Legacy of Sorrows (18 page)

The farmhouse came into view and my first reaction on seeing it was sadness at the ruin it had become.

As we walked into the courtyard the video in my head began playing the scene I often saw in my sleeping hours, whilst at the same time I was taking in the fact that there were three white crosses, each with a Star of David, arranged in a straight line in the ground. I slowly walked up to them and with Moreno's help I knelt beside them. I ran my fingers over the three names and the inscription on them which read, ‘
Murdered on the 29th September 1944 by the SS.
'

Tears ran down my face as I quietly sobbed at the memory of these three wonderful people. Moreno helped me to my feet as I slowly walked back to the car. I had seen enough there.

I could hear Maria's voice as if in the distance saying, ‘Do you want to go on, Bruno, or have you had enough?'

I looked at her and said, ‘Don't be concerned, I'm just a silly old man.'

We drove up the dirt road again to my old house and as I looked out the car window I thought I saw smoke drifting up from the valley floor. For a moment my heart jumped in fear. When I looked again I could see that it was just some clouds hanging low over the mountain.

When my old house came into view I could feel everyone's eyes focused on me in a caring way. I was resolved not to break down and to pay my respects in an orderly manner.

The old house was in pretty bad shape as the rafters had all rotted away. The only parts still standing were the outside stone walls and some of the internal ones.

Set in the ground were six white metal crosses with the Star of David on them. The names inscribed on them were still visible; Moreno, Carla, Gianpiero, Benito, Ricco and Lisa, with the inscription under their names being the same as I had read at the farmhouse.

I closed my eyes and could feel the warmth of the sun on my face and could hear my brother's calling me to play football as they ran ahead to the meadow. The aroma of Mamma's cooking wafting through the open window became intensely real, as was the sound of my father sharpening his knives on the circular stone he turned with a pedal. I could even see my little sister Lisa shouting out in glee and tottering around the courtyard as she chased the chickens we kept.

I was transported back over sixty-five years to a happy childhood playing on the mountain of the sun. I thought I could hear my Mamma and Papà saying to me ‘Bruno, don't be sad, let it go and live your life in the present.'

I don't know how long I stood there but Maria told me afterwards that she had seldom seen me look as happy. I had a smile on my face stretching from ear to ear.

When I opened my eyes and looked around the wreckage of my family home, it was with a new sense of realisation. For the first time ever I felt I had jettisoned the bitterness I had harboured for all these years, I was experiencing a calmness I had never felt before.

I didn't want to walk round the back of the house to the spot where the Germans had brutalised and killed my mother. She wasn't there now and it would not have done me any good to see it. I decided that I didn't want to go into the ruins and relive my horrific memories. Strangely, I did not have any thoughts of Kuller or his evil deeds. They had gone. I looked around at my own family gathered round me and smiled at them, ‘I'm ok; it's been laid to rest. Let's go home.'

I've had plenty of time to think about my visit to the mountain and how it affected me. I can never, ever accept what happened but I have to move on. There will always be evil men in this life who will try to inflict evil on humanity, but I am convinced that at the same time there will also be good men who will stand up to them and their evil ways and defeat them because we will always be more in number.

My family were the victims of an evil creed that many men espoused at that time, and like all evil creeds, they will always find followers, but man is essentially moral and instinctively knows right from wrong and will eventually find the path to goodness.

I thought of Graziano who was so eaten up with hatred and the idea of revenge that he had killed thirty innocent people and had ended up being murdered himself. Even my own life had been filled with that same hatred for Kuller that it had motivated Italo and me to plan and execute a murder. I was fortunate that I was not found out by the authorities; however it is something I still have to live with.

The evil from the massacres seemed to continue consuming lives and taking lives long after the event.

Now I know that if I had remained in that place of darkness, then evil would have won the day and my family would have died for nothing. I realised late in life that evil can find a way to embitter the innocent and bind them to the past, but I lived and loved and raised a family and now have grandchildren. I also found a way to eventually come to terms with what happened without accepting it as being right. To let go of the hatred, fear and bitterness that had lived inside me for many years and to experience real peace for the first time. The one thing I am still convinced of is that the religious mind suffers from self-delusion if he thinks that his God will protect him from any harm. Many of the SS soldiers who took part in the massacres were from religious backgrounds; however their Christian beliefs did not deter them from carrying out their bloody mission. On the other hand, the majority of the villagers were very religious people, as were my own family, and I am sure they must have called out to their God for his mercy and protection to no avail, but how could a myth possibly have answered them.

So, this is my story. If it strikes a chord with you and helps you to perhaps come to terms with your own personal tragedy, then writing it has not been in vain. No matter the size or type of traumatic experience you have gone through, don't let the evil in it chew you up inside; believe me, it will ruin your life.

If you have read this story and think
this is not for me, my life is pretty ordered
, you can never be sure that in your lifetime you will not encounter something that has the potential to completely devastate your entire life. If that time should come remember, be strong and stand firm against it, and yes, try to understand it but never accept it, fight it all the way.Above all, don't let it eat you up inside, for if you do then it has won. Let it go, it is not a sign of weakness but of strength.

T
HE
D
EVIL
'
S
B
RIDGE

To Nonna Rina

Author's Note

T
he
correspondence between Mussolini and Churchill mentioned in this book is factual, although the contents of the letters are purely speculative and rely heavily on the rumours of the time.

The Devil's Bridge is still in use today and sits over the river Serchio at Borgo a Mozzano in Northern Tuscany in the province of Lucca. It was built in the early 11th century and is a well-known landmark.

The Moschettieri Del Duce (The Duce's Musketeers) was an elite force of Blackshirts, mainly of officer rank, who were Mussolini's personal bodyguard. They were also used as the ceremonial guard on state occasions and during the fascist rallies. All the Moschettieri took a personal oath of allegiance to Mussolini unto death.

Chapter 1

L
ieutenant
Kurt Muller of the Waffen SS hurried along the long corridor of Palazzo Vittorio to the high wooden double doors at the end. He paused for a moment to look out of one of the many windows lining the corridor at the frenzied scene in the courtyard below. His was to be one of the last military convoys to leave Milan before the Allies arrived and his men were busy loading crates of documents, ammunition, and essential supplies onto a line of trucks parked outside the main Palazzo entrance. On the other side of the courtyard, some of his men were burning important papers: army codes, strategic military positions and operational plans that had to be destroyed, as they couldn't take the risk of them being captured. The black smoke from this rose in curling swirls into the clear blue sky above, adding to the atmosphere of feverish activity. He took all of this in before resuming his hurried approach to the wooden doors ahead. He knocked on the double doors and heard a loud voice in Italian telling him to enter.

Benito Mussolini stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking out of his office window at the activity below. Without looking round he said, ‘Well Kurt, what bad news do you bring me today?'

Kurt Muller came to attention with a click of his heels, ‘We will be ready to leave within the hour Duce, the Allies are very close and we can't hold them back for much longer.'

Mussolini bowed his head as if accepting the inevitable. No more the strutting dictator, but a war weary old man. ‘Yes, I can hear the sound of their heavy artillery close by. The sound of battle has always made me aware that the lives of thousands of men are dependent on the right or wrong decisions by their commanders in the field. Who would have thought it would come to this, to a point of destiny, should I run or should I stay?' As Muller looked at the Duce of the Italian Empire, he seemed to have lost the will to live. Muller had been detailed by Hitler himself to make sure that Mussolini was protected from any attempt on his life, and he was determined to follow those orders to the letter.

As he looked around the room, he noticed there were some of Mussolini's fascist leaders sitting at a table. One of them, the party secretary Pavolini, stood up and said, ‘Duce, we have a thousand loyal Blackshirts outside who will fight to the last man for you. We can make a last stand and die with honour instead of skulking away like rabbits as we try to escape.'

Mussolini turned to face him, ‘And what of the thousand men we are asking to give up their lives for no other reason than our honour? What of their wives and sweethearts, and what of their children? Have not enough Italians died already for our pride and honour?' He paused for a moment before continuing, ‘I've decided to leave here and try to reach Switzerland without endangering the lives of any more Italians.'

The room fell silent as the Duce turned back to face the window. After a few minutes, Mussolini said, ‘Kurt, I want you to provide an armed escort for these comrades here and take them to the Swiss border. Make sure that the partisans don't capture them. After doing this, your men can head for home or rendezvous with you as you head north.'

‘And what about you Duce, will you be leaving with my convoy?'

‘Give me thirty minutes, I have some things I need to attend to first, then I will join you.'

Kurt Muller came once more to attention, gave Mussolini the fascist salute then left the room to supervise his men below.

Mussolini then turned to face his comrades and motioned for them to stand. ‘Time is now short dear friends and this is the end of our association together and the end of the fascist era in Italy. Go now before the Allies, or even worse the partisans capture you. Don't waste any more time. Lieutenant Muller will detail an escort strong enough to deter any partisan attacks. I would put all of you in even more danger if we left together. Hopefully we will all make it to Switzerland.'

One by one, the Duce embraced his loyal supporters and thanked them for their friendship and service to the fascist state over the years. Some of them were visibly moved to tears as they left the room. Soon he was alone, still gazing out of the window, still in a reflective mood. How different things could have been, he thought, if I had not entered a pact with that maniac Hitler. If I had stayed out of the war like Franco did, how different it would all have been. With that thought still in his mind, he walked to his desk and pressed the intercom. A voice answered, ‘Yes Duce.' He paused for a second before saying, ‘Get me Sergio Rossi immediately, and tell him to come straight up here.' The answering voice said, ‘Sì, Duce,' and hung up.

Sergio Rossi was eating his lunch in the small dining room used by the Palazzo staff when one of the Mussolini's bodyguards found him. ‘Sergio, the Duce wants to see you straight away. He's in his day office.' Sergio thanked the bodyguard and immediately left the table. He had been one of Mussolini's personal aides since his promotion from the ranks of the Blackshirts in 1937 and he was well used to being summoned at short notice. As he walked along the corridor to Mussolini's office, he paused for a second at a window overlooking the courtyard. The Germans had finished loading the trucks and were lined up in three ranks being addressed by Lieutenant Muller. Sergio could see that they were ready to leave and he wondered what the Duce was planning to do. He gave an audible sigh and continued walking to the Duce's office.

The last time he had been called here, he thought, it was to deliver flowers to Mussolini's mistress, Clara Petacci. No job too small, he thought as he knocked on the office doors.

Mussolini was sitting at his desk as Sergio entered the room. He gave the fascist salute and approached his beloved leader. Mussolini stood to greet his aide and motioned for him to sit in a seat across from him. ‘Sergio, I have a very important mission for you to carry out.' Sergio remained silent. ‘Over the years I have been corresponding with the English Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and I have kept the letters safe in my keeping for just such a time as this. The letters show that I was a moderating influence on Hitler in this damn war, and that Churchill recognised this fact. If it weren't for me, Hitler would have invaded England in 1940 when Britain was on its knees. Instead, with my influence, he turned to the Soviet Union and invaded there instead. Churchill almost begged me to help stall the invasion of England.'