Vale to my great-uncle, Vincenzo, Nanna Francesca’s brother, who she called, Vinchy. Some may recall I wrote about him in my first two books, especially Joe’s Fruit Shop and Milk Bar. To me, he was a quiet, gentle man for whom life was often difficult but he worked hard and was generous in giving lovely gifts with the little he had.
His two great loves in life were photography and ballroom dancing. Vince was such a good dancer he was asked to be an instructor but declined, likely due to his shyness. (He told me he kept a tiny piece of the dance floor from Cloudland after it was tragically demolished.)
I can still see him working hard helping make the bottles of sauce on tomato day, making crostoli with Nanna Francesca in her kitchen, the two of them talking in Italian and sometimes squabbling. (She took over care of him after he’d lost both their parents by the young age of sixteen.) And Vince always helped out on top of his own factory work – whether in the milk bar or building the flats.
In recent years, he’s been living in aged care and it was a pleasure for Roger and me to hear his stories and look at old photos together when we’d visit. (He’s the one I dedicated, The Proxy Bride to.) I’d bring him Italian foods that he missed like his favourite black olives, crostoli and even pasta I made like his Mum used to. (There was never traditional pasta on the nursing home menu!!)
One thing I won’t forget about Vince is his fabulous hair – he was a bit like an ‘Italian Elvis’ in his younger days – and kept his hair into his eighties and it wasn’t even all grey! – perhaps due to Californian Poppy or Old Spice hair cream he used. 🙂 There’s a lovely recollection I have of him being at the beach with us that I put into a paragraph in Mezza Italiana…
“I have treasured memories of swimming in the surf with my father, my grandfather and Nanna Francesca’s younger brother, my great uncle Vincenzo. I’d look across the waves to see the two balding, bobbing heads of my Dad and Nonno Anni and then Vince, whose thick black hair always looked slicked back whether it was from seawater or Californian Poppy. Nanna Francesca stood at the shore, refusing to go more than knee deep, shrieking at me to be careful. Embarrassed, I dived under waves, probably adding to her worry, while Nonno Anni yelled back to her, ‘Lasciala stare!’ This made me even more self-conscious as several freckled Australian faces would look over in surprise to hear a foreign language shouted across the waves.”
It’s funny but back in the early 1980s I’d feel self-conscious about three generations of my Italian family setting up at the beach for the day, yet now I’m really grateful for those times of us all together. So I’ll end here with that memory – with thanks to prozio Vincenzo for his love and kindnesses. 💙 xx
‘Helping Dad’. 😄 (Got to love that 1970s wallpaper. And the Band-Aid on the knee!) Buona festa del papà. 💕 Warmest wishes on this Father’s Day to our fathers and grandfathers present and past, our father figures, those of us who’d hoped to be fathers and all who are caring for and protecting children. Grazie eterni, Dad. 💙 Zoe xx
Bisnonna Francesca… a companion post to the previous on Bisnonno Domenico. Likewise, I didn’t get to meet her yet each photo has a little to reveal and brings the past somewhat closer in that moment. A rare photo, circa 1930 (bottom right) shows Francesca in Palmi, Calabria with her mother, Soccorsa, the baker and her daughter (Nanna Francesca). The three who lived together for years after Domenico was in Australia. And then (top left), just Francesca and her daughter, soon to leave to join him in 1934. She and her mother had worked hard to help raise the ship fares, determined as she was to be reunited.
In his work clothes (top left), one knee patched, behind him his Applethorpe orchards on land he’d hand-cleared, long before he could afford the horse.
My grandpa, Bob and my grandma, Lorna met there in the 1940s when each of them were stationed in Darwin, he in the air force, she in the WNELs (Women’s National Emergency Legion), being among those involved in its clean-up and recovery. These bombings also meant the ramping up of interning Italian ‘aliens’, Nonno Anni being one of those rounded up soon after as a result of what happened in Darwin.
I planted these in the vegie patch to attract bees yet the flowers have taken me straight back to the daisy bushes Nanna Francesca grew in her front garden. She often had us stand in front of those daisy bushes for photos and from the 1950s on, we have decades of family photos taken with the daisies. (I’m guessing I’m not the only one who has old photos taken in front of a certain plant or tree in a family garden over the years!) While those daisies are long gone now, I love how daisies will forever remind me of Nanna Francesca. (I also couldn’t resist including the photo of Bisnonno Vitale watering their front garden back when three generations of the family all lived in the house on Brunswick Street.)
I have this one treasured photo with three generations of the Boccabella men in my life – Dad, Nonno Anni, Bisnonno Vitale (and my zio).
Thank you to great-granny Maddalena who showed me about forbearance, cheekiness, growing vegetables and cooking minestrone and great-grandma Charlotte for her work ethic, kindness, growing gerberas and carnations and baking scones. 
Happy 80th Birthday to my great uncle, Vince. Lovely to celebrate this milestone with him on the weekend. To me, he’s always been a gentle soul and am so glad we’ve stayed close.
…small moments of beauty.
Coming up this street in Fossa always feels like being ‘almost home’ whether returning from nearby L’Aquila or a long flight from Australia. For just around the next corner is my family’s house and while it has centuries of history, to me it also has that comforting feel like coming to stay at your grandparents’ house.
In this photograph of my family’s fruit shop and milk bar in its earlier days, it’s apparent how it began very modestly with my grandparents standing on the footpath in Ann Street selling produce from a ‘hole in the wall’ before they expanded the space to include a milk bar. Visible in the top left is some of the sign that hung over the footpath from around the early 1950s. It was white with ‘milk bar’ in red Perspex letters and lit up at night.
Zoë Boccabella 