A FAVOURITE FOOD FOR A FAVOURITE SAINT

Our estate di San Martino (Saint Martin's summer) has been well and truly over since Sunday and I sit here writing this on a cold, rainy afternoon. A prolonged summer is named for the saint because, according to legend, in the winter of the year 335 St Martin of Tours met a freezing, starving beggar at the gates of Amiens. He cut his cloak in two and gave half to the man and, coming across another man in a similar condition moments later, gave the other half to him. It is said that the sun came out when he gave away the second half of the cloak - hence l'estate di San Martino.

Frittelle (deep-fried pastries or doughnuts)) are traditional on St Martin's Day (11th November) not only because they are small and symbolise pieces of the cloak, but also because they contain few ingredients and centuries ago could be made by rich and poor alike. They can be fried using the new oil from the olive harvest and are often served with the vino novello which is traditionally opened on this day.

St Martin is associated with the poor and is the protector of soldiers, innkeepers, hoteliers and beggars. He died in Candes, now Candes-Saint-Martin, in 397. He is one of my favourite saints so I really wanted to find some frittelle yesterday and I did, in my local fruit shop. 

"SOME MORNING, UNAWARE"

 O, to be in England

Now that April 's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

 ...

wrote Robert Browning in Home Thoughts, from Abroad and went on to list, in the poem, some of the things you might see and hear in the English countryside on an April morning. But you see them distractedly, "unaware" because you take them for granted; you are "there" and able to see them every day.

Many words have been written about the momentous events of this week, so, planning this post, I wondered what I could possibly add to what great and renowned writers have already said. I had written about the Queen on this blog only in June, when we were celebrating her Platinum Jubilee, yet that seems a decade ago now. I pondered, wondered again and considered not writing anything at all but then I thought that perhaps I could write about what it is like to be British and hear such news when you are not "there",  do not wake in England or one of the other nations of the United Kingdom, cannot totally gauge the atmosphere "there" but suddenly, although you hope you have become bicultural, feel more British than you have for years. And you reel from the impact of the news you have just heard.

On the morning of what began as an ordinary day, Thursday, 8th September, I was looking at the British newspapers online and following certain developments on Twitter when suddenly I read that Her Majesty the Queen had been advised to rest as her doctors were "concerned". Alarm bells did not immediately ring in my head as we had seen Her Majesty accepting the resignation of one Prime Minister only on Monday and she had appointed the new one on Tuesday. In the photos, she looked frail but happy. She had rallied before; surely she would rally again? But then serious journalists started tweeting that something strange was going on in Parliament; notes were being passed round and Members of Parliament were looking grim. The Speaker interrupted the session to convey the best wishes of the House to the Queen. It occurred to me that the very fact that the Palace had issued a statement meant that things were very bad and, when we were told that first the (then) Prince of Wales and later the Princess Royal had gone to Balmoral, we knew. As Brits we all knew, wherever we were in the world. In the afternoon the Queen's other children and Prince William arrived at Balmoral and the only further news for hours was that the Queen was "comfortable". Again, as Brits, we knew that this probably meant, "Nothing further can be done" but we perhaps did not expect the  news we dreaded to come so quickly. At home I switched on BBC World News and saw that their main royal news presenter was wearing a black tie. 

At seven o'clock in Italy, which is six o'clock in the UK,  I took my dog out and when I came back, I went into the kitchen for a moment with the television still on in the living room. I heard the words "King" and "Charles" and then I knew for certain. I watched the written announcement that was displayed on the screen and a piece of my heart - the fragment that had woken in England "unaware" and had taken the Queen for granted - dropped out of my body. The National Anthem was played and although I was alone I stood up. I thought, "Oh, goodness, I've got to sing God Save the King" (for the Crown passes immediately to the heir upon the death of the Sovereign).

I thought back to the Coronation, when I was three. I've written before on this blog about how, when it was over, I had asked my great aunt when the next one would be and she had replied, "When the Queen dies." I had cried, because I didn't want this lovely young woman with the dazzling smile to die but I didn't want to wait either. And here I was, seventy years later, and I was standing in a living room in Sicily crying my eyes out just like that little girl so long ago.

When you live in a foreign land, you begin to see your own country with new eyes, especially if you have had to explain its ways and traditions to others, which, as a teacher, I have had to do. I have spent a large part of my life criticising the monarchy but over the years, looking at it not from "there" but from "here", I have come to the conclusion that it has its merits. I think I began to soften towards the Queen in particular when I watched a documentary about her, filmed not long after Prince Philip's retirement from royal duties, in which she walked down what looked like the kitchen stairs of whatever palace she was in one grey, rainy morning, perfectly dressed in coat and matching hat as always, smiling and ready to leave for an engagement. It came into my mind that she must have felt very lonely, despite her entourage. Few would have criticised her if she had handed over to her heir at that time but she was her own woman: when she was twenty-one she had famously made a promise to the people of her nation and the Commonwealth to serve them all her life and she was going to keep it. And who will ever forget the photo that went round the world in 2021, in which she stood alone, because of Covid, on what must have been the worst day of her life - that of her husband's funeral? She may have been a Queen, but how she must have longed for a comforting human touch that day. As someone who spent Italy's first, long, very strict lockdown totally alone apart from my dog, I can tell you that her famous lockdown speech, containing the reference to the song We'll Meet Again which every British person understood, gave a seventy-year-old Welshwoman in Sicily the hope that she desperately needed.

Students often ask me if the royals are "snobs" and I always reply, "Absolutely not." On the contrary, they are trained to put people at ease and are supposed to be polite to everyone. (All right, one was gaffe-prone but we have forgiven him.)  It is often said that the Queen met "everyone" and today a photo of her shaking hands and talking to Kermit the frog of Muppet fame has emerged on social media. She is smiling and she would have been as courteous to Kermit the frog as she was to the Archbishop of Canterbury. 

Watching the documentaries shown during the BBC's coverage of the Queen's death, it has become much clearer to me that she did, indeed, meet "everyone" and how hard she worked. I am usually the first to say that it is not "work" as ordinary people know it but I do not think we can imagine what it takes to be constantly travelling (albeit in great comfort), make speeches which you may not agree with at the behest of a government which operates in your name but tells you what to do, to always smile, appear interested and, most skilfully, engage in conversation without really saying anything at all - to be the perfect "soft power" diplomat. It is because of her strictly kept political neutrality that the Queen was, and is, so respected around the world and it is also why the tributes - some of them from unexpected sources -  have poured in.

Of these tributes, two stand out for me, one from a head of state and the other from an elderly Sicilian gentleman whom I do not know but pass the time of day with in the street:

President Macron said,

For you, she was your Queen.

For us, she was The Queen.

She will be with all of us forever.

The Sicilian man said,

I am so sorry about the Queen. I was in love with her. For me it was as if she was Italian.

Her Majesty was, insofar as her job permitted it, her own woman but she was everybody's Queen.

I do not know when I will wake in England or Wales again, Your Majesty, but I do know that I will never wake "unaware" that you have gone.

For those of you who speak Italian, here is a link to a video in which I show and explain the Coronation Crown coin which I have kept for seventy years. (I'm about one second from the end of the clip and you will need some Sicilian pazienza to skip the ads!)

https://www.videomediterraneo.it/notizie/attualita/morte-elisabetta-ii-il-ricordo-dei-britannici-in-sicilia/

INTERVIEW WITH A YOUNG WATCHMAKER

I am so proud of my young friend Gabriele Aprile, a watchmaker from Modica who has created his own watch, the EKWATCH, launching online today. I thought you would like to meet him, so I interviewed him earlier this week:

Gabriele, this week you're launching your own watch. Can you tell us how this project began?

It has been three years in the making. I'd always wanted to design my own watch. I made two samples with different designs and chose the better of the two, the one that was the best expression of my passion. It seemed a natural stage in my life and Kickstarter, which has financed over 11,000 projects and encourages people to create their dreams, made the idea possible.

You were inspired by the concept of an eclipse, weren't you? Have you ever seen one live and can you tell us more about your inspiration?

I've been fascinated by astronomy since I was a child and it became my ambition to put an eclipse on a watch. I saw a lunar eclipse last July in Marina di Modica. It lasted three hours and I felt that fascination and emotion all over again. 

What's different about this watch?

The Swiss Superluminova disc on the watch dial encompasses the idea of an eclipse. The luminous pigment represents the solar crown formed during the event. This is the only element of brightness in an eclipse, as darkness fills the sky inside and outside the edge of the sun. The EKWATCH takes up the eclipse at the moment of its climax, with a single luminous ring illuminating the dial.

Wow! We all want one! Did you always want to be a watchmaker?

Yes, I'm from a family of jewellers. My great-grandfather was a watchmaker, my grandfather was a watchmaker and jeweller, my father is a jeweller and my brother Salvatore is a gemologist.

You now have your own shop in Modica where you sell and repair watches but at first you worked in your family's jewellery store. Why did you open a separate shop?

I think of it more as an artisan workshop than a commercial activity and it gives me the space I need to work on my projects. It's also in a very handy position for people to pop in and have their watch batteries changed!

Yes, I do that often! Modica has a lot of jewellery shops for a small city - more than you would find in a town of similar size in Britain. Why do you think that is?

Well, I think it's because jewellery is handed down the generations in families here, so we have a tradition of giving gifts of jewellery on special occasions.

What do you think the future holds for watchmaking and what are your own hopes for the future?

There will certainly be more smartwatches but traditional, Swiss-made watches will still be in demand. People will always want to wear something beautiful on their wrists. My hopes are to take the project forward and to make more models.

How would you sum up the experience of designing and finally being able to market your own watch?

I've created a watch that I would want to wear myself.

Thank you, Gabriele and I'm sure readers will join me in wishing you all the very best for EKWATCH and all your future projects.

If you are ever in Modica, you will find Gabriele in his shop at:

Via Resistenza Partigiana 42 
97015               
Modica (RG)

Tel:  +39 328 7109 579

He'll be very happy to see you!

THE WEDDING PARTY GIRL

The Wedding Party Girl

A story for New Year

I would see her four or five times a year, usually in summer, as I sat writing in the bar on the corner of my street in Centochiese. Once, I saw her in the hairdresser's, on a Saturday like all the other times, and once in the run-up to Christmas – always with the same group of friends and even in winter, when it gets cold and windy in Sicily, seated outside the bar where those who wished to could smoke. She had the kind of easy elegance that every woman secretly covets and I noticed her first not for the beauty she undoubtedly had, but for this. When she moved she glided, her long dark hair seemed effortlessly in place and her clothes, simpler in style than those of her friends, seemed smarter because of the way she wore them; few, but perfect, accessories, make-up applied by a painstaking beautician to look as if it wasn't there and, most importantly, she wore them with confidence.

Beauticians do rather well in Centochiese – there are six within a five-minute walk from my house – and they do especially well on summer Saturdays, for when there is a wedding, not only the bride, but every female guest will have what we would call in English “the works” and will be made up as if for a television appearance. An Italian beautician can make anyone look stunning, including, on occasion, I like to think, me. 

So it was that I knew they were a wedding party from their attire – the women in evening dress or at least what used to be called “cocktail dresses” in the early afternoon, and the men in their expensive suits teamed with trainers – yes, trainers – that had probably cost as much as the rest of the outfit. It made a stylish combination. The other clues were the group's general celebratory mood and the time of day: I would see them at around 2pm or between 6pm and 8. You see, in Sicily, people don't just have their wedding photos taken in and outside the church or at the reception, but the bride and groom leave their guests, sometimes for several hours, to go off to a specially chosen location – often the beach - with the photographer. What do the guests do in the meantime? Well, those who live near enough sometimes go home whilst others, such as this group, repair to a favourite bar to smoke, gossip, have an aperitvo and share a plate of struzzichini while they wait for the real celebration to begin, at perhaps 8.30 or 9.30 pm. This will go on until the early hours, comprise many courses, the viewing of the wedding video or perhaps a clip or montage of the couple's story, dancing and high jinks and possibly – something which frightens me to death – the lighting of paper lanterns which fly dangerously low over the guests' heads. Yes, these friends would have a good time later.

The wedding party girl, as I called her in my mind, never seemed to be with any of the young men in particular, though some of the others were obvious couples. She seemed of them, yet a little aloof, never smoking, never talking or laughing loudly but smiling, graceful and usually acknowledging me with a little nod. “Signora”, she'd say quietly if I passed her.

Several summers went by like this and after the first one, I'd notice a couple missing from the group so I'd guess it was their wedding day. Then the next summer they'd be back, the young woman perhaps with a definite bump, and another two of the group would be missing. Yet it never seemed to be the wedding party girl's turn to absent herself from the group.

Then one summer I didn't see her at all. On the first Saturday I thought that she might have been the (non-blushing) bride but when she didn't appear for the second or third time the group were there, I wondered if she had moved away, as so many young Sicilians do, for university or for work. I didn't know the group well enough to ask and if I had, my British reserve would have got the better of me. I didn't see her the summer after that either, and then I suppose I stopped thinking about it as after all, what business was it of mine?

That New Year's Eve, for the first time in eight or so years, it snowed in Centochiese, an event which was greeted with joy rather than dismay, for there were children who had never seen such a thing. And I had to admit it was pretty, although I shivered indoors more than I ever had in England, where houses are built to shelter you from the cold rather than the summer heat. On New Year's Day I awoke to that silence that seems to fall everywhere along with snow when it first comes. “The silence of a convent”, I thought as I ventured out, as apartment-dwelling dog owners must, that morning.

Picture by kind permission of  Oreb - Libri & Sacro, Modica

We walked slowly, my dog and I – she because, like the children, she had never seen snow before and I for fear of falling. Thus it was that when we came to the Catholic book store, we paused for a moment to look at its beautifully decorated window, which won prizes every year in the Centochiese Christmas Window competition. Suddenly I became aware of a woman treading lightly in the snow towards me, dressed in an ankle-length grey skirt of thick material, a mid-length, heavy raincoat that could have been British and what in my far-away country we would call “sensible shoes” - probably much more suitable for the snow than mine - and yes, a wisp of wavy black hair escaping from under her wimple. I don't know why she was outside or why her hands were bare on this freezing day but they were, and as she stopped to admire the crib in the window she gave me a fleeting smile and that familiar nod. “Sorella”, said I, nodding back. There was just a hint of a wave as she left, enough for me to register the glint of her nun's ring in the Sicilian sun which was beginning to peep through the unusual grey of the sky. Then she melted away as the snow soon would and to this day, I have not seen her again. The wedding party girl had had her wedding day.

Cross-posted at Tales from Centochiese

INFIORATA 2017

The third weekend in May is the time to head for that most architecturally homogeneous of the Baroque cities of the Val di Noto, Noto itself. Completely rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1693, its honey-coloured stone buildings are a joy to behold and the town is particularly welcoming on the three days of its Infiorata - carpet of flowers.

Before we go along via Nicolaci to see the flowers, let us first remind ourselves of the beauty of Noto:

The theme of the Infiorata this year has been Sogni e Colori del Principato di Monaco - Dreams and Colours of the Principality of Monaco and celebrates the town's links with the Principality. Prince Albert of Monaco, who has done much to support the Ente Fauna Siciliana and, through this, the nature reserve at Vendicari, was made an honorary citizen of Noto in September.

When you arrive in Noto by bus on an Infiorata day, the first thing you see is a thriving market. for it would not be an Italian festa without one. What always delights me about such markets is the aroma of vanilla coming from all those sweets and biscuits they are selling - I find it very comforting, and I think it must be because it reminds me of the smell of custard cooking for Sunday dessert at home when I was a child.

But now let us make our way along via Nicolaci.  It is difficult to get really good shots because you have to walk, obviously, along the sides of the display and you also have to contend with the sun beating down on one of them! I have done my best:

I was glad that Princess Grace was there:

The card theme running through the display was, I thought, inspired:

About half way up, I ducked into a nice little restaurant for a lunch of bruschette and vegetarian couscous:

Then it was one more nod to Monaco, a look down via Nicolaci and a preview of next year's theme, China:

Well done as always, Noto and special congratulations for reaching out with these international themes.

Prince Albert of Monaco will be visiting Modica in the autumn, when he hopes to explore the story of the branch of his family, the Grimaldi, who settled here.

A FAREWELL TO MEAT

Carnevale has been in full swing in many Italian cities but in Modica there is no particular carnival tradition. This is, in some ways, a good thing as it does mean you can walk around without getting sprayed with coloured sludge but it also used to mean that children had few places to go where they could show off their carnival costumes.

This is changing, however and I think we should congratulate La Fortezza shopping centre for organising several events for children over the carnival season and for cheering us all up with their lighting:

The word carnevale is either a corruption of Italian carne levare, the withdrawal of meat or a joining together of Latin carne and vale, a farewell to meat. [As a linguist I favour the second theory.]

BLACKBIRD DAYS COME EARLY

The words "storm" and "hurricane" are often bandied about in Modica to describe any winter weather that is not sunny but we certainly had a storm at the weekend. Starting on Saturday evening, relentless rain fell in sheets throughout the night and all day Sunday and did so with quite frightening noise.  A girl from Cardiff - Britain's rainiest city - does not scare easily when confronted with the wet stuff, so I'm sure you will agree that it must have been quite something to terrify me and confine me to my flat!

The area where I live escaped the worst of it but there were floods in Modica Bassa [the Old Town], Modica Alta, nearby Scicli and the surrounding countryside with considerable damage to property, cars and goods in shops. In via Fontana in Modica Bassa - a street to which I am sentimentally attached because it is where my dog Simi and I lived when we first settled in Modica, twelve years ago - several cars were swept away.  In the early hours of Sunday the Mayor of Modica, who had been out on reconnaissance for most of the night, announced on facebook that all schools in the city would be closed on Monday as a precautionary measure.  Later. we were told not to drink the water until further notice.

Flood in Modica Bassa, 22.1.17

The rain eventually stopped on Monday but more is forecast for next weekend  during i giorni della merla  - the days of the blackbird [29th - 31st January], traditionally the coldest period in Italy. There are several legends that purport to explain the reason for this name but the one I prefer tells us that, long ago when January had only 28 days, a proud blackbird [who was actually white], fed up with the cold, asked January if he could cut a few days off his "reign".  January, it seems, got in a huff and asked his friend February to lend him three days so that he could use them to make the blackbird's life even more miserable. February agreed and when the blackbird, thinking that the weather would be warmer and drier now that January had gone, next went in search of food, mean old January blew up a snowstorm.  The bird found shelter in a chimneystack but when he emerged three days later, his beautiful plumage was black and thus it remained, with all but a few blackbirds, forever, the rare white blackbird being a sign of good fortune.  Let's hope that one appears on via Fontana soon!

Today the Mayor of Modica has met with Regional President Rosario Crocetta, who has thanked Modicans for their fortitude and determination to carry on with business as usual after the storm and it is likely that some regional funds will be directed to the city to help with the clear-up.

When Simi and I left via Fontana, I bought this souvenir of our time there:

Take it away, Dino:



There is a lovely Juliette Gréco song called Un  Merle Blanc but I cannot find a video of it.

CUPPING IN SICILY

Image: WPClipart.com

I'm not interested in sport but I was interested to read of the popularity of cupping amongst today's athletes.  It is, as the article says, an ancient technique and in Sicily the practice, or something akin to it, has probably never stopped.  Here's what I wrote about it in 2007:

Some years ago a friend's son had a nasty chest cold and my friend got him to bend over and breathe deeply, then placed heated glass cups, open end downwards, all over his back. Next, she massaged his back with warm olive oil. After this, the lad was wrapped up in fleecy pyjamas, a fluffy dressing gown and as many blankets as could be found in the house and was sent to bed with half a dozen hotwater bottles. My friend who, like many Sicilians I know, prides herself on hardly ever switching on her central heating - they prefer to sit around in their own homes in jacket, muffler, cap and gloves in deepest winter - did switch it on that night.

Needless to say, in the morning the young man was fine and I'll never know whether it was some magic property in the heated cups, the olive oil, the deep breathing, the unaccustomed warmth in the house or just sweating the cold out but who am I to question something that works?

I hate to tell you, dear athletes, but the Sicilians got there before you!

BEARER OF HOPE

To end the week on a positive note, I thought I would show you this new baby bomboniera - a traditional gift for family and friends which is sent out with the announcement - which a friend brought me the other day.

I cannot help comparing the birth circumstances of this baby and little Favour but can report that the latter is now being well cared for in Palermo and that the whole of Italy is in love with her after seeing heart-rending pictures of her on television. The kind women of Lampedusa brought her clothes, teddy bears and other gifts before she left the island and I'm sure that she will receive others from all parts of Italy.

Let's hope that all children grow up in a better world.

INFIORATA 2016

As I've mentioned before, no one really knows why, in the 18th century, some Italian towns started celebrating the Festival of Corpus Christi or Corpus Domini by creating "carpets "of flowers but one theory is that people were simply using what they had to make something beautiful for God and what they had was an abundance of flower petals.  The town of Noto's Infiorata tradition started more recently, 37 years ago, and the event is always held over the third weekend of May so I made my way there on Saturday.

The "carpet of flowers" is spread out along the town's via Nicolaci and this year's theme was "The Infiorata Welcomes the World".  I'm sure you will understand that, as you have to walk up one of the sides of the display, it is rather difficult to take well-angled photos, especially in glorious sunshine so that you can't see what you're doing! Nonetheless, I hope the photos I managed to take convey something of the beauty and the atmosphere of the occasion for you.  

I thought the cat was rather magnificent so here he is again:

 As a souvenir, I bought one of these nifty lemon squeezers that collect the juice in the little jug on top of the "tap" thing:

Half way up via Nicolaci, I spotted a great menu on offer at €12,90. As it was 1 pm I entered the establishment and to my surprise, was served one of the best, and most generous, plates of bruschette I ever had and certainly the best chicken and vegetable couscous I've tasted in Sicily!  

What better day out could there be?

You can see panoramic images of the Infiorata here.

HAPPY ST DAVID'S DAY 2016

It's St. David's Day again and who better than "our Kath" to sing the Welsh national anthem?

Over at London Town, Modica - Centro Linguistico Internazionale, we've been making some really scary dragons and of course we've got daffs and Welshcakes!

HAPPY ST DAVID'S DAY, EVERYBODY!

BUONA NOTTE DI SAN LORENZO 2015

It's San Lorenzo night so I hope you're all out spotting shooting stars! And when you see one, may your dearest wish come true.

Andrea Bocelli with David Foster - Bellissime stelle

A FAVOURITE BARD

Sunday, of course, is Burns Night and at London Town, Modica students can pick a Burns quotation and enjoy a shortbread biscuit. [No, I didn't make them this time - they come courtesy of Lidl Italia.]

Liz just asked me, on facebook, if I was serving haggis as well and I had to admit that I lack the courage to explain haggis to Italians!

Burns is one of my favourite poets and I tend to turn to him in bad times, such as this.  When I think of where my little Simi is I remember,

"Behold my love, how green the groves."

["My Chloris, mark how green the groves" in some versions.]

And sometimes I want to go and lie down on the earth that covers her until I go too.

A Burns line that sustains me is,

"I bear a heart shall support me still."

I hope I do, but it's hard!

FRIENDS AND FOCACCE

Just take a look at the wonderful focacce my friends made for Christmas Eve!

There was also this pastella fritta [fried batter], which was delicious:

I took along my second Christmas cake of the season. [Thank you, Nigella.]

I had Christmas lunch with the same friends, and made this old favourite of mine:

A friend had made these crispelle, dripping with honey:

"For tomorrow we may diet."