Me Italian too

I must have been about fifteen or sixteen when I met my first honest-to-God Italians. They were three young ladies in their late teens or early twenties. They were in Devon with a throng of other kids from all over Europe to study English in summer school.

They stopped me asked me how to get to somewhere or other. I don't remember where it was they wanted to get to although I remember that it involved walking with them about a mile through the village to the front. I was too taken with their stunning good looks and, more importantly, the fact that they were Italian.

I took a deep breath ... and asked very formally "Loro sono italiane?" They nodded. I don't remember actually getting much out of them by way of conversation. "Mio nonno è italiano." (my grampa is Italian) I said, proud as punch. Proud that my grampa was Italian and proud that I was actually speaking Italian to real Italians. Their reaction was disappointing to say the least. My revelation didn't even provoke an "Oh, really." They were completely underwhelmed.

I walked with them down to the front (Combe Martin bay), showed them where it was they were going and they skipped off chattering and giggling between themselves.

I can't say whether I sounded like an Englishman speaking Italian or an Italian speaking Italian because I got no feedback at all ... although the extent to which my charges were underwhelmed may have been feedback enough. I was gutted.

I've always put it down to the assumption that they were Tuscan. Strange people the Tuscans. In my travels around Italy, they have appeared to be the least talkative. Of course, I can't say for certain that they were Toscane.

Strange people though the Tuscans. Anyone who says 'Hoha-Hola' for Coca-Cola has to be viewed with suspicion.

Criscuolo - The next generation

By the time Nicola died, all but Andrea (remember Bob) had done their bit to carry on the bloodline of the Criscuolos of Pontone di Scala.

Giolina (prosaically known as Julie) had had three gorgeous children (Iolanda, Andrea and Rita Maria). Iolanda came to be known as Nonnie (an anglicization of the Italian word for grandmother, Nonna) because she was what might have been called an 'old fashioned woman'. Andrea was generally known as Boysie (for reasons that escape me) and Rita managed to keep her given name.

Marie had brought a daughter, June, into the world. Amelia (Millie) had also had a daughter whom she called Sylvia.

Tony, despite marrying twice, never had kids. He'd sent his first wife Helen to America during the war to protect her from the Blitz. Unfortunately, she died in the States during childbirth and the child died with her.

Alfred (grampa) had sired his only son (my father) Tony and Lou and Ann had brought their only son Robert into the light.

Bob, following his siblings' example restricted himself to one child - Rachel - in 1948. The only grandchild that Nicola never lived to see.

I find it kind of strange that, coming from a large family as they did, all but Giolina resisted the temptation to have any more than one child. Fortunately, as you will see eventually, the next generation redeemed themselves on this score.

It also strikes me that Julie was the only one that upheld the Italian traditions. She married a nice Italian boy. She gave her kids Italian names. The kids had nicknames (that's important). She and Giovanni never changed their surname. I like to think that that was born out of stubbornness but more of that later.

For all of these people, Pontone had become a word. A place that existed only in history. A place that had no real exitence except in connection with their father. Their world now lie in London ... and the home counties.