The Winter Sea (30 page)

‘And you, Alfonso, have you never thought of leaving here?’ asked Bridie gently.

‘Yes, Alfonso,’ said Joe quickly. ‘You must be lonely here. Why don’t you come to Australia? I’ll look after you.’

‘Thank you, thank you, but I’m an old man now. You are kind and generous, but I am content with my simple life and my books. I did my adventuring in my youth. I am pleased to have seen you again. I always knew you would succeed because your heart is good, Giuseppe.’

Outside they all embraced and there was dampness in Joe’s eyes as he took Bridie’s hand to go back to the little port. He did not turn around as he followed the familiar track down towards the village, leaving Alfonso, wrapped in his old coat, standing on the hillside watching them go for what they all knew would be the last time.

Bridie listened with interest as Joe spent time sitting on the stone wall of the harbour front or on the deck of a fishing boat talking with the men he’d known as a young boy. That night, Bridie told him that she was amazed by how much the men knew about the sea.

‘I have great respect for the knowledge and the skills that these fishermen have passed down from father to son for generations,’ said Joe. ‘They know the rhythms of the sea and the migrations of the fish; they know every stone on the seashore and the structure of the seabed, the weather patterns and how to handle their boats in any conditions.’ Joe rubbed his chin, as though coming to a surprising conclusion. ‘But now I realise that they want to continue in the old ways they know.’

‘Not everyone embraces new things like you do, Joe,’ Bridie said.

Joe smiled. ‘They have no inclination to change, to grow, to try something different,’ he said. ‘When I first came to Australia I thought the fishermen there lacked knowledge because they had no traditions, it meant that everyone had to learn for himself by trial and error.’

‘But that’s why you have done so well, Joe. You are prepared to experiment, to take a chance,’ said Bridie. ‘I am very proud of you.’

Several days later it was time to leave the island. As they boarded the little ferry to go to Messina, Bridie asked Joe if he was sad to go.

‘No,’ replied Joe. ‘Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to visit again, but I certainly wouldn’t want to live here anymore. And now we’ll explore the rest of Italy!’ he declared.

When they arrived in Naples, Joe told Bridie what he had thought when he’d first arrived in that city almost twenty years ago. ‘To me it was the most magnificent place in the world. And I’ll never forget how delicious the pizza I ate here was!’

‘And I’ll never forget the wonderful Neapolitan music,’ said Bridie.

So they set off to find a romantic little
trattoria
where they ordered pizza and red wine and were serenaded by a local tenor.

The following morning, Joe left Bridie in their hotel room to dress and went to find a morning newspaper and have a quick coffee before they went to breakfast as Bridie didn’t care for the strong Italian coffee. When he returned he looked pale and waved the paper at Bridie.

‘Joe! What is it?’

‘Germany has invaded Poland and Britain has issued an ultimatum demanding that Germany withdraw. If Germany doesn’t, then I suppose it will be war. We will know in a few hours.’

‘What will happen to us if war is declared? Will we have to go home?’

‘Bridie, I don’t know, but it does sound serious.’

She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘How horrible. If there is a war, do you think that Italy will join in?’

Joe sat beside her and read through the front pages. ‘Mussolini’s a Fascist and he could side with Germany, but Italy is poorly equipped industrially, so it may take some time before he decides which way to jump. But, darling, if war is declared, we may have to think twice about carrying on with our journey.’

They had breakfast and took a stroll around the city. They could not ignore the knots of men talking in cafés and women gathered together around doorways, their faces all showing concern. But in other parts of the ancient seaport, life seemed to continue as it always had, with the business of going to sea and looking after the safe arrival of shipping, small and large, under the ever-present shadow of Mount Vesuvius.

They ate a late lunch at a small café. Both toyed with their food. Finally the news came. A man rushed into the café calling to his friend that he had just heard on the radio that Britain was now at war with Germany.

‘I expect that will mean that Australia, as part of
the
British Empire, is at war, too,’ said Joe quietly. ‘I think we must return home as soon as we can get a ship.’

‘Will the voyage home be dangerous?’

‘It could be. The sooner we go the better.’

‘Joe, I’m so scared. The last war was terrible. It was supposed to be the war that ended all wars, but now it seems that it wasn’t. I’m glad our boys are far away from Europe. Yes, I want to go home.’ She reached across the table to him and they held hands tightly.

The return journey from Genoa on a much smaller ship was a far cry from the glamorous voyage to Europe, but Joe and Bridie were simply relieved to arrive home safely. As they crossed the Indian Ocean there was talk of submarines, for they had learned that submarines were active in the Atlantic Ocean as soon as war was declared. But all they saw was one American warship, which was neutral, as America was determined to stay out of this European fight. As Bridie told Joe, it was comforting in one way to see it, but worrying in another.

Silvio met them at the dock in Sydney and drove them home to Whitby Point, filling them in on the news and rumours about the war that were now dominating the radio airwaves, newspapers and public gatherings.

‘How are the boys? And Nonna?’ asked Bridie.

‘Everyone’s fine. The boys will be pleased to see you.’

‘They’re probably just looking forward to the presents we’ve brought them,’ said Bridie lightly.

Silvio laughed. ‘No, they really missed you,’ he answered and then began to tell Joe what was happening with the business.

Walking into Whitby Point for the first time after their return, Joe found that all the talk was about the war. People met in clusters to chat about it and in the pub everyone had an opinion about what the next government announcement from the Prime Minister, Mr Menzies, might be. Veterans who remembered the outbreak of the previous war thought that the country was far better prepared this time around.

‘But there hasn’t been the mad scramble to enlist,’ said one survivor of the Western Front. ‘People know what they could be in for this time. The Somme was a hard lesson.’

‘I wonder if they’ll try to introduce conscription again. Don’t want to send too many of the lads, though. Need some men to stay at home to do the essential work. Can’t expect women to do it,’ said the publican.

For the next few months life pottered along as normal during what people were calling the ‘Phoney War’.

But as Bridie said to Joe after dinner one night, ‘I can’t help feeling I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop!’

Joe nodded. ‘I don’t like the sound of what’s going on over there. Thank goodness our boys are too young to enlist.’

‘Ricardo is almost eighteen. Boys his age fought last time, but thank heavens this time they are only taking men who have turned twenty. I just pray it will all be over before Ricardo’s old enough to fight,’ said Bridie, sighing.

‘I hope you’re right. I need him here to help me,’ said Joe. ‘He seems to have a good feel for the fishing industry, unlike Pietro, who takes no interest in it at all. Won’t even go out on the boats without a fuss!’

‘Joe, dear, Pietro has other interests. He loves the movies and art. He’s in the school play, you know. Is it really necessary that he go into the fishing business if he so dislikes it?’

Joe looked at her with some surprise. ‘I never considered that. I mean, it’s what we Aquinos do. We follow in the family business. He’s very lucky to have the opportunity! What will happen if all the men are needed for the war? We will need youngsters like Pietro and Carlo to work on the boats.’

‘I wish it would all go away, evaporate,’ said Bridie. ‘I just want to get on with our lives without this war hanging over everything.’

The boys, however, talked about nothing else over dinner.

‘I could pass for twenty-one,’ said Ricardo. ‘I could join the militia. I’d have to do three months training. Maybe I should try to get into the regular army.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Joe. ‘You are not yet eighteen and we need you on the boats.’

‘I can do what Ricardo does on the boats,’ said Carlo. ‘Why can’t I go fishing? Why do I have to stay at school?’

Joe looked at his youngest son and spoke kindly but firmly. ‘You are strong for your age and, yes, you are a good worker. But your education is important. The smarter you are, the more you get ahead. School is the most essential thing for you. For all of you.’

Pietro nudged Carlo. ‘If you did your homework sometimes, you wouldn’t find school so bad.’

‘You only like school because of the art classes. You’re a sissy.’

‘No, he’s not!’ said Patrick.

‘Shut up, Patrick!’ said Carlo, giving Patrick a shove. ‘Keep out of it! No one cares what you think.’

‘Carlo, that’s enough!’ roared Joe.

‘I’ve offered to help you with your schoolwork, Carlo,’ soothed Bridie. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with being an artist.’

Joe stood up. ‘Boys, leave the table now. Ricardo, you stay, I want to speak to you.’

Bridie and Emilia gathered up plates, taking them to the kitchen as the other three boys headed to their rooms.

Joe poured himself another glass of red wine and put a small amount into Ricardo’s glass.

‘Son, you are almost eighteen years old. I understand how you feel, how you want to get out and experience life. But this is not the moment. We don’t know what’s in store and I need to know that I can count on you here, working with me.’

Ricardo looked pleased at his father’s comments. He lifted his glass of wine. ‘I’ll always stick with you. We have a good life here. I hope it will always stay this way.’

‘War will change things. I have seen how people are living and struggling in Italy. You have no idea how well off we are in Australia. Coming here was the best thing I ever did.’

‘So you no longer have strong feelings for Italy?’ asked Ricardo.

‘I have my memories. But I wouldn’t enjoy life back on the island now. I didn’t like what I saw of Fascism. I don’t want to be told by a dictator what I should think or do. I want to make up my own mind.’

‘Maybe this Phoney War will all come to nothing,’ said Ricardo hopefully.

Joe rose. ‘Somehow, I don’t think so. We can just be glad we’re far from the action.’

*

Joe was right. In May 1940 Germany invaded the Low Countries and France; the ‘Phoney War’ ended and the real war began in earnest.

Shortly afterwards, Bridie was sitting at home in Joe’s small office sorting through bills and receipts, and thinking how pleasant the office was because it was such a sun trap on a cold winter’s day, when Joe appeared at the door.

‘This is a nice surprise. What are you doing home at this time?’ Then, on seeing Joe’s face more closely, she asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s just been announced on the radio. Mussolini has declared war on the Allies. He’s thrown his support behind Hitler.’

‘Joe, why would he do that?’

‘I think Mussolini saw how swiftly Germany overran France and thought that if he waited much longer the war would be over and he’d miss out on a share of the spoils, so he’s joined Hitler. I bet a lot of Italians have no idea what they’re fighting for or why,’ he added.

‘Will this have any effect on the Italian community here?’ wondered Bridie.

‘Who’s to say? I, for one, wouldn’t dream of going back to fight for a dictator. I love this country. It has given me so much, including you. And our sons are Australian. Maybe I should join up and fight for this country.’

‘Don’t be silly, Joe, you’re too old to enlist. And you do so much for the community already,’ said Bridie, struggling to keep the alarm out of her voice.

‘You’re right, I am a bit old to be fighting and the war is a long way from here. Let’s just keep doing what we do best,’ said Joe, giving her a kiss.

Life continued in its normal routine at Whitby Point, but there was a lot of discussion about whether to enlist or not.

‘I’m not sure I’ll enlist. I have no desire to kill other people’s sons,’ the baker told Bridie.

‘Well, my son’s joined up,’ said one of his customers. ‘He thinks that we should fight for England.’

Patrick, Carlo and Ricardo were all wrapped up in news of the war, listening to the radio, exchanging stories with friends, each reacting in his own way. There was a lot of bravado and talk of bombs and aeroplanes and destroyers, and scorekeeping as to which side had destroyed more than the other. Ricardo put up a map of Europe on his bedroom wall and plotted the German advance using drawing pins. But Pietro told them all that war was stupid and refused to take part in their discussions. He announced that he’d joined the local theatre company, to get away from the incessant talk of war at home, he said.

Bridie encouraged Pietro, although Joe was uncertain that he wanted his son on the stage.

When the theatre company put on a show, Pietro had a part, singing in the chorus. He asked Bridie to help him rehearse his dance steps and he talked his grandmother into making his costume. He persuaded Emilia to add some extra finishing touches to it, including a feather in his beret, saying that he wanted his costume to have panache.

Bridie insisted that all the family go and see Pietro’s show. Ricardo and Patrick enjoyed themselves, Carlo made jokes about it, Emilia was scandalised by the amount of makeup Pietro wore on stage and Joe remained entirely non-committal. Pietro told them all that being involved in the theatre, even a small amateur production, was the greatest fun he had ever had, and he could hardly wait until he had another chance to perform.

A few weeks later, Bridie had to travel to Sydney to see the dentist as she was not very happy with the one in Wollongong and she knew that her teeth needed attention. She spoke to Joe and Patrick about her plans one morning.