Legacy of Sorrows (24 page)

Angelo stopped reading at that point and feeling a little numb from the shock of the letters contents, asked a passing flight attendant for a coffee and a small brandy. Fortified with these he read on.

The Duce had placed the letters in a black leather briefcase, which I took from him in Milan. I left Milan before he did at his insistence and travelled to Borgo a Mozzano. On the bus there, I heard that the Duce had been captured, so I knew that I had to find a safe hiding place for the letters. I remembered a place I used as a small boy when I wanted to hide special things and decided to use it again.

I went to the Devil's Bridge and stood in the centre of it, facing the wooded hillside. I used the right hand parapet as a marker and looked onto the ridge just to the right of it where I saw a tall oak tree standing on its own. I made my way up the hillside to it and saw a boulder near the foot of the tree.

When I moved the stone aside with my feet, quite a large hole came into view, so I wrapped the briefcase in a large oilcloth and placed it in the hole before replacing the stone. I checked on the condition of the briefcase every year and thankfully, there was little deterioration.

So now my dear friend Angelo, you are the keeper of this secret, and must decide on your own what is the best way ahead. Always keep in your mind the thoughts of the Duce in this matter and make sure the letters do not fall into the wrong hands. Be careful and trust no one.

Eia! Eia! Eia! Alalà!

Your friend,

Sergio

Angelo slowly closed the letter and put it back in the envelope. He sat stunned, staring at the back of the seat in front of him. He had been pulled back into a time in his past that he had wanted to forget and he saw no way of ignoring it. Names from the past flashed before his eyes. Mussolini: Moschettieri: Fascismo: Blackshirts. He felt as if he was in a whirlpool and was being sucked into the very centre of it. He asked the flight attendant for another brandy and closed his eyes as he slowly sipped it. What should he do next? Should he return to Italy and check on the briefcase? on the other hand, should he wait until he had decided what the best way ahead was. One thing for sure, he could not ignore the mission that Sergio had given him, even if he had wanted to. The die was cast and he was not only part of the events surrounding the letters, but it appeared that he had the lead role.

Chapter 4

1
8th
April 1987
     It was Angelo's 75th birthday and his family had organised a celebration at his home. All of his friends and most of his relatives were there. He had taken great care today on his appearance. A smart navy blue suit and a new white shirt and a navy tie.

Angelo looked around the lounge at the host of people who were there. His older brother Vittorio, who was named after Mussolini's son and his wife Eia waved over to him. Eia's name was part of the fascist chant ‘Eia! Eia! Eia! Alalà', which didn't mean anything as such, however it was always been used by the fascists at their rallies. Eia's father had been a committed fascist and, much to her embarrassment had named her after it.

He looked around for his son Marco and saw him talking to one of the guests. Angelo felt a surge of pride as he walked towards him. ‘What a handsome man' he thought, with a father's pride. Marco was over six feet tall and built like a rugby player. His hair was jet black and he wore it longer than the current fashion. His smile was easy, showing off white gleaming teeth. Angelo reflected that he had his mothers' temperament, which was more easy and warm, than his own brusque personality.

He was proud when Marco had joined the Italian Army. He knew many Italian fathers who were disappointed that their sons had turned their back on the old country, but not his. He knew that Marco had found it tough at first to fit in. The other Italians had called him ‘Inglese' and laughed at his accent, but Marco had stuck it out and eventually made many friends. Thankfully, all his service was seen out around Rome and not overseas.

Not like his service in the British Army. Angelo had been against his volunteering for the Para Regiment, but Marco, being as strong headed as his father decided to go ahead. Even there, he had a tough time in being accepted until he dropped the ‘O' from the end of his name and became plain Mark. When asked what the Italian connection was he would simply shrug his shoulders and say, ‘Oh I think someone in my past was Italian, but I'm not sure.' This seemed to work quite well for him, that, and the service he saw in Northern Ireland with his regiment. The one thing guaranteed to forge friendships is when men see active service together.

‘Marco, could I have a word with you.' ‘Sure dad,' said Marco. Angelo led his son to a small room on the ground floor that he used as a study. He closed the door and sat in his favourite seat. ‘Sit down son,' he said, pointing to an armchair facing his. Marco was surprised at his father's quite formal bearing rather than his usual friendly approach, however he put it down to him having a few drinks earlier on in the evening. ‘What's on your mind dad,' Marco said as he made himself comfortable. Angelo got up and crossed the floor to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a bottle of Grouse whisky. He picked up two glasses from a cabinet close by, returned to his seat, and poured two large whiskies. ‘Saluti' said Marco, as he took the glass from his father.

They sipped their whisky in silence until Angelo said ‘son, I have something very important to tell you and I would like you to hear me out before commenting.' Would that be alright?' ‘Sure dad, it sounds serious' said Marco as he put his glass down on the table near by. ‘What I'm going to tell you Marco is a tale so incredible that I hope you believe it and not put it down to the ramblings of an old man.' He put his own glass down on the table, reached over and took Marco's hands in his. Marco could see that his father was deadly serious so he took his time before saying ‘dad if this is important to you then it certainly is important to me. Go on, I'm ready to listen.'

Angelo smiled with affection, ‘son, I've kept this secret from the world for 22 years and I have to pass it on now, as I don't know how much time I have left.'

He took another sip of his whisky before speaking again. ‘Marco do you remember the stories I used to tell you of secret letters that passed between Churchill and Mussolini during the war, and how you dismissed them as storytelling?' ‘Yes I do,' said Marco. ‘Well they were all true and I am the guardian of their whereabouts.'

Angelo waited a moment to let this sink in before continuing, ‘do you also remember my old friend Sergio Rossi who died in 1965 and I went to his funeral in Italy?' Marco nodded in agreement. He felt too stunned to speak. ‘Well Sergio wrote me a letter before he died and his widow gave me it at the funeral. When I read it I felt pretty much as you do now, so perhaps the time has for you to read it as well.'

He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter, still in its original envelope, and gave it to him. Marco took the envelope and removed the letter from it; he opened it and began to read.

After some ten minutes, he stopped and lifted his head. His face had a bewildered look on it. ‘Dad, is this all true, the bodyguard bit, Mussolini and secret hiding places?' ‘Yes son, all of it.' Marco got up from his chair, walked to the study window, and looked out. ‘What's this got to do with me dad?' ‘I've got nothing to do with fascists and Communists; I just run an ice cream business?'

Angelo got up and joined his son at the window. ‘Marco, I brought you up to know the difference between right and wrong and I know you were never interested in politics, however this is different. ‘This involves rewriting history; it involves a truth that needs to be declared about those times that no one else is aware of.' ‘We are the guardians of that truth and now that I am too old to take the next step with it, I have to pass it on to you.' ‘Dad this is just history, I know it's important to you but for the ordinary Joe it's just history, dead and boring.' ‘I'm sorry dad, but it happened over 40 years ago.'

Angelo gave a sigh of frustration before answering. ‘Marco, let me explain the relevance of these documents for today. Should the communists or socialist parties in Italy get a hold of them, then it would cause turmoil, as they would spin things to their advantage. They would make capital of the fact that Mussolini whilst saying one thing to the Italian people was secretly negotiating with the enemy. They would say that it shows you can never trust the right. That in itself could cause civil unrest in a country still divided between left and right and where the wounds of a civil war have still not healed.

Should the neo-fascists get them, then they would show that Mussolini was not the mad demagogue that the left make him out to be, but was a moderating influence on Hitler and a friend of Churchill. This would raise their profile in Italy as a force for good, much to the annoyance of the left.

There is also the spectre of the British Government not wishing to be embarrassed with their wartime leader negotiating with the enemy. It could be viewed as some sort of compromise being sought with Mussolini to help a beleaguered Britain and I am sure they would be anxious to keep these letters secret. I suspect that the British would go to any lengths to keep them so.

Finally, the Italian government would also be interested in keeping the status quo in Italy. If the publication of these letters could be the source of civil unrest, then the Italians would also want them kept secret.

Therefore, you see Marco, what on the surface appears to be irrelevant history could in effect be the catalyst for a very volatile situation developing. If Italy becomes unstable, then there is the possibility of other countries in Europe with a history of left and right conflict following suit. You should also remember that Italy has more members of the communist party than any other country, apart from the Soviet Union.

Marco sat down on a seat by the widow and looked out at the garden. He didn't answer for a while as he took in what his father had just said. Finally, he said, ‘I don't even know what Fascism is or was dad, perhaps it would help if you could tell me a bit about it.'

Angelo took another sip of whisky before continuing,' At the turn of the 20th century Italy had only been united for 40 years and was still coming to terms with the new concept of nationhood. Italy was still an agricultural economy mostly run by landlords who rented out parcels of land to tenant farmers. As the tenant's families grew and the farms were sub-divide amongst them, there was not enough land to grow sufficient food to feed the growing families. When the land was again subdivided amongst the new generation it caused real hardship and in some cases hunger.

This caused unrest amongst the contadini: the tenant farmers, and hence the rise of communism. When the war ended in 1918 and the soldiers returned from the front, they wanted and expected a better life than before. Many Italians emigrated to the new world, to Australia, and other places to escape the poverty but many stayed to try to bring about change. This led to the riots and fighting between those who had and those who had not. These were bleak times indeed with many Italians on both sides being killed and the government of the day was powerless to stop the violence. Into this maelstrom stepped a leader who offered a way out, a way of compromise, a way of unity. This leader, or Duce, was Mussolini. His answer was Fascism. A movement of unity for all classes, a third way. He invited corporate Italy to join with the masses to provide employment and prosperity for all under a strong government led by him. He saved Italy, and perhaps Europe from falling into the hands of the communists. No Trade Unions, no communism, and no exploitation of the workers. A fair deal for all. The people saw him as their saviour, and corporate Italy saw him as providing the means of profit. He built the Autostradas: the new roads, he built the new hospitals and railways, he built the biggest naval fleet in Europe. Coupled with this he recruited into the Army and the Police, which gave the people a feeling of security. He crushed the Mafia in the south of the country and he built new prisons. Italy entered into the 20th century as the envy of the world, that's what fascism did in my estimation.

Marco took all of this in before saying, ‘what would you have me do dad?' Angelo put his arm round his son's shoulders and said, ‘son, over the years I've had plenty of time to consider all the angles in this, and I don't believe there is an easy answer.

We could destroy the documents and no one would ever know they existed, or we could deliver them into the hands of the Italian Security Services who in turn would ensure that no political party would be able to capitalise on them. They would guarantee that they are used by the Italian State in a responsible way. I personally feel that the latter choice is the most credible.'