On Saturday we ventured to the area of Anzio and Nettuno to visit the American and British military cemeteries of World War II soldiers. It was a quiet and poignant day. Anzio and Nettuno are coastal towns and were a strategic point in the allied invasion of Italy that eventually liberated Rome and even more eventually Nazi occupied northern Italy.
The American cemetery was the easiest to find so we started there. It is a beautiful tribute to those fallen soldiers with gravestones either as crosses or Stars of David marking each soldier there. The markers contain the name and the state each of the soldier and there is a very nice large monument overseeing the cemetery which has information about the campaign as well as a bronze statue of two soldiers standing side by side. I was also impressed by the carvings on the front of the monument (you can see one here).
What surprised me about these carvings the most is the angel was depicted without wings. Mormons believe angels don't have wings. (But that's a subject for another time.)
As a Canadian, however, I wanted the opportunity to pay my respects to the Canadian soldiers who died in that area. We guessed that they were probably at the British cemetery which is less well known and in a location about a 5 minute drive from the American cemetery. It took some instructions from a couple of people to find it.
The British cemetery was in fact labeled as "The British Commonwealth" cemetery so there were Canadians there with the maple leaf on their markers.
I was also happy to see a Hindu marker for a soldier from India as well as a Punjabi marker:
The British Commonwealth cemetery is a smaller, more humble cemetery but still very beautiful and well tended. I was surprised that the markers weren't like the American cemetery; they were like normal grave stones, but what made me both sad and glad at the same time were the personal messages from family inscribed on these markers. Take a look at some of them:
Doesn't this one just break your heart? He left behind three little girls. Did they manage? What happened to them?
He was only 22 leaving behind a wife and son.
I was regretful I had no flower to lay on this grave. I hope others have many times over the years.
I think many of us can identify with this statement when it comes to our loved ones.
A sorrowing mother. Her caption says it all.
The caption is obscured a little. It says "Of this bad world, the loveliest and the best has smiled, said goodnight and gone to rest."
I hope Gwen eventually found the comfort she pleaded for. She was looking to the right source for that peace.
And this is an interesting one:
And among the sorrowing messages, there were also some messages of hope:
These were the graves that had names and a place for the family to express their sorrow in a few simple words. But there were many many graves that were like this:
The remains of soldiers they could not identify. There were so many in that cemetery. And the only thing they could put on the marker is "Known Unto God." Yes, they are. And I'm sure their families at home treasured their names even if they don't know where their remains were buried. But as I gazed at the monument at the head of the British cemetery, I thought about the importance of names:
Our names are symbols of us, our lives, what we accomplish and what we do in this life. None of us want to be forgotten. These families who provided inscriptions for these markers did not want their loved ones names forgotten because of who they were and what they meant to them.
It made me think about all of us who do Family History research; we search out names of our ancestors but why? It's not just a name we want. We want to help and honour the people who possessed those names. We may not know much of what they were like or what they did, but they were people who contributed to this world in their capacity. They were people who had joys and sorrows, loved and lost just like us. We want their names recorded and preserved. In fact, we are commanded to do so.
I am grateful to all those soldiers who endured the horrors of war - both those who died and those who lived for they went just trying to make a difference. They probably couldn't conceive how difficult it would be to go to war just as I can't conceive now what it's like to live through a war. But they mattered. Their names matter. All names matter. That's what our day at the cemeteries taught me.
Growing up, I can always remember that little bit of melancholy I would feel when New Year's Day would come because I knew that the Christmas holidays were just about over and I would be heading back to school within a day or two. In later years, when I was employed by the school system, I experienced that feeling again. People in Italy don't experience this because their Christmas holidays go for another week after New Year.
Technically January 6th is a Christian holiday called Epiphany which commemorates the visit of the Magi to the Christ child. However, most Italians call this day "Befana" which, according to tradition, is when a good witch flies through the air on her broom visiting all the children's households and leaving either a lump of coal in their stocking if they were bad, or a treat if they were good. Sound familiar?
My husband celebrated Befana when he was young and really didn't know anything about Santa Claus until he came to Canada. Now, of course, Italians embrace Santa Claus and many of the more British and North American Christmas traditions we are familiar with, but they haven't given up Befana. I found it a little disconcerting that right after New Year I saw witch decorations for sale as well as witches haunting the outside of stores alongside the Christmas decorations. It was like Halloween all over again.
Well, of course as missionaries we don't get holidays off, generally speaking, but we do get some of the benefits of the Italians being off or away. For one thing, we experience the joy of nearly non-existent Rome traffic and even maybe a place to park the car. Another is the chance to see presepes for an extra week.
Presepes is the name for nativity scenes and it really is a jaw-dropping art form here in Italy. At home, most nativity scenes I saw were just the stable scene with the shepherds and the three wise men. Here, presepes extend to the whole village and a whole lot goes on in these scenes besides the stable scene with Joseph, Mary and the Baby Jesus. As an example, I want to show you some pictures of a life-size presepe we accidentally stumbled on in our Saturday P-Day on New Year's Eve. We went to a little hill-top town called Castel San Pietro Romano and saw that they had an interesting looking castle there. When we got to the castle, we realized the town had set it up as a life-sized presepe.
The first clue was just outside the castle wall when we found the little shed that had the tax/census taker guarded by two Roman solidiers. The helmets on those soldiers were quite rusty.
Inside the castle courtyard, the "Little Town of Bethlehem" scenes unfolded before us. It was delightful.
What an interesting touch to have women selling birds in those stick cages.
And women checking out cloths. I can really imagine this would have happened in any little town.
The water in this waterwheel was real and the wheel was turning. It was part of a little stream they created that went right through the village.
Some of the mannequins moved such as this one doing the olive press.
The three Wise Men here are either taking a break from all that gift giving, or they're resting after the long journey before going out to find the Christ child.
These women look rather bored. Don't they know what an important event was unfolding in town?
Now the sheep were not mannequins...
But the cow was. I guess you can probably tell.
And now for the grande finale, in a little stone shed right in the middle of the courtyard...
I had never seen anything like this. I have seen many miniature presepes since being here, but never a life-sized one.
There are also live presepes with real people held in several of the medieval hill top towns around Italy. It was my intention to go to one. In fact a group of us went this past Saturday just the day after Befana to see the one in Greccio, the hill top town where St. Francis of Assisi first started the presepe. (That's right; St. Francis didn't start it in Assisi. He started the tradition in Greccio.) Unfortunately the weather turned bitter cold and, although it didn't snow on us, it sure snowed in unexpected parts of Italy including Sicily. When we got to Greccio, we realized that, in spite of our layers and winter coats, if we stayed for the live nativity, we were apt to freeze to death. So we had a wonderful lunch in a little restaurant we had all to ourselves, and then went to the nativity museum. This is where you realize how true artisans work on these beautiful presepes:
I believe this is St. Francis carrying the Christ Child against the Dove. I think it's gorgeous.
We were very taken by how this Christ child looked. I had never seen one like that before.
I actually like the fact that my camera flash caused that ray of light in the picture. It seems appropriate.
So many details. I think the people who make these are a little like the people who get together and make model train sceneries.
Here's a unique one. Some of the ones in the museum were very different and quite artistic.
I am so grateful to have had these experiences and to be in a place where communities don't just put their nativity scenes in houses of worship or in private homes. Entire communities embrace them and have them available to see in all kinds of public places. Although I didn't get to see it, I'm told that one of the major piazzas in Rome had prescepes on display throughout the piazza. Hats off to my fellow Christians for showing their faith as well as their gifted artisan-ship in this way.
I also appreciate these because I believe in Christ. He is my Saviour and my Redeemer. How wonderful it is to be reminded of this at this time of year in unexpected places.
