London’s Deep Level Air Raid Shelters Part 1

I came to London, England on December 15th 2021 for a brief Christmas visit with family but circumstances have kept me here until late February. I’ve taken advantage of this “holiday” to do a bit of exploring of the City of London and I’d like to share one of the more interesting discoveries that does not typically appear in the guidebooks.

I’m staying in Balham which is in south London and in chatting with my son-in-law discovered that during the Second World War (WWII) the Balham Tube/Railway Station was bombed and 68 people were killed, one of the worst single bombing tragedies in London during the war.

This lead to other local oddities from the war and Neil pointed out a structure in Clapham South that is an entrance way to a Deep Level Air Raid Shelter. This, of course, piqued my curiosity as I knew that both my Mom and Dad had been in London during the Blitz and would have been very pleased to find a deep level shelter. I do know that Mom was a frequent night visitor to one of the tube stations during the Blitz.

An internet search revealed a number of facts about these shelters, specifically that there were eight of them, four located south of the Thames River and four located north of the Thames River. The shelters essentially follow the same route as the Underground Northern Line and had initially been built with a sense that they could be used as part of a future high speed tube line. This didn’t happen. It was also the case that construction began in 1940 but they were not completed until 1942 and by that time the blitz was essentially over. Each one of the shelters was approximately 1,200 feet long and could hold up to 8,000 people. There were two entrance ways, one north and one south and each entrance way also had at least one large ventilation shaft.

The locations south of the Thames are Clapham South, Clapham Common, Clapham North and Stockwell. In a rough line that would cover about three kilometers along Clapham Road and provide accommodation for 32,000 people. North of the Thames they were located at Chancery Lane, Goodge Station, Cambden Town and Belsize Park. This group would cover about six kilometers and again provide shelter for 32,000 people.

The Deep Level Shelters (DLS) did come in handy later in the war when the German’s launched their V1 and V2 attacks on the city. Some of them also served after the war as temporary shelters for immigrants, accommodations for the military or as a deep level communications centre (Kingsway Telephone Exchange) during the cold war.

I was very curious about the entrance way structures as it appeared that they could all be seen at street level so I started to do a bit more internet research and aerial searching using Google Earth. From the air these structures have a very distinct shape and I was able to spot the one at Clapham South very easily. Google Earth is a great way to do such reconnaissance. You can spot what looks like a likely subject then go to street view to see if the aerial view matches whats on the ground.

Using this technique I also discovered the southern entrance to the Clapham South shelter. Neil informed me that there is one at Stockwell and it too is quite easy to spot using Google Earth. Not content to find them on a map I wanted to see them up close so I’m soon off up the Northern Line to Clapham South then Stockwell.

The distinctive ventilation shaft is on the left.

The southern entrance way to the Clapham South Deep Level Shelter has been integrated into the lines of the building that has been built over and around it.

A ride up the Northern Line to Stockwell and just outside the tube station is the entrance way located at the Stockwell Memorial Garden. The building itself has been decorated by high school students as a memorial to Britain’s war dead…and apparently James Bond.

The Bronze Statue is also part of the Stockwell Memorial Garden and is the first statue of an African-Caribbean woman in the UK. It celebrates both motherhood and the mother’s ethnic origins. The theme is taken from a poem by Caribbean poet Cécile Nobrega who lived in Stockwell and wrote the poem “The Bronze Woman” about 50 years ago.

This has been most interesting to me but I’ll leave it there for now. You should know however that this adventure has really just begun.

Until next time.

Whisky and such.

I thought I would take a stab at introducing the third issue that interests me and that is whisky…so here goes with a bit about me and my introduction to whisky.  Later on in some of the blogs I’ll chat about the drink itself.

When I was a lad I knew my father liked to have a tipple or two.  He didn’t drink a lot but he did enjoy a whisky of an evening as he sat in his favourite chair and read his latest book.  He was quite well read and made regular trips to the local library.  We never had a lot of books around the house but Mum and Dad always had a book at hand.

Dad had two favourite tipples, one was The Famous Grouse and the other was Bells. These are both fine blended Scotch whisky’s.  I doubt that he ever had a single malt and he would only consider rye whisky if it was in a glass with lots of ginger ale.  I know for a fact that rye and ginger was a staple in the Sergeant’s Mess and Officers Mess at the Lake Street Armoury in St Catharines.

I never developed much of a taste for whisky as I grew up, I stuck to beer.  I really like beer and although beer doesn’t like me as much today I still really enjoy a fine English bitter or proper IPA.  The Kingston Brewing Company has one of the nicest IPA’s around and Fuller’s (yes that’s right) London Pride or Best Bitter is right up there as well…not to mention Tank House Ale from Toronto…but this could go on for quite a while.

My first real experience with whisky happened some years ago, after my Dad had passed in 1997, when my sister and I took Mum back to the old country for a visit.  We were on our way north in Scotland and stopped in Inverary for a “tea and pee” break.  I had need of either so walked down the main street (which is actually called “Main Street”) toward a tartan shop I’d seen on the way in….fancied myself in a kilt didn’t I.

As I ambled along I came to a shop that had nothing but bottles of whisky in the windows.  I was intrigued so wandered in to look around.  Loch Fyne Whiskies was indeed nothing but whisky, wall to wall.  I didn’t know there were that many different whiskys.  The owner finally asked if I needed help and I said I was just browsing but he wasn’t letting me get away with that.  “What kind of whisky do you favour?”  I mentioned the Grouse and Bells and he indicated they were fine blends but what about malts…what about malts indeed.

I confessed to knowing nothing except that I did try some McClelland from Islay and that I really liked the smoky stuff, at which point he reached under the counter and pulled up a bottle of Ardbeg.  He poured a dram and said “Try this”.  The nose alone was enough to tell me that heaven wasn’t far off.  I took a sip and immediately went there.  Where had this stuff been all my life?

We chatted quite a bit, he told me how to pronounce “Islay” and he gave me a copy of his newsletter and a “price list” which was really more of a catalogue explaining the benefits of each item.  I ended up buying two wee bottles, the kind you get on an airplane, one of Oban since we were going that way, and the other of Talisker, since we weren’t going that way.

That evening in a B&B looking over the harbour of Oban I had my very first private nosing of two very fine single malts.  A week or so later we ended up in Leicster, England and while Mum, my sister and my cousin Carol were sipping red wine, I was provided with a very nice bottle of Highland Park 12 year old, part of my late cousin Ivor’s collection.  In this very short period of time I had sampled whisky from Islay, the West Highlands, Skye and the Orkney’s, as diverse a range as you could fine…and I was hooked…and I still hadn’t even heard of the Spey River Valley.

I’ve sampled quite a few malts since then…even had some Port Ellen…which is to die for. I joined one of the local Single Malt groups in Kingston and have done a few nosings of my own.  I also have an extensive personal cupboard…but I don’t think I’ll forget the kind treatment I got at Loch Fyne Whiskies or that special evening all alone with two new friends.

 

Photo printing

One of the things I’ve been working on over the last few years is the printing and mounting of my own photographs.  In part this stems from experience many years ago when I was shooting film and joined the Queen’s Photo Club.  This was long after graduation but I joined the club so that I could get access to the darkroom.  I never attended a meeting but did spend a good deal of time in that darkroom up to my eyeballs in various chemicals.  It was all very tedious, smelly and at the end of the day not the most rewarding experience.  I did learn a bit about developing and things like dodging and burning but I only had one photo that I ever thought was a nice print.

So today my darkroom is on the laptop and the only smell is coming from the coffee cup cooling beside me.  Since I spend a good bit of time carefully editing my shots it only makes sense to try to maintain some control over the finished printed product.  I have experimented with numerous printing services but none have provided me with a satisfactory print.

Another concern is the size of the printed image…actually the dimensions…but…as we all know size is important too.

The dimension issue is simple…my camera take images that have dimesions of 1:1.5…which translate as 4 X 6; 8 X 12; 10 X 15…you get the idea.  There’s not a lot of quality paper out there that comes in the 8 X 12 dimension…lots of quality paper in 8.5 X 11 but if I use that paper I have to make an 8 X 10 print which means I have to crop my image.  And for some of my images, especially the landscapes, if I crop I end up with crap.  I’m not against cropping per se but I usually like to keep the same dimensions that I saw through the lens.

For some time I used 8.5 X 11 paper but I used a printed dimension of 7.25 X 10.825, which gave dimensionally pleasing printed images but made matting and mounting a pain.  So…while I was doing this I also started cutting my own mats to fit the images. Having moved to somewhat smaller accommodations I don’t have room for my mat cutter etc so image dimension has once again reared it’s ugly head.

I have discovered a few mats at Michaels that are 11 X 14 overall matted for 8 X 12 and that work just fine.  I simply take a large 13 X 19 sheet and cut it in half…the 19 not the 13…and I end up with a 9.5 X 13 sheet that can easily take an 8 X 12 print and still fit the 11 X 14 mat.

I have discovered that some images lend themselves very well to a 1:1 ratio (see…I’m not against cropping), but finding a mat at 1:1 is also a bit difficult.  I have purchased mats cut to a specific size from MatShop on the “inter-web” and I may have to go back to them and try again with their speicialized service.

There’s a downside to all of this perfection seeking and that’s the fact that you have to do a lot of experimenting to get close to what you want.  I’m not there yet but I am getting a bit closer.

There’s also a cost involved that initially can be daunting as you go through reams of various types of photo paper and gallons of printer ink…not to mention the ruined mats when you use the right handed mat cutter with your left hand.

I was reminded of some of this wastage recently as I fired up the old Epson Stylus Photo R2000 after a rather lengthy hiatus from printing.  The reason for not printing (aside from the Italy trip) was the fact that one of the 8 ink cartridges this thing uses (the Cyan T1592) was empty.  When this happens with the R2000 you can’t print anything…which I guess does help with all that experimentation as at least the ink colour variable stays the same.

I had been getting ink from Henry’s but they moved out of town.  I’ve also gone to my very trusty friends at Camera Kingston for ink but decided, since I only needed one cartridge, to buy direct from Epson using the “inter-web”.  It was reasonably priced and very quick as it was delivered right to the door…well actually the mailbox in the lobby.

Sooo….all systems good to go…Right?  Wrong!  It seems that leaving your printer all by itself for a few months really pisses it off…so much so that it clogs it’s own nozzles without any help from you.  To add to this wee issue my wireless connection seemed to have developed a glitch and only part of the image I was testing was getting through.  So the first test print, an absolutely magnificent monochrome production of mine (he said with a smirk), came out in a lovely robin’s egg blue…well half of the image came out in that colour.

Unclogging the nozzles is done automatically by the printer but had to be done several times before they actually got unclogged.  This uses ink.  Solving the wireless glitch never really happended.  After making several adjustments and running off a few prints in various stages of development from half way there to nearly there except for the last quarter inch…and of course chewing up some nice photo paper in the process…I resorted to hardwiring the damn thing into the router.  Works fine now.

This wireless problem is a mystery to me as the laptop is 5 feet from the router, which is 2 feet from the printer.  Perhaps we’re all just too close together.  I should also point out that at this stage of the process I’m starting to run out of the other inks as well and I haven’t yet decided which way to go with the next purchase, although I’d better not delay too long in getting more ink…I think the printer can read this now that it’s hardwired in.

The good news is that after all the fuss I managed to print 4 reasonable offerings for the Kingston Photographic Club 2nd Round Competition which is due today.  I did compromise by going the 8 X 10 route as I had a few mats of that type lying around. They won’t win any prizes but I am happy with the results using 3 different types of photo paper for the 4 images.

Next photo blog I’ll chat a bit about the things I’ve discovered about photo paper and those wonderful things called ICC profiles.

In the meantime if you have any comments or suggestions or advice please fee to send it along to furrasan@gmail.com.

Ciao

Epilogue

Kingston – November 2nd

Take Post

IMG_20171103_0002I set out on this trip to follow my Father and the men of 10th St Catharines Field Battery who spent 19 months from July, 1943 until February, 1945 fighing in Sicily and Italy. Along the way I visited the grave sites of the 5 gunners from 10 Bty who were killed in action and as a form of remembrance I left a stone from the Canadian Shield with a red maple leaf, on each man’s marker.

I also left a stone at the site of my friend Pat’s uncle who is buried in the Catania War Cemetery, Catania, Sicily.  I visited 3 other war cemeteries to pay my respects to the Canadians and other allies who rest there.

I solved a mystery about where my Father was in February and March 1945 when he should have been with his unit in North West Europe.  I stood in the same place he stood IMG_20171103_0003at Castello Lancellotti in Lauro during that time and I met a very dear man who helped me solve that mystery.  I even managed to find the Grand Hotel in Riccione where my Dad had a 7 day pass in October of 1944.

I visited our good friends Dave and Barb in Modica and they introduced me to a number of very fine Italians who were quite interested in this adventure. I met Cat in Florence and we spent four delightful days together, including dinner with Ian and Judith and there friends.  We all went to St Marks Church where we met Franz and Ilse and the company who performed a wonderful rendition of “Carmen”.  I learned a little bit about Italy along the way.  All of it pretty darn good…magnificent food and incredible wine aside…this is a lovely country and all the people I met were kind and gracious. Every time I said “Mi dispiace ma non parlo Italiano” I was greeted with a smile and a helping hand.

I travelled a lot on the roads of Italy…3,690 km to be exact…some of them good roads, some of them a bit worn…I got lost a bit….but all of the roads eventually took me where I wanted to go.

Other numbers to consider:  21 days;  12 hotel rooms;  9 Michelin maps;  8 war cemeteries; 5 airports; 4 aircraft; 1 ferry; 1 opera; 1 jazz quintet; a ton of photos; 0 Ducati motorcycles brought home.

Some people believe the Italian Campaign was a wasted effort. The Russians had been clamoring for a Second Front in order to drain German troops from the Eastern Front. After North Africa, Sicily and Italy seemed the logical next step to the invasion of Europe. After the surrender of Italy in September 1943 the Italians provided a Corps of over 330,000 to fight alongside the Allies…this Corps could have equally been going the other way if it had not been for the Sicilian Campaign and the landings on the Italian Mainland. On the other hand at least 160,000 Italian troops of the Italian Socialist Republic continued to fight for the Germans until the defeat in May 1945.

The fact that Italy became an ally forced the German army to maintain about 430,000 men and over 700 aircraft in Italy to counteract the invasion.  These troops and aircraft were therefore not available on the Eastern Front to fight the Russians, or the Normandy Front after June 6, 1945 to fight the allies.

After June 6, 1945 Italy was pretty much forgotten by most people. Some of the Canadians were resentful that there government pulled them out of Italy in February, 1945 when defeat of the German forces there was so close.  Most probably did not really care.  This had been a grueling and tiring and deadly campaign and if nothing else, the move to North West Europe took them even closer to England and eventually the home most of them hadn’t seen in 6 long years.

This remembrance day will be quite different for me.  I’ll still attend the Artillery Cenotaph in City Park, attended by serving and ex gunners of all ranks, but it will be a bit more personal.  I’ll be thinking of Stanley Cobourn, Arley Burke, Don Reid, Edward Thomas and Joe Jaillett.

Lest We Forget

Stand Down

 

 

 

 

The Grand Hotel

Riccione – Monday October 30th

Take Post

A somewhat unsettled sleep last night.  I think the near miss on the A11 was more unsettling than I thought…but…I’m up and at em as they say.  The first thing is to find a gommista so that I can get the tire repaired.  It turns out there’s one with a good reputation just up the road but I have to wait until 08:30 when they’re open.  When they’re open the boss tells me he can fix the tire but…he points to my watch and the 11…and suggests I drive around a bit since there’s no parcheggio here and he already has a line up of impatient Italian drivers.

This too has turned out to be a bit fortuitous.  There is one other place where I know my Dad was…but only in a general way…nothing as specific as Castello Lancellotti.  I have a 7 day pass for him to be at the Grand Hotel in Riccione commencing October 27, 1944….so I know that 73 years ago around the same date, he was in Riccione too.

Riccione is clearly a summer seaside town.  Hotels everwhere…most closed…parks, amusement rides, all closed….the waterfront walkway and cycle path is amazing, and lots of beachfront concessions and change areas…all closed up as well.  No lithe young things prancing about the beach.

Grand Hotel is not so grand anymore.  It’s quite overgrown and everything is locked up. In the back there is a large parking area with two wrecked cars.  The place is still standing however and was once one of the major hotels on the beach, in fact the footprint covers about 2 square City of Kingston blocks.

The Salvation Army War Services took over the Grand once the Canadians had settled in the area.  By this time in ’44 the Canadians had pushed further north across the Savio River and and were facing the Po Valley and it was time for a rest.  The fighting had been intense and the weather had been the worst October weather in living memory.

It’s 11:00 and time to find out how much it will cost to get my tire back.  The boss directs me to angle park my blue machine, brings out his cart, jacks up the car in 2 seconds, and with his pneumatic bolt driver has the new/old wheel back on while I stow the doughnut in the trunk…safe for another blowout.

Officina Pratelli has charged me E15 and I’m happy to pay it.  I now have the right tire back on at the right air pressure…no flashing dashboard warning lights…and I have a spare in the boot in case of another road hazard.  All is well in the driving world.

I’m off north along Route 16 to Ravenna.  The Canadians spent another dismal winter in the north of Italy, roughly between Ravenna and Cattolica, while the Italian Campaign became forgotten even at this stage of the war.  The war diary for 2nd Field has the last gun position for 10 Bty as 44 28 07 N    12 05 44 E on February 23rd, 1945 and I’m going to go there.

It’s a bit of a weary drive as the road is very busy with truck traffic and moving not very fast.  There are lots of roundabouts and on one of them I go all the way around just to get a tailgating truck off my bumper…I’ll follow him for a bit.

The further north you go the further behind you the mountains are until eventually you can’t see them at all and the land is completely flat for as far as the eye can see.  The mountains are still there…they’ve just turned west a bit and are angling away from the Po Valley.

The village of Mezzano is about 10 km NW of Ravenna along SS16.  Turn right at Via Zuccherifico and go across the railway tracks and you’ll see a field on the left.  The last gun postion in Italy of 10th St Catharines Field Battery, 2nd Field Regiment, 1st Canadian Division.

I guess I can say “mission accomplished”.

A few km back down the SS16 is a signpost for the Ravenna War Cemetery and a visit is in order.  There is a small parking area and a long grass walkway up to the gates.  We’re in the middle of farm country here and it’s flat, flat and more flat.  Just before the gate, on the right, is a marker explaining the involvement of 35,000 Palestinian Jews who enlisted in the British army to fight Nazi agression.  Thirty-three of their comrades rest here at Ravenna.

There are 956 markers in this cemetery of which 438 are Canadian.  I wander quite a bit and notice the small stones on everyone of the 33 Palestianian soldiers markers.  There are many personal inscriptions on these markers and whether it’s that, the end of the mission or the wind blowing across the fields…I’m suddenly very tired.

……………………

I have reservations in Bologna for tomorrow and Wednesday but I think I’ll head that way now and see if they’ll let me in.  I need to stop driving and I need to walk about a bit more.

From the Cemetery I strike out across the country side heading to SS 253, the backroad to Bologna.  This drive is quite pleasant, the road is flat and straight and there are very few vehicles around…a few tractors and such but no whizzing speed demons.  It’s about 70 km to Bologna and on the outskirts I take the autostrada bypass and head for the airport.  My hotel, the Amadeus is not far from the airport so taking that exit puts me home free.

Another eventful day, time to rest and take a breather.  Once settled inI amble down the road a few hundred meters and take a left turn on the Via Antonio Cavilieri Ducati.  I’m in the Borgo Panigale.  Panigale…Ducati…my these are interesting names.  Well…what do you know…I’m suddenly at the Museum and Factory of Ducati Motorcycles.  What a surprise.

I’ll have to check this all out tomorrow.

Buon riposo.

Stand Down

Riccione

Riccione – October 29th

Take Post

It’s been an exhausting day.

It began at 05:00 when Cat and I woke up to get ready for her ride to the airport.  On the way back from dropping her off…it was dark because we’d got up so early…an accident occurred in front of me on the A11 and I had to swerve to avoid two badly damaged cars and a truck…not to mention the people waving madly in the dark…duh.

The plan for the day was to take the A1 a bit south then head to the coast.  As I was just about to enter the A1 ramp the low tire pressure warning came on.  I didn’t take the turn and found the nearest spot to pull over. Now one of the interesting things about this car is that it’s a French Renault that I’m driving in Italy and all the warning words are in German.  Good thing the tire warning light is somewhat international.

I assumed that I’d hit something on the road while avoiding the pileup which, for those of you who’ve heard my tale of tire woes while travelling, will not come as a surprise.  In fact I think I would have been disappointed if I hadn’t blown a tire or two on this trip.

The signal showed the front left tire down to 2.5 and the book says it should be 3.0.  I drove for a bit on it and watched it go from 2.5 to 2.3.  At that point I stopped and put the doughnut on.  It’s actually a full size spare but the warning reads only 80 km/hr.  I took a look at the tire I’d taken off and sure enough there was a shinny bit of metal protruding. As if that wasn’t enough a few clicks later another warning light came on…you know the one with the little wrench implying something needs fixing.  I took a chance that it was telling me in German that there was something wrong with my front left tire…the one in the back of the car I mean…perhaps it’s own wee plea for help…so I ignored it and pushed on.

This called for a plan revision since it’s Sunday and abolutely nothing is open.  All the fuel stations are self serve so there’s no one around to even ask for assistance.  I decided to take the back roads to the coast…me and the doughnut.

Now, whoever said that every cloud has a silver lining was absolutely right.  Since I was on backroads doing about 80 I got to see some of the most beautiful country side anywhere in the world.  I sedately drove through the hills of Tuscany then over the Apenines to Fano.  The drive over the mountains was quite spectacular and I never went over 50, even downhill.  The road from Sansepolcre to Saint Angelo in Vado is only about 30 km but it is a motorcyclists dream come true.  The road is without a bump but with twists and turns galore.  At Saint Angelo there were at least a dozen bikes stopped for a rest and I was passed by at least a dozen more both coming and going.  I saw one bicyclist and he was going downhill all wrapped up for the weather.  You see the temperature went from a balmy 19 at the bottom to 10 at the top.

I pushed on slowly but surely…didn’t get lost once…amazing that.  I made it to Fano then decided to continue up the coast.  IMG_5725

I didn’t bother with lunch as I knew I’d already lost an hour of sunlight due to the time change and I was determined at this point to finish one major part of this quest.  I was only a few km away from Gradara where E. Joseph Jaillet is waiting.

SR 16 is the old Route 16 that our boys followed north to the Gothic Line. At Pesaro and the Foglia River things got very ugly for them.  Gradara has 369 of our boys attesting to that fact.

The day Joseph was killed he was manning Sgt Newcombes gun, which was one of the 700 guns firing on Coriano ridge, just west of where I am as I write.  This was the CanadianéBritish attack on that ridge.  Josephs gun received a direct hit from German counter battery fire, he and three others were wounded and Joseph died on the way to the aid station.

The cemetery itself is in an awkard spot hard against the hill side with a view of the A14 streaming by below.  Not what I would call the most picturesque of spots.  The spot was well signed from the SR 16 but the road in was rutted and there were trees down and the wind was a howlin’.  Joseph is laying at the very top of several rows of terraced markers and he actually has one of the best views of them all

I placed my final stone and said a few words of thanks to Joseph then headed back down through the olive trees and on my way.

I don’t know whether you recall the trouble I had finding digs along the Adriatic Coast much further south…well it ain’t much different in the north.  I figured there must be something open…this whole area being a seaside resort.  I stopped at a supermarcato to pick up dinner and asked if there was a hotel open.  The women looked at me as if I’d spoken english.  She then went and yelled to another worker at the very end of the store…and I’m assuming it was about an hotel aperto…but there were several customers who snickered so I immediately checkd to see if my pants were done up.

Apparently everything is chiuso in the hotel field.

I pushed on…I mean what else am I to do.  I took a right turn off SR 16 to the Royal Hotel…nada…locked up tight.  I tried another a few km along…again nada.  It’s now getting a wee bit dark and I’m thinking I may have to sleep in the car for the night.  See…the other thing is I’m pretty bushed and would welcome an OPEN sign.

In Riccione I strike gold…well actually the hotel operator struck gold as this little place is a bit high end and they want E79 a night.  I’m too tired to argue about it so that’s it for the night.

I’m again a bit ahead of schedule but I have one other place to go before Bologna and I might just try to get the tire (tyre) fixed as well.

Stand Down.

Firenze – Last Day

Firenze – October 28th

Take Post

I’ll begin with the end since that was the best part of our day.  We did visit the Galleria dell’ Academia and David but I can’t imagine how big Goliath was because David himself is a huge boy.  We also did the Uffizi, which was interesting, but we really topped the day off by going to the Opera.

This all started some weeks ago when our friend Craig told us that his brother Ian and his wife Judith were going to be in Firenze about the same time as us.  Ian and I connected and he invited us to dinner with another couple, Bonnie and Dennis, then the six of us would go to the Opera at St Marks English Church in Florence.

We dinned at Trattoria La Casalinga just NW of the Palazzo Pitti on the south side of the river.  Just around the corner is St Marks.  It is an Anglican Church established in 1877 to meet the needs of British visitors to Florence.  It is an intimate venue for an opera.

We sat in a semicircle in the centre of the church…Ian made sure we had front row seats as they have been going to these operas for years and are friends with Franz and Ilse Moser who established the Opera in 2002.  I have never attended an Opera and I highly recommend this venue for your first experience.

The acoustics were quite impressive and when I say it’s an intimate theatre I mean that you are within 1-2 meters of the performers at various points. Ian suggested that one of the things he enjoyed so much about this Opera is that intimate aspect.  We were not sitting so far from the action that we couldn’t see every facial detail and expression.  I can’t recall a live theatre performancee I’ve been to where you were so close to the performers but also not overwhelmed by the action.

Tonights opera was Carmen by Bizet featuring:

Raluca Pasquettin as Carmen and Mauro Pagano as Don Jose

Chiara Panacci as Micaela and Ricardo Crampton as Escamillo

I won’t list all of the very fine performers but suffice to say that they all come from different Opera Houses in Tuscany and are professional performers.

The Italian pianist Christiano Manzoni was the accompanist.

If you get to Firenze I highly recommend taking in a performance at St Marks.  This is coming to the end of their 15th season though so plan ahead for next year. One other detail and that is that all the proceeds from the performances go to AMALA a charity project for children in South India.

www.concertoclassico..info

www.stmarksitaly.com

While we were having dinner there was some conversation about what I was doing there and I had to point out that the GP occupied by 10 Bty from the 6th to the 8th of August 1944 was actually less than 3 km due south of where we were eating.

I had mentioned previously that, despite Firenze being declared a free city, there was still some danger from enemy action.  In fact 8 Bty had established a forward listening post and on the 8th it received a direct hit from a mortar round and Gnr Reeves was killed. I would venture to guess he was the signaller there.

On that sombre note I’ll leave this for the day.  Cat and I walked back to the Hotel Plaza Luchezzi and called a cab to take us back to the Mulino.  We were both very tired campers and yet we still have to get up at 05:00 to be airport bound.

Oh yes…we set our clocks back tonight…one more hour of snoozing.

Stand Down

Firenze

Firenze

Take Post

October 26th

Thursday has been a day of trying to figure out what to do in Firenze and area for the next few days.  There is a shuttle from the Mulino that goes into town and stops at the Hotel Plaza Lucchesi which is on the north side of the Arno, just east of the Ponte alle Grazie.  I turns out that this is also owned by the people who own the Mulino and the bus driver tells us that the view from bar on the roof is worth looking into, or at, as the case may be.

But first…we amble off through the streets following our nose and generally moving about with no idea of where we are going…you see we have no plan.  We wander a bit north, then a bit east where we stop and check our map.  I am curious about where David is so Cat checks her phone and tells me he’s at the Galleria dell’Accademia which is back west a bit, so we head back that way and stand out in front looking at the line up. Perhaps tomorrow or Saturday after we’ve checked out details on tickets.  Then it’s on again north and a bit north-west and we end up near the rail station and a big fort.  Then we decide this is no fun so we amble back down towards the Arno.  All along we are simply watching the many people and just enjoying the amble.

Then we stumble into the piazza with the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, which is made of marble and is a marvel.  Neil tells us that marble is a metamorphic limestone low grade, though good and strong for building statues and cathedrales…we hope that’s not a load of geoligist rubbish.

Inside the building it is immense and largely vacant, which is quite in contrast to the amazing look of it outside.  It is filled with people filing through but they do so quietly. The underside of the dome is quite the piece of artwork and Cat points out a couple of bizarre images.

Time to de-amble so we stop for a wee bite and a coffee and simply gaze at the building and the people hawking pictures and such.

IMG_5546We’re soon off and down by the Arno again crossing the Ponte alle Grazie.  Cat has suggested visiting the Giradino di Boboli so we head that way.  It’s a very steep and long climb up a narrow street to the top and when we get there we find it’s a trap.  The only way forward is through the garden gate which is going to cost us E20.  We decide it may not be worth it and anyway we want to see the Ponte Vecchio which we saw as we crossed the Arno…so back down the hill and an amble across this bridge which has a zillion jewellery shops on it.  The buildings appear to have been former houses, much like the original London Bridge.  All very quaint but somewhat spoiled by the glitter of gold and silver.

IMG_5545Our feet are aching so we head to the roof-top of the Luchessi as pointed out by the bus driver.  The view is indeed quite spectacular and we are obliged to have a seat and a glass of white.  Since we are guests at the Mulino we are entitled to a 10% discount, which I duly leave for the waiter who told us this.

Another amble to the old market where there are flea market stalls and absolutely no one pushing anything on you.  This is a pleasant chance to browse without being told that this or that would look just fine on my manly frame.  Down to the river again to watch some of the rowers then off to the Luchessi and our bus back to Mulino.

We had a great dinner, I ate what Cat ate last night and she ate what I ate last night.  We both agreed they were both equally good.  I forgot to mention that we were obliged to have a bottle of Chianti Classico since we are essentially in chianti country.  This stuff is a far cry from that Chianti we all knew and loved as undergrads….despite the cute baskets that those bottles came with.

……………

October 27th

I’m having trouble keeping the days straight.  Apparently this is Friday.  The day dawned cloudy and cool.  We decided to have a bit of a late start and didn’t have breakfast until 09:00.  Today we do have a plan, which is to go to Lucca, just down the road toward Pisa, tour this fabled walled city, then head a bit south and drive through chianti country.

Getting there and finding parking is a breeze, although I imagine in season it could be difficult.  Lucca’s wall is about 4 km in circumference and penetrated by at least 6 gates. IMG_5655 We enter at Porta S. Donata and head to the centre.  In one small square we find a fairly recent statue of Puccini and in the corner of the square a museum dedicated to his life.  Around the square are a number of restaurants, Madame Butterfly, Tosca, Paris Boheme, well….you get the idea.

At the Piazza San Michelle we visit the church then continue on quickly loosing our sense of direction as the narrow streets start to turn.  You have to realize that we have no plan for actually being in Lucca so we are again simply ambling.  At one point we spot a tower…there are many…but this tower has trees growing on top and people up there.  We have to find this tower.  That becomes harder than you think as we quickly loose sight of it and the direction it was in. Solution…head to the wall and wander the wall until we can see it again.

A few years ago Cat and I, along with Colin, had walked the wall in Chester, England. This wall is nothing like that wall.  First of all it is very, very wide, with a road down the middle.  In fact it looks like a park with trees growing and people ambling or biking along.  We are slightly above the old town, which is on our right and we can see the new town hustling and bustling to our left.

We can finally see our tower again and determine it’s the Torre Guinigi so a little more along the wall then down into town and a sign in the right direction and bingo we’re at the side entrance.  But first…if we’re going to climb this thing we need sustenance.  A little bistro provides just the stuff including a very palatble local white and before you know it we’re E30 lighter and ready to climb.

The view is spectacular….and there are 6 small oak trees growing there.

It is getting late in the day and despite the occasional glimpse of sun it is still mainly overcast.  We had planned a circuitous route to get to Greve in Chianti but decide to take the fast route so that we can enjoy the views in the daylight.  A quick zip down the A11, A1, to the SR222 and we are in the heart of chianti country.

It is too bad that we left this so late in the day, but there is something enchanting about the fall colours and the mist coming off the surrounding mountains.  Greve is a cute town and we’ll have to come back some day to do a proper wine tour of this region. It is classic tuscany and the wine is superb.

Enough for one day…back to the Mulino and some R&R in perparation for tomorrow.

Stand Down

Florence

Florence, October 25th

Take Post

10 Bty made it to Florence along with the rest of the Canadians but did not go into action.  The regimental war diary points out that although Florence was declared a free city by the Germans, this did not eliminate sniper fire and the occasional mortar round.

The reason the Canadians were here was part of another “ruse”.  Originally their move north had been kept a secret because the Eighth Army plans had been to drive through Florence on to Bologna and, of course, the Canadian Corps was expected to be the point and they didn’t want the Germans to know the Canadians were comming. At the beginning of July the Chief of Staff of the German Tenth Army, Generalmajor Fritz Wentzell summed it up…”if only I knew where the Canadians are”.

The Eighth Army big wigs changed their plans even as the Canadians moved north.  The plan was now to attack up the Adriatic Coast but to make the Germans believe the attack was coming through Florence so it was now necessary to let the Germans know where the Canadians were.  Still with me.  Not sure everyone in August 1944 was.

Waving the Canadian flag, as it where, would convince the Germans that an attack was forth coming.  To quote another German officer who was somewhat in awe of our boys, Oberst Henning Werner Runkel, the Chief of Staff of LXXVI Panzer Corps, “one of these days the Canadian Corps is going to attack and then our centre will explode”.

So our boys came to Florence, not to see the sights, but to be one of the sights seen. Once all this flag waving had occurred, the Canadians packed up and in just one week had secretly crossed the spine of Italy once again to a concentration area near Jesi, about 24 km from the coast.  This in itself was a major piece of work since the Canadian engineers built 190 km of road for our and the Brit tanks so that the road wouldn’t be chewed up for the infantry.

What’s about to happen from that point is the breaching of the Gothic Line…but I’ll get there when I get there.

At the moment I’m in an absolutely lovely spot on the south side of the Arno, on the east end of Florence, the Mulino di Firenze.  Look it up on the web and weep for me having to stay in such a lovely spot.  I’ll be picking Cat up in a few hours so that may be it for a while.

Stand Down

Perugia

Perugia, October 24th

Take Post

I was a bit beat last night and failed to mention a few of the “sights” I saw yesterday.  I’ll start with the tour groups.  There were many of them, some walking and some biking.  The guy leading the bike groups had his own special layout with all sorts of bells and whistles.  One group leader still had trouble with followers as they were overly cautious on the roads and fell behind.  Silly people.

The walking groups were really dressed for  the occasion.  Each group seemed to have their own apparel to distinguish them from the other groups.  One group had bright red hats, another bright blue scarves and another bright orange scarves.  This is called a uniform.

Every walking group had a leader with some sort of “flag” or flying object held high to identify them.  This is actually what flags were used for originally, as rallying points for a group of soldiers.

You can see where this is going.

Then there were the actual solders…lots of them.  At almost every corner there was a vehicle with at least two very well armed soldiers…all wearing uniforms of course.  Each had a machine pistol and a side arm.  They also wore very long billy clubs in case the other two items failed.

And they weren’t alone.  There were city cops and country cops all over the place.  I really liked the two carbinieri guys, all dressed in black, who whizzed by on two black Ducatis.  When I grow up I want that job.

But just to lighten the atmosphere there were ordinary people wandering in awe all over the place, although I think some may have been local.  The picture I put up last time that showed the young lady and the priest was interesting.  As they walked past me, totally oblivious of my photographic talents, she looked quite despondent and began to cry and he was trying to console her.  I think she was a troubled young lady looking for some help.

At the other end of the scale as I was eating lunch I watched this women with blond hair dressed very “haute couture” completely in black and wearing a bright purple scarf cross the street and come toward me.  From the other side, crossing in front of her was a man with blond hair, dressed completely in white and wearing a bright purple scarf. Wish I’d caught that crossing on camera insteading eating my ligune marinara.

……..

I’m not as tired today but I am going to be a movie star…what you say!

I slept in and didn’t get going unti 09:00 so I headed straight for the American War Cemetery in Anzio.  This is a striking place.  IMG_5302The size is quite amazing and it differs significantly from the austere look of the Commenwealth War Graves.  This one has the same sort of perspective that exists in Washington D.C., looking up from the Lincoln Memorial.  The crosses are on either side of a very long, wide grassed area with the statue of brothers in arms at the end in the centre of a memorial building. The building has a chapel on the left and on the right a room with a visual description of the American involvement in the Sicily/Italy Campaign.

And there was something else I’ve never seen at one of the CWG Cemeteries.  Lots of police.  There was a security guard at the gate and I saw 5 local cops ambling about.  Has it come to the point when not even the departed are safe?

I wandered around for at least 90 minutes then headed toward the visitors centre to sign the book. At this point I saw a video crew setting up their equipment and a young lady came over to me and asked if I spoke English.  I said yes and she asked me why I was here.

I essentially said that the break-out from Anzio by the Americans had resulted in the 1st Division being withdrawn from action and put in reserve.  The least I could do was pay my respects to those American boys who had, even temporarily, removed my Dad from harms way.  She loved it.  She wanted to interview me.  How could I resist, handsome devil that I would like to be.  So it was lights, camera and action.  All to be televised on the Catholic TV Channel…whatever that is.  She informed me that the Pope was going to visit Anzio Cemetery and she wanted some colour commentary.  Good thing I wore my bright yellow T shirt and blue jacket.

Then on to Perugia following our boys, although it’s not clear that they came on this side of Lake Trasimeno on the way north.  I do know they came this way on the way east to Jesi.  I’m here anyway so I’ll just enjoy the town.

I managed to find some digs after driving merrily around this very old and hilly town.  IMG_5378It’s a University centre and all the young kids ambling around tell the tale.  After settling in I went for a walkabout and I just love this place.  Winding, narrow streets, cafes and tiny shops all over the place…a photographers dream.  It would take quite a long time to discover all the hidden gems here.  The receptionist gave me a great map and pointed out the outdoor escalator across the street that made climbing to the centro storico very much easier.  He marked out a great little hour long route.  Along the way I saw two other outdoor escalators. going from top to bottom.  Ancient beyond belief with all the mod cons.

Time to hit the hay.  Big day tomorrow, off to Firenze for a four day visit with Cat.  I’ll pick her up at the airport tomorrow evening and we’ll paint the town red….assuming I can stay awake. If you don’t hear from me in a couple of days assume the best…we’re having too much fun and I’ll catch it all up later.

Stand Down