Blog 12 - UK end to end (have car, will travel)

Blog 12 - UK end to end (have car, will travel)

Hi all,

I'm sitting beside an open fire on a fairly bleak UK day in a little town called Settle, in the Yorkshire Dales. Thankfully, the pint is just starting to kick in. We have just returned from an ill fated attempt to see an outdoor location from Harry Potter #7, and after slipping over, getting rained on, freezing and generally yelling at each other, we contented ourselves in saying we got "close" to it and scurried back to our accommodation.

Greenwich seemed so long ago, but that's where I left off last time. We picked up a car and for what was (we think) the 45th time this trip, packed up our clothes, shoved things into obscure crevices in our bags, threw away things we couldn't justify lugging with us (children excluded). We filled the car up Tetris-like, forced the doors closed, breathed in...and left London.

First stop was York, and we stayed at a really cool Youth Hostel with awesome family rooms. Pleasingly there were quite a few families staying as well and Renae and I tried to matchmake our kids with theirs without looking or sounding too desperate. (Renae: "Hey, go play pool with the other kids". Jess: "oh, I dunno". Renae (head spins around) "PLAY WITH THEMMMMMM" ). Think it went well...

(Cold War Bunker and view of York)

York is a very beautiful place, and has a lot of interesting history. We visited the Cold War Bunker, which was a location where they monitored for any nuclear attacks. Got disbanded after Reagan and Gorbachev kissed and made up. We also visited the medieval tower built to defend York from invaders. So basically we visited a building for a war that didn't happen...and a tower, for a war that didn't happen! Bu we at least got to use our English Heritage cards as these were things that were actually open. Amazing how much shuts down during Winter. Have I simply never noticed this in Melbourne?

We also saw the York Minster church and did a tour of the Rowntree chocolate factory, which began in York. Good tour, kids externally feigned interest whilst I'm sure internally chanting "Make with the free samples!". They did eventuate. Japan makes a wasabi Kit-Kat...

(Mmm, chocasabi!)

We travelled from there to Linlithgow, just out of Edinburgh. We stayed with distant family friends Larry, Mukami and their granddaughter Savannah, whom we had never met. We were made to feel incredibly welcome. Larry and Mukami have both had fascinating lives, and we spent the three nights eating their beautiful food (we supplied wine and scintillating conversation!), and discussing everything from human rights, the environment, Scottish independence, their ability to bypass disaster (in NY for 9/11, missed a ferry that later sank, missed a fire in the London Tube by a matter of minutes...), Mukami's ability to keep the Queen of England's attention... The girls were just rapt to have a 12 year old to idolise and decent movies to watch!

We did see cool stuff in Edinburgh - the castle, the camera obscura (with its optical illusions - see photos), and Linlithgow Palace was really fun for a crumbling ruin - best game of hide and seek! But we really valued our time with Larry and Mukami, so much so that we invited ourselves to Burns night (celebrating the life and poetry of Robbie Burns). There was whisky, there was haggis!!! We met their daughter Laura too and again had a great night! Renae almost remembers it!

(1 o'clock gun, things in the Camera Obscura, Edinburgh castle at night)

(Linlithgow Palace)

And North we continued. The temperature kept slipping, not much, but noticeably so. Had two nights in Inverness and went to Loch Ness. No monster, surprisingly. Jess convinced it's there, because 1000 sightings can't be wrong can they? Inverness a beautiful city and worth a few days if you're in the area. Mind you, if you're in the area and not going to Inverness, where the hell are you going???

(Inverness)

(Wait a moment, isn't that...)

(Urquhart castle, Loch Ness)

...and further North we continued, right to where you can't go no Norther on the mainland and your only option is West. We found ourselves in a little cottage called the Mill House in a town called Portskerra. This was the place we were going to see the Northern Lights!

(Arrived to this...)

(Woke up to this...)

 

...and guess what (spoiler alert)

WE DIDN'T!!!

Possibly didn't help that people we encountered were saying things like "oh they were out just before you arrived". Like a bloody pantomime ("they're behind you!!!!"). But we checked our app that indicated polar activity, and like Murphy's law, every time there was reasonable activity, it was cloudy, and on the clear nights there was NOTHING! But we still sat in our car, in the dark, getting onset frostbite, waiting...

Portskerra and most of the Scottish North Highlands was closed for winter. So we did a lot of walks, travelled to beautiful places (Lairg, Smoo Cave, the Orkneys - ill upload photos of these places next blog) and saw some of the most rugged, stunning coastal scenery I'd ever seen. I'd imagine it was a bit like the north west of Tasmania. And boy was it cold! As Melbourne struggled to day after day of 44 degrees, we added layer after layer.

(Dunnett Head, the northernest point on the UK mainland)

We saw three of Scotland's "big 5" in the wild (seal, deer, eagle) - the otter and red squirrel proved too elusive. I had a game of golf on UK's northern most course and shot a score that was not appalling (for me anyway). And grew a beard...or my poor version of one.

But it was about relaxing, cooking hearty meals, painting (where we all discovered we had talent in some form!), reading, homework etc. We made coal fires nearly every night, and bathed every second day! We were a generally contented, if slightly smelly, bunch.

We learnt that the hard slog and generally thankless task of applying for house sitting jobs in the UK (to obtain some free accommodation) was rewarded with a 5 week stay in a big house in the Devon countryside that simply sounds too good to be true. We do that post Renae's mum-and-dad visit and pre my mum's visit. Has worked out really well.

The girls are well, getting what might be a second wind after a battery recharge in far north Scotland. Both looking forward to seeing grandparents, looking ahead excitedly to Devon and looking after a collie dog each. Jess pleased that her hair can be put back into a ponytail! Billie still avoiding nutrition like it's toxic. Renae and I haven't killed each other and frankly haven't even come close (we've certainly had ample opportunities to create "accidents" on rocky cliffs!!!). It's tiring, that's all, and hard work.

Onto my third pint now, so may end up here before the post becomes either maudlin or unintelligible. Over half way now. Still got heaps to see and do. Missing you all. Love getting the odd email to hear what's going on.

Love from the Carolin-Vandenbergs!!!

 

 

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Blog 11 - Mean Time

Blog 11 - Mean Time

Cheers all,

Actually, I never say cheers as a greeting...ever. In fact the only person I know who uses cheers as a sign off ironically hasn't had a drink in 10 years (happy 10 year anniversary, you know who you are!!). But it seems appropriate once you are in Britain to do as the British do.

We are currently in Greenwich, home of GMT. Great symbolic spot to celebrate the New Year...well, sit and drink mulled wine, mulled cider, stay warm and watch the pretty impressive London fireworks on the TV, which were being heavily rained upon.

So anyway, we arrived in the UK about a month ago and drank in the English signs, English shops and English speakers. Kids were noticeably relieved. The weather was significantly colder though, and something we are still reconciling ourselves with is the fact that it is dark at 4.00pm. It's just odd!

Our first stay was East London in a suburb called Hackney. It was a quirky, cool neighbourhood that you could just tell had a slightly soiled underbelly and was really trying to improve itself. Lots of coffee shops, lots of cool take away and a killer Saturday market where I counted 15 different cuisines on offer!!

The house we stayed at (through airBNB) was owned by an artist, had quirky little touches all over the place (light shade made of tea bags, table hanging upside down from the ceiling) - it was only half way through our stay that we learnt she was in Ireland winning the most significant art prize in the UK, the Turner prize!

From Hackney it was an easy commute in to the centre we did a heap of the "things you should do if going to London" - Trafalgar Square, London Eye, Tate Modern, Tower Bridge etc. We shopped (and hyperventilated at the prices) down Regent Street, and discovered "Hamleys", the funnest toy shop in all of funville. It was honestly like Wonkaland, I half expect Oompa Loompas to roll Violet Beauregarde out. Kids loved it and Santa was clearly watching...

Had a great afternoon ice skating at Somerset House. Visited platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station

(I don't really need to say what these are do I????)

(Skating at Somerset House)

Can I just say right now, I love the Tube. I love everything about it. The design, the colours, the general efficiency, the ticketing system. It's so funny to hear the kids working out the route "if we catch the Bakerloo line to Charing Cross, we can change and get the central line..." The British transport system (and Singapore, and Berlin, Athens, Dubai...in fact everyhere!) PUT MELBOURNE'S TO SHAME.

Okay moving on...we moved on! So we stayed in Walthamstow, Hornsey (both airBNB, both really nice) and Harlesden (thanks to our friend Tina's brother and his family, who was away for a week). We had a Christmas tree to stick presents under, a great kitchen where Renae cooked a massive Christmas dinner, and a cat to pat, which the kids loved. We skyped with family on their Christmas morning/our Christmas Eve - that was wierd. And we played monopoly where the seven year old killed us. So it was an unusually quiet Christmas, but it was nice.

We visited the Natural History Museum and Renae caught up with a friend from high school days!

(Natural History Museum)

A highlight of the trip (and this will polarise people) was the trip to the studios where they filmed the Harry Potter films. It is exceptionally well done, not overly expensive (I've paid more for crappier on this trip!) and there was just something quite exciting about looking at the real sets, the real props ("oh wow, that's the goblet of fire, that's the pensieve etc). You also got a great insight into the processes such as set design, make up, animatronics, special FX (we got to ride a broomstick on blue screen!). We all loved it but I'm moving on as I'm sounding way too nerdy.

(Costumes in Great Hall, Gryffindor common room, Diagonal Alley, model of Hogwarts)

Biggest let down of the trip was discovering that, after a lot of time, effort, scanning and emailing, training courses, and money, that I received some poor advice from my immigration consultant in Australia, and I was unable to apply for a working visa. Well not without telling the people who offered me a job and were prepared to sponsor me to hang tight while I zipped back to Oz, completed the 35 page application, sent it to Malaysia (no I don't know why either), and get a possible No in 5 weeks time.

The night we found out, we got drunk! (Well, not the kids, they were driving...) But in a way, it is what it is now. Time to commence that difficult second novel!

So the second definition of my blog title other than the GMT reference is to accept that we may need to be a bit stingy/clever/INNOVATIVE (ah, there's the glass half full) to get us to the Orlando theme parks without robbing banks along the way!

So Happy New Year to everyone from me and the other CVDBs. Coming up next episode, Scotland, northern lights, grandparents...

I'm leaving you with observations and other general miscellany from the first half of the trip. Be amazed...or be indifferent, up to you!!!

SO...

• We have been to 15 countries - 17 if you count transit stops in Thailand and Malaysia
• The money saved on accommodation with a sofa bed is outweighed by the money spent on chiropractic bills
• Our motto - Be Fearless. It's what made Renae and I jump into near freezing water in Slovenia, made Jessie go on a water slide with a near vertical drop. It's even what made Billie walk up to a shop counter with a handful of foreign coins to buy a drink
• Harry Potter feels like my adopted third child

(In response to the comment "This hotel has 3 bars and good reception")

1. (Old traveller) - "Great. Let's check in at reception and grab a drink at one of them"
2. (New traveller) - "Wow that's good wifi coverage!"

• Lake Bled could be the most beautiful place in the world
• Italy is a beautiful, historic country, but seriously needs to get its shit together in some aspects

(Response to receiving bad service at a restaurant:)

1. (Old traveller) - "Get me the manager!"
2. (New traveller) - "Log me into Trip Advisor!"

• We have seen 27 UNESCO World Heritage Sites
• The Czech and Polish languages could do with some vowels
• From Zadar to Zagreb, Croatia had me at "Dobre Dan"

(Common quotes of the journey:)

1. "Where's my hairbrush?"
2. "That's the second-biggest (insert big thing) I've ever seen" (thanks Get Smart)
3. "Expelliarmus!"
4. "Souvenirs, novelties...party tricks" (thanks Top Secret)

• Singapore - it just works! Go there
• Horrible Histories should be a mandatory text/media in every school curriculum
• The day in San Marcello meeting Emilio and Dolfiero and finding where my grandfather as shot down will remain one of the highlights of my life
• "Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans" - Beautiful Boy, John Lennon. Just cos

(In Florence)

1. (Old traveller) - does the guided tour of the Uffizi
2. (New traveller) - does the virtual tour on the app, in the hostel toilet

• Every year I have a resolution to read my age in books - never achieved. Week 24 in, 25 books read! On track
• If you want to get a sense of what post-apocalypse looks and feels like, then Dubai at midday during Ramadan is for you
• My vestibular system doesn't like water parks, my nether regions don't like running in the UK in December
• And I guess last but in no means least, I love and am so proud of my kids. They have had and seen the best of times and the worst of times, from Auschwitz to Wild Wadi Water Park. I've overheard their casual conversations "Was that in Croatia where we saw the bullet shells next to the bunkers?" "No, it was Mostar" - what 7 and 10 year olds have that sort of conversation? They have been in each others faces 24/7, and the fact that one hasn't killed the other is a credit to them. What a ride, and what a story to tell their children...or their psychiatrist. Whatever comes first.

 

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Blog 10 - my life in ruins

Blog 10 - my life in ruins

Well, the sun has set in London...actually it did at about 4pm. I'm nursing a sore wrist from a nasty ice skating incident, and it provides me with an opportunity to reflect on our time in two of the oldest civilisations in the world, Italy and Greece.

Other than the San Marcello adventure, which I still smile about, I haven't written anything since arriving in Montepulciano. We were there for three and a half weeks all up. It was the best of times and the worst of times, it was the time of high(ish) season, and then low season.

(Aspects of Montepulciano - main square, chilly morning view out our window, church of St Biagio, family!)

Or to put it more simply, it was busy for about a week with shops open and tourists flocking, and then it simply turned into a ghost town. People vacated the streets, it was a lottery whether a shop would be open. There seemed no logic about any of it. Most closed during the day for anything between 1-4 hours, usually when you needed something. It was actually slightly eerie. All that was missing were the tumbleweeds.

(San Gimingnano)

(Montalcino)

Luckily we still had a car, and managed to disappear on day trips. Orvieto was a charming city set up on a cliff with an amazing history, and a labyrinth of caves - many of them located on private property and turned into wine cellars! San Gimignano with its impressive towers, and Montalcino had a medieval festival, with drummers drumming and pipers piping. It was all pretty impressive, but fairly touristy. We also travelled to Florence and spent a few days dragging the kids around the galleries to see Michaelangelo's David (which Jessie felt she could have done - big call as he's huge), and the 60 odd rooms of the Uffizi (think that's a lot? Haven't even talked about the Vatican yet!)

(Florence's Duomo)

(Detail from the fresco - mmm, tasty)

 

Florence is beautiful and deserving of its praise. The cathedral and duomo is spectacular, with its broad view from the top, and genuinely unsettling fresco on the dome. One thing which we saw a lot of in...well, all of Europe actually, was people trying to flog those splat balls that reform into a ball when you throw them on the ground, and those rubber band catapult glowy-whirly things. They were everywhere and because we had children we were constantly badgered about buying them. It's weird gazing at the Ponte Vecchio bridge, dodging the plastic helicopters and serenaded by the thwack of a hundred splat balls... Yes I know, first world problem, but I swear there were a few vendors that were going to have their products forcibly inserted into their person.

Detour to Pisa, and for the second time for me the Leaning Tower springs up from round a corner and again I am simply in awe of it. The whole Field of Miracles (where the tower is) is stunning. We, and every other person there, took the photo pretending to hold the tower up. It really leans! A lot! Jess and I climbed it (Billie too small, had to be 9 and above, and it was the first time someone called us on it). It's hollow on the inside, interestingly.

(See, every idiot tries to hold the tower up...)

(Oh, whoops!)

 

Back in Montepulciano, Renae did a two week Italian speaking course which she enjoyed and where we met some pretty awesome people, including Susan from Florida, Lachlan from Hawaii/Seattle and wherever he is travelling next(!), and Maya from London amongst others. Some great nights spend drinking quite a lot, doing a cooking course in one of the local restaurants (probably the highlight of Montepulciano, beautiful meals created kids involved and loved it. Possibly sailed close to the edge with hygiene rules in restaurants...). Ah what else? We ran quite a bit, getting weird looks from the three locals that were on the streets at the time. Running in Tuscany was fairly sublime actually, especially as the weather was often good - looking over the ploughed fields, passing farmers picking olives. Problem was that the first leg of the running was all downhill, and the climb back to the top was a struggle.

(Cooking class - thumbs up from Billie

Jessie turned ten. It was a good birthday...sort of. While Renae went to Italian class, I took her horseriding, and she had an hour lesson and a small trail ride, which she loved. Billie however, had gastro, and stayed in the car sleeping and handing me bags of sick (yeah, sorry bout that visual). Renae made Jessie a tiramisu, her favourite. It felt strange just being the four of us, but she appreciated messages/Viber and skypes from home. And it's amazing the healing powers of equine therapy! (Billie got her horse ride a week later!)

We cut short our time in Montepulciano, partly because we wanted to start the San Marcello adventure (see blog 9), but also, frankly, we felt we'd seen all there was to see. We loved the guys we met from the Italian class, but didn't feel at all part of the community, which I know Renae wanted, and was in a way the driver for us going (ah yes, the year in the villa in Tuscany). It is hard when you say buongiorno, and if they reply with anything other than how are you or where is the laundromat, then you're pretty much rooted.

But it was spectacularly beautiful.

Moving forward, like you do, after the euphoria of San Marcello wore off, I drove 6 hours down the guts of Italy to honour a promise to my youngest. As we were brainstorming "things we want to see and do in Europe" at home before we left (as a means of fast tracking through the grief cycle so it wasn't all sadness and anger when we left), Billie really just had one wish.

To see Pompeii...

Pompeii the town is not special or in any way pretty. Its about 100 metres off the main highway. The drivers around Pompeii were like all Italian drivers - psychotic and with a cavalier attitude towards road rules. Our hotel was like an oasis though and I rate it highly...in fact on Trip Advisor I rated it highly.

(Pompeii, and that's Vesuvius in the background)

So in the morning we were accosted by the typical tour companies and got sucked in to an audioguide for Pompeii (worth it) and a tour of Vesuvius (so not worth it). But Pompeii, was as surreal as expected. The old houses, shops and baths, the cobblestoned streets, the clumps of tour groups led by over exuberant guides thrusting an umbrella or flower in the air and walking with an odd sense of purpose from place to place. It was eerily quiet too. There was something morbid about how much my kids wanted to see the petrified bodies too!

Jess was uneasy the whole time in Pompeii thinking that Vesuvius (which loomed menacingly(?) in the distance) was going to pick that day to erupt. So imagine how thrilled she was when we went up there and gaped into the big steaming chasm of its mouth? Cool to say we'd seen it. Great view of Milan in all it's dirty expansive glory. But it was freezing and, believe it or not, we had to get in the car and drive to Rome!

(Mt Vesuvius. You can just see the fear in Jessie's eyes)

And we were doing so well, Renae as navigator and me as driver. We worked out all the on and off ramps, the hysterical signs that the Italians have that may show a place name with arrows in two directions, or one sign, one arrow and sixteen place names.

We made the airport needing to drop the car off and refuel it. We did not pass a service station! We then left the airport looking for one, and it was only when I DROVE UP A ONE WAY STREET THE WRONG WAY that we found one. (Admittedly, I didn't know it was one way, but at least I felt I'd arrived as an Italian driver!)

By this time it was way to late, we'd all had too much day, and a nice taxi drove us to our hotel (great location and great hotel actually) and we collapsed.

(Pantheon)

(Trevi fountain)

(Erm, the Flavian Amphitheatre)

BUT NOT FOR LONG. When you're in the Eternal City, you gotta make each day count! So, Trevi fountain - check, Pantheon - check, Colusseum (sorry Billie, Flavian amphitheatre, as she will correct you about it's correct name) - check, shop that has over 150 flavours of Gelati - check! (Mmm, try basil flavour, it's yummy!)

Best line of Rome? Billie is used to being called 5/6/7/8, depending on whether there's a discount for young kids, or a minimum age for entry (eg a ride). Colosseum is free for kids only from EU countries, so as we lined up, Billie sidled over and whispered "Dad, how old do I have to be today?" And I replied "You can be 7, but you have to be British!"

St. Peter's was closed as there was a special mass on, so we zipped around the corner and wound our way through the Vatican Museum. It was not overly crowded, and the kids got a special treasure hunt audio guide that made them hunt down specific art works, with a commentary that was more Horrible Histories than Stuffy Professor, and this distracted than from the fact that they probably walked the equivalent of a half marathon on the day!

(Vatican, St Peter's...maybe God...)

Sistine Chapel roof is amazing, the whole Chapel is actually superb. The modern art was incredible, the Egyptian artefacts were impressive, the art of Raphael was my highlight (studied the School of Athens at school, so it was like meeting a celebrity...okay that's a bit sad I know). Was a great day.

The Roman Forum makes you pause, even the kids were impressed with the sense of history all around.

I love Rome, it was always my favourite city outside Australia, but I don't know if it was a combination of being ripped off, general Italian beaurocracy (try sending a parcel home, it makes you want to cry), f$&#*ng splat balls or just 4 months of travelling, but I was happy to leave. Sadly, I left my diary there that I'd been using to record my "observations" to help with the blog. (Hotel found it, it's been on-forwarded)

We had about 6 days in Athens - possibly either less or more than we should have had. Longer and we would have done an island like Santorini for a week, shorter and we would have done the highlights package and moved on.

As it was, we did a "hop on hop off" bus tour, which gave you a nice perspective of the place. We went to the Parthenon/Acropolis, which was impressive and also gave you a spectacular view of the sprawl that is Athens. But it was all also HEAVILY under construction, and it was a bit like a Parthenon Transformer, ready to evolve into some monster truck.

(Parthenon - scaffolding strategically hidden)

We shopped, got our Christmas presents posted off! Our accommodation was a cheap four bedroom place in a slightly salubrious part of Athens. The owners mother snuck in at 7.30 and made us breakfast - just bread, jam and coffee, but it was really appreciated.

The people of Greece clearly were feeling the hardship, but remained one of the nicest people we've met to date. Friendly, interested, great with the girls. But we'd had four months in countries that did not have English as their primary language, no TV - no good TV (but even English TV is debatable in that respect). We were exhausted physically from being constantly on the move and cerebrally from the language barriers we continually butted up against.

Sorry Greece it's not you, it's me. It is a country I want to come back to and do differently. Properly, and do it justice.

(From Mt Lykabettus, afternoon)

(Dusk...)

(Night)

This is where I'll leave you, mid-air heading towards Heathrow (yes I know I'm here now, it's for dramatic effect. Just go with it). There's no in flight movie, so I have drunk two mini bottles of Shiraz. Renae deep in conversation with the lady beside her and I can't tell if they are loving the company or just wishing the other would shut up!

The girls are tired. They are ready for a country where people speak English.

So til next blog, arriverderci, au revoir, auf wiedersehen, hasta la vista...baby!

From the Carolinvandenbergs

 

 

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Blog 9 - special edition. Special mission in Tuscany

Blog 9 - special edition. Special mission in Tuscany

 

PART 1:

My grandfather was a navigator and Flight Sergeant for the 454 Air Squadron in World War II. In August 1944 he was stationed in Falconara in Tuscany, where rain and glutinous mud was the norm. On 23rd of August the squadron was to carry out a "routine" bombing of a munitions factory in Limestre, just out of San Marcello Pistoese. Heavy flak was encountered and of the four in my grandfather's plane, three "hit the silk", narrowly avoiding the propellors and parachuted to land. One was not so lucky, and two other planes from the squadron were also lost that night

My grandfather, wounded, landed "on his bum" on a cleared hill, stowed his parachute in a blackberry bush and searched for shelter. He found a small house where a young man tended to his wounds, as well as those of the pilot, who was wounded on the leg and limping.

My grandfather was soon captured by soldiers from the Herman Goering division, who (it's said) had a healthy respect for Australian soldiers, having encountered the 4th AIF in Crete.

He was transported to Germany and after lengthy interrogations, and four and a half months hospitalisation, was used by the German High Command as special aircrew POW, handy for hostage bargaining.

Then on 19th January 1945 he commenced a three week, 165 mile "march", in atrocious rain and ice, with little comfort, food or care. (Many lives were lost along the way). They travelled away from the Russians and towards the advancing Western Allies, and were again used as bargaining tools in an effort to get "improved surrender terms".

He was eventually liberated by the Russians and handed over to the British. My grandfather was reunited with the pilot in the UK. They actually remained close friends and lived near to each other both in Melbourne and on the NSW coast until their deaths. The pilot, Keith, in 1999. My grandfather, Sam, in 2001. My grandfather kept a journal of his war experiences, and this is now on record at the Australian War Memorial.

 

PART 2:

So, stuff happened after that! Wives and children and grandchildren. And in 1973, my grandfather made a bit of a pilgrimage back to San Marcello Pistoese to try to find his "bum print" where he landed. He recounts his "journey" in a (very) detailed letter to his sister, which he wrote sitting up in bed at the Giardini Hotel in San Marcello Pistoese.

He enlisted the help of a local man who spoke reasonable English, and with a lot of gesturing and sound effects, managed to convey his story. There were several false leads and dead ends, but by the end of the few days, he not only was able to locate the site of the field where he landed, but he found the man who, in 1944, treated his wounds!

In his letter he describes the elation he felt in finding all of this, as well as the amazing generosity and hospitality of his translator and his family.

 

PART 3:

More stuff happened after that. Wives and children and grandchildren...and great-grandchildren.

We as family heard parts of these experiences, but as many who return from war, my grandfather didn't talk much about it. I never read his diary until after he passed away, which I regret.

When we knew we were travelling to Tuscany, we decided to go to San Marcello Pistoese to try to retrace my grandfather's steps and in some way add our small piece to this puzzle. I was not optimistic, given 1944 and 1973 were not exactly the Information Age, but I was fortunate to be provided the letter that he wrote his sister in '73, so that was better than nothing. (Thanks Bev!)

So armed with this crumpled yellow document, we started in the only place that made sense, the Hotel Giardini in San Marcello Pistoese. It was still there in its late 60/early70 grandeur. We actually went in looking for a coffee, but the proprietor was there and in a terrible broken Italian/English, I explained the story of '44 and '73. She had only had the hotel about 10 years, but when I mentioned the name of the translator, Emilio Innocenti, she brightened, and thought she knew his cousin. She went off to make a phone call...

Twenty minutes later, in walked the man who, in 1973, drove my grandfather around San Marcello and surrounds looking for a cleared field!

Emilio Innocenti was mid-70s and could pass for twenty years younger. He runs every day, has a son and a daughter, and taught my children the trick where it looks as though you can take your thumb off. He remembered my grandfather well and the time they spent together in 1973. He particularly recalled him injecting himself (he was a diabetic, and this later led to double amputations below the knee) as well as his love for red wine! His English had lapsed to the point that we could barely communicate but it didn't really matter. We were all quite emotional...except Billie and Jessie, they just seemed bewildered by the complexity of the emotion. It was pretty hard to explain to be fair.

Presumptuously, I asked him if he could remember the field where he took my grandfather, and if he could take us there. He said he wasn't at all sure, but agreed to meet us in an hour's time.

Emilio drove around the winding countryside with a confidence that terrified me, but we ended up in a place called Le Piastre (again, thanks to my grandfather's attention to detail). There was a lot of "hmm...no...think THINK..." but nothing conclusive.

We had the name of the gentleman who saved my grandfather, and we stopped to see if anyone knew if the family lived in the area still. An old lady suggested some directions, and after a few false trails ourselves we found ourselves at Casa Isola, a B&B in Le Piastre. We knocked, a middle aged man answered. Emilio conveyed the story. The man smiled and nodded and urged us to follow.

So Renae, the girls, Emilio and I entered the kitchen of the house and sitting at the table was Dolfiero, the man who, in 1944, saved my grandfather's life.

He is now 86, and following two broken hips, is very frail. His mind has stated to fail in the last year but it was clear that he understood who we were, as did his wife Isola (hence the name of the B&B), who recounted and reminisced with Emilio. She recalled the limping man.

The son then brought out a letter my grandfather wrote to them, as well as a photo of Dolfiero and Emilio together, and my grandfather standing beside the field where he landed. Many photos were taken, tears were shed. Myths were debunked (the propellor wasn't found over their fireplace. They had a lot of his kit, but this was confiscated by the police, and much of it was sent to Germany.)

Dolfiero kept asking us where we were from. There was a lot of "Venga dall'Australia, no parla Italiano". I showed him the photo of my grandfather and explained "Mi nonno". I think he got it.

The photo the son showed us immediately made finding the field a lot easier. In fact, I recalled passing it while we were tearing around the Tuscan countryside. So we got out, took photos. I stood where he stood in '73 when I was two years old. Me now with greyer hair, wearing pants not shorts...

We later had a drink at Emilio's house. I could not convey to him my gratitude, but I do also think that he enjoyed both the adventure and the reminiscence.

It's difficult to describe the feeling I had that day. It was quite unlike anything I'd felt before. I walk away from San Marcello Pistoese with a flimsy sticky taped yellow letter (who'd have thought it wouldn't survive TWO photocopying attempts!), a profound love and debt of gratitude for Renae, who pushed me to do this when I was thinking of backing out, digital photos and email addresses (for this is the Information Age), and a greater sense of perspective about family, and stuff in general...

The Hotel Giardini

Emilio Innocenti: translator, children's entertainer...

Letter from my grandfather to his sister Peg - sorry! A victim of progress...

Me, Dolfiero, his son, his wife Isola, Emilo

Dolfiero and Emilio - then and now

The letter from my grandfather to Dolfiero, and the field where he landed

The field today

 

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