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| Formia, near Minturno |
What possessed us to think that we could rent a car in Rome and drive south to the Amalfi coast? Our ultimate goal today was to visit the Minturno Commonwealth War Cemetery.
First we had to find the Avis Car Rental Office in Rome. Dragging our luggage, soliciting opinions from police officers and by much trial and error, we found the office and were taken by van to the sight of our rental car -a very small Fiat Panda. The trunk is full with one of our suitcases; the other has to ride in the back seat. Avis cars are given to you with a minimum gas or diesel in them and none is available. Finding diesel was our first priority plus finding a route around the Roman ruins, churches and other monuments, one way streets, passing-on-the-right scooters, and dawdling pedestrians. Our arsenal was two GPS, a Rome map and a map of Italy. Laurie was driving and I was navigating. By some fluke we made it unscathed with few wrong turns!
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| Cemetery Register |
I never met my Uncle Andre and I know little about him from my father or other relatives. He was six years older than my dad, taller and slighter too. He looked reflective in photos and didn’t have the impish demeanor of Dad. He must have had a bit of a rebellious streak though because he played stride piano even though he came from a straight-laced Baptist family. I know nothing of his occupation, but he must have had one as he joined the war at age twenty-five. Both he and my dad signed up to be scouts in different regiments. Dad was put into the tank corps because he wrecked too many motorcycles and he got into mischief while hanging around waiting for the regiment to catch up to him. Since Uncle Andre spent the whole of his war as a scout for the British Army, it is likely he was responsible, although he never had a higher rank than Lance Corporal. He may have shared my father’s dislike of the military machine. It was interesting that both brothers chose riding motorcycles as their preference for “doing their bit”. They had an older brother that was killed at age 12 while riding a bicycle. After that their mother decreed that no one in the family would ride a bike again.
Finding the Commonwealth War Cemetery was another
matter. After a three and a half hour drive, the GPS took us down a dirt road and
not to our destination - more hopping out and asking for directions. It turned out that we were not far away but
the instructions included turning left into a No Entry street (with no other
option than entering a freeway). Fortunately the traffic was light.
I never met my Uncle Andre and I know little about him from my father or other relatives. He was six years older than my dad, taller and slighter too. He looked reflective in photos and didn’t have the impish demeanor of Dad. He must have had a bit of a rebellious streak though because he played stride piano even though he came from a straight-laced Baptist family. I know nothing of his occupation, but he must have had one as he joined the war at age twenty-five. Both he and my dad signed up to be scouts in different regiments. Dad was put into the tank corps because he wrecked too many motorcycles and he got into mischief while hanging around waiting for the regiment to catch up to him. Since Uncle Andre spent the whole of his war as a scout for the British Army, it is likely he was responsible, although he never had a higher rank than Lance Corporal. He may have shared my father’s dislike of the military machine. It was interesting that both brothers chose riding motorcycles as their preference for “doing their bit”. They had an older brother that was killed at age 12 while riding a bicycle. After that their mother decreed that no one in the family would ride a bike again.
I have copy of a
letter that Andre sent my grandmother.
It was one of the few things left of the family memorabilia. The letter
is beautifully written, both in appearance and text. It contrasts sharply with
the inscription that the family had placed on his grave marker in the Minterno Commonwealth War Cemetery -
“Look with sorrow, as you gaze with
horror at the modern ways, the symbols of tomorrow.” He was killed December 9,
1943 along with another chap from his regiment. He was 29 years old. Uncle
Andre never married nor had children.
We stumbled upon our hotel on the front in Minturno, now a
tourist beach town. As soon as we unpacked and went to set up the computer and
access the internet, we realized that we had left our our power adapter in the
last hotel. Although the hotel had one to borrow we realized we had to buy a
new one. We borrowed some single gear
old clunkers from the hotel and pedaled off down the promenade. The “i”
information lady suggested we might get satisfaction at “Chinatown”. We weren’t sure where this was and had
visions of a section of the town with a Chinese gate and such. The red silk lanterns and gawdy polyester
flowers outside a shop indicated that “Chinatown” meant the same as “dollar
store”. Laurie found the power adapter and we cycled back as thunder rolled in
the mountains behind the town and lightning forked the sky some distance away.
We had to celebrate today’s triumph so we parked the bikes and toasted Uncle Andre with a beer in a
bar on the beach.
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