I just discovered that my late grandfather was in the crowd that gathered in Milan in April 1945 to see Mussolini’s body hanging. He took a photo. We don’t have the photo. I wonder whether my aunt does.
Apparently he also went to La Scala to see whether there was an opera on, and there was nobody there, so he went on the stage. I don’t know whether he sang an aria to the empty house, but I rather think he did. It was the sort of person he was.
I remember he said, and I have no reason to doubt it, that when his unit passed through Rome he went to the Vatican and asked to see the Pope, and he actually got to talk to the Pope for thirty seconds. I wish I had even half the confidence that must have taken. The conversation went
Pius XII: Where are you from?
Grandpa: Birmingham.
Pius: A very great city.
Also I already told you he won the MC for blowing up fascists, yeah? This is the citation. His bomb didn’t go off so he crawled back and put another detonator on it.
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When he talks about WWII boot camp in his memoirs, he mentions several times forging passes so he could get out to see my grandma. It’s really sweet.
Also while I’m stanning my grandfather: he looked amazing in drag.
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