“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. 🖤📸
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.
Zoë Boccabella 