When Flags Collide

By Alberto Moretti

Amalia is a heroin, a mother and a wife: she retraces the events of her family through three generations. She welcomes their inheritance in a hard struggle to survive between a Country's rural age at its sunset and a working-class Milan in which the war is perceived by apocalyptic aerial bombardments and alarm sirens.
Of the war she talks about the anxiety and the horror: she faces losses and mourning with an aching and courageous heart, with the determination to build a future for her and her little daughter and with the certainty of the return of her never forgotten hero, Commander Guido. He, in the meanwhile, is engaged with his patrol in an epic crossing of the Sahara desert through Libya, Tunisia and Algeria, trying to bring his men to safety.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387629718

Book preview

When Flags Collide

When Flags Collide

Alberto Moretti

Translation from the Italian by

Laura Zanazzo y Alberto Moretti

[e-mail]

This book is based on a true story.

Copyright

ISBN: 978-1-387-62971-8

Foreword

Amalia is a heroin, a mother and a wife: she retraces the events of her family through three generations. She welcomes their inheritance in a hard struggle to survive between a Country's rural age at its sunset and a working-class Milan in which the war is perceived by apocalyptic aerial bombardments and alarm sirens.

Of the war she talks about the anxiety and the horror: she faces losses and mourning with an aching and courageous heart, with the determination to build a future for her and her little daughter and with the certainty of the return of her never forgotten hero, Commander Guido. He, in the meanwhile, is engaged with his patrol in an epic crossing of the Sahara desert through Libya, Tunisia and Algeria, trying to  bring his men to safety.

Part One

The British Bomber Command had mobilized all the available aircraft for this mission and 504 aircraft were sent to Milan: 321 Lancaster and 183 Halifax.

The purpose of this deployment of forces was to create the so-called firestorm on the city (both theorized and realized on German cities by the British Command), in order to completely annihilate it.

For this reason, among the 2,000 tons of bombs transported that night, there were 380,000 incendiary bombs.

The alarm was given at 00.35 a.m., in cloudless sky.

Not even ten minutes later, the bombs and the fire bombs were released, for about an hour.

The flak couldn't do anything.

The city center was the most affected area, but also  the Ticinese, Garibaldi and Sempione neighborhood weren't spared.

The fires spread everywhere, with destructive effects on Palazzo Marino, the Police Headquarters, the Duomo Police station, the Sforzesco Castle, San Fedele Church, the Santa Maria delle Grazie Convent (but not Leonardo Da Vinci's Last Supper protected by bags of sand). The Duomo reported serious damages, as well as the Vittorio Emanuele Gallery (the ceiling had been destroyed and the facades of the buildings had been damaged).

The power of the flames was magnified by the wind that had risen because of the fire itself, which was feeding itself by sucking air from the countryside. It's the effect, greatly enlarged, which occurs when the door of a stove is opened: the flames immediately regain vigor because they suck new oxygen from the outside.

The scene at dawn had to appear apocalyptic: almost half of the city was in flames, the air was totally unbreathable and entire neighborhoods were full of crumbling buildings.

However, some car roads were restored to encourage the displacement of the last remaining citizens, about 250,000 people.

******

The short sounds of alarm sirens had been heard for weeks, during the day and at night, alerting the citizens of Milan of the imminent arrival of British and American bombers.

My daughter Giuliana and I had to reach as quickly as possible the underground refuge in the corner of  Confalonieri Street, descend the steep stairs and sit down in that huge room, which could host 200 people, illuminated by a few lamps.

But that night, just a few minutes after the alarm, the first explosions were already heard in the distance and they got stronger and more pressing with every passing second.

The lamps swayed, the ceiling vibrated, the rubble fell: while the explosions of the bombs were becoming increasingly more intense and closer, the crying of children and the moans of fear pervaded our bodies.

The light went off and the terror that a bomb would center the shelter froze the blood in our veins. The heart went up in the throat and the dust of the rubble entered our mouth.

Endless minutes passed, with the heart that seemed to stop at each thunder and the breath that exited out our lungs with a slow and imperceptible hiss.

******

My thoughts moved through the memory of my little Vilma: I saw her again, sitting on the tram bench close to me, with her little arm raised up to indicate the inscription 'Cinema Smeraldo'. Her small voice would whisper inema and she would turn with those deep eyes, meeting mine with an enchanting smile.

It was 1936, a difficult year: the work was lacking, the money was always insufficient to live with and the British sanctions were damaging Italian economy and our daily life.

"You'll see: daddy will find a job, so that we can enter the bar in front of our home and eat those delicious creamy croissants that we see in the window.

Now let's to the Fascism headquarters and with the Party card, Guido's unemployment certificate and military documents, we present the job application. If Guido doesn't find a job, he could return to military life, with a certain pay and a decent life, with less deprivation and sacrifices for us all."

He knew how to be a good soldier and was popular among his fellow officers and the soldiers. The Ethiopian war and the never-ending war in Libya gave the chance to make a career in the army: it was a good way to get rid of economic problems and help Italy against the sanctions and restrictions from other nations.

Two coughs and the squeeze that small hand gave to my finger made me caress that pink face, as to give her courage and protection.

I was beginning to worry about that red throat and the sometimes short breath I felt from the small head laying between my breasts. If I had had some extra lira I would have bought those German vitamins that were said to be good at strengthening children.

Come Vilma, next stop is ours. Let's hope to have some good news about work.

******

A loud roar caused the refuge's floor to tremble, the lamps went out and the air began to be unbreathable due to the dust. Giuliana clenched her arms around my neck and our two hearts started to beat even stronger.

******

My dear, little Vilma, how wonderful it was when I rocked you in the evening, singing and caressing you to make you fall asleep and when I tucked in the blanket that daddy Guido had brought from Africa.

Those were our happy moments.

Like that morning of 1933: it was the 25th of January, when the cold of the winter was still felt and my siblings Marino, Giulio and Giulia were bustling around, helping me wear the wedding dress, while Mrs. Gina combed my hair.

Guido arrived with the carriage in front of Daddy Angelo's house to accompany me with the whole family to the church of San Marco and marry me.

We were all excited by the preparations: at the first chiming of the bell tower, Dad entered the room to tell me that everyone was in the courtyard, waiting for me to go all

together to the parish.

Angelo and Marino attached our mare Stella to the carriage and we moved in procession down the dirt road that led to the church.

At every house we passed, people came out to greet us waving their hands and crying out Hurrah to the newlyweds!, while joyous children chased after us.

I was happy and while the carriage was moving forward, I looked with big eyes full of love Guido. He had returned from Milan, where he worked with his brothers Camillo and Ernesto, to keep that promise we had made to each other as children: that we would have always loved and waited one another and would have always lived together.

How much I would have wanted for my mother Maria to be there with me, to hold my hand and accompany me to the altar in such an important moment in my life.

But I saw her in heaven, ready to always protect me with her spiritual presence: and the memories, ah yes the memories!, of a short life spent between the love for her children and the hard work on the fields, marked in the morning by rooster ad a alarm clock and in the evening by the smell of the polenta slowly turning in the pot, over the burning wood.

Sitting close to the fireplace, watching the bright red of the embers, everyone would narrate his memories and listen to other people's stories, while the shadows flickered on the walls and the pendulum near the cupboard marked the passage of time. Those nights many stories about the past of our fathers and grandparents were told: stories about lives lived adventurously in distant countries, like grandfather Angelo's, who left on a ship in 1898 for Argentina to seek work and fortune.

Arrived at the town of Santa Fè, he found work and in four years he had set aside a discreet sum which he lost in a night of madness. For a short while, he thought he would have been able to return to Montagnana as rich as a king: but shortly after, he lost everything – almost his life too –  in a shooting between players. He worked more than a year to scrape up the money for the return trip.

He had left with little money and returned without a penny but with the certainty that seeing again his family members, the house and the fields to plow would have helped him build his future life.

The carriage stopped on the churchyard, the priest and the altar boys came out to meet us: I was helped in getting off the carriage by my Guido, surrounded by the townsfolk and their affectionate greetings.

Approaching the altar, my heart began to beat faster and faster and time passed like a flash in the sky. At my finger I held that promise of eternal love that would have accompanied me for all my life.

******       

The sirens began that prolonged and repeated sound which signaled the end of the bombardment. In a blink of an eye, in the light of the matches, everyone started to talk and rejoice and cry and pray in thanks for the close call.

******

The long whistle