to see you,' Toni struggled to reassure his friend. 'Welcome to the world of the walking wounded.'

Lucio pointed o his shattered leg.

'I'm not walking anywhere right now. What a couple of heroes eh? Whatever shall I tell Betti?'

Tony lay back and tried to quell the sickness that was washing over him.

'No need to tell her anything Lucio. I'm not telling and neither is the doctor. Let's concentrate on getting better.'

Toni's eyes closed with the effort and he fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed that he was a hero, that he had a pile of scented letters from a girl who adored him. He was walking round Pompeii and impressing her with stories of daring escapades  and then he dreamed that he was home. When he awoke he was relieved that the horrible sick feeling had at last disappeared. He looked across at Lucio who was studying  the bandages on his leg.

'I can't wait to draw some funny faces on that.' Toni smiled and Lucio grinned back.

 

xxxxx

As the train drew into the station of the Northern Italian town the passengers could hear a deafening cheer. They hung out of the windows waving their hats and scanning the crowd for their loved ones.

Betti was at the front waving a red scarf. Toni could see his mother hovering at the next to his father. They were standing apart from the screaming girls with their arms round each other. Toni caught his father's eye and saw him lift his hand in a salute . Toni grinned to himself and looked across at Lucio who was struggling with tears.

Toni handed him a handkerchief.

'Chin up mate, Betti will never know. We're heroes right? Go to your Betti and have a happy life.'

Later, at home in the kitchen Toni gave his parents the gifts he had brought for them. Some beads for his mother and a leather pouch for his father.

Her mother put her necklace on her and admired herself in the mirror.

'Lucio looked fit and well. I knew he'd take care of you. Such a brave young man. What a pity he and Betti are going to live in Milan.'

Toni caughte his father's wry glance as he poured himself a glass of wine and raised it to Toni.

'Welcome home son. '

He smiled at Toni and for the first time he felt as though his father was proud of him.

 

 

'

Northern Italy, October 1935

    Toni looked at the back of his mother's head as she turned to stir the risotto. He was filled with such tenderness and he was glad that she couldn't see his face, because she would have broken down. He wanted to stroke her hair and hold her but knew that would alarm her. She would see it as a sign that he would not return.
    His father burst into the room relieving the tension and bringing an atmosphere of normality as he sat at the table and poured himself some wine.

    'So you're going then, Toni? Off to fight for a worthwhile cause, following the path of the great Roman emperors, conquering the world. I can tell you, all your great ideals will be left behind once you see the reality of war.'

    Toni ignored the sarcasm in his father's voice. He joined him at the table, poured some wine and raised his glass.

    'Lucio will be in my regiment. We're leaving next week. We're stopping at Tivoli and then on to Africa where we'll be trained in artillery.'

    His mother, Maria, slammed the saucepan of risotto on the table and served it out with her ladle beating on the bowls.

    'Men have such short memories' she said, 'It's all madness. All that suffering in the Great War was meant to end it all. It was terrible for me, going off on my own with a small boy, not knowing if I'd ever see my husband again, losing my brother, nothing to eat and making clothes out of old bits of material and never knowing when it would end.'

    Toni and his father looked at her in astonishment, their spoons in mid air. She never talked about the Great War and seemed to pretend it have never happened. 

    Maria had grown up in the last years of the Belle Epoque before all illusions were swept away for ever.

    She had been the most elegant, sweet and dainty young woman in her town, her head full of romance and deeply in love with her dashing husband, Filippo, who showed such promise as a brilliant Penal Lawyer. When the war arrived in their Northern Italian town she was forced to go away with a two year old Toni, to Genoa to stay with distant relatives for the war years. Toni's father had stayed behind in their home town. His high standing in his profession meant he was needed there, he dealt with the toughest cases and the most hardened criminals. Filippo was a handsome man and there were many women left behind seeking male company and a warm companion to comfort them amidst the harsh realities of life in war time. 

    When Maria and Toni returned the marriage was never the same again and Maria had poured all her love onto her young son, stifling him.

    Maria went back to the stove and brought out plates of polenta and salami. She handed round Filippo's favourite spinach with ham and cream and poured herself a small glass of wine.

    'Well I'm glad that your best friend Lucio will be with you, son. He is so big and strong and will surely look after you. Though I can't think why he wants to leave that lovely girlfriend of his, Betti.'

    Toni rolled his eyes.
    'Oh mamma, you are funny. Don't you worry, I'll look after myself. I'll be back soon with lots of interesting things to tell you.'

     Maria breathed in deeply and went back to the kitchen to return bearing her speciality 'Tirami su' and setting it on the table with a flourish.

    'Tuck in now, they won't have this where you're going'.

    Toni was about to reply when he noticed his father's expression. He was looking at his mother with such love but also regret. Toni could see what might have been between them if the war hadn't got in the way. The moment passed and his father got up whistling an American yankee tune from the Great War, 'Over there, over there'.
    He felt that his father was making fun of him and went to help his mother clear the table.
    Toni had recently qualified as a lawyer, following in his father's footsteps. Instead of Penal law however he had decided to specialise in Civil Law. For once his father had supported him and now they worked together in the same studio. Toni had always loved learning and finding things out. He had sailed through school and university with the greatest ease. His school friends had often teased him and called him a swot but it really was just what came naturally to him. Toni's excellent results gained him an award and a prize trip to The United States. He was fascinated by the American way of life, the democracy, the variety of peoples all working together and the efficiency. On his return he had found that his friends were all talking passionately about politics in a way that made him deeply uneasy but he went along with them for friendship's sake.

 

    Then Lucio had talked him into going off to fight for Italy in this African campaign but Toni wasn't looking forward to it at all. Part of him though wanted the young girls to see him as more of a man and admire his strength instead of always being in awe of his academic brilliance. He also hoped that with him out of the way his mother and father might rekindle their relationship.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

    The station was swarming with young men in uniform trying to find their groups. Toni soon spotted Lucio, smart in his brand new kit and his hair full of Brilcream. He went over to him and was soon joined by a few more friends from university smoking their free cigarettes.

    They were told to get in the second carriage and soon the whistle blew. Toni and Lucio leaned out of the window to wave to the crowd who had come to see them off. 

    As he sat down, Toni felt sick but pulled his cigarette packet out and tried to stop his fingers from shaking as he lit  one. They were on their way, there was no going back.

XXXXXx

Tivoli 1935

 
    The train stopped in Tivoli and the men were taken to accommodation and told their training would begin the next day. The training was tough and a few days later Toni was relieved when they were told they were going on a sightseeing trip to the Villa Adriana. Lucio had already seen it and was enthusiastic.

 
    'You'll love it Toni, a brain box like you. All I can remember is that it was built between 118 and 138 BC by the emperor Hadrian.'

    The villa Adriana was indeed magnificent. Toni wandered around taking photographs and imagining himself as an emperor creating such a beautiful place. The layout of the rooms could still be seen and it was evident that Hadrian had a greatly loved architecture. There was even a room that looked as though it had been specially designed for romance. It was at this moment that Toni decide to grow a moustache. He would go back home as a conqueror and an emperor.
    While they were at Tivoli, letters started arriving from home. Lucio quickly gathered a whole pile from Betti, all scented and sealed with hearts. He told Toni they were full of passion and her undying love for him. Toni felt embarrassed about his letters. They were also full of passion and undying love but they were from his mother. Luckily they weren't scented.
    Up until the visit to Villa Adriana, apart from the training Toni and Lucio had almost felt like tourists.
'Italy is such a beautiful country. Everywhere you look there is something,' Lucio was reading a guide book and started talking about studying Archeology when they returned home.
    'Well the Romans certainly did all the hard work for us,' Toni grinned at his friend. 'I think you'd be interested in the Etruscans Lucio, I'll lend you a book about the Necropolis at Tarquinia'.
     Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from a young skinny boy from Milan.
    'We're off lads. They're sending us to Maddaloni tomorrow ready to embark for Africa next week.'
    All thoughts of studying and home were put aside, they were on their way.
 

    Maddaloni was a lovely town built on a hill near Caserta, from there they were taken to Naples and marched onto their ship.
    As they left the port, Toni looked at the spectacular view of Mount Vesuvius in the distance. Lucio came up to him looking nervous.
    'Well Toni, this is it. We're following the steps of our forefathers, Hadrian and Caesar.'
    Toni thought how his father would laugh if he heard that.     

    He took one last look at his homeland laying there before him in the setting sun and followed Lucio to their bunks.

xxxxxxxxxxx

 

    Africa, December 1935

 

     The Field Hospital was full of wounded soldiers. Toni didn't dare lie down in case the sickness came over him again. His temperature was still very high and he couldn't stop shaking. His eyes were glued together. He felt terrible. Physically he was so weak he could hardly stand up and had to rely on the auxiliaries for everything. He just couldn't remember what it felt like to feel normal and his father's words kept ringing in his ears. He didn't even know what he had been fighting for.

    Most of all he felt wretched and completely useless.

    Just after a week's training Toni had caught the dreaded African sickness. Two men had already died from it in the same room and he felt doomed.

    The doctor came to stand by his bed. He was wearing a mask in the hope of keeping the deadly virus away. The doctor was a kind man from Cosenza. He had served in the Great War on the frontline in the mountains near Toni's home town.

    He spoke softly, occasionally throwing in some words in Toni's local dialect.

    'You're over the worst now Toni. If you can survive the first few days you'll be alright.'

    He paused and cleared his throat, 'You won't be able to fight ever again. This infection leaves a weakness in the stomach that would make military life impossible. Although I don't understand soldiers, you're very brave but I just want to save lives.'

    Toni didn't feel brave and he didn't want to fight any more. He just wanted to cling onto life and go home.

    'Thank you doctor but you're the brave one, not me.'

    The mere effort of talking had worn Toni out and he collapsed against the rough pillow. There was a commotion as a young man was brought in screaming in agony and calling for his Betti. It was Lucio.

Toni turned to the doctor in alarm.

 

    'What's happened to him ? He's my friend from home.'

 

    The doctor shrugged 'He shot himself in the leg.'  He sighed heavily, 'It happens more often than you'd think.'

 

    The doctor walked over to Lucio and whispered some soothing words. Lucio immediately calmed down and looked around the makeshift ward. His haggard, dirty face lit up when he saw Toni but was soon replaced with an expression that looked to Toni like shame.

    'Hi mate, good to see you,' Toni struggled to reassure his friend. 'Welcome to the world of the walking wounded.'

    Lucio pointed to his shattered leg.

    'I'm not walking anywhere right now. What a couple of heroes, eh? Whatever shall I tell Betti?'

    Toni lay back and tried to quell the sickness that was washing over him.

    'No need to tell her anything Lucio. I'm not telling and neither is the doctor. Let's concentrate on getting better.'

    Toni's eyes closed with the effort and he fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed that he was a hero, that he had a pile of scented letters from a girl who adored him. He was walking round Pompeii and impressing her with stories of daring escapades and then he dreamed that he was home. When he awoke he was relieved that the horrible sick feeling had at last disappeared. He looked across at Lucio who was studying the bandages on his leg.

    'I can't wait to draw some funny faces on that.' Toni smiled and Lucio grinned back.

 

xxxxx

 

 Northern Italy, May 1936   

 

    A few months later, as the train drew into the station the passengers could hear a deafening cheer. They hung out of the windows waving their hats and scanning the crowd for their loved ones.

    Betti was at the front waving a red scarf. Toni could see his mother hovering at the front next to his father. They were standing apart from the screaming girls, their arms round each other. Toni caught his father's eye and saw him lift his hand in a salute. Toni grinned to himself and looked across at Lucio who was struggling with tears. He handed him a handkerchief.

    'Chin up mate, Betti will never know. We're heroes right? Go to your Betti and have a happy life.'

    Later, at home in the kitchen Toni gave his parents the gifts he had brought for them. Some beads for his mother and a leather pouch for his father.

    His mother put her necklace on her and admired herself in the mirror.

    'Lucio looked fit and well. I knew he'd take care of you. Such a brave young man. What a pity he and Betti are going to live in Milan.'

    Toni caught his father's wry glance as he poured himself a glass of wine and raised it to Toni.

    'Welcome home son.'

    He smiled at Toni and for the first time he felt as though his father was proud of him.

 

 

'

A day in the life of a mum

On a good day Cynthia looked at herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her thick curly hair and slicked on some lip gloss. She would then go through the motions of taking the children to school and picking them up again.
On a bad day she stayed in bed. John took the children to school. She lay looking at the ceiling and pretending she was back at home listening to the sounds of her mother in the kitchen and her brother playing his guitar, she was a child again.
Yesterday she'd tried to describe what she felt to the doctor. He'd asked her if she cried a lot.  She'd realized then that he hadn't understood.

Today was a good day. Cynthia dropped the children off at  school, watching as they went through the main door arm in arm with their friends. Fiona was eight and had three best friends. She was a friendly happy child. Cynthia had been too. A fragment of an overheard conversation filtered into her head.

'Cynthia will always be alright. She'll bounce back to the surface. She's the happy one. It's Stephen we've got to watch. He's the one that needs protecting.'

Cynthia vowed she would never label her children like that. Greg was a bit moody and seemed more fragile but she knew only too well how quickly Fiona's happy disposition could be snatched from her.

Greg was ten and the teachers were always telling Cynthia to keep him away from certain influences., this boy or that. Cynthia had her own ideas though. She had talked about it with John last night.

'There'll always be someone who's a bad influence, we've got to make him strong. He must be able to cope with anyone who comes his way.'

John had agreed with her.

'Don't worry Cynthia, we're together on this, Greg will be fine.'

 Then he'd casually asked her how she was feeling.
Cynthia knew he didn't understand. It was no use explaining that she felt as though she was enclosed in a glass bubble, she couldn't find a way out and had no future. It took all her energy just to keep things as they were.

Cynthia got back in the car and turned on the radio. It was a gardening programme.

'It's time to think about Spring,' The presenter was full of enthusiasm.
'Are your crocuses out? Have the bulbs you planted in the Autumn fulfilled their promise? If not why not go past your local garden centre and pick up some primulas for instant colour in your garden.'

Colour. That's what she needed. It was such a grey day. Cynthia decided to go by the new Garden centre that she'd read about in the local paper.

As she parked the car she saw a sign saying 'Cream teas, all day long.' A lump came to her throat as she thought how much her mother would have liked that. Cynthia picked up a trolley and started to walk through the vast displays of seasonal plants. huge signs proclaimed exciting bargain offers. She loaded up the trolley with primulas in all the colours of the rainbow, yellow, purple, white, crimson, pale pink, dark pink. In the corner were a few in the pale lemon colour her mother had loved so much, Primrose yellow and next to them some cowslips. She remembered there being hundreds of cowslips when she was a girl and her mother talked about cowslip wine, but then they had become a protected species and it was illegal to pick them. Here they were in the garden centre. Cynthia added them to her trolley.
She walked towards the cafè, parked her trolley and went in for the all day cream tea.
As she was paying she looked at the woman at the till and said shyly,

'This will be my lunch today.'

The woman smiled back at her.

'Good idea, and you've got a free cup of tea with that.'

The woman brought over the cream tea on a tray. On an impulse Cynthia asked if she'd like to join her. the woman looked delighted and pulled up a chair and introduced herself as Irene, one of the new owners.

'As there aren't any customers at the moment. I was feeling a bit lonely, the children at school and I'm out of work, I would have brought my mum but'.. Cynthia's voive broke

'Oh I'm sorry' Irene put her hand on Cynthia's arm.

'Oh no, she's, it's not that, 'Cynthia was flustered. 'She's gone to live with my brother and his family in New Zealand and it's hard for me to get used to being without her. My dad died when I was small. My brother was sent to New Zealand by his company. It seemed he had no choice, his wife Donna and two boys were all enthusiastic.
Cynthia's mum had turned away from her when she'd explained, 'He needs me Cynthia, he's not strong like you.'

Irene waited while Cynthia bit into her scone with jam and cream.

'I know how you feel. It seems a long way. My daughter lives in Australia, she loves it, She's just moved to Melbourne with her boyfriend. We're going out to visit her for Chrstmas. I got a bit depressed when she first went out there but now I'm expert at facetime, skype, the lot.  Has your mum gone for good or could she come back for a few months in the Summer and maybe you go out there sometimes.?'

Cynthia took a sip of her tea and said in a quiet voice, 'I think I'm a bit depressed.'

She couldn't believe that she had confided in a total stranger something she had hardly admitted to herself.but Irene was so warm and friendly and had used the word 'depressed'. Sitting here surrounded by the colourful plant, the delicious cream tea and the strong sweet tea  Cynthia felt a break in the cloud over her head, some Sunshine trying to pierce the gloom.

Irene stood up.
'Someone's just come in. Look you come back whenever you like. I was just thinking if you'd like to come and help out here sometimes. Pop in on Friday and my husband will be here, we can talk about it. I'll show you how to get cheap flights for New Zealand.'


That evening when John came home, Cynthia told them all to close their eyes. She looked at her family standing in a row, John, Fiona and Greg with their eyes tight shut. She turned on the outside light and told them to look at the garden. She was not disappointed by their shouts of joy. There before them was a spectacle of bright colours, a rainbow carpet.

'How lovely mum ,' Fiona hugged her, 'our garden looks happy again'

 John poured her a cup of coffee when the children were in bed and put his arm round her.

'Well done with your instant Spring garden. I'm sorry I never seem to have time to do anything. On Saturday I thought I might take Greg to the football match. I could ask Harry, my sister Kate's son to come with us. He's football mad. We could have them round afterwards and I'll get us all a takeaway.'

Cynthia smiled at her husband. Gratitude filled her heart. One step at a time, one day at a time, always in the right direction.

Sweep away the gloom with a splash of colour

My Life in Flowers

 

 

Daisies are our silver,

Buttercups our gold

Has been engraved upon my heart

Since I was three years old.

 

 My mother loved the countryside

And made me so aware 

 of the beauty of the seasons

And the treasures lying there.

 

Cowslips, snowdrops, violets

That heralded the spring

Crocuses and hyacinths

From the bulbs that she'd put in ,

 

Off we'd go a roaming

Along the country lanes

Admiring all the flowers

And learning all their names.

 

Ragged Robins, Old man's beard,

Wild cherry galore,

Breathing in the honeysuckle

Growing round the door.

 

 The fairies in our garden

Though they were never seen

Used dog roses and foxgloves

To clothe the Fairy Queen.

 

Clematis, wisteria

Climbing up the wall.

A myriad of rose petals

To deck the fairy ball.

Bluebells in the beech woods 

around my childhood home

Forever in my heart

wherever I may roam.

 

Blossom in the orchard

Cherry, plum and pear 

Making springtime magical

their perfume fills the air.

Pinks and phlox and peonies 

to brighten up the day,

Poppies in the cornfields

Lying in the hay.

 

Plants to use for cooking

Upon the window sill

Rosemary, sage and parsley

A little pot of dill.

 

On holiday in Scotland

With thistles and with heather

A purple haze surrounds us

Never mind the weather.

 

Lupins, lilac, buddleia

Lavender and thyme

Carnations for a wedding

In the summertime.

 

Delphiniums and snapdragons

Dandelions galore

Zinnias, petunias

By the kitchen door.

 

Then as I entered adulthood

My true love came along

Red roses would arrive for me

I knew you were the one.

 

 Jasmine flowers tucked inside

The love letters  you sent

Would make my head go spinning

With their lovely scent,

Whisked away to meet

my future mother-in-law,

A bunch of gladioli

As we stood outside her door. 

Then I was transplanted 

To a very different land

With lemon flowers, hibiscus

Bougainvillea, oh so grand.

 

Exotic looking flowers

Overflowing in pots

Plumbago that reminds me

Of blue forget-me-nots.

 

Freesias for our wedding

Pinned into my hair

then sent often to remind me

Of just how much you care.

 

Your passion was the mountains

Your beloved Dolomites,

You secretly brought home for me

White velvet edelweiss.

 My heart is filled with love for you

As I while away the hours

There's nothing more romantic

Than a man that gives me flowers.

 

 

For Mario, with love, Thank you for the flowers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Trip of a Lifetime

     The morning sun streamed into the classroom casting a dazzling light and Bruno the teacher strode across to close the shutters. Flora watched his fluid movements and felt her heart beat loudly. She was sitting in the front row, her book open and her pencils at the ready. She sighed and gazed at Bruno. 

    This was the last day of the short summer course. It had been a gift from her mother for her birthday.

    'Look Flora you need a fresh start, you need to get over that Daniel and stop wallowing and crying and do something for yourself. It's been a year now, and he really doesn't deserve any of your tears after what he did to you.'

    If there had been a hint of impatience in her mother's tone Flora chose to ignore it and thanked her with an affectionate smile. 'I know, you're right, I know he's not coming back now. I just didn't see it coming. I feel so old and ugly and...' she stifled a sob.

    Her mother had hugged her hard. 'I understand how much he hurt you, going off with your best friend like that but you've done really well not to become bitter and I'm really proud of you. Now I think the best medicine will be a change of scene and I would like to treat you to an exciting trip somewhere. You never had a gap year after uni and you work so hard. You need the trip of a lifetime. What about backpacking like your friends , the ones that went to Vietnam and Cambodia or America coast to coast or the Rocky Mountains or Japan or going to Australia on a farm?'

Flora couldn't help smiling at her mother's enthusiasm and her shoulders relaxed.

I know mum, you think I  have an alter ego that travels the world with just a bikini and a pair of jeans but I'm a bit high maintenance which is probably what put Daniel off me. ' She sighed, 'I just wish he'd told me first.'

    Her mother scoffed. 'You're not high maintenance at all, whatever that means, you and your new fangled expressions.'  She waved a magazine in Flora's face and pointed to an advertisement.

    'Look ! If you don't want to go travelling what about this course. You would just get a plane to Pisa or Florence and eat lots of lovely Italian food and make new friends.  You'll love it and come back and use your sewing machine again and learn about textiles and patterns and have a new start.' Her mother paused for breath, 'go on Flora, a ttrip away, a change of scene and you'll be able to put things in perspective.'

    That had been a couple of month's ago and now here she was on the course. Flora had indeed always loved sewing and knitting and embroidery. It had always been a hobby but now she was thinking of starting up a business making her own designs. She had been working from home for a solicitor for some years and now, as her mum kept repeating, she did really need a change. 

    She jumped as she realized Bruno was asking her a question and standing right in front of her. She gazed entranced at his shirt which was a deep denim blue her favourite colour. Bruno leant towards her and she glimpsed the writing on the inside of his collar, pure linen. His top button had come undone and she caught her breath. Something stirred inside her, memories of warm summer days by the river, the feel of grass on her bare legs, the humming of bees. She lifted her eyes to his face and their eyes locked.

    He cleared his throat and stepped back. He turned and  spoke loudly to the class,

    'I was just asking Flora if this week she has felt her senses come alive? Do you all feel the sensuality of materials, textures, the quality of the colours, the patterns and the weaving techniques we have been talking about?'

    Randi, an American from Atlanta sitting near Flora, nodded vigorously.

    'Sure thing, I never wore anything but polyester before, and all my wardrobe's non-iron synthetics. I'm always gonna read the labels on clothes now.'

    Randi turned to the tall Texan, Greg, sitting next to her and he nodded in agreement.

    Bruno had flinched at the word 'polyester' and Flora stifled a giggle. 

    There was an outbreak of lively chatter. Bruno clapped his hands. 'Okay, coffee break now and then I will read out your essays.'

    Flora stood up and found herself standing very close to Bruno, she caught her breath as he smiled at her, his warm brown eyes sparkling with kindness, 'May I offer you an espresso?'

    They walked towards the bar area and Bruno ordered them two espressos and two brioches. Flora breathed in the rich warm smell of the coffee and bit into her brioche. She sighed with pleasure as she reached the cream inside.

    Bruno downed his coffee and she felt him studying her, when he spoke it was like a caress. 'Flora I have watched you this week, you are opening like a flower in the spring.' Flora almost choked on the crumbs. 'You Italians,' She laughed, 'You are such charmers.' But part of her knew what he meant. She felt different. She felt more alive. She felt more aware.

    They went back to the classroom and Bruno started to read out their essays. Randi's was all about the facts they had learned, about how silk is made from silkworms and they feed on mulberry leaves and silk from Tuscany is soft and shiny. Linen goes back from before the Romans and is ideal for the hot Italian summers and doesn't attract moths and bugs. Cashmere comes from goats in Mongolia and is considered a noble and precious material and, when combined with silk, is like gold and can regenerate your soul. 

    At these words Bruno paused and looked around the class. 'Well done Randi, I like this very much.'

    He picked up the next one and it was all about life being like a tapestry and how important it is to make sure you use good quality threads to weave your life story, to put love in every stitch when you embroider or knit or sew, to empty your head of negative thoughts and make sure you purify your heart and treat materials with care and respect. About rich colours and vibrant prints and intriguing patterns. About the similarity between weaving a story every day and weaving threads to produce luxurious textures and materials. About making sure there was lightness and brightness in your threads.

    There was silence in the room. Randi clapped and cooed 'Oh, I love it! Who wrote that? It's just darling.'

    Bruno pointed at Flora and she felt her face go red. She stammered 'I was just repeating what Bruno said.'

    A bell rang to end the lesson and Bruno spoke above the chatter that broke out. 'Remember, this evening there is going to be the Grand Gala. Just one bit of trivia for you as you get ready the evening, the word toilette comes from toile meaning linen and means a little piece of linen cloth which was used to put brushes and other things for personal hygiene.'

***

    Flora was in her room getting ready for the Gala evening when Randi came in wearing a short, tight shiny silver dress. She twirled around in front of the mirror, 'Do you think is it too much? I really like that Greg, do you think I have a chance?'

    Flora smiled at her 'You look gorgeous and I think Greg really likes you too. What do you think of my dress? I bought it for a special event with my ex, but things didn't work out. But it's such beautiful fabric and I feel really good in it'

    Randi gasped, 'Oh my what a fool to pass you up Flora, you're beautiful!! Yes, you really do look amazing in that dress. It will bring you luck this evening, I can tell.' then she nudged Flora with her elbow, 'What about Bruno the teacher? The way he looks at you!!' Flora lowered her eyes and smoothed her dress, which glimmered with the golden threads woven in the fabric. 'He's very charming I must say.'

    The two girls linked arms and walked to the ball room. At the sight of Randi, Greg rushed to her side and held out his arm which she grabbed and turned to wink at Flora. 

     Flora searched the room for Bruno and saw him coming towards her holding two glasses of Prosecco.

   He was wearing a very smart dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt. She caught her breath and smiled at him as he held out a glass to her.

    Bruno raised his glass to her and the warmth of his smile and his kind eyes made something shift inside her, some healing in her heart had taken place this week and now, standing here, she felt she could release all the hurt caused by Daniel's betrayal, a new beginning stirring within her.

    Bruno touched her lightly on the arm, 'Your dress is beautiful Flora, the way it flows around you and follows your movements.' He stopped, embarrassed by his own words. He had been waiting all week for this moment when he was no longer the teacher and now he didn't know how to go forward. He had never felt like this before about a woman. He had watched Flora blossom in front of him over the past week. Part of him knew it had something to do with him, the magic hidden within the beautiful fabrics, and the way they can awaken senses and emotions ... He had never wanted a woman so much. He took a deep breath.

    'Flora, if you have time to stay in Florence a little longer, I would love to show you my city. I have finished teaching for the summer now, I could show you the countryside and take you to meet my family in Fiesole and along the Arno and..' he was gabbling and then Flora reached up and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

    'I have been wanting to do that all week, Bruno.' Flora whispered softly. 'As you told us today, life is full of threads that can be woven into beautiful patterns. Sometimes we have lose ends that need tidying up, sometimes we can start with a new colour, start a new pattern.' She stopped as Bruno pulled her closer and kissed her back with a passion which held the promise of a wonderful new beginning and maybe just maybe the trip of a lifetime.

 

 

 

Come Tessere una Storia d'Amore

    Il sole del mattino entrava nell'aula proiettando una luce abbagliante e Bruno il professore si avvicinò a grandi passi per chiudere le persiane. Flora osservava i suoi movimenti fluidi e sentiva il suo cuore battere forte. Era seduta in prima fila, il libro aperto e le matite pronte. Sospirò e guardò Bruno con ammirazione.

    Era l'ultimo giorno del breve corso estivo, "introduzione al mondo della tessitura", un regalo da sua mamma.

    'Guarda Flora, hai bisogno di un nuovo inizio. Mi hai aiutato a curare tuo papà in tutti questi anni e non so cosa avrei fatto senza di te. Ma ora tocca a te vivere, ormai hai quasi quarant'anni, fai della tua vita qualcosa di magnifico. Io sto bene qui con i miei ricordi. E poi ... forse andrò a trovare mia sorella in Australia, chissà.'

    E ora Flora era in Italia, a Firenze, a frequentare questo interessante corso sulla tessitura.

    Le era sempre piaciuto cucire e creare vestiti e da ragazza avrebbe voluto avviare un'attività per realizzare i propri progetti. La lunga malattia di suo papà le aveva fatto mettere i sogni da parte. Sentiva una lacrima scendere al pensiero del suo amato padre.

    Flora sobbalzò quando si rese conto che Bruno era di fronte a lei e le stava facendo una domanda. Sentirlo vicino la risvegliò dai suoi pensieri.

    Lo fissò, incantata dalla sua camicia di un profondo blu che emenava un dolce profumo di spezie. Lui si chinò verso di lei e Flora intravide la scritta sul colletto: 'puro lino'. Qualcosa si mosse dentro di lei, i ricordi della sua infanzia, di calde giornate estive in riva al fiume, l'erba appena tagliata, il ronzio delle api. 

    Bruno si schiari la gola e fece un passo indietro. Si voltò e parlò a voce alta a tutta la classe.

    'Stavo chiedendo a Flora se durante il corso ha sentito i suoi sensi rianimarsi. Se ora è piu cosciente della sensualità dei tessuti, delle trame, i colori, le techniche di tessitura?"

    Randi, un'americana di Atlanta, seduta vicino a Flora, scosse la testa con entusiasmo.

    'Certo!' strillò 'Non ho mai indossato altro che poliestere fin'ora, nel mio gurdaroba ho solo sintetici. D'ora in poi leggerò le etichette sui vestiti.' esclamò ridendo.

    Poi Randi si rivolse all'alto texano Greg, seduto accanto a lei e lui annuì in pieno accordo.

    Bruno era trasalito al suono della parola 'poliestere' e Flora soffocò una risata.

    Ci fu un'esplosione di vivace chiacchiere e Bruno battè le mani, per richiamare l'attenzione.

    'Va bene, facciamo una pausa caffè e poi leggerò i vostri temi del corso.'

    Flora si alzò e si ritrovò improvvisamente vicina a Bruno. Trattenne il fiato mentre lui la fissava.

    'Posso offrirti un espresso?' disse Bruno sorridendo.

Si avviarono verso il bar e ordinarono due espressi e due brioches alla crema.

Flora inspirò l'intenso profumo del caffè e addentò la brioche. Sospirò di piacere quando raggiunse la crema all'interno. Bruno mandò giù in un sorso il suo caffè e la guardò negli occhi. Quando parlò il suono della sua era come una carezza, 

'In questa settimana ti stai aprendo come un fiore in primavera.'

La brioche le andò quasi di traverso, 'Oh, Voi italiani', rise, 'siete così incredibilmente affascinanti.'

Ma una parte di lei sapeva cosa intendeva. In questi giorni si sentiva diversa, si sentiva piu viva. 

Tornati in classe Bruno lesse i loro temi.

Quello di Randi era pieno di fatti che avevano appreso durante le lezioni. 'La seta viene ricavata dai bachi di seta e si nutre di foglie di gelso e la seta toscana è morbida e lucente. Il lino risale a prima dei romani ed è ideale per le calde estati italiane e non attira tarme e insetti. Il cashmere proviene dalle capre della mongolia ed è considerato un materiale nobile e prezioso e quando abbinato alla seta è come l'oro e può rigenerare l'anima.'

Bruno si fermò per esclamare 'Brava Randi, mi piace molto.'

Cominciò a leggere il successivo tema. Parlava dell'arazzo della vita e su l'importanza di utilizzare fili di buona qualità per tessere la storia della vita, mettere amore in ogni punto, svuotare la testa dai pensieri negativi, purificare il cuore, trattare i materiali con cura e rispetto. Parlava di colori, stampe vibranti, motivi intriganti. Della somiglianza tra tessere una storia ogni giorno e tessere fili per produrre trame e stoffe, mettendo leggerezza e luminosità nei fili della propria vita.

C'era silenzio nella stanza. Randi battè le mani e esclamò, 'Oh l'adoro, chi l'ha scritto?'

Bruno indicò Flora che arossì. 'Ripetevo solo quello che ci ha insegnato Bruno.'

Il campanello suonò e Bruno parlò sopra le chiacchiere. 'Ci vediamo stasera alla Gran Gala di fine corso.'

Flora era nella sua stanza a prepararsi per la serata quando Randi entrò con indosso un abito argento luccicante. Si girò d'avanti allo specchio, 'Cosa ne pensi, Flora?' sospirò.' Mi piace molto Greg, pensi che io abbia una possibilità?'

Flora lei sorrise 'Sei stupenda e penso che piacerà davvero anche a Greg. 

E tu? Cosa pensi del mio vestito? L'ho fatto con della stoffa portata dalla Cina da mio papà quando era giovane. E' setà pura.'

Randi accarezzò il vestito, 'Wow! di sicuro non è poliestere.' Rise, 'E Bruno? Ho notato il modo in cui ti guarda?'

 Flora abbassò lo sguardo 'E' molto affascinate, lo devo ammettere.'

Le due donne entrarono a braccietto nella sala da ballo. Greg si precipitò al fianco di Randi e le tese il braccio, che lei afferrò sorridendo alla sua nuova amica.

Bruno arrivò poco dopo e venne subito verso Flora. Indossava un abito scuro molto elegante e una camicia bianca immacolata. La gentilezza del suo sguardo fece cambiare qualcosa dentro di lei, una guarigione nel suo cuore.

Bruno le toccò con dolcezza il braccio, 'Il tuo vestito è bellissimo, ti scorre intorno come una cascata.'

Si fermò, imbarazzato dalle sue stesse parole.

Era tutta la settimana che aspettava questo momento. Non si era mai sentito così. Aveva visto sbocciare questa bellissima donna e sapeva che aveva a che fare con lui e la magia nascosta nei meravigliosi tessuti, il modo in cui possono risvegliare sensi e emozioni. Non aveva mai desiderata una donna così. Fece un respiro profondo.

'Mi piacerebbe mostrarti la mia città, Firenze, e...' esitò, poi Flora si allungò e lo baciò delicatamente sulla guancia.  'E' tutta la settimana che voglio farlo' sussurrò , 'La vita è piena di fili che possono essere intrecciati in bellissimi disegni. A volte abbiamo questioni in sospeso che devono essere sistemate e possiamo ricominciare con un nuovo colore, un nuovo motivo.'

Si fermò quando Bruno la strinse a sè e la baciò con una passione che conteneva la promessa di un meraviglioso nuovo inizio.

 

Quelli del Quinto piano

 Quelli del quinto piano

Lasciano i sogni al bar

Il cappuccino e brioche

Hanno dato un po' di nausea.

La signora accanto al'ascensore

Sorride con compassione

I loro occhi riflettono amore

Per i figli parenti amici

Che non vogliono mai lasciare

Che hanno paura di ferire

e non mai abbandonare

Tirano un sospiro quando arrivano al piano

In pilota automatico vanno

Per non perdere il controllo

Per avere la corazzo sanno

Che devono proteggere con amore

l'anima e il cuore

dal corpo che muore.

 

People who make the world a better place, Bleda

    Ways with words, expressions, phrases, proverbs, aphorisms, turns of phrase, rolled around my childhood home like a golden ribbon brightening every day with exciting ways of communication. Songs, poems and stories made everything we did, from cleaning our teeth, to deep life lessons and career choices, more interesting and fun. None of us had degrees or Phds in language, it was just the way my mum and dad were and gave us  a love of language and gentle pleasing communication.

    As life went on, my husband and I were blessed with three funny, entertaining, kind-hearted children. We couldn't believe our luck and not a day went by without giving thanks for their presence in our lives. I loved telling them stories,entertaining them with funny antics just to revel in the sound of their childish giggles and later to hopefully help them heal from the knocks and blows that life inevitably throws at us.

    When they left home I wanted to carry on feeling close to them and so I started writing emails to record all the heartwarming and funny anecdotes about my daily life and stories about my many greatly loved relatives and friends.

    My children said they enjoyed these emails and one day my day daughter suggested that I wrote a blog so I could have an outlet for all this 'stuff'' that was rattling round inside me, so she set one up for me. I went home and started writing on my brand new blog and found I couldn't stop. Fathoms of things I would like to have spoken aloud but never could or never had the opportunity to, or was afraid of boring people with, came pouring out, or 'gushing out' as my dad might have said.

    Then one day, while reading My weekly Telegraph, which was a lifeline for people like me that lived abroad in the days before social media and internet, I stumbled across the Creative Writing Group. 

    Again, it was my daughter who encouraged me to join and the first month I entered there was a free topic. I knew immediately what I wanted to write about. The deepest most intimate pain of my childhood; my mother's illness. I wanted to express this feeling which had never been talked about because my parents were from a generation of 'roll your sleeves up and get on with it'. I will just say now that my mother was diagnosed with MS at age thirty and lived to be a great-grandmother and reached the age of eighty-nine, while being greatly loved and bringing joy and comfort to everyone she met. 

    My first story was about her. I wrote it in the third person and entered it in the competition.

    I had offered a precious, delicate part of my life to the group and waited with great apprehension to see the reaction to my first short story for the TCWG. 

    When I saw the comments to my story, the kindness, the banter of the group, the generosity of all the writers, I was overwhelmed. Only I knew the huge personal significance of the story, but the respect and kindness with which it was treated started a healing process within me. My story was to be the first of many others.

    From then on, this group has given me comfort and encouragement. Reading everyone's stories over the years has been enriching and rewarding.

    Bleda, Atiler and Mervyn have guided this group with wit and wisdom, entertainment and affection for many years. Through his stories, we have become familiar with his eternal love for his wife, the heartache and pain he has gone through from losing her, the beautiful caring family he has surrounding him. The word that surely springs to mind for all of us when thinking of Bleda is that he is a real gentleman.

    I am so grateful to Sabina for hosting the party where we were able to meet the members of the group. Although some years have passed, I remember it vividly and with great affection and warmth.

    Bleda's bar is a place where we would all like to go on a Saturday night to restore us and give us hope. The songs and poems that were often supplied to listen to as voting concluded were a rich soundtrack to a life well-lived, full of love and kindness and a fitting ribute to the love of his life.

    What a privilege to have been a small part of this life, to have shared his journey from the heartache of losing his life-long companion through to being a great-grandfather. 

    Thank you Bleda for keeping us together through such challenging times. Thank you for sharing your wonderful rich warm personality with us, thank you for your enriching stories. Thank you for treating us all as prospective winners of a literary prize as we poured out our life experiences into our stories. Thank you for giving us a home for our writing. Thank you with all our hearts.