To set foot in God's own country

In the summer of 1979, I finally made it to Italy. Not to Amalfi unfortunately but to Italy.

Basically, I managed to get some money together doing agency and part time work. I worked stuffing envelopes for Barclay's Bank, as a receptionist for BICC's offices in Bloomsbury and a couple of other largely unexciting jobs. When I thought I'd got enough, I packed my back, went to Victoria station and bought a return ticket to Turin - getting the ferry from Dover to Calais and changing at Paris Gare du Nord.

Over the next week or so, I zig-zagged across Italy spending the days in whatever the city was that I'd ended up in that morning and then getting a night train to the next place. In order to be able to sleep on the train and get a decent kip, I always made sure that the journey was long enough. I went from Turin to Naples, from Naples to Venice, from Venice to Rome, from Rome to Milan, and so on and so forth. I went to Pisa, Parma, Florence and Bologna as well.

What a trip that was. I was awestruck by the things and places I saw. I was speaking Italian to real Italians and they didn't turn their noses up at me the way those girls had done four or five years ago in C'Martin. This was jumping in at the deep end. I don't think I ever spent more than a day in any of the places I went to.

In Napoli Centrale, I had a fella (who I've always assumed was gay) sit next to me and grab my balls. Poor bugger got a shock when this young, baby-faced, foreign tourist told him 'va fancul' e' mammete'. I never saw anyone run so bloody fast in my life.

I fell for a rip-off story and gave some fella about £20. Gullible? You bet I was.

I tried to get to a little village called Alife in Campania (province of Benevento I think) to find some friends of nan and grampa's - Salvatore and Carmela Iameo. I can't remember what happened but I didn't find them.

On the train going back up country, I got talking to a couple of American matelots (US Navy for the uninitiated). I'd a couple of sticks of JPS fags that I'd bought as presents for Salvatore and as I didn't smoke at that time, I was trying to offload them. I asked these lads if they liked English fags. Their turn to be worried! They weren't big on English fags but they took the ciggies.

I ended up having to get back to Turin with the last bit of money I had left and headed for home. The money hadn't lasted long but it was my first taste of Italy and one that very quickly grew on me.

The Criscuolo diaspora

By the end of the '70s, all of the second generation of Criscuolos had themselves done their bit to continue the family name ... or at least the bloodline.

I'm almost ashamed to admit that I have no idea whether any of Giolina's kids got married or had kids. I have no memory of ever meeting them and nobody that I've spoken to has any idea what Nonnie (Iolanda), Boysy (Andrea) or Rita (Rita) did or are doing - they'd be about 84, 77 and 69 if they're still around.

Marie's only daughter June, who'd married Dennis Thear in 1965, died a little over 20 years later - barely 10 years after her father. Marie kept going strong until she died in 1983. I liked Marie. I used to pop round to see her every week when I was studying in London in the late '70s and early '80s. She was a lovely lady who couldn't let you leave without eating something and was fascinated in your love life.

Amelia's daughter Sylvia took a leaf out of her aunty Julie's book and married a nice Italian boy - Nello Bertinelli - in 1952. They had two sons (Robert and Dean). Robert settled in Kingston, Surrey, married twice and had six kids - Paul, Jamie, Nicola, Michelle, Francesca and Leanne.

Paul was killed at the age of 24 (my memory is that it was no accident). Jamie married Chelsea in 2001 and they had three kids (not necessarily in that order). I've been able to find no record of any marriages for the others but the last time I spoke to Robert, Nicola had a son, Michelle a daughter and Francesca one of each.

Dean went with his parents when they moved to Parma in Emilia-Romagna.

Luigi (Lou or Lionel - whichever you prefer) and Ann's only son Robert married a Palestinian girl called Polly (for short) and they had a son and a daughter. Lou and Ann had long since settled near Slough and Robert and his new family set up home there too.

Andrea and Giovannina's (Bob and Ginny) only daughter Rachel married an antipodean gentleman called Ray in 1975 and went with back down under where they brought a daughter and a son into the world.

Finally, there was Alfred and Elizabeth (Fred & Betty - sounds like a cartoon infidelity - sorry grampa). Their only son Tony married Brenda in Buckinghamshire in 1958 and went on to have five kids of which I am the eldest. We moved down to North Devon in the late '60s and Nan and Grampa followed us down in the early '70s.

With representatives in Australia, Buckinghamshire, Devon, Italy and Surrey, the Criscuolos of Pontone di Scala had created their very own diaspora. For my generation (the third outside the Sorrento Peninsula) Pontone had acquired a mythical status. Unreal and magical. Nobody had been back since Nicola died there in 1947 and there was no suggestion that any of would get back there.