Tag Archives: Italian migrants

Spaghetti and old photos…

An incredible thing happened recently… I’m working on the next book, in particular, a part of it that’s an update on the internment camp Nonno Anni was in, when out-of-the-blue, I’m contacted by someone whose father was in the same camp. (The secret camp authorities said never existed, though any of us who had family in there know that’s not true.)

For privacy, I won’t say who contacted me but I’m so grateful as she also sent me photos I’ve never seen before from inside the camp, including of ‘Venice Street’ between their tents and also of Nonno Anni!

Then it struck me, here’s Nonno Anni aged nineteen, bottom right in the first photo holding up a forkful of pasta, and two decades on, there’s Dad aged nineteen, same position bottom right, also holding up pasta for a photo. (The same photo that’s on the cover of Mezza Italiana.)

What a difference twenty years after the camp made for Nonno Anni – married, a family, a house, a milk bar and fruit shop. And what a gift to discover more internment camp photos all these years after I wrote about it in, Joe’s Fruit Shop and Milk Bar. (It remains a mystery why or how photos were even taken inside the camp since by 1942 in WW2 cameras were confiscated from Italians in Australia. It seems the guards likely took them.)

Truly, the absolute best thing about writing is hearing from all of you and your own connections with these stories. Thank you. I better get back to work as I’m deep in the next book but I just had to share with you this little bit of ‘serendipity with spaghetti’. 💛

Mezza Italiana

Joe’s Fruit Shop and Milk Bar

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Returning to Italy for the first time since the 1930s…

Part 2 – Il grande viaggio 1975… 50 years since Nanna Francesca and Nonno Anni took their ‘big trip’ overseas.

For this instalment, one photograph stands out – when Nonno Anni returns to Fossa more than three decades after emigrating to Australia. I wrote about this in Joe’s Fruit Shop and Milk Bar, in the chapter ‘Orange Drink – 6d’ and looking at this photograph again now, it takes me right back to sitting at the kitchen table when Nonno Anni handed me this picture and spoke of returning to his beloved Fossa for that first time. I can still smell the brewed coffee, feel the biscuit crumbs on the tablecloth, and see the tears in his eyes…

‘It seemed the entire village came out into the street when we arrived in Fossa,’ Nonno Anni shakes his head, marvelling. And having stood in that lane, I can almost hear the clunking open of shutters and doors, footsteps on stone.

He shows me a photograph of the return – Nonno Anni in his travelling suit, kneeling on the cobblestones surrounded by dozens of villagers clustered around him, many reaching out with a hand on his shoulders, his arms, his back. The emotion in his face is pure. They never forgot him, enveloping him back into their village family. Several decades of poverty, migration, and the war had forever split an entire village. A period short in historical terms but long for those living through it, and everlasting in that there would forever be those who went beyond the mountains and those who stayed encircled by them.

The younger people in the photograph must’ve been thinking, ‘who are these people?’ but it’s clear the older people knew. It’s lovely how they embraced Nanna Francesca also, though she wasn’t from Fossa or Abruzzo. Of course, she too was very keen to see her family house again in Calabria, but that is in the next part of their travels… Buon Viaggio! 💛🌠

Part 1…

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Wild apples – the magic of walks in Italy…

Another look back while it’s pretty quiet here as I work on the next book – this time some old photos of when Roger and I were staying in Fossa while in our twenties. We didn’t have too much money so often in the afternoons we’d simply go for long walks around the village and surrounding hillsides, all the way up to Castle Ocre’s ruins perched on the mountaintop or down along the meandering, quiet lanes to the valley below.

It was glorious, autumn Abruzzo weather, that time of year there’s a hint of coolness to the air but still some of summer’s warmth. On one walk we happened across a couple of old apple trees growing wild by the roadside and, as you can see, they were abundant with fruit. I tied my shirt into a makeshift bag and Roger picked a few apples and passed them to me. (He had to climb a tree at one stage!)

This was before phone cameras and these three shots were it (to conserve film). Ha! (I’m glad the outskirts of Fossa made it into the background above the tree.) When I later got some rolls of film developed in L’Aquila, it was the first time in my life I haven’t had to spell my surname for a shop assistant. It sounds funny but it was such an amazing feeling of belonging in a place you have ties to, even if you weren’t born there, another aspect of Italian-Australian life, I guess! Buona giornata. Zoe x

PS. I didn’t bite into one of those little apples until I’d carried them all the way back to the kitchen of the Fossa house and, well… they certainly were quite tart! 👀😄

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The parties ‘under the house’…

I’ve been ‘hunkered down’ working on the next book but so you still know I’m here, 😊 I thought I’d delve into the old photo box to see what might be nice to share and this one caught my eye. Mainly because of the wattage in Nanna Francesca’s smile. She looks so happy!

This was taken at one of the parties she and Nonno Anni held under their house in Brunswick Street. There’s something beautiful, and poignant, in how those who migrate forge friendships in the new place where they live. These friends becoming like family too when other relatives are far away on the other side the world.

The area under their house was perfect for a row of trestle tables, mismatched and borrowed chairs, the old, second fridge full of drinks, an old stove to cook the pasta and fry steaks. People brought what they could; home-baked biscuits, bottles of beer, a couple of watermelons, flagons of homemade wine, oranges peeled at the table. And there was always music, singing, even a bit of dancing. It didn’t matter if the food wasn’t fancy, the cement garage floor had oil stains from the car (reversed out for the night) or it was among the stumps under the Queenslander, it’s purely about togetherness and joy.

What’s lovely about the couple hugging in this photo is I remember she was an absolute sweetie and he loved her dearly but was usually pretty formal and not one to muck about like this. I think all those in the photo are gone now and it just makes me want to keep preserving as many of their stories and this lovely era as much as I can. 💙✨

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…sulla spiaggia di Palmi, 1950

“Ricordo del 26 July 1950 sulla spiaggia di Palmi – Memory of 26 July 1950 on the beach of Palmi…”

Sent to my grandparents from relatives in Italy during the 1950s, these beautiful photographs with their fleeting, heartfelt messages written on the back say a lot about the sacrifice of migration. Yes, that courage to go to the other side of the world brought much-needed opportunity and prosperity, as well as new friends and family. And yet, there was so much that had to be left behind too, loved ones, ancestral homes no matter how modest, centuries and generations of history and belonging.

To think of the fragility of such photographs criss-crossing the world sent with love and a need to keep family ties strong, well, it both warms my heart and makes it break a little, if I’m honest. These photographs were taken in Palmi, Calabria and Fossa, Abruzzo, Nanna Francesca and Nonno Anni’s birth towns and I wonder how they must have felt when they received them from their loved ones, Vincenzo, Pierina and Luigi.

I know this tradition kept on at least until the 1970s since Nanna would get me, as a child, to pose for photos to send to Italy. Back then, I couldn’t understand why she’d be sending a photo of me to some far-off relatives I’d never met. Now, it is quite amazing and beautiful to think how, for many decades, families between two countries on far sides of the world kept close in this way. 🖤📸

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Epiphany Eve… 🌙

Tonight is Epiphany Eve and in Italy many children will be waiting to see what they receive from La Befana, ‘the witch’ – sweets if they’ve been good, coal if they’ve been naughty. As I wrote in, Mezza Italiana, I was chosen as La Befana for my school play, being ‘an Italian kid’, and as you can see from the first photo, I wasn’t too thrilled about it! 😄 Although, I’d warmed up to the idea by the second photo when I got to climb through a window. (As you can also see, being summer, I’m already a bit burnt from swimming at the local pool!)

“In primary school, the class put on an end of year play. ‘This year we’re doing ‘Christmas Around the World’ to show how different countries celebrate Christmas,’ the teacher announced, eyes shining. As the teacher gave out the parts I chewed my nails praying that what I suspected was about to happen didn’t. ‘And in Italy…’ the teacher declared almost bursting with smiles, ‘…they don’t have Santa Claus, they have a woman.’ Comments and guffaws erupted from the class about it being strange. ‘She’s called Befana who is a bit like a witch bringing lumps of coal to the naughty children and sweets to the good. The part of Befana has been given to… Zoë.’ I didn’t know too many swearwords at that age but I remember the couple I did know popping into my mind, bloody shit.” …from Mezza Italiana.

The thing is, looking back, I’m thrilled that I got picked to play, La Befana and am so glad I did. I wish I could say to the little girl in the first photo, don’t worry, it’s all going to be okay, you don’t need to hide your migrant heritage, one day you’ll even write about it (though of course, I would’ve been horrified at the thought back then!) I guess epiphanies come in all shapes and forms and at different times. Buona Epifania! Auguri della Befana! 🖤 Zoë xx

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Rich blue skies in the Apennines…

View from Fossa.

The torre, Fossa’s oldest structure dating back to the 12th century.

I can’t quite believe it’s twenty-five years since the first time I went to Italy… And those who know Mezza Italiana know that, for me, going to see where my family came from was a trip I took with some trepidation and mixed feelings, and yet it turned out to be incredibly life-changing. Little did I know then, I’d one day write a book about it and that the best thing about that would be connecting with so many of you and discovering how you shared either similar experiences about your ancestry and/or a love for Italy. It still amazes me to think that trip became the start of Mezza Italiana, especially as I wrote about something that I’d kept so close inside for my whole life until then.

Monastery on the outskirts of Fossa… Il Convento di Sant’ Angelo d’Ocre, founded in the 13th century.

Rich blue skies in the middle of the day.

Being twenty-five years on, I decided to dig out the photos I took on that first trip to Fossa in Abruzzo. (Some of them certainly look like they’re that old now!) I also had a modest Pentax camera that took rolls of film so some photos mightn’t be the best or as many as I’d take now on a phone camera, considering the cost to get rolls of films developed on a backpacker’s budget then! Still, it’s lovely to look back, especially to see Nanna Francesca and Nonno Anni next to me on the front steps the day I arrived as well as beautiful Fossa when there was no hint of the earthquake to come more than a decade later. And I still can’t get over the rich blueness of the sky some days up there in the Apennine Mountains! No filters or tricks on these photos, just nature at its most exquisite. Thank you for taking the Mezza Italiana journey with me and for sharing your stories too. Grazie infinite cari amici! Zoe xx

Early morning mist over the mountain with the romance of chimneys, terracotta roofs… and a quite tall tv antenna. 👀

Fossa at dusk. Almost timeless.

 

 

 

 

More photos here

 

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Milk Bar… open 7 days

Thinking of all those volunteering and working over this time when many get to take a break. It still amazes me how my grandparents opened their milk bar and fruit shop 7 days a week from early morning ‘til late at night with only two days a year off – for 20 years straight! And then ‘scaled back’ to 5 days a week for the following years.

Nonno Anni worked for 36 years before his first holiday and Nanna Francesca wasn’t far behind. It makes me feel blessed and so grateful to write for a living, something I dreamed of from when I was 7 and found out the stories that I loved writing could actually be a job.

Thank you for your lovely comments and messages throughout the year. It is always wonderful to hear from you. Fingers crossed I have some book news I can share with you in 2020! In the meantime, whether you are working, volunteering or taking time out over this time, please stay safe and all the very best for the coming year. Tante belle cose! Zoë xx

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Mezza Italiana released in the US!

Mezza Italiana has been released in paperback in the US! With many thanks to HarperCollins 360, Mezza is now available at US bookstores, online or to order in.

So lovely and incredible to think this book that was first written on a kitchen table in Italy has made its way across another ocean! Thank you for embracing it!

Tante belle cose, Zoë xx

 

 

 

 

Mezza Italiana

 

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From blossoms to broccoli…

Came across this photograph of my family’s Applethorpe farm in the 1950s with the orchard in flower and realised when I was there doing research for Mezza and Joe’s, I happened to take a picture from almost the same spot 60 years later.

 

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Festa della Repubblica from afar….

Brisbane’s Victoria Bridge lit in the colours of the Italian flag for Festa della Repubblica – Italy’s national day… if only my grandparents and great-grandparents could see this!

So lovely to have my hometown honour its history of Italian migrants in this gesture. Auguri per Festa della Repubblica to all those with an Italian migrant connection!! xx

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From 6th June, 1946…

Annibale, Francesca and Remo outside shopToday it is 70 years since my Italian grandparents, Nonno Anni and Nanna Francesca signed the lease on premises to start up their fruit shop and milk bar in Australia.

And so began many years when they opened the shop from 7am until 11pm, only the two of them working there (with a baby in tow) and closing just two days a year at Christmas and Easter.

Thinking of them with much gratitude for all their hard work and sacrifice to make it such a success.

 

 

 

 

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a little bit of Italiana…

IMGP3701Anyone with Sicilian connections or who have been to Sicily may recognise this doll in folk costume (right) and the decorated cart, carrello or carrozza…

Came across the display as part of an Italian migrant exhibition at the Commissariat Store Museum in Brisbane.

Along with some bomboniere… (below) familiar to Italian weddings, christenings and communions.

IMGP3697

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Coffee bean harvest…

It’s coffee harvest time again… these we picked from our backyard tree. Then, by hand, R extracted the beans from inside the coffee cherries and the beans are now spread out on wide sieves drying.

Next comes the {lengthy!} husking process followed by the roasting, the grinding, and then the drinking!

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