Work in progress
Previous | Contents | Next The overnight train took us direct to Florence, where we checked into the Nuova Italia, a nice little hotel on Via Faenza. Heather says the shower was cold but breakfast included. Florence was beautiful, no other word will do, and — surely not — seems serene in retrospect. ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Assisi, and only two days to go before we head home. The six bottles of wine to absorb into my luggage have been making me think about packing, but then the thought arises that I might never see this again — better wait ’til the ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next I know we told Agostino we’re going to Naples and Pompeii, I said, but there’s no need if you’re not up for it. No, Dad wanted to go. Rather than take the Autostrada we headed off down Route 6 again, the Via Casilina. As we ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next We wasted the morning rather disastrously. First we spent ages looking for the Commonwealth War Cemetery — and drove into a kerb while doing so, bending the wheel rim of our poor little car and damaging the plastic hub cap, which fell off. We got ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next In the Hotel bar at breakfast an elderly, vocal little man in jeans was sounding forth exuberantly to a group of Germans and gesturing to Monastery Hill, which we could see through the windows. It was probably his volubility that prompted another German, courtly but ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Next day we were all dressed up for the Commonwealth Service at the Cemetery we had visited previously. I had rung to confirm arrangements beforehand with the New Zealand contingent and we turned up in the maelstrom on time at 9.30. It was crowded with ... Read more
Previous | Contents | We’d managed to lock our keys in the car at the Cemetery. I decided the easiest way to deal with this was to let Avis worry, so we looked out the local office to explain. Two nice young guys were shutting up for lunch. How could ... Read more
Previous | Contents | Next Next morning Dad and I woke weary, worn out before the day could lay a finger on us. Although Olympia had died, Dad still wanted to go and find the Russos’ old house at the foot of Trocchio, where he’d been billeted, and look up ... Read more
Tell the kids also that Dad and I always had a combative relationship, but I’d never been closer to him than this. I can’t remember exactly when we stopped bickering with each other, but this trip was a rather graceless step on the way. Rather graceless on my part, I mean. ... Read more