Living with the Mafia

By Chas Weaver

The true story of an ordinary working-class Englishman that gave up life in the UK and moved to the sun-drenched Mediterranean island of Sicily - land of the Mafia. The story is packed with hints, tips and experiences both bitter and sweet, making it essential reading for anyone even vaguely considering living abroad. Light-hearted, humorous and at times perhaps irreverent also, this story portrays how one of the very first foreigners to this region of the island had hurdles a plenty to overcome in his quest to settle in a previously closed and highly suspicious society: before being accepted into the cloaked arms of one of the world’s largest organisations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chas Weaver
• Release date: Mar 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310269264

Chas Weaver

Born in West London Chas weaver has served in the military, the London Fire Brigade and more. He has a wealth of experiences in life that his stories and books are based on.

Book preview

Living with the Mafia

By

Chas Weaver

© Copyright. Chas Weaver 2013.

The right of Chas Weaver to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Copying of this manuscript, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author or his publisher is strictly prohibited and would constitute a breach of copyright held.

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Chapter 1

To own our very own little place in the sun is a common enough and perfectly understandable dream; one that most of us toy with at some time in our lives, if perhaps in varying degrees of interest and seriousness. Visions fill our minds of hot sun and blue seas, little white-painted houses with red-tiled roofs and splendid villas nestling serenely on the cliff tops overlooking the sandy beaches. Idyllic images of groups of little old men playing cards in the shade of olive trees at pavement tables in the piazzas, and those olive-skinned Mediterranean women flashing their alluring and irresistible smiles. Heavenly places where time seems to have stood still and the pace of life so slow that stress is a word unknown; wine, food and family being the only important things in life, truly heaven itself. Oh to be able to live there all the time.

It certainly is the stuff dreams are made of. Spending holidays in such places however, is one thing whereas living there permanently can be something else entirely – particularly if you go about it the wrong way or rush into it without adequate groundwork and planning. Life certainly is what you make it but outside circumstances also have an influence in these matters, circumstances outside your direct control and upsetting to your well-laid plans they can be too when they happen. Such a move though can be made, and fairly easily too, but some advance information can smooth the path through the maze tremendously and can make it more a joyride venture than a nightmare experience.

I should like to open up my diary to you and to relate to you how I made it happen for me. How I gave up life in the UK and moved to the sun-drenched Mediterranean island of Sicily - land of the Mafia. My story is packed with hints, tips and experiences both bitter and sweet, making it essential reading for anyone even vaguely considering living abroad. Light-hearted, humorous and at times perhaps irreverent also, this story portrays how one of the very first foreigners to this region of the island had hurdles a plenty to overcome in his quest to settle in a previously closed and highly suspicious society: before being accepted into the cloaked arms of one of the world’s largest organisations.

***

What exactly is it that makes an average Englishman with a good job, a wife, two daughters and a mortgage give it all up and move abroad? Some might see it as chasing a dream or temporary insanity perhaps; others might see it as escapism and others still might view it as an inability to accept responsibility, all most unlikely though after thirty years of marriage and fatherhood. The reasons actually go much deeper, far deeper than anyone can perhaps at first imagine and, those same reasons lay within most of us if we care to be honest and admit it to ourselves. Such dreams and desires are within us all, the urge to break out and to change our lot; it is just recognising it and having the courage to further it. Okay some say they are perfectly happy with their lives and wouldn’t wish to change them – but are they really? Others might not wish to change their lives as such but instead to augment them or improve them with a place in the sun, a place to escape to as and when the need or desire is there.

I think it fair to say that most of us at some time in our lives wish to be able to own a holiday home in the Mediterranean, a little bolthole to which to escape to occasionally and to get away from the madness of society in the UK for frequent breaks. A fair number too would wish to live there permanently and to escape the clock-driven and stress-filled society the UK has now become. So, if you are toying with the idea, what is holding you back? Not rich enough? Afraid of giving up your job or your house, the car or the new DVD player, perhaps fearful of making a mistake and looking a right plonker in front of your friends and family? Or is it just that you haven’t the courage to take such a drastic step, to risk what you have now and instead prefer to live on comfortably in the same old way, dreaming of something that will never be. I have learned in life that if you want something you have to make it happen, sitting around wishing will get you nothing but a headache and, you simply cannot have everything in life; it just doesn’t work that way. You don’t need to be rich or to have a stash in the bank in order to achieve your dreams, I wasn’t and didn’t have spare cash, but I made it work for me. Let me tell you about it, from the beginning.

Chapter 2

It wasn’t a conscious decision of any single moment nor of any particular consideration, more a coming together of long-held emotions; needs, desires and determination, indefinable feelings that were within me yet, back then, I couldn’t understand them much less could I explain them to anyone. I had though within me a need, what that need was I didn’t know, but it bugged me and continued to do so, every waking minute of every day and, it was growing ever stronger. I felt I needed to break out, but how and from what? I couldn’t even present myself with a cohesive argument to work at, I was confused, my emotions were confused and yet, somewhere deep down inside me I felt the answer lay there, just waiting for me to discover it. I couldn’t formulate any sort of need in actuality; I longed for something, something unknown and something indefinable, but what that need or desire was I couldn’t begin to tell. It remained within me though, nagging, nibbling and gnawing away me and ever present in my thinking and feelings.

At that time I was a sales manager in the south of England, controlling eleven retail shops and seventy-two staff. It was stress from early morning to late into the evenings and with phone calls to me during the nights and weekends to add to the strain. I never seemed to get a moment to myself or to be able to switch off and just be myself. I longed for time alone, time just for me but, being a father of two children and husband, (understandably) I had to respond to normal family obligations and commitments also. My life wasn’t mine, it was dictated by others, where I went, where I was supposed to be at a given time, what I did, and all this allowed me little in relaxation or time for myself. This of course is nothing new to any father or working mother, and that others also felt the same way too didn’t help my situation; it was my life that I was concerned with. I wouldn’t wish anyone to see me as selfish from that statement, for I am not. I suppose everyone reaches a stage when they just long to lock the world out and to be alone to think and do as they wish for change, and that was how I felt.

I had been married for thirty years and had two beautiful daughters that I love dearly, even if I didn’t tell them that often enough. I was head-down and working all hours to provide better things for them and in that I neglected the very people I so loved and wanted to do well for. It is a story many could tell, I was working long hours, my daughters were growing up and soon had left home to live with their boyfriends, leaving my wife and I together at home in the evenings realising just how little we knew each other after the kids had gone. I won’t say anything bad about my ex-wife, suffice to say that we had grown apart and we both seemed to realise that – even if we dared not discuss the subject. My life consisted of working to pay the mortgage, the household bills and to try to provide those little extras in life for my daughters. In the evenings and weekends I just wanted to flop out on the settee, exhausted and drained of all energy and enthusiasm, arriving home most evenings after nine, eating alone and then too tired to want to do anything but snooze in front of the television. During the odd times my wife and I were alone together it was strained and not in the least relaxed, the tension we both felt suppressed but festering beneath. It was a living hell – as much for my ex-wife as for me.

I dearly wanted to get out, to leave my wife, to quit my job and to live life – however modestly – in the way I wanted, doing as I wished for a change and not having to pander or conform to the wishes of others. I could not though simply dump my wife after thirty-years of being together and there seemed no way out. For me then, my life seemed destined to continue to be a constant drudge, one of having to do out of obligation and hating every minute of it along the way. I don’t wish that to sound selfish or heartless, we also had good times, but they were relatively few. I desperately wanted to just be me but the clock was always against me and someone else would be calling on my time. Things had to change – but how and in what way?

It all really began, I suppose now that I look back, when new neighbours moved in across the street from us. They were Italian, from the island of Sicily, and nice people they were too. Whilst they had left Sicily many years before they had in the main remained within the Italian communities in the UK and had in effect continued to live a Sicilian dominated life in England. They spoke almost no English and I spoke no Italian (Apart from a couple of swear words) but somehow we managed to communicate and got along well with hand gestures, nods and smiles. Our new friends invited us round to their home for wine and cheeses, all Italian and tasty in the extreme they were too. Gradually, and over time, we came to communicate a little more, they learning more and more English and me picking up the odd Italian word. The nice part for me was that whilst I was there, eating, drinking, trying to chat and enjoying, I didn’t think on stress or work, I was at last relaxing. It was bliss. My wife though found it all quite boring, she didn’t understand a word of what they said, she bemoaned and she wasn’t given to bothering to try. I tried to get her to learn a few words also and to join in the relaxation but she wasn’t interested, she preferred to sit back at our house and to watch the soap operas on TV. Me though, I loved every second of it, I hungered to learn more words of this language new to me, of Italian ways and in particular what Sicily was like. For the first time in many years a spark was ignited within me.

It was during one of these wine-filled evenings of revelry that my new friend asked me to help him learn English properly, he would provide the wine and nibbles and I would take on a teaching role, aiding him eventually to fluent speaking. It was agreed, with my proviso that he in turn would tell me more of Italian customs and the culture, I simply had to know more. Many evenings thereafter, two a week most weeks, were passed with me teaching him and greedily taking in the snippets of information he gave to me about Sicily and the people there. Needless to say these for me were therapy lessons, times when work never entered my head, my marital problems dissolved (in my mind if not in reality) and my shoulders dropped back to normal positions as the stress in me evaporated.

Whilst driving to work one day it occurred to me that, if a foreigner had the guts and drive to up-roots and to come to this country to live, try to learn the language and to try to integrate, then I should do the same. I could learn to speak Italian properly and - I had just the teacher in mind. I was never given to languages, I found it hard to attempt to pronounce even one word and this was borne out during my drinking sessions when even a simple Italian word seemed impossibility for me to remember or say fully. Determined I was though and I resolved to try and to put the idea to my neighbour at the very next evening we met.

When I did put the suggestion to my new friend his response disappointed me greatly, he sighed heavily as