It was a hot end of April yesterday. Too hot to spend much time in Lucca after a medical check-up (at Le Barbantine clinic, this time). So we headed up toward the Pizzorne plateau, a favourite area for Lucchesi to cool off during the summer. The views over the Lucca plain and beyond are superb there although already some heat haze was making the panorama a little less distinct.

We stopped at the sweet little town of Villa Basilica with its gorgeous Romanesque Pieve, one of the finest religious buildings in the whole Lucchesia. It always amazes me how a small mountain settlement could have been the seat for such a superb church with its barley-twist columns on the facade and its superb Berlinghieri crucifix in the interior.

I have already written on the Pieve so I won’t dwell on its beauties here but simply refer to my post on the church at https://longoio.wordpress.com/2013/05/30/noble-villa-basilica/

Sadly, in the square in front of the Pieve I came across this plaque commemorating a horrific massacre of ten locals as a result of a load of iron pieces dropped purposefully (?) by a warplane flying over the village in 1944.

Despite the Second World War, Villa Basilica continued to lead a normal sort of life. It was getting dark and about 9 pm the town’s inhabitants were having their customary end of day ‘passeggiata’ (walk) in search of some cooler air during the very hot summer of 1944.  The town had to be darkened due to the blackout regulations which were carried out either by simply closing the window shutters or by affixing special sheets of black-coloured paper produced in a local factory onto the glass. Suddenly, the roar of an airplane flying over the town was heard. It was not the first time that a plane made that flight since on previous nights this sound had been heard when British or American planes were carrying out reconnaissance trips in the area.

That evening, however, the aircraft did not turn away but launched its load of death over the country. They weren’t bombs but large pieces of iron built purposefully to kill… Several lumps fell in the corner of the square, where a large number of people had gathered that evening: a religious service had recently ended in the church. The metal massacred a horse pulling a fruit and vegetable cart and parked for unloading on one side of the square. This horse became the unwitting hero of the tragedy because its body served as a shield protecting other potential victims. But a massacre had nevertheless been accomplished. At first panic prevailed and there was a general stampede to find shelter. Some fled to safer places, outside the town centre, but others ran to the square, imagining that something very serious had happened. Indeed, a heart-rending scene presented itself to their eyes. People never forgot what they saw and heard. On the ground, in the corner of the square next to the church, lay a dozen horribly mutilated bodies. A combined funeral could not be carried out so as to avoid public assemblies which could be mistaken for troops on the move so the bodies were brought to the cemetery on two separate journeys accompanied only by the parish priest and some family members. These are the names and ages of the victims:

– BERNARDI OGARITA, 30, and her daughter PERINI MARIA JOSE’, 5
– CALAMARI TEODORA, 48
– CIUCCI ROMOLO, 67
– LANFRI TECLA, 18
– MAZZOLINI ATTILIA, 14
– PASQUINI FRANCESCA, 18
– RENIERI ILIANA, 14
– SCARDIGLIA PIERO, 8
– TISMETTI LILIAN 18.

The account by Don Francesco Martini, parish priest of Villa Basilica, describes the massacre of 1 July and the period immediately preceding it:

“The war is at the gates of our town. The news that the retreating Germans would resist on the Gothic line, not far from Villa Basilica, and that, therefore, our country too would become the theatre of operations caused consternation in everyone. “What will happen to my church and parishioners? ” I thought, and was so sad! We increased our prayers and sincerely trusted in the Lord. From time to time the wind carried the roar of the cannons from afar. The country was full of displaced (sfollati) people from Livorno, Florence and Lucca,poor dejected, tired refugee without homes or any possessions. They had lost everything. They joined us in prayer and crowded our Church. I organized a pilgrimage to the Madonna delle Grazie, in the Oratory of the Cathedral. Everyone went there! We were more than one thousand. It was a moving demonstration of faith and pain. We all prayed wholeheartedly and with great devotion. The days went by and planes passed continuously above us with their deadly cargo destined to cause misfortunes everywhere. But the horrible and terrible device of death was not prevented! It was July 1, 1944 around 10 pm when the tragedy happened. Ten innocent victims! What agony! It was Saturday; I was still in the church to confess. People outside did not foresee what happened at all. Nobody expected it! Nobody! It was so sudden. An engine roar and more deafening crashes. The Confessional trembled, tossing me, the windows of the Church all shattered and some women fainted. There were no deaths in the church. I ran out. The most terrifying sight presented itself before my eyes. A large piece of iron had fallen onto the corner of the square. Eight dead, one next to the other, some of them completely mangled. We composed the bodies as best we could and took them to their homes. The agony of family members was unbearable. There were also some wounded, three very seriously. Fortunately, Mr. Cantoni’s funeral director’s car was at Villa Basilica, as he too was displaced here. They were immediately taken to the hospital. Two died and one recovered. In all ten dead. A terrible toll! An 8-year-old boy and a 4-year-old girl, four girls from 15 to 18 years old, one of 12, a wife, mother of the dead child, 30 years old, one of 45 and an old man.

Here are the Earth’s great ones! Here are their accomplishments! Here is War! Here is barbarism! The following evening (Sunday) we had the funerals to the cemetery in two lots and without a procession to avoid having assemblies visible from overhead planes”.

I have not been able to find out the reason for a plane to drop large iron fragments onto a small defenceless town without any reason whatsoever. I do know that the Germans and Axis forces had no air force aiding them in the area so the aircraft clearly belonged to the Allied forces. The nearby oratory, a little outside the centre of Villa Basilica, has a placidly beautiful interior with a plaque commemorating the incident. It describes a ‘velivolo misterioso’ (mysterious aircraft) as having been the bearer of the destruction. (Was it really that mysterious to those in the know?) More factually the later plaque in the town square firmly places the blame on an allied aircraft.

But why? Such is the absurdity, the folly, the tragedy and the pity of war. And now we, as humans and as Europeans, have to witness this horrible irrationality again in our continent just when we thought we would never have to experience anything like this again because (presumably) the lesson had apparently been learnt…..

Our garden is becoming a real treat in the fullness of the Luccan springtime. The orto, especially, is starting to flourish under Sandra’s guiding hands. Already a variety of lettuces are savouring our lunchtime salads. And even agretti have been planted successfully. As they say the answer lies in the soil and this soil is so beautifully darkly rich, fed with the transformation of centuries of chestnut leaves.

Our fruit trees have emerged from their winter barrenness into fruitful foliage. I can’t wait to get my teeth into those ripened pears!

Yesterday we planted the azalea we got from Mrs Garibaldi’s nursery.

Our house borders are now coloured by a variety of dazzling flowers.

The wall lining the entrance area is now host, among other plants, to the jasmines we transplanted from our former abode.

Amazingly the ancient vines which seemed so dead have sprung back into life to join company with our new Black Hamburg arrivals.

All-in-all we are so happy with the way that our garden is taking shape and merging nicely with the constantly amazing floral surprises springing upon us and with the plants we have managed to bring across to our sweet new house. Even the still uncut lawn with its reams of clover is looking luscious:

Yesterday we came across Saint Zita three times on the day the city of Lucca dedicates to her.

The first occasion was at the flower fair held in the square on the site of the Roman amphitheatre.

What better idea to have a flower fair than on Saint Zita’s day! After two years’ absence because of the wretched pandemic it was wonderful to again be able to spend a colourful afternoon in and around Amphitheatre square in Lucca admiring the displays and buying some fine blooms for our new garden including a Citronella to replace the one we left behind at Longoio and a Sundaville to replace one of the five we inherited in our new place but which, alas, had not outlasted the winter.

The second occasion of meeting one of Lucca’s favourite saints was in the great basilica of San Frediano where Zita’s body had been hauled out of her side-chapel and placed on display in the main nave. Her devotees bought some white flowers from a desk to the right, touching them against the glass containing her mummified body and a verger gave us a commemorative immaginetta.

Santa Zita, patron saint of that increasingly rare species, the domestic servant (and, perhaps more usefully for most of us to be invoked for help in finding lost keys, thus avoiding that boring dialogue: “You’ve got the car keys”. “No, I haven’t!” “Yes you have.”  etc.) was a poor peasant girl born near Monsagrato (where there is a chapel dedicated to her, visited a few years back when it was being painstakingly restored) who was taken into employment by a rich family as a scullery maid. Through plain hard work she became principal housekeeper (St Zita believed that a hard graft rather than prayer was the way to produce results – which I would certainly not disagree with!). She was generous to the poor and needy and on one occasion was accused of having stolen bread to give to them. Zita was strip-searched but instead of the stolen goods they found beautiful flowers in her apron pockets (hence the appositeness of having that blooming fair on her day).

St Zita should also be patron saint of those who, like me, use bread-making machines since on one occasion she had to leave kneading the morning loaf to visit a sick relative.  Her fellow servants went into the kitchen and found a host of angels baking the bread instead! These and other miracles are depicted in large canvases on the walls of the chapel dedicated to her. I should add that although an uncorrupted body is regarded as a sign of sainthood a beautiful appearance is not: gazing on the saint’s mummified face I was reminded of that unflattering Luccan expression “E’ brutta come Santa Zita (“She’s as ugly as Saint Zita” which could more idiomatically be translated as “she’s as ugly as sin!”)

The third occasion of meeting up with the bread-transforming saint was in the Casa di Cura (rest home and clinic) named after Santa Zita where I had a medical appointment. Founded by the nuns devoted to the Saint the monastery has a lovely garden complete with banana trees. (Photos by Sandra).

After our ‘Saint Zita Day’ we left the wonderful walled city.

On our way out we passed a palazzo with strange grotesque window surrounds which were also photographed by Sandra .

Stopping just outside Borgo a Mozzano we topped our floral shopping spree with a vivid Azalea from Mrs Garibaldi’s nursery.

A fun way to learn numbers in Italian is to take part in a game of ‘Tombola’. Better known in the UK as ‘Bingo’ and in India as ‘Tambola’ the game was first played in Naples in the eighteenth century. Last weekend in the parish hall of Fornoli church we attended a ‘Tombolata’ – the first in two years because of the pandemic restrictions – which was very well attended. One paid one’s subscriptions to the local ‘Mammalucco’ club and then collected one or more sheets of five cards displaying the numbers from 1 to 90. When the numbers were called out by the game-master (who was regularly encouraged to ‘rumare’ – a local term meaning ‘stir’ or shake the numbers bag) they were marked on our cards with sweet corn seeds.

Sandra and I were both lucky to be the first in one session to get a ‘Cinquina’ – a row of five numbers across – and although we never actual achieved a full house or ‘Tombola’ we did received prizes in the form of chocolate bars and pots of jam.

Other tombola terms used are:

• Ambo – 2 numbers on a single horizontal row.
• Terno – 3 numbers on a single horizontal row.
• Quaterna – 4 numbers on a single horizontal row.
• Cinquina – 5 numbers on a single horizontal row.
• Tombola – the whole card has been filled.

Our afternoon at Fornoli’s parish hall was a very convivial occasion and by no means restricted to the chronologically challenged. Opposite me for example, was one of the candidates for the forthcoming local council elections – an interesting encounter.

At the end of the pleasant afternoon , in the warm surroundings of the hall heated by a mammoth stove of veteran charm we were treated to a ‘rinfresco’ of pizzette, sandwiches and a variety of the most delicious cakes, all washed down with drinks soft and otherwise.  

Stepping out of the parish hall we were greeted by rays of sunshine, so welcome after a day where the weather was unrepentantly wet and miserable.

PS For those with poorer Italian language skills the numbers drawn were shown on an illuminated board seen in this photo:

A word of warning was given by indefatigable local organizer and journalist Marco Nicoli, however: some of the numbers could not be shown because they had fused!

So sad we won’t be able to share this lovely event this year. Here’s our account of it in 2018, however.

Our Lucca Marathon for 2018

Trust it that when the finer weather is supposed to be promised it starts raining! Today, although the temperature is definitely mild, hovering between 15 and 20 degrees centigrade, the atmosphere is particular misty and murky with a persistent drizzle. However, this is Easter week and, with Christ’s Resurrection, one trusts the spring will return to its promised brightness. Meanwhile our garden is enjoying a welcome natural watering and we are also relishing a respite from the hose we’ve had to use since January.

How was our Easter lunch? And how was yours? Here in our sweet new Apennine cottage Sandra prepared a delicious cornucopia of things including antipasto with biroldo (brownish-red, soft-textured Tuscan blood sausage about 4 inches wide made from parts of the pig, offal such as heart, lungs and tongue, that wouldn’t be used for other sausages), olive taggiasche paste and sopressata (an Italian sausage made from a mixture of coarsely ground or chopped lean and fatty pork that is typically seasoned with hot chili peppers or peppercorns):

This was followed by lasagne baked marvellously in our cucina economica:

The second course was agretti (saltwort – lucky to find them as their season is now almost over) mashed potatoes and a token piece of lamb. I say token because traditionally Italians must have their ‘agnello’ (lamb) for Easter but for many of us the thought of digging into a force-fed prematurely killed sweet little animal isn’t too appetizing.

Dessert was, of course, headed by ‘la Colomba’ the traditional Easter cake baked in the form of a peace-bringing dove. Sandra contributed her own delicious version of Tiramisù. My chocolate cake somehow fell flat but, as a suet pudding tasting concoction was still acceptable fare – if we had any room left in our stomachs. And, naturally there was the chocolate Easter egg:

To ‘smaltire’ (digest) our lunch we headed for the surrounding woods joined by our cats who had fun climbing up trees while and enjoyed a ‘scampagnata’ or ramble in the wonderful nature which surrounds us.

As Pope Francis sadly reminded us this Easter which should be a time of peace and love and hope is still so wretchedly stained by the obscenity of war in our own continent. No Easter truce had been accepted by the muscovite thugs and sadly there will not even be a truce for the Eastern Orthodox Easter.

This week has also given us the opportunity of inaugurating our barbecue and Sandra produced some very tasty ‘spiedini’ (skewers) for our delectation. Let us hope that a time will come when fire will again be principally thought of not as the bringer of destruction but as ‘Fratello fuoco, attraverso il quale illumini la notte. È bello, giocondo, robusto e forte.(Brother Fire, through whom you light up the night. He is handsome, playful, sturdy and strong)!

Easter Monday is the second day of the Easter season. In Italy it’s known as Pasquetta (‘Little Easter’) or ‘Lunedì dell’Angelo’ (Monday of the Angel). The name derives from the fact that on this day an angel appeared before those women who arrived at the tomb where Jesus had been buried after his crucifixion but which they now found empty.  

In Italy it’s a time to traditionally get out to the country or the seaside and have a picnic or a swim. The weather is certainly lovely today but we’re not going very far. In fact, we’re staying in our garden and perhaps do a bit of work on our vegetable patch which we’ve reclaimed from the forest. The patch has had to be surrounded by fencing since all around it the soil has been uprooted by marauding boars which are becoming ever sprightlier in the Apennine forests. Indeed, one of the main benefits of hunting, as hunters like to emphasise when the season starts in autumn, is that they help to keep the tusked population down.

Hopefully we’ll soon be able to rely more and more for vegetables on our allotment which has been started up thanks to Sandra’s devoted planting. Here are a few pics of what’s on offer at present. Recognize the onions tomatoes, strawberries, shard, celery, lettuces, courgettes and beet anyone?

Buona Pasqua / Happy Easter!

EASTER

What’s Easter but resurging earth

beyond dark season’s blight;

reliving flesh, unseeding birth,

the new day over night.

*

Soil’s primal violence, cracking roots,

holds shaking of the skies,

tumescence of fresh shoots,

inconsolable eyes.

*

And must they fall upon this day

that ripped the veil in two?

And shall world’s peace still yet betray

and ever war be through?

*

The people weep when they might joy

at life anew refound;

could love reform what hates destroy

as Christ rose from the ground?

*

Sins fall like bombs upon the heart

and tear away its breath:

where is the strength, so far apart,

to conquer living death?

*(Trad.):

PASQUA

Cos’è la Pasqua se non la terra che risorge

oltre la peronospora della stagione oscura;

carne viva, nascita senza semi,

il nuovo giorno nella notte.

*

La violenza primordiale del suolo, le radici spezzate,

tiene tremore dei cieli,

tumescenza di germogli freschi,

occhi inconsolabili.

*

E devono cadere in questo giorno

che ha squarciato il velo in due?

E la pace del mondo tradirà ancora

e mai la guerra sarà finita?

*

Le persone piangono quando potrebbero gioire

alla vita di nuovo ritrovata;

potrebbe l’amare riformare ciò che l’odio distrugge

come Cristo è risorto da terra?

*

I peccati cadono come bombe sul cuore

e strappagli il respiro:

dov’è la forza, così distante,

per vincere la morte vivente?

Lucca is said to be the city of a hundred churches and indeed, if one takes in the inimmediate hinterland it probably has even more than that number. One church I had never entered into but passed many times as it’s on the main route from Porta Elisa to the cathedral is that of Santa Maria Forisportam and the reason why I’d never visited it before was that its blazingly white facade  always seemed to have doors firmly closed. ‘Forisportam’ is Latin for ‘outside the gate’ and refers to the fact that Santa Maria is located outside the line of the ancient Roman walls (but still within the later walls which now surround Lucca and are its hallmark feature since the sixteenth century). The church is also known as Santa Maria Bianca to distinguish its gleaming marble facade from Santa Maria Nera, that glory of the baroque which I have mentioned in my post at https://longoio.wordpress.com/tag/santa-maria-corteorlandini/).

I finally managed to enter into Santa Maria Forisportam on Good Friday as a performance of Pergolesi’s ‘Stabat Mater’ was to be held there. I stepped into a wonderful Romanesque church in classic Luccan style with some surprising rich treasures in its baroque altars. Of particular interest were two Guercino paintings. Giovanni Francesco Barbieri (1591 – 1666), better known as Guercino, was an Italian Baroque painter and draftsman from Cento in the Emilia region. One of art critic Vittorio Sgarbi’s favourite painters Guercino is particularly well-known for his sensual brush-strokes and rapid, almost calligraphic technique. For an art gallery outside Italy to have a Guercino among its collection would be a supreme prize. Here two masterpieces lie languishing in a neglected church in Lucca.

The first is the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, dating from 1643 and commissioned by the Mazzarosa family to adorn the family chapel. Here Mary turns her face into the divine light and ascends among celestial clouds while Saints Alexander and Francis look on.

The other Guercino dates from 1642 and represents Saint Lucy holding a plate on which her eyes, gouged out at her execution in 304, are placed.

The Romanesque origin of Santa Maria Bianca comes to the fore in its stunning façade sculptures so rich in arcane symbolism.

And the concert? In this beautiful church Pergolesi’s ‘Stabat Mater’, his masterpiece composed virtually on his death-bed, was lovingly performed by the Animando ensemble conducted by Stefano Teani with Ilaria Casai (soprano) and Magdalena Urbanowicz (contralto). Modern instruments were used yet young but magisterial Teani managed to produce a beautifully finished historically informed performance. The two singers were particularly well-matched with a minimum of vibrato and interestingly contrasting performance style: Casai almost laid back in her placid countenance and Urbanowicz rather more dramatically involved in her delivery.

The concert was a double-first for me. First time in the church of Santa Maria Bianca and first time at a live performance of Pergolesi’s ‘Stabat Mater’ – a piece of music I had previously only admired from recordings of it which included that early one with Kathleen Ferrier, still incredibly moving.

Stepping out from sublime music into the still very warm late spring sunshine of Lucca was a perfect denouement. The wisteria pergola of the convent of San Francesco was particularly mind-blowing.

Again I felt what a beautiful world we live in and how anyone could spoil it and bring such death and destruction? It was indeed humanity’s ultimate Christian quandary expressed in that sublime poem by Jacopone da Todi and exquisitely set to music by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi.

One thing that I do miss in Italy over Easter is a local performance of a Bach Passion – the most appropriate Holy Week music to listen to. For many years when living in London we used to attend Bach Passion performances in the church of Saint George, Hanover Square, the church where my dad was christened. The Saint Matthew Passion would take up a whole afternoon with a short interval and we listened intently to these marvellous renderings of perhaps the greatest Christian piece of music ever written.

If we had not been thinking so much about putting things straight in our new house we could have attended a performance of Bach’s Saint John Passion in the cathedral of Milan. However, all is not lost as thanks to the incandescence of the internet we can catch what will undoubtedly be a fabulous rendering of this masterwork on https://www.duomomilano.it/en/.

I did attend a performance of the Saint John Passion in Florence some years ago – an occasion never to be forgotten for some fine singing and, of course, the setting of the church of San Felice located on the south bank of the River Arno, just west of the Pitti Palace. Predominantly Gothic, it has a Renaissance façade by Michelozzo and a crucifix attributed to Giotto.

This year I’m resigning myself to a version of the Saint John given by the brilliant Netherlands Bach society and available on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMf9XDQBAaI

The Saint John Passion is half as long in length as the more famous Saint Matthew and unlike the latter was revised several times since its first performance in Leipzig in 1724. The version we hear today dates from the 1740s.

From the opening chorus with its biting suspensions and menacingly throbbing bass line the Saint John Passion for me seems ‘wilder’ than Bach’s Saint Matthew Passion. The action moves more quickly and the impact is consequently more concentrated, However, by the time the last chorus is intoned all is calm and all passion spent.  The words Ruht wohl, ihr heiligen Gebeine truly reflect this resignation (‘Rest well holy bones’).  

Anyway if not a Bach Passion I’m hoping to attend another great work designed for this Christian liturgical time of year, Pergolesi’s ‘Stabat Mater’, written practically on the composer’s death-bed at the age of just 26 and to be performed at Lucca’s church of Santa Maria Forisportam tomorrow, Good Friday.

Clearly in all cases this Good Friday will have the added poignancy of pointing towards the utter obscenity of pharisaic despotism in another part of Europe. It is so utterly unbearable that we should have to witness the crucifixion of the Saviour reflected in the thousands of largely civilian dead now littering the besieged towns and battlefields of Ukraine – which name, ‘Ukraine’, incidentally means ‘borderland’ and, as such, like other borderlands (just think of the Scottish borders) has been fought over by so many invaders from the Mongols to the present muscovite neo-tsar.   How could we ever find the strength and munificence of purpose to say, like Jesus on the Cross, ‘forgive them for they know not what they do—‘?

(Our tulips are early this year).