Stories9

STORIES
(Pg. 9)

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8/17/01
Alessia Galati
chikadee@sympatico.ca
The Madonna delle Grazie and How She Saved My Grandfather's Life.

Alessia's grandfather, Costantino Simone, told her of a unique experience he had in Roccamorice in World War II; she wrote the story he had told her for school, and it won a prize for best story in Grade 9.

The church of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Roccamorice.

Wartime had hit Roccamorice really heavy. It was January, 1944. The town had been totally invaded. The Germans had set up camp way up in the mountains and therefore the townspeople could not go up there to work. They couldn’t work their farms - that is - the few crops they had left.. My Grandfather, Costantino Simone, was 14 years old at this time. He was one of nine children, five of them boys. Food was really scarce and they had no electricity in their house. One night a few of the older people were saying how unfair it was that the Germans had electricity and the townspeople didn’t, wouldn’t it be nice if they could just spare some wire. They convinced my Grandfather, his cousin and two friends to see what they could do about this - maybe they could find some wire somewhere. So the four boys decided to go up to the mountain close to where German’s base was located and try to find some extra wire so they could hook up some electricity for lights. Since it was winter and there was so much snow the boys wore their skis and off they went. As they got closer, they noticed some wire on the ground. They had no idea what it was but it looked good so my Grandfather cut a piece, rolled it up and off they went. They all thought “that was easy, our family will be so proud of us.” Little did they know that this wire actually ran the German’s phone line from the base to the front line - about 20 miles long. Well, it didn’t take the Germans long to figure out that the connection had been lost and as the boys were walking away they heard gun shots so they all ran in different directions. My Grandfather and his cousin ran all the way home, but the two friends took a different way home and did not come home all night. It was later found out that they ran into the mountains and eventually found the packages that the Americans had dropped for their prisoners. The townspeople all knew that there were many American prisoners that had been released and were lost in the mountains and once in a while the Americans would fly over and drop off huge packages of supplies, like whiskey, cigarettes and food, in the hopes that the prisoners would find them and keep alive. Well, the two friends found the packages and they had a party the whole night, eating, drinking and smoking. My Grandfather and his cousin, instead got in big trouble for leaving their two friends behind, little did they know that they were living it up up in the mountains, but nevertheless my Grandfather felt so proud that he was the one that actually cut the wire and was able to bring it home so his family could have some electricity. The next morning the whole town was buzzing about this. They were saying that when the Germans realized that their main phone lines had been cut, they thought it was the partisans and started shooting but luckily they didn’t hit any of the boys.

The following morning the Germans announced in the town’s square that the partisan who cut the telephone wires had to report to the German’s home base to be executed immediately. If he did not report immediately every tenth person in the town would be executed by gunfire. Everyone was panicking.

The men that sent my Grandfather and his buddies to the mountain for the wire knew that it was him and his friends, and they came to my Grandfather’s home and told his parents that if he did not report to the Germans immediately , they would tell the Germans that he was the one that cut the wires. So my great grandmother made a huge decision, she would take my grandfather to the Germans, and at least only one person would die rather than every tenth person in the town, but the townspeople had a plan. They went to the little church outside of the town and brought down the statue “La Madonna Delle Grazie” to the main church in the town, so that the townspeople could pray to her not to have my Grandfather killed.

My great grandmother and my grandfather rehearsed exactly what they would say to the Germans and they hoped for the best. When the two of them arrived at the German Headquarters my Grandfather returned the wire and told them that he had seen the wire he thought it was a good wire to use as shoe laces, since he had none. They could see how poor he was just from the clothes that he wore. Well, they actually believed him and they even gave me a loaf of bread and 50 Lire. They said were very impressed by his honesty.

Later that day when my Grandfather walked through the town, the people were all amazed that he had not been executed. They were in awe that he had survived and had saved his town from many deaths. They all believed that it was the Madonna Delle Grazie that had saved my Grandfather’s life. That was January 17, 1944 and every year on that day, to this date, there is a big feast in the town in honour of La Madonna Delle Grazie and how she saved my Grandfather’s life.

6/11/01
Bartolomeo Parete
bartolomeo.parete@sympatico.ca
The Flour Mills

A little while back we asked Bart a question about the old Lettese flour mill known as 'Le Vrich', which was located between La Rocca and Lu Lette. When he spoke with his mother about it, she told him the following story, which gives us a little snapshot of life in those towns just before and after WW II, when the people raised their own grain and took it to be ground at local mills in order to have flour for bread and cornmeal for polenta.

1953 photo: returning from the Le Vrich mill - the donkey is carrying a freshly ground bag of flour; Bart Parente is sitting on the donkey, which is being held by his father, Giuseppe.

Now about the flour mill, Le Vrich... I spoke to my mother about it, and she told me that at the time (before and just after WW II), La Rocca had six flour mills, because there was no emigration to the U.S. or Canada and therefore we were very heavily populated - there were many people raising grain and needing mills where it could be ground. Then, after the war, emigration was opened again and a lot of Roccolani left for the U.S. and Canada. Not so many mills were needed any more, and one by one they started to close. The one called Le Vrich was one of the last, if not the last, to close.

My mother recalls the many times she and my father would go to Le Vrich mill during the night. During the war there was food rationing, and there was a law that for every 40 or 50 quintale of grain (a measurement of weight) a certain amount had to be given to the government to feed the soldiers. To avoid this payment to the government (which these poor farmers could ill-afford, hard-pressed as they were to feed their own families), what people would do, since they could only grind so much grain at a time, was go to different mills all the time. If you knew the miller he would grind for you at night and break the law by holding nothing back for the government; that is why my parents went during the night. If the miller was caught he could have faced a jail term. My mother only knows the name of the wife of the miller at Le Vrich - Rosaria Di Pronio, nickname La Pulish. She was from Roccamorice and her husband was from Lettomanoppello.

6/11/01
Gina Di Pietrantonio Ferrante
girolulett@msn.com
A Lettese Dialect Poem: Lu Paeselle Me

Gina sent us this poem, saying:
"This is a poem about Lettomanoppello, from "`ntorn`a stu cambanine" ("Around This Bell Tower"), a poetry book by the late Gustavo De Rentiis. He was the mayor until 25 years ago, and the principal of the middle school of Lu Lett. He is the first and only person who put the Lettese dialect in written form. He is the one that wrote 'La Canzone de Lu Lette,' but this one is my favorite, and I hope you will enjoy it too."

(The poem was translated for us by Sandra Ohrt; thank you to both Gina and Sandra. On Stories Pg. 3 is another dialect poem by Signor De Rentiis, titled 'Lu Rucculane e Lu Lettese.' )

Lu paeselle me

Sara` bbelle a i` gire pe lu monne,
sara` bbelle a chenosce tanta gente;
a me, pero`, ne mme preme pe niente:
m`avaste quelle che me vede a tonne.
A ddo` se` po` truhua` nu cambanine,
che sone nghe nu sone accusci` bbelle?
Addo` se po` truhua` na fundanelle,
che cante nghe na voce accusci` fine?

I`vojje sta` a ddo` m`ha mess Ddi`:
i` qua so` nate e qua vojje muri`;
lu monne sara` grande e sara` bbelle,
ma nen po` esse`gne stu paeselle.

A hecche ha nate sciore, mamme e tate;
a hecche tenghe tutte le parente;
me piace a ecche tutte cio` che sente;
nu paradise vede a ogne late.
A ddova sta nu ciele tante chiare?
A ddo`sta tanta luce e tante verde?
`M mezz`a sta luce me hulesse perde`;
hulesse sprufunna` `m mezz`a stu mare.

My Little Town

It might be beautiful to travel the world,
It might be beautiful to meet many people;
But to me, that matters not:
I'm happy where I am.
Where else can you find a bell tower
That rings with a tone so beautiful?
Where else can you find a fountain
That sings with a voice so fine?

I wish to remain where the Lord has put me:
Here I was born and here I want to die.
The world may be vast and beautiful,
But it can't be like this little town.

Here were born my grandfather, mother and father;
Here all my relatives are;
Everything I experience here pleases me;
I see paradise on every side.
Where else can you find such a clear sky?
Where else can you find so much light and so much green?
I would like to lose myself amidst this light;
I would like to sink into this sea.

Stories Pg. 10

Stories Pg. 8