Legacy of Sorrows (23 page)

His son, Marco was 18 and about to be called up for his Italian military service, as all young Italian males of that age were. Even though he was born in Scotland, Angelo had made sure that his son's birth had been registered in Italy. This had made him eligible for the eighteen-month military conscription all Italian males had to do.

He approached the customs control and held up his new passport for inspection. The customs official barely glanced at it and waved Angelo through the barrier without looking at him.

Angelo felt aggrieved that he was not given the courtesy of a welcome greeting. ‘Ignorant man, he must be from the south,' thought Angelo as he headed for the Avis rental desk to pick up his hired car.

Once on the road and heading towards Lucca, Angelo thought again of his past life.

He remembered the first time he had been given the honour of guarding Mussolini at a state function in Rome. How nervously he had walked behind the great man as he escorted him to his table at the state banquet and stood to attention behind him during the proceedings. His eyes roaming over the room and the excitement he felt as he recognised amongst the assembled guests, Presidents, heads of state, dignitaries, film stars, and other famous faces. How privileged he had felt to be there and to witness all of these people assembled at the table of the Duce.

He approached Borgo a Mozzano from the south and drove along the banks of the river Serchio until he came to Via della Repubblica; he turned into the street and saw the house he was looking for, a small-whitewashed cottage sitting on its own just off the road end.

Maria and Sergio had lived here all their married life together. Sergio was a keen gardener and he reflected how run down and overgrown it now appeared to be. The first time Angelo had visited here was a lasting memory for him. He had arrived with the Duce one night when the Duce had been travelling south from Milan to Pisa by car and on a whim had made a detour to visit Sergio who had been on leave at the time. Mussolini had three bodyguards and a driver with him, and they had all been made very welcome.

Maria had prepared a meal of chicken and pasta with ragu for them all and Sergio made sure there was plenty of wine on the table. Mussolini was very relaxed in this company and contributed well to the conversation around the table. They sang the fascist songs of the time together and, to the delight of all, Mussolini had given a solo rendition of
Giovinezza
, the official fascist state anthem. Eventually, in the small hours of the morning, his bodyguards, leaving behind a twittering Maria, still on a high, helped a slightly inebriated Mussolini to his car. Sergio and Maria never told anyone who their famous guest that night was.

He stopped outside the house and gently knocked on the front door. A white faced, tired looking woman with her hair tied back from her face answered the door. She gazed at Angelo with hesitant recognition before saying,' ‘
Dio bono
, it's Angelo. It's been such a long time, come inside' and at this she stood aside to let Angelo into the house. Angelo hugged Maria and kissed her on both cheeks, ‘It's been such a long time Maria' he said as he hugged her again.

He was taken aback with how old Maria looked. Their ages were similar, however the strain of what had been happening to Sergio was certainly showing on her face. ‘Maria, how is he?' Maria stood back a little and took her time to answer. ‘The doctors say he could go at any moment. He is sedated quite heavily; perhaps you had better go up and see him.'

Angelo kissed her again on both cheeks, climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom where he was surprised to see about ten people gathered around Sergio's bedside reciting the Rosary. One woman was taking the lead role and praying aloud on her own: ‘Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus.' This was followed by the others in the room praying out in unison, ‘Holy Mary mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death Amen.' He stood at the back of the room listening to the prayers and looking at a barely conscious Sergio on the bed.

Angelo was a confirmed atheist; he now felt that what he was listening to was merely superstitious mumbling. He also knew that Sergio felt the same way, however if it helped the people praying in believing they were aiding Sergio's journey to heaven, then he accepted that no harm was being done.

He moved closer to the bed and took Sergio's hand in his. Sergio opened his eyes and after a few moments gave a nod of recognition to Angelo. He said something in a barely heard whisper, causing Angelo to move closer to the bed and lower his head to his.

Sergio gave a thin smile and whispered something conspiratorially into Angelo's ear before closing his eyes again and slipping back into a semi-conscious state.

Angelo returned to his place at the back of the room and watched as his old friend lay dying. Maria came into the room and sat by the bedside. The gathering did not have to wait very long before Sergio gave out a low rasping sound and breathed his last.

Three days later, Sergio's requiem mass was held in the local church of San Pietro. It had been a long time since Angelo had been to mass and he felt strangely out of place in the ornate surroundings of the church. He had no belief in a God, and if there was a God he reckoned that he was a vile creature and not worthy of all this adoration. What he had witnessed in the war had convinced him that this was all just superstition. If this God cares for every sparrow that falls, and has every hair on your head counted, why does he decide to allow such suffering to take place. He looked around at all the people praying out aloud and somehow felt pity for them.

His attention was now taken up by the priest sprinkling holy water on the coffin in the centre aisle near the alter rails and thought how futile all this was. The blessing with incense followed and filled the small church with a familiar smell that brought many memories back to Angelo.

He remembered his time as an altar boy in Coreglia, and the happy childhood he had shared with his family there. He made a mental note to visit their graves soon. As the mass ended, he rose to take his place with the other pallbearers and carry the coffin from the church to the cemetery behind.

Angelo was visibly moved to tears when he helped lower the coffin into the ground. The grave was the family lair, with Sergio's mother the first to be buried there some years before. The priest read something from a prayer book over the graveside and sprinkled holy water down onto the coffin. The sound of the women sobbing was lost in the reciting of the rosary prayers, and when they had finished, the gravediggers moved in to fill the grave with earth.

After the funeral, the small band of mourners walked along the road from the cemetery to the town centre in brilliant sunshine. Angelo reflected how different the culture was in Italy compared to Scotland that for weddings and funerals in the small towns and villages the Italians preferred to walk the short distances involved.

They arrived at one of the local restaurants where Maria had arranged a meal for her family and close friends. Their table was set outside, for about fifteen people, in the late morning sunshine. Waiters placed bottles of local wine on the table and took the orders for the meal. Angelo sat beside Maria, holding her hand and tried to offer her some words of comfort.

He remembered some of the faces around the table from his distant past and he spent some time talking to them about the old days. Inevitably, the subject of the war was brought up. They swapped stories and laughed at some of them. Sergio reflected that as with most stories the passage of time had brought a little embroidery to them. The sun had now moved on and they were now sitting in the shade. He could not believe that four hours had past since they had first sat down for the meal.

After the lunch and what he considered an appropriate length of time, he began to make some comments to Maria about leaving. He had been in Italy for longer than he had originally planned and now felt it was time to go home. He told Maria that he had a flight to catch in a few hours' time at Pisa Airport and he would now have to go.

He was about to say his farewells when she took him aside in private. ‘Angelo, Sergio made me promise that after his funeral I would give you this.' She took from her pocket an envelope that had seen better days. ‘He wrote this some years ago and during his illness he frequently made me promise that I would not forget to give it to you. I have no idea what it says, but I do know that it meant a lot to him. He told me to tell you that this was his greatest secret and that he could share it with no one but you.'

Maria paused as she handed Angelo the letter, ‘Angelo, whatever is in this letter, promise me that you won't bring disgrace to Sergio's name.' Angelo hugged her and kissed her with real affection. ‘Maria, I would never dishonour his name. You can trust me, I promise.'

Angelo took the envelope and put it in his pocket; he then said his farewells to Maria and the others before setting off in his car for Pisa Airport.

It was only during the flight that Angelo remembered the envelope. He pulled it out of his pocket and held it with some care. His mind went back to the moment when Sergio had whispered in his ear the old fascist motto ‘
Credere, Obbedire, Combattere
' (believe, obey, fight) and he wondered why, after all this time he had chosen these as his whispered last words. Perhaps the drugs had affected him, or maybe it was just a deathbed rant. Certainly in appeared that Sergio had remained a fascist to his dying day. He put these thoughts aside, opened the envelope and pulling out a letter, he read;

Caro Angelo,

By the time you read this letter I will have passed on. I am writing it to explain many things to you, things so fantastic that I have kept them to myself since the last time I saw the Duce in Milan. You once asked me why I didn't stay with the Duce until the end and I know that you weren't satisfied with my answer, however I wasn't able to tell you the truth as the Duce had made me promise to keep what I am about to reveal to you a secret until death.

The Duce gave me a briefcase filled with correspondence between himself and Churchill proving that Mussolini was being courted by Churchill not to enter the war on the German side but to be a moderating influence on Hitler. The Duce was promised new lands for the Italian empire and in his replies to Churchill showed that he was open to this approach.

Many people have wondered why Hitler delayed for two days at Dunkirk when he could have finished off the British Army in France and the letters show it was Mussolini who convinced him to delay. The same with the invasion of England when Hitler could have walked into London with little resistance. It was our Duce who was behind it and the letters are full of praise from Churchill who recognised this. In 1940 instead of the expected invasion of Britain Hitler turned his attention to Russia, and again the letters show that this was through Mussolini's intervention as he convinced Hitler that the real enemy was Communism.

After the war, Churchill spent three summers at villas in the Lake Garda area under the pretence of painting holidays; however, his staff was very active in the region searching for the briefcase. They spoke to many locals, including ex-partisans, however with no success. Churchill knew that Mussolini, in his final days, always had the briefcase with him, however when he was captured there was no sign of it. Churchill had come to the conclusion that Mussolini either had hidden the briefcase himself or had given it to an aide to hide for him.

Mussolini had frequently called the letters his insurance policy. If these letters were found, they would paint Churchill in a different light and could compromise him as an appeaser where the Duce was concerned. They would also show Mussolini as a moderating influence on Hitler. The Italian right and neo fascist parties would also welcome getting their hands on the correspondence, as would the socialists and the far left. I also suspect that the British government would be interested in ensuring they stayed secret.

So dear friend I now charge you with their safekeeping and ask you to renew your vow to the Duce as you once before did in Rome.. There is no one else alive that I would trust with this mission. You must make sure that they do not fall into the wrong hands and you must trust no one with the secret of their existence or of their hiding place.

I now ask you to remember how we worked together for the fascist cause and how proud we felt being part of the Duce's bodyguard.