To be a contadino

In the summer of 1979 I went back to Italy. This wasn't a multi-destination holiday though. I was heading down to Alife in the province of Caserta. I was going to find those family friends that I failed to find in '78.

This time I'd done a little preparation though. I seem to recall that I wrote to them and told them I was coming and that I wanted to stay for three weeks. They'd agreed to have me and ... Davy was on the road again.

I got the train down to Naples and then got another train to Caserta. From their I stumbled around until I found the bus station and got the bus to Alife. The bus journey must have been the guts of an hour through pretty mountainous country which inevitably meant narrow, twisty roads. It was wonderful. It was in places like this that I was born to be, I was convinced of it. It must have been July or August and it was hot as hell. So hot, you can't breathe ... especially if you've been born and bred in England.

Having asked directions a couple of times, I found the house and I was welcomed with open arms. Salvatore and Carmela had lived for years in Buckinghamshire and, as far as I was ever aware, had managed to make enough money to go back, buy a bit of land and build a small-holding - a large-ish house in between two fields. One field had wheat in it and the other had maize and vines.

In return for my food and board, I was expected to work and I did. No complaints whatsoever. This was just another lesson in my Italian apprenticeship. We worked hard and in temperatures that I never knew existed. We ate well too. Carmela could cook up a storm and how. They had three kids - Appolonia and Tomasino and, to my eternal shame, I simply cannot remember the name of the other daughter. Those three weeks were idyllic. Perfick.

I was dragged out to Mass one Sunday. I'd protested that I wasn't a Catholic but I was an English guest and it was compulsory for me to go ... even if I couldn't take Communion. I was sat where I was told to sit - at the end of the pew nearest the aisle. I didn't understand why that was; especially as I had to get up to let everyone out to take Communion. It was only after everyone had taken Communion that I understood. Salvatore nudged me. I looked at him. What? He nudged me again. I looked around and saw that all of the men were walking out, leaving the women and kids to see out the end of the service. The men all disappeared into the various bars in the town square. Lesson No. 1. Mass is only for taking Communion.

I returned to England a new man. Pinocchio was possible. I had been initiated into the ways of Italian peasantry. I had feasted on dry bread, salame, cheese and wine in the middle of a field. I had worked that hard that I'd fallen asleep at the table on the patio after dinner. I'd had my first taste of vino paesano; my first taste of grappa. I sincerely regret not ever having gone back, but I didn't; for a number of reasons.