Anna Rosa, from darkness light

The destruction of my family began on September 29th 1944.
At dawn the SS troops reached Creda near Salvaro, where men, women and children were killed, the house and stables were set on fire, then in Maccagnano, where more women and children were killed.
Meanwhile, other troops started searching house after house, taking all the men with them, after separating them from women and children who were controlled under the threat of machine guns.
Walking in a line, abused, these men reached the “Scuderia” in Pioppe and […] the SS decided who was able or unable to work.
In the “Scuderia” there were my father Guido Sabatino, 35 years old, a finance policeman working in Savona who had come back home few days before, my grandfathers Adolfo Nannetti and Antonio Fava, two brothers in law of my grandfather, Primo Monetti and Virginio Venturi.
They were all shot at the “Botte” in Pioppe di Salvaro on October 1st 1944.

After the “Botte” massacre and the destruction of the houses and fields, my family decided to cross the Reno river and climb the Salvaro mountain and from there reach Grizzana, where Allied troops were and could bring them to the refugee centre in Florence.
On the other side of the river, in Campiglio, the large Righi family lived in two houses, they were generous people who, in shifts, kept the fire in the fireplace on all night to warm us and offer us some comfort.
Because of a bad ear and throat infection, I was constantly crying for the pain.
I was crying loud also that night, on Salvaro mountain, where we could hear soldiers walking down the mountain and my mother Giovannina (Giannina) Fava decided to leave the group. If those soldiers were SS attracted by my cry, they would have reached the group, they would have shot us all and we would have been responsible for that massacre. For this reason my mother, as a righteous and brave person, decided to leave and walk, holding me in her arms, towards those soldiers […]
After some moments, suddenly a smiling soldier came out of the wood, with his open arms to get me and relief my mother from the difficulty to carry me.
My mother told me she said to this soldier: “But your skin is black” and he replied: “I am Brasilian”.

With my mother and all the other relatives and friends we left for the Refugees’ centre in Florence […]

I was cured by a good doctor but […] I couldn’t face the diphtheria epidemic which made all the refugees sick.
Almost dying, I was admitted to the hospital and stayed there for some months.
My mother was allowed to come and see me at the hospital four times a day to breastfeed me.

My uncle Alfredo Palmieri made any effort to come and get me in Florence with a private car. He had to sell a calf to pay for private transportation and he was often telling me the calf sent the car to pick me up.
In those days I had to face another pain: the separation from my mother.
“Mom had to come back to Camugnone and […] work at the shop and osteria in order not to lose the licence”

I came back to Pioppe to attend the primary school.

My father saved some money for my education.

I went to the boarding school to attend junior high and high schools.

Then as a working student, with lots of sacrifices, I graduated at the University.
My mother came to Bologna on my graduation’s day.

I started working as a teacher supporting children with disability.
I still live in Bologna.

Starting from the traumatic experiences of those who suffered in Monte Sole to listen to the close memories and distant tales that migrants bring with them.

Go to M.’s account and explore his story.