Anghiari si racconta

I was born in 1937 at Villa Miravalle, which was built in 1908 in the English style, in stone and with big windows, by Sir Alan Verrel, an Englishman who also had a house in Florence. He lived here, in Italy, with his wife and sister for maybe 15 years, then he went back to England. My grandfather bought the house in 1920 for 28000 lire; he had to sell his house and some land and got himself into some financial difficulties. It was a beautiful house and I spent the most beautiful years of my life there.

When we were young, we were devils, 6 boys and 2 girls, fierce young girls, we fought all the time. We had 3-5 servants, and I did nothing, I was a bum, interested only in hunting. I was a fanatic, I hunted until 2001, when my grandchild was born: they gave me this baby to hold and I said to myself ‘Now it is enough’.

The years at Villa Miravalle were wonderful, but there were also dramatic moments. When the Germans arrived, they occupied the house. There were terrible battles near Montedoglio, against the Allied forces, mainly Indians. The Germans left Anghiari on the 29th of July, and the English occupied the house and used it as a field hospital. We had to move to the servants’ floor, the second floor, and from there we could see the arrival of the injured. I remember Jim, who spoke Italian, who had lots of bullets in his stomach and was put on top of the grand piano, which was used as an operating table. This soldier took my hand while smoking a cigarette, but they left him to die without doing anything, and sent me away … tragic moments. Later we could move back into our house, and in that period my grandmother died. It was the 30th December, Anghiari was buried, suffocating, under a metre of snow and we didn’t know how to take her to the cemetery. At that point the Polish troops were also here and they wanted to have a party with the English, but, when my grandmother died, they cancelled it. I had a bad experience with an English soldier who molested me, but the officials were impeccable – they kissed my mother’s hand, invited us for 5 o’clock tea, they were really polite.

It was only when I started to go to kindergarten that I went into the village because Villa Miravalle was on a hectare of land, surrounded by a wall, and we were a bit cut off from the town. The villa was 300 metres from the village, next to the Propositura church, but it was a hortus conclusus – we didn’t mix till when they took us to kindergarten, where the contact with the other kids wasn’t so good. People were starving in Anghiari, they didn’t say ‘Buongiorno’, but ‘Have you eaten?’. I came from a rich family, I had food in my lunch box so sometimes my teacher, Linda, took some from me to give to someone who didn’t have anything to eat. I was 4, I didn’t like that. These kids couldn’t wait to come to our home – we all had our favourite friend, and at 4-5 o’ clock in the afternoon, my mum or one of the servants would bring out snacks and fruit juices, and these kids ate what for us was merenda, a snack, but for them perhaps was dinner. So, even now, it is difficult to forget that I was a ‘signorino’, a privileged kid. When we moved out of the Villa, it was the end of that era.

The time came when we had to tighten our belts – in 1960 my father died. It was the last death in the Villa. He left a lot of debts, the company wasn’t doing well anymore. We used to use wool from the sheep around the area for our textiles – everybody had 6-10 sheep; and we also imported cotton. The women had primitive old wooden looms and made bedding, sheets. We produced less refined material than nowadays, more suitable for the clients of those times, but the world was changing, the first supermarket opened and people went there to shop. So, ours became a niche product, for people with taste and money.

At the time that my father died I was studying at the University in Florence. I should have graduated in Arts, I really liked Latin and Italian literature, and I was good in those subjects, but I couldn’t stay out of the family situation anymore. I was the eldest, I felt the weight of those debts, and so I found a job as a switchboard operator in Florence.

We moved out of Villa Miravalle in 1962, when my mother, who owned Busatti, and her sister split the estate. My mother inherited the company and auntie Peppina, (who had married a very rich man from the Nardi agricultural machinery company) had the house, which she then sold. We moved to the apartment above the company – it was a dramatic moment, because the privileged period of our life had finished. We came down this road [that runs through Anghiari, down the hill across the Tiber valley] many times, with the few pieces of furniture they left us, and the people from the windows were saying ‘Poveretti, poveretti’, poor people, but perhaps some also thought that we deserved it ….

It was difficult for me to adjust to work in the phone company, but after a while I got along well, and the fact that I found love helped. I never loved the city though. Perhaps because I was taken to a hospital in Florence when I was 2 – I had polio. And then my uncle took me back there in ’45 and I got lost while he stopped for a chat. I was 7, I remember I was looking for them, I went to the station and then I found them, and he took me and my little brother to Panzano for a month’s holiday, then I went back to Anghiari.

I first saw Fiorenza in July when I had just returned to Florence from the summer holidays in Anghiari. Even if there were many gorgeous girls working in the company, I was struck by her because she came into the office with … with confidence. Then I started a manoeuvre of approach, very cautiously, because the Florentines are famous for having the gift of the gab – they can defend themselves very well. She enrolled in the French course, a language I spoke very well, but I enrolled too to get the chance to be with this woman I had set my eyes on.

We got married here, in a church in Sigliano. My mother had 2 uncles and 2 cousins who were priests and there was also a bishop in the family, so we were very conditioned by religion, a sentiment nobody but me has succeeded in passing onto the children. My daughters and their husbands are not zealots, but they don’t miss a mass; even my grandchildren who live in Mugello are very friendly with the priest. They are 14,18 – at that age normally kids fly away from the nest, but, on the contrary, they are connected with the parish, help the old priest, who is 80 and needs a hand.

We lived in Florence until ’94, when I retired from the phone company, where I was the assistant of the head of the office at the end of my career. I came back to Anghiari. At the beginning I worked for my brother Nanni, Giovanni, as an administrator in the company, then I retired. Coming back to Anghiari for me, after 35 years, meant rediscovering family relationships, sometimes complicated. I am not saying that Anghiari is the navel of the world, the most beautiful village, but I was born here, I rebuilt my friendships. Most days I go to the piazza del Popolo where there is a small bar that opens only from springtime – I meet my brothers there, Giovanni and Francesco, we chat a bit….

I still have good acquaintances, former school friends who are still alive, people with whom I shared first experiences. When we were young, there were no cars or bikes, so we had to spend time together. I was a scout, we went camping… one establishes relationships that, even if watered down, last throughout life.

We’ve had the house here at the Spicchi, where we live now, since ’73. I like living in the countryside because the village is a bit suffocating. Now that Elisa and Daniele have come to stay the synergies have changed. But my daily routines are much the same. I work in the vegetable patch. Late in life I learnt from a friend I went hunting with, a farmer, how to make cheese, milk goats and sheep, and help them when they have difficulties giving birth. I used to keep chooks and pigeons, but I’ve had to discontinue that since Daniele can’t stand the sight of bones, and I just have some hens for eggs now. I am a boring pensioner. From time to time my wife wants to go travelling – she is more active. I wouldn’t move from here if possible … every fortnight I do take her back to her home in Florence though. For me it is enough to have someone say to me ‘Buongiorno’, and I miss that in the city, nobody I meet says hallo to me … I’m not happy there.

I wrote a book for the family – it is boring to read if you are not part of the family … in fact my grandchildren haven’t read it. The Busatti company has published a calendar every year and Giovanni asked me to write poems for these, because I am good at it, I even won a prize. I’m rather lazy though – I read very little, unlike my wife, who is a good reader. She doesn’t show off, but she is a person who likes humanity. I, humanity… I will say it in Latin ‘Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo’ – ‘I hate the unholy rabble and keep them at a distance’ – I’m a little like this.

Regarding a sense of community, there have been moments of great joy and sadness that have united the village, like on 18th August ’44 when a mine, left by the Germans, exploded and 15 people were killed. I was 70-80 metres away, there was an enormous roar, people were buried, all the villagers ran to free them, and some were brought out alive. Also, other moments of sharing, when prisoners from Russia came back, 6-7 years later, the village was quiet and then an explosion of shouting, of joy, and the whole town gathered to cheer this prisoner, clothes in tatters, skinny, who came back after months, sometimes years, and all participated. Once a Vespa was stolen and the whole of Anghiari contributed to buy a new one, it was in 1955 ….

The church is a centre for the community, at least in part. There was a big celebration when don Marco, our priest, became bishop – he had a practical sense, he had to supervise 36 churches… protect them from thieves…. For the celebrations of the Ascension in a few weeks’ time, there will be a party at Il Carmine. It is a farmers’ party, traditional, like in the old times, all the women cook, there is a small lottery.

I’ve had a good life. I feel a bit lonely because many people have died. But I have my brothers and sisters and fortunately we are all still alive, and so, with them, I share my feelings, traditions, affections….