大象传媒

There are times when the sun breaks through the dark clouds of war, and one of those brief occasions happened at a place called Afrigola on the west coast of Italy in January 1944. I had no idea what the regiment was doing there, and I must admit to not caring a lot, as we were not masters of our destinies in any case.

Getting cosy in a chicken coop

We had run into the problem of not having anywhere to live, and six of us were trailing behind an officer whose job it was to get us somewhere to sleep, out of the bitingly cold weather. Eventually, after overcoming some hostile resistance from Mama, the owner of quite a large house, he led us to an extension round the back which had been used as a chicken house with plenty of evidence to that fact lying all over the floor and perches.

'It's the best I could do,' said the officer, 'so get on with it and get it cleaned up, you will only be here for a few days.'

We cleaned up the coop, and next day we all met Mama in her hallway. I noticed that there was fear mixed with hostility in her eyes, and a marked resistance to be in our company for more than a few minutes. I wondered why.

It wasn't long before her daughter Rosetta appeared in the room. She was about seven years old and never said a word. Our self-appointed spokesman, who could speak Italian quite well, talked to Mama and when she left he said, 'That kid is cold and wants some warmer clothes, so how about a whip round?'

Rosetta at the ladies' outfitters

We all agreed and got Mama's permission to buy clothes for Rosetta. Therefore, the next day Rosetta was escorted to the ladies' outfitters in Afrigola to be kitted out. After our spokesman produced handfuls of money, Rosetta appeared from behind the curtains with an overcoat which had a thick fur collar. The shop's assistant had wound a white silk scarf round her neck with the ends hanging down her back like two long white tails. Rosetta was quite fascinated with the scarf and was enjoying every moment of her new-found splendour.

So it was back to her house, but not before the spokesman told us that we were going to have a party in Mama's house that evening, with stacks of corned beef and spam and newly baked bread. One of our lot was going to bring a guitar and all were invited. That evening, when we entered Mama's house, I couldn't help but notice that both the antagonism and fear had left her eyes - I felt more at ease because I knew that the sun had made its breakthrough at last.

Partying with Mama

As the evening progressed the vino gradually worked its healing powers and the corned beef and spam sandwiches (which Mama had doctored with some excellent Italian sauces) were disappearing at an alarming rate.

As the proceedings started to fizzle out a bit, we all heard the thump of heavy boots coming down the stairs. If it had been a second-class American movie, it would have been said that the soldiers reached for their guns - but this would have been quite pointless, as all our weapons were in the chicken house under the somewhat bleary but watchful eye of the trooper who was acting as room orderly.

We quite expected to see an Italian version of Boris Karlof as Frankenstein's monster, or a deep sea diver who had got a bit off course, but of course it proved to be neither. It was Papa. Mama had been hiding him upstairs in case we carted him off into the custody of the Military Police as a deserter from the Italian Navy (which we found out later was the truth). He joined in the party and was soon giving what was left of the buffet a good hiding, washed down by an ample supply of vino.

However, what proved to be far more interesting was the amply proportioned senorita who was on his arm as he clump-clumped around. She was clad in a clinging blue dress which was showing signs of severe strain. She had prepared herself for her grand entry by combing her hair in the fashion of the day and adding an alluring white flower. The guitarist started up with the English version of 'Lili Marlene' to accompany her.

When the party time was over, Mama dived out to the kitchen to return with a tray containing a passion fruit for everyone present. We clutched our passion fruits to our breasts and headed for the chicken house. We found that the room orderly had imbibed several bottles of vino before going to bed, but in doing so he had missed the bed area by a couple of feet and was soundly asleep on the concrete. We covered him up and left it at that.

When all the torches were switched off a voice came from the blackness, 'Two long years I have been waiting for this,' it said, 'a beautiful girl coming down the stairs, but what do I get to take home - a passion fruit?'

'Think yourself lucky it wasn't a coconut,' said another voice from the darkness.

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