A LOVE STORY forever lost but forever lasts

The only picture of my grandfather I had ever seen, age 20





To understand the enormity of this story, we need to go back to 1906.






2 photos arrived..
























beautiful mom and dad on their wedding day



















MY precious Nonna (grandmother) when she died




This story is about a boy, a very special boy, he was born a few years before the war. He grew up in a tightly knit and close family in a tiny village in Northern Italy. This little boy grew up with his first cousins, his mom away during the day, working to make a living for her and her little boy. The reason for this was that this little boy grew up without his father, and it was for this very reason, that he became so strong and special, adored by everybody around him, and then becoming an anchor and pivot himself, for everybody to lean on, to listen to, to take advice from. That little boy is my father. Those fortunate enough to know this man, can only vouch for what I write, he is a role model, the kind of father that everybody wants, somebody that clearly stands out from the rest, he'll challenge you to any discussion, it's no coincidence that he was the chairman of Toastmasters, just don't get him started on politics or Italian football, because he will go on till 4 in the morning, and you won't get a word in.

The only facts we knew:
My grandfather was born in 1906. Around the age of 20, he worked in a tubettificio, a mill in northern Italy, making cardboard tubes which were used in the cotton industry for the industrial reels. His uncle owned the factory and he would borrow his car to go and visit my nonna. From there, a love story blossomed. Story had it that his uncle was against the relationship and wanted him to marry another woman, he was only 21, (you know how it was in those days). One will never know if this was true. My father was born and has memories of his father coming to see him, although he wasn't even 2 years old. Shortly after this my grandfather disappeared, a mystery which was never to be solved, questions which would always remain unanswered.

Around the age of 15, it was an icy winter, my father in the apartment alone, stumbled across an old box, picture the scene...the old box...the dust...what was inside? Curiously, he lifted the lid. Neatly bundled and stored, along with a photo (the only photo I had ever seen of him), were all the old love letters from my grandfather, expressing his love. In his rage and hurt, his eyes prickling from the threatening tears, he only had time to read a few lines, and he found himself running downstairs to the crackling fireplace, throwing all the contents onto the burning logs. He kept 1 thing, the photo, should their paths ever cross again.

Then came 1940, quite a few years after the disappearance, my grandfather was seen by a family friend, discretely standing in the piazza, the village square, crying. We did not know until last week, that he had travelled back to Italy from another country, to try and see his son. By that time my nonna had moved to Switzerland and had married. That was the last time my father heard his father's name mentioned. My nonna died in 1986 (during my last year of school) in Italy, after an illness.

In the meantime, my father now in his mid twenties, was sent to South Africa on a work contract, this was supposed to be short term, but as we know fate has its strange ways, and there he met my mother,(had 3 girls, myself being the oldest) settling in a new country and going on to become the best in his industry.

My father grew up in hard times, he was well cared for by his family, he never missed any love and his roots will always be in his village, where he returns each year and maintains a very close relationship with his cousins who are like his brothers and sisters. It is only natural that in the back of his mind, he had unanswered questions, although he never felt the need to search for answers.

About 9 years ago, I moved from South Africa to London, where I married an Italian and moved to Italy. This sparked my curiousity as to my past. I tried to search very briefly for some history. I telephoned the comune (municipality) of the little village where the factory once stood, to see if they had any deaths registered under my grandfather's surname, I also emailed a well known television programme famous for finding lost relatives, but all to no avail, there were dead ends everywhere.

THE FACTS AS THEY UNFOLDED EXACTLY 1 WEEK AGO:

Now I have always loved and been baffled by technology, but I never knew the power that it held. Last Friday my youngest sister got the idea to put my grandfather's surname into Facebook (not sure why I had never thought of that as I have found so many old friends through it). But what were the odds? With all the billions of people in the world, and who was to say there was anyone relevant registered under the Italian surname. Quite a few names resulted from the search, and what she did was compile one email which she sent to each and every one of those surnames. A few answers but with no connection, until 2pm Friday afternoon. She received an answer from a man in his forties from Argentina, claiming that the man we were looking for (our grandfather) who was born on that specific date was in fact his uncle. At first I was very sceptical about this story, and didn't want to raise my hopes, only to find that there was some sort of misunderstanding. Fortunately, he could speak good english, and many internet chats exploded into action. As soon as he mentioned my grandfather came from a family of 10 brothers and sisters, my father was convinced we had hit bull's eye, or toro I should say. 2 of the 10 siblings were still alive and 1 of them was the 81 year old father of the man we were talking to, who was my grandfather's youngest brother. And slowly but surely the pieces all fell into place, as we exchanged information and put things together, and we also learnt more about a grandfather we had never met. He told us my grandfather was actually born in Argentina at which point we nearly fainted, as we had known from my nonna that there had been an Argentinian connection but we always assumed that he was born in Italy. He had left hard times in Argentina in the late 1920's to go and work in his uncle's tubettificio in Italy.In the 1930s (he did give us exact date) my grandfather had returned to live in Argentina, he was married to an Italian woman. Furthermore, they had 3 children, 1 of which is still alive, so my dad went from being an only child, to having a living brother in Argentina, who in turn has 2 boys who are my age, and therefore are my first cousins. You can imagine all the curiousity from both sides, not one person from the Argentinian family knew of my dad's existence, so there were questions flying back and forth as well as hugs and kisses, a whirlwind of emotions. When I emailed the only photo we had of my grandfather, his father (my grandfather's brother), burst out crying.. everything was confirmed and I now could write my story. They told us that my grandfather had died in 1979 at the age of 73. They were so excited and emotional at having found this new family, and immediately said their house is open for us to come and visit. Yesterday he sent photos of my grandfather plus members of our Argentinian family, cousins, nieces, nephews, the whole works, phew...it's a mind boggle.

A few lines from the chat:
A:.....my father is seeing the photo that you sent me .......
9:33pm B:

yes........
9:33pm A:

HE CONFIRM THAT THE MAN IN THE PHOTO IS U.... , HIS BROTHER
9:34pm B:

omg
9:34pm A:

MY FATHER IS CRYING
9:34pm B:

omg so am i
9:34pm A:

i dont believe it!!!!

Iam very happy
9:36pm B:

viva facebook - this is unbelievable


And so 76 years later as one chapter closes, another one opens, many questions have been answered, some will always remain unanswered, buried in the secrets of the earth with the people that hold them. For now I know, we have family in Argentina and that is enough to try and digest. Who knew that Facebook (which my husband moans about as he thinks I spend too much time there) would bring us some answers which we could never find before.
I called my father today and we spoke for an hour and a half, reflecting back, he says he holds no regrets, he is glad to be able to hear more facts and dates concerning his history as he always felt there was a part missing, he is reflective in that there once was a man...who never met his grandchildren and great grandchildren. Life can be strange. We all know that. He is already talking about meeting new family.

I have never listened to the song, Don't cry for me Argentina, so many times in one night, as each time I go back to the text to preview and proof read, the music plays in more than one way. I suppose it would be appropriate to end off with BESOS to you all.