Saved by the Ficara
It was September of 1943. Thirty-two year old Maria Caterina was a solitary female aiding to look after her younger sis and her father. Her four bothers were someplace out in the battle theatre of World War 2. No information has actually been gotten from them for rather a long time currently. Rumours circulated the town that a minimum of 2 had been taken prisoner, however no-one recognized without a doubt.
She took the typical stroll down right into the gully where her family members veggie yard lay on the actions dug out from the side of the mountain.
She climbed up the old ‘ficara’, which suggested fig tree in their regional dialect. The base of the tree was so huge that 2 individuals hugging it on contrary sides would not be able to sign up with hands. She meticulously made her method up a thick branch, slowly inching her way towards components heavily stuffed with ripe figs.
She was using a ‘fardale’, dialect for an apron, as well as kept stuffing the pockets with freshly selected figs. She consumed one, after that one more. They were so sweet. She stretched out to get hold of one certain fat juicy fruit when she believed she heard males’s voices. They were shouting. She quit to listen. All of a sudden, something blew up near the base of the tree. Dust rose all over as well as she heard tiny objects whistling passed her ear, slicing down leaves and fruit as they zipped. She closed her eyes, and after that all heck broke loose.
A group of soldiers came into her view, as well as they were running back towards the village. They were wearing German uniforms. She understood that because they had actually been inhabiting the village for months currently. Stone’s throw behind them were various other soldiers. They looked different as well as both teams were contending each various other. One German obtained shot in the leg and two of his countrymen grabbed him leaving the guy’s rifle behind. She cursed as she realised she remained in the middle of some fight … stuck, high up on the ficara.
She closed her eyes and held on to the thick branch for her dear life. There was so much shouting, screaming as well as guns popping off everywhere. No-one had spotted her set down there, high up on the tree, however explosions continued. She felt the figs present of her pockets as well as go down to the ground beneath her. She was also busy holding on. It lasted just a couple of mins however to Maria Caterina it really felt an infinity.
This story was relayed to me personally by Maria Caterina, my aunt. It was interesting to hear her recount this event, more than when. She died in 2006 just 2 months reluctant of her ninety-sixth birthday celebration. This was her account of the Allied pressures liberating her village of Santa Caterina dello Ionio situated in the highlands of Calabria, district of Catanzaro. That fig tree was entirely damaged in the fires that underwent that location, I assume around 1987.