Life's Treasures

 When you were born I looked at you

So soft and warm and all brand new,

As I smothered you with kisses

I made for you some lovely wishes:-

To enjoy your life right from the start

To be blessed with a big kind heart

Health and happiness, joy in life

And someday a loyal wife,

A sense of humour, a friendly face

Making the world a better place.

Stories to tell, songs to sing

Looking for the good in everything,

Woods to explore, hills to climb

Friends that stand the test of time,

A happy childhood and when you've grown

A lovely family of your own,

As the years go by you give far, far more

Than anything thatI'd wished for,

Haooy birthday to our dear son,

Thank you for making our lives such fun.

We will remember them

The First world war started on 4 th August 1914 in Britain. In Italy it didn't begin until November. Some historians say it was a bonfire waiting to be lit. Others cynically say it was a way of dealing with unemployment. Whatever the reasons were we all know it was horrible for everyone and that the seeds of the Second World war were sown in the Armistice agreement.

We will never know how things would have worked out if it hadn't happened. We will never what that generation could have achieved if they hadn't been destroyed. There are two books by Ken Follett which I think give a moving perspective of what ordinary people suffered . The Fall of the Giants and The World in Winter both follow the lives of families in Britain, Germany, Russia and The United States.

One of the most poignant ways of realising the horrors is to read the poets of the lost generation. Wilfred Owen was born in 1893 in Shropshire, the son of a station- master. By all accounts he had an idyllic childhood. He grew up in a happy family in a beautiful part of the country. After studying at London university he went to Bordeaux to teach English at the Berlitz school and so was in France at the outbreak of the First World War. He enlisted in 1915 and in 1917 was sent to a hospital near Edinburgh to recover from what we now call shellshock . There is a limit to how much suffering and pain the human mind can bear, just like the human body. Wilfred Owen met and befriended  fellow poet Siegfried Sassoon while recovering. There is a book and film called Regeneration about the process of treating shellshock- seen from through the eyes of Siegfried Sassoon who survived the war.

Wilfred Owen was killed a week before the Armistice. 

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing- bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-

The shrill demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,

And each slow dusk a drawing- down of blinds.

Manners maketh man

 One of the nicest things to hear is surely ' would you like to come round for a cup of tea? In Italy 'Vuoi venire da me per un caffè? 

It means you are accepted and your company is enjoyed.  It's a step towards friendship. 

'Make yourself at home' in Italy becomes 'Non fare complimenti.' 

these simple sentences help us along the way to belonging and feeling part of a community.

Tricky Translations

 When I first came to Italy and was trying to get to grips with the language, mainly thanks to my motherin-law, some words caused me problems. One of these was 'furbo'. If you look it up in the dictionary you will find, 'clever, smart, cunning, crafty.' 

If someone says with a smile, 'lui è furbo, or fare cosi è furbo, be careful. Furbo when used to mean clever or smart is more like something my dad would have said, 'Don't be a smart Alec' as a warning to my brother, or 'You think you're such a clever dick' to my poor mum which would have us in fits of laughter. Whatever, it is certainly not a complement.

 

 

 

Rules that become art

In the last forty years the amount of traffic on the roads has increased enormously. 

My dad never took a driving test, he just went up to London, bought a car and drove it home. When the M1 motorway was opened in about 1959 he came home from work and told us to pile in the car, we picked up a neighbour and an auntie on the way and off we went down the M1 at a hundred miles an hour with my Auntie shrieking that the wheels were going to fall off and us rolling around and giggling in the back. Roads were different then. 

Crossing the road however was taken very seriously. Policeman would often come to our school and teach us the Green Cross Code.

'Look right, look left, look right again, if the road is clear quick march.'

We were taught to chant it. It was the start of our survival guide to life. How to cross the road.

We were told about a man called Leslie Hore-Belisha (1893-1957) who had the bright idea- literally- of planting a black and white striped pole topped with a bright orange globe at places where it would be considered safe to cross the road. He had been the Minister of Transport and had this idea in 1934.

The Belisha beacons were melted down to make munitions in 1941 and then reappeared as poles with flashing lights.

The Belisha beacons were placed either side of the zebra crossings so motorists could see well in advance where people might be crossing the road.

The Primary school I went to was beside a very busy road and so crossing the road was considered a dangerous activity. We had a Lollipop lady who was someone's mum and she helped us safely across to the sweet shop on the other side.

When I came to Italy my ability to cross the road was severely tested. There are no Belisha beacons and cars can park jauntily across the zebra crossings, called Strisce Pedonali, or simply 'strisce'.

They don't even have to stop, and actually you can put someone's life in danger if you do stop because the car behind you might not be able to stop and so overtake you.

The Pedestrian crossing is really just a suggestion as a place to cross.

Remember to Look Left, then right then Left again because of course in Italy cars drive on the right.

In England you just have to stop and turn towards the Zebra crossing and cars screech to a halt, you want to bow and curtsey as you make your way across the road. 

In England crossing the road has rules, in Italy it is an art.

Once outside Buckingham Palace with an Italian friend of mine, on a very cold Winter day with nobody around. We pressed the request button to cross the road. After awhile as there was not a car in sight we decided to cross the road even though it was still red. No sooner than we had arrived on the other side that there was a loud whooshy whizzy noise as loads of cars came speeding round the corner only to have to stop at the Pedestrian crossing and find nobody waiting,  so feeling embarrassed we crossed back again.

Take care on the roads wherever you are.

 

Bilingual Hearts

 

In Italy it is common to refer to the British Isles, Great Britain , the United Kingdom as Inghillterra. Literally of course Inghilterra is England. Great Britain would be Gran Bretagne, the United Kingdom - il Regno Unito, Le isole Britanniche- the British Isles. Inghilterra is an all embracing term for all of these names, not just England. That's the way it is, it's not offensive to the Scots, Welsh and Irish, not at all.

Sometimes the people living on the British Isles are referred to as Anglo-Sassone, the Anglo Saxons, or the British -i Britannici. 

It's the same in France, Les anglaises are the British, not just the English.  Scots people might loudly protest, 'Je suis Ecosse', not wanting to be called anglais, which is right , because they're not, they're Scottish. In Italia they are the Scozzese.

If you go to settle in a country which is not the one where you were born, not the one where your mum and dad live, not the one where they speak the language that you grew up speaking, for whatever reason, you will inevitably be asked, 'where are you from?' so here I am, I am English, from England, from the British Isles. Born in Britain where one of the first jokes I heard was,

'A Scotsman, an Englishman and a Welshman were looking at a cow in a field. The Englishman says 'That's an English cow'. The Welshman says 'that's a Welsh cow.' The Scotsman says 'That's a scottish cow, you can tell by the bagpipes.'

Now though after so many years Italy is my home. Italian is not my first language, it's acquired.  It doesn't come from deep in my heart like English does. It doesn't churn up vivid deep memories of childhood like English does, but I love it, I love the language and the people. I love England and Britain and its people.

I'm going to try and make my blog more bilingual so it will hopefully help and enrich anyone who loves these two countries.

Italy and Britain complement each other. They admire each other in unexpected ways with no envy at all. For example -queueing. Italians watch the way English people queue in awe. Knowing they are not keen on queuing they have a machine with a number, you take the number then you can chat and browse until your number is called. I'll be coming back to that in another post.

For today I will just say how Italy and  Britain complement each other. Shakespeare set quite a few of his plays in Italy.

Romeo and Juliet was a novella written by an Italian called Luigi Da Porto and Shakespeare used the story to give the world the rich language of love.

Romeo and Juliet is set in Verona.

Othello is set in Venice.

Much Ado about Nothing is set in Sicily.

The Merchant of venice is set in.. well Venice.

Two Gentlemen of Verona is set in .. Verona, and is supposedly the first play Shakespeare wrote.

All's well tha ends well is set in Florence

Julius Caesar is set in Rome.

Just to start the ball rolling with a new phase of my Cappuccino and Brioche blog which will have a more bilingual approach. I hope you enjoy reading it and love England and Italy like I do.

Coffee? What's that?

 

My blog is called Cappuccino and brioche because I love cappuccino and brioche, my daughter chose it because she knows how much I love that time of day. My mother called it elevenses because at 11 o clock in the morning we would stop for a coffee break.  That was how I grew up, tea for breakfast, coffee at 11 o clock then tea in the afternoon. The sound of the kettle was music to our ears. We loved it. We usually had instant coffee but as time went by we would have filter coffee or a cafetiere.

Over the years coffee has changed quite a lot in England.  Once when I was having lunch in a pub with my mum, the wiatress came to ask us if we wanted dessert. We both said we would like just coffee. She looked puzzled. There was a silence. She asked us what sort of coffee. We said just coffee. Then we all looked at each other and laughed as she reeled off all the  choices we had:- flat white,latte, cappuccino, americano, espresso, filter and so on.

In Italy a similar thing has happened. Coffee means espresso. If you go into a bar and ask for 'un caffè' you will be given an espresso. Fragrant, dark and warming to be downed in one go and then get on with what you were doing. A shot to the system, a bounce back and a spring in your step.

My weekly treat is a cappuccino and a brioche with a friend. The cappuccino has to be hot to warrant sitting chatting for a respectable length of time. You have to ask to have it hot though , 'un cappuccino molto caldo per favore.' I don't know why but I don't like all the froth on the top so I ask for 'cappuccino molto caldo, senza schiuma, per favore.'

This might be met with an eye roll from the waitress.  

There are lots of different coffees in Italy too now,

un caffè macchiato would be a shot of espresso in a small cup with froth on the top.

A macchiatone would be the same thing but more of it in a larger cup.

An Americano, is coffee with water

Still, many people will ask for 'un caffè' especially men. It's just not macho to ask for a cappuccino, unless it's for breakfast and accompanied by a brioche and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

If you ever travel through Italy and have an early start it is a real delight to stop at an Italian motorway service station and have your 'colazione', breakfast. As you enter the 'autogrill'  you will be met by the tantalizing aroma of Italian coffee and warm brioche and the sight of mounds of bright oranges from Sicily.

Enjoy your coffee everyone today whatever way you like it.

 

Rising to the Occasion

We Brits are known for our inability to graciously accept compliments.

A common reaction to 'you look nice' is 'you must need glasses'. A remark on how pretty is your  pair of earrings will often be answered by 'these cheap old things.'  We can be embarrassed by compliments. The other day a friend of mine showed me a dress she had bought to wear at a wedding. She was worried that it was too much, she didn't want to stand out or upstage the bride. I immediately thought of my little granddaughter and how much I have learned from her about dressing to celebrate, to put your best foot forward. She was about one year old when she first showed us how to do this. Going to a parrty, then put on a party dress. Show the person who invited you that you care, you are rising to the occasion.

When I first came to Italy over forty years ago, we went o someone's house for dinner. The hostess was wearing a pair of old jeans. In those days you couldn't go to some restaurants in jeans. A sign outside saying 'no denim' was quite common. My husband said that in Italy it is polite for the hostess to let her guests be the ones who dress up. I liked this idea. It also made dry cleaning bills less expensive because even when wearing an apron I am able to be quite messy in the kitchen.

My father thought clean shoes were very important when interviewing employees, clean shoes and a clean car.

In English we say'don't judge a book by its cover.' In Italian 'l'abito non fa il monaco,' wearing a habit doesn't make a monk. What we wear shouldn't define us, but often it does. 'Mutton dressed as lamb' was an unkind expression that belongs in the past. 

My favourite expression regards dressing is by Hardy Amis, 'A gentleman spends great care choosing his outfit and putting it on... the forgets about it.'

This goes for ladies too.

All this is prompted by the fact that we are coming out of lockdown and there will be cause for celebration, weddings, parties, friends to visit, let's all rise to the occasion and celebrate.

 

What a Relief

 Childhood memories have a depth to them, a sharp focus, an almost painful range of emotions that involve all senses and can surprise us at unexpected moments with their richness and intensity. The books we read, the films we watched, the friends we made, the music and songs that wound themselves through our childhood days are constantly there comforting and reassuring us of what and who we are.

The changing of the seasons evoke those childhood sensations with an intensity that can be overwhelming

Now that spring is well on the way the violets bring back vivd memories of giving a posy for Mothers Day, the snowdrops memories of the first outings into the countryside after the winter days, the primroses magical carpets of Fairyland, tree trunks with a mossy doorstep for the little folk and the first lessons in the magic of reproduction as frogspawn turns into tadpoles that turn into frogs. 

While I was looking at the frogs leaping with such trust and joy the other day I thought of Jeremy Fisher and Toad of Toad Hall and the Wind in the Willows, a childhood favourite. The story of Moley, Ratty, Badger and Toad took place in the countryside where I grew up, near the banks of the beautiful River Thames. My mum actually made us a bit scared of the river, its dangerous currents, the weeds that could tangle and threaten, the weir, the unexpected eddies, but in the safe bits where we went it was easy to imagine Ratty and Mole and Otter having a picnic and going for tea at Toad Hall. 

The other day I heard that actually Ratty was a Water vole, not a water rat. I suppose he couldn't be called voley because it would strange with Moley, so looking it up Ratty was a water vole, one of the family of the water rat. In the illustrations in the book Ratty looks more like a vole than a rat. What a relief to find that out, what a relief when your childhood memories are left in tact.

 

Wushinh all my readers a very happy spring, look out for the tadpoles and be careful of the frogs and toads.