The beginning of this story begins in the little town of Pasiano, Italy where my father's family is from. Pasiano is a town in the province of Pordenone in the region of Friuli, on the outskirts of Venice. Drive about 30 minutes north of the town and in the distance you'll begin to see the Dolomiti mountains. The picturesque quality of this part of the world both astounds and captivates all who are lucky enough to experience it.
In Pasiano, however, my family owned a farm. A farm and a field and some fig trees accompanied by a humble collection of chickens and horses. My grandfather, "Il Capitano", was a draper, a provider and a worker. He was revered by his brothers and sisters as well as by his children. He had four children, Dante, Chelsa, Tulio and the eldest, Giovanni. They were the Piccinins. They were robust with culture and a joie de vivre. They were full of gumption, of vino and a passion for hard work which enabled a reaping of benefits.
My grandfather, Tulio, was born in 1925. His brother, Dante, was born two years later. They had grown up working on the farm together. They understood the meaning of labour. They did not fight against their duties to provide for their family. They were tender and compassionate. They invited orphans off the street to break bread with them.
In 1945 at the dawn of what would become the second instalment a war that would once more shake the globe by its roots, Mussolini came to town. Unfamiliar with the fascist ideals introduced by the Black Boots, my grandfather and great uncle were blazon with pride and leapt at the sound of "Il Duce"'s bellowing voice.
It was not long before the Piccinin family was sitting around the record player and listening to the speeches of Mussolini repeat themselves innumerable times over. According to this farming family, Mussolini brought sentiments of hope and prosperity to an Italian economy that was floundering. He promised education, he promised income, he promised increased occupations and he delivered. My grandfather and uncle stood at command when beckoned to fight for Italy with Mussolini in World War Two. I cannot speak for them about their knowledge (or lack of) the atrocities occurring around Europe at the time. Did they know many of the ideals Mussolini hailed were those shared by Adolf Hitler? Yes, they did. Were they aware that millions of innocent lives were being massacred at his hands? I cannot say. What they knew was that they were prepared for battle to defend the unity and posterity of their country.
War commenced and eventually circumstance took a turn for the worse. Tulio and Dante were separated; Tulio fighting in Italy alongside the Germans and Dante fighting in Ethiopia with the Italian colonialists.
This is where the magic begins.
Tulio had got word somehow about missing whereabouts and the depleting condition of his brother's health. He was tired of war. He was exhausted. He needed his family. He needed to save his brother.
Enough was enough. While marching through a piazza not far from his hometown, Tulio decided to veer away from the momentous scuff of combat boots from his wartime comrades.
He ran and boy, did he run fast.
He ran, in fact, into a little Gelateria. It was not long before the troop had noticed his absence and men were sent to retrieve him. Thinking on his feet and having nowhere else to turn, he begged the owner of the ice-cream shop to hide him. The owner removed the buckets of gelato from the display fridge they were kept in. He told my grandfather to hop inside. Tulio did as he was told, and the owner placed the gelato buckets back on top, hiding Tulio from sight completely.
When his comrades came looking, they were relentless and checked every shop in the piazza. Once they had come to the gelateria they asked the owner,
"Have you seen one of our men run by?"
"No, signori, I have not."
There was no persistence. The shop was small. Seemingly, there was nowhere to hide a full-grown man.
They exited the store and did not look back.
My grandfather was safe. My grandfather was free.
He thanked the man and told him he'd find a way to repay him one day. Then he left Italy in search for his brother.
It might have been Poland where he found an emaciated and nearly-dead Dante. He snuck into a concentration camp pretending to be a soldier assigned the permission to do so. He dragged Dante out and took him home. The government would have begun their search for these Piccinin brothers and things would have got real ugly real fast. Luckily for them, the war was ending and Mussolini's death was on the horizon.
That is the story of my father's father. It is a story I hold dear to my heart. There is a courage I believe I inherited from these men and I thank them for it in every instance I witness it.
Riposa In Pace Nonno
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