All'Isola d'Elba non c'è stata la Resistenza e nemmeno la guerra partigiana; c'è stata la guerra e basta. C'è stata Portoferraio bombardata e distrutta dagli Stukas; c'è stato il siluramento dello Sgarallino. Ci sono stati, però, dei Resistenti. Elbani che, altrove, sono saliti su montagne che non somigliavano nemmeno un po' al Capanne o al Monte Calanche, o che hanno combattuto in grandi città. Uno di questi è morto un anno e mezzo fa, il 17 ottobre 2009, per l'esattezza. Aveva ottantasei anni.
Si chiamava Guglielmo Pacini , and I would immediately clear up any misunderstanding: I never knew. Or rather, not consciously. He lived in San Piero, and maybe I will have also seen the fountain in the square or Piazza 'the' Church on the wall, to get some fresh air and chatting. But I did not know it existed. An old man like any other. And, of course, did not know his history, I met her, so completely random, about ten minutes ago. With this in mind, tell it becomes a question of pure unconsciousness, in short, everything that concerns me. Those who tell stories, even as best as myself, has always something fundamental: it is history that speaks for itself. The writer is calasse as if it suddenly into his own pit, and it came out wet even if there were first drowned.
What do you do if you're born in San Piero in Campo? It does the stone quarryman. William was a stone quarryman than that, probably not as noble as that of Carrara, but has the same hardness. I neither know nor do I know which roads they had taken away from Elba, although I can intuit, like any small island, the island is a place from which, at some point, it goes away. Without hesitation. Then, perhaps, you come back, or maybe not. Years to go away, leave, was the norm, and here I have to stop. I have to jump to a certain day, which is not an ordinary day: at 25 April 1945.
William Pacini, Elba St. Pierre was part of the Garibaldi Brigades. Who had brought him there, and for what reasons and ideologies, I do not know and I will continue to ignore it, he was a boy of twenty-two years, as hundreds of his peers, he chose to fight against fascism, just not much I can say. Being in Garibaldi, it was possible that he felt bound to communism or socialism, I, instead, now I do not know how to go forward and you need to pour myself a glass of водка, perhaps to a healthy boy and all others who on that day touched the future. Was not a question that was not there. There was all to do.
On 25 April 1945 alle ore 7 del mattino, pare che Guglielmo Pacini dovesse restare ragazzo per sempre, e che non dovesse mai più rivedere l'Elba, San Piero, le cave. Per il semplicissimo motivo che quel giorno, a quell'ora, era stata fissata la sua fucilazione, a Milano. La parola fato significa "quel che è stato detto"; la sua radice antichissima è quella del verbo latino fari e di quello greco φημί . A quella stessa ora, il cavalier Benito Amilcare Andrea Mussolini si trova pure a Milano e si prepara a scappare verso Como ("se avanzo seguitemi" ecc.). All'alba, in città scoppia l'insurrezione generale decretata dal CLN; i plotoni di esecuzione fascisti sono fermati, e i prigionieri vengono liberati; tra di essi il cavatore ventiduenne sanpierese Guglielmo Pacini. Per quanti sforzi io faccia, non mi riesce di immaginare la cosa. Sapere di dover morire sotto il piombo a una data ora, contare i minuti, palpare gli ultimi istanti di vita; poi arriva qualcuno e ti dice: sei libero. Magari mezz'ora prima, o dieci minuti. C'è stato comunque chi è morto, in quell'ultimo giorno di guerra. No, davvero non è possibile immaginare una situazione di questo genere.
Arriva la Liberazione; la storia del cavalier Mussolini la conosciamo tutti. Il camion tedesco, l'arresto, la Petacci, Dongo, Giulino di Mezzegra, il colonnello Valerio. La conosciamo tutti perché, questa, è Storia ragionevolmente discharged despite all the assumptions, controipotesi, sensational revelations, denials and more. In this story, however, do not know what William has been a partisan in the four days between 25 and 29 April 1945. Expected to have wandered for Milan will be celebrated, it is understandably drunk from grape marc, have made love with a boy, has waved his flag, will do anything, personal and collective, that ribadisse to be still alive . I do not think it was easy to be convinced, despite the atmosphere. Meanwhile, 28 April, Mussolini, Petacci and other Fascist Republicans are shipped the next world, and here we return to history. The 29 aprile, però, li ritroviamo tutti insieme. Il partigiano Guglielmo scampato alla fucilazione, i fascisti fucilati e Claretta Petacci. Sono tutte e due nella stessa piazza, la storia e la Storia; piazzale Loreto.
La stessa piazza, è oltremodo bene ricordarlo, dove qualche mese prima 15 partigiani erano stati fucilati, ed i loro cadaveri straziati tenuti esposti al ludibrio per un giorno intero su un marciapiede. Occhio per occhio. Al "Duce", alla sua amante e agli altri gerarchi fu riservato lo stesso trattamento. Prima esposti sullo stesso marciapiede, e nelle medesime condizioni; poi appesi per i piedi a ciò che venne genericamente definito un "traliccio", e che invece era la struttura di una stazione di benzina. E qui succede something, indeed, a mixture of things.
Claretta Petacci, the lover of the "Duce", suffer the same fate as the others, except that, being a woman, wearing a skirt. In that position, very uncomfortable even for a corpse, the garment is reversed and left naked. The partisan William was intended to be part of a security cordon that prevented the angry mob of raging on the bodies of the fascists; quite realistic assumption. A young partisan can not do it, and decides to save the woman humiliation certainly useless, even if we do not know if, roles reversed, a young fascist would do the same with a partisan killed. The young partisan is going to ask to a friend If you have a safety pin, and this gives it to him, then asks for help to climb the tower. Comes forward a partisan William, and together with the young guerrilla climbing damage the structure, it is the time to be decided in the picture below the title. Along with securing the pin to the petticoat Claretta Petacci, dead, covering it. The story would, ultimately, ended up here.
not entirely. First of all, even the young guerrilla who took on the lattice with the quarryman William Pacini Elba has a name and a surname. She was born in Turin on 14 June 1921, seven years before Che Guevara, a young girl was a skilled swimmer. Her name was Carla Voltolina , and this was its appearance at that age:
Non molto tempo dopo si innamorò di un altro partigiano, che sposò. Con ingenua fierezza, mi sono sempre compiaciuto di dire che siamo nati lo stesso giorno: il 25 settembre. Si chiamava Sandro Pertini . Anche quando fu eletto presidente della repubblica, la Carla continuò a fare la sua vita; era diventata psicologa, e negli ultimi tempi lavorava a Firenze, all'ospedale di Santa Maria Nuova. Una volta la incontrai sull'autobus, alla fermata di via Martelli davanti alla libreria Marzocco. Molti anni fa, in un altro secolo e probabilmente anche in un altro mondo.
Il partigiano Guglielmo ebbe a dire, e c'è motivo di credergli, che in quelle ore a piazzale Loreto aveva had no fear that in the months and months in combat in the mountains. Now I'm going to fetch another glass of არყის, then followed.
I am deeply convinced of two things.
The first is that the treatment and those others hung Mussolini was quite right and proper. The moral revisionist not affect me miss smear, even with regard to Petacci. He shared a destiny, and stop, do not see why it should be reserved for special treatment. Remain faithful to their man until the end is not, then, necessarily a certificate of merit and admiration, otherwise the same should be said of Frau Eva Braun and Mrs. Elena Petrescu conjugated Ceau Ş escu.
The second is that, certainly, in the midst of that angry mob who wanted to rage over the corpses of the fascists, there have been many who until a few months before hail them and shouting "Duce, Duce" in the streets. But there is something to marvel too, and is typical of any dictatorship. If I have to rail against the Italians and their attitudes, I will not do this, success is always and everywhere. When the tyrant falls, are the first to want to tear his fan of the past, only to then return to regret it. And, anyway, when you live under occupation and they tell you to go wild in the streets yelling, it takes courage to do otherwise. Usually the start of firing and killing:
Now yes, the story and the story has ended.
do not know when the partisan William is finally back on the island of Elba. He may have spent their lives elsewhere and go back to old age, or, perhaps, will be returned immediately. The young guerrilla who had risen with him on the left pylon for a road, him for another. He says he does not like to talk about that episode, William, because he was afraid of not being believed, perhaps not even known to have been photographed.
And do not even know how to define the gesture, because I do not like the word "pity." Perhaps, perhaps, a gesture of elementary civilization in those hours which, however, can not be judged with common meters, or, perhaps, more simply, the act of two boys who had not lost his sense of humanity even before humanity of those who had not shown.
Sooner or later, however, the partisan and quarryman William Pacini will be back on the ferry from Piombino, for coming back to San Piero. It had to have things on my mind, and has had within it the necessary strength to live a normal life, secluded, perhaps keeping his ideals, or perhaps even abandoned. Things will happen during a long life, especially when, at a given moment, that life was due to end soon instead, and that has continued for so decided his fate.
Marina di Campo, a few years ago, an area of \u200b\u200bspace behind the moat Vapelo, just where my aunt lived Bastiana after he returned from Argentina, was used as a parking lot. It was decided to name this space "Piazza Sandro Pertini", and the unveiling of the plaque was invited Carla Voltolina. Was present, it is said, also William Pacini. The closer, becoming recognized, and she wanted to give him a red rose that had just been delivered by the mayor (my former professor of mathematics at the holidays, a heroically and who tried in vain to get me a bit 'of algebra in the pumpkin). I hope that Rose has followed the partisan William in his grave, and I think when those guys back then did not remain a single one.
Si chiamava Guglielmo Pacini , and I would immediately clear up any misunderstanding: I never knew. Or rather, not consciously. He lived in San Piero, and maybe I will have also seen the fountain in the square or Piazza 'the' Church on the wall, to get some fresh air and chatting. But I did not know it existed. An old man like any other. And, of course, did not know his history, I met her, so completely random, about ten minutes ago. With this in mind, tell it becomes a question of pure unconsciousness, in short, everything that concerns me. Those who tell stories, even as best as myself, has always something fundamental: it is history that speaks for itself. The writer is calasse as if it suddenly into his own pit, and it came out wet even if there were first drowned.
What do you do if you're born in San Piero in Campo? It does the stone quarryman. William was a stone quarryman than that, probably not as noble as that of Carrara, but has the same hardness. I neither know nor do I know which roads they had taken away from Elba, although I can intuit, like any small island, the island is a place from which, at some point, it goes away. Without hesitation. Then, perhaps, you come back, or maybe not. Years to go away, leave, was the norm, and here I have to stop. I have to jump to a certain day, which is not an ordinary day: at 25 April 1945.
William Pacini, Elba St. Pierre was part of the Garibaldi Brigades. Who had brought him there, and for what reasons and ideologies, I do not know and I will continue to ignore it, he was a boy of twenty-two years, as hundreds of his peers, he chose to fight against fascism, just not much I can say. Being in Garibaldi, it was possible that he felt bound to communism or socialism, I, instead, now I do not know how to go forward and you need to pour myself a glass of водка, perhaps to a healthy boy and all others who on that day touched the future. Was not a question that was not there. There was all to do.
On 25 April 1945 alle ore 7 del mattino, pare che Guglielmo Pacini dovesse restare ragazzo per sempre, e che non dovesse mai più rivedere l'Elba, San Piero, le cave. Per il semplicissimo motivo che quel giorno, a quell'ora, era stata fissata la sua fucilazione, a Milano. La parola fato significa "quel che è stato detto"; la sua radice antichissima è quella del verbo latino fari e di quello greco φημί . A quella stessa ora, il cavalier Benito Amilcare Andrea Mussolini si trova pure a Milano e si prepara a scappare verso Como ("se avanzo seguitemi" ecc.). All'alba, in città scoppia l'insurrezione generale decretata dal CLN; i plotoni di esecuzione fascisti sono fermati, e i prigionieri vengono liberati; tra di essi il cavatore ventiduenne sanpierese Guglielmo Pacini. Per quanti sforzi io faccia, non mi riesce di immaginare la cosa. Sapere di dover morire sotto il piombo a una data ora, contare i minuti, palpare gli ultimi istanti di vita; poi arriva qualcuno e ti dice: sei libero. Magari mezz'ora prima, o dieci minuti. C'è stato comunque chi è morto, in quell'ultimo giorno di guerra. No, davvero non è possibile immaginare una situazione di questo genere.
Arriva la Liberazione; la storia del cavalier Mussolini la conosciamo tutti. Il camion tedesco, l'arresto, la Petacci, Dongo, Giulino di Mezzegra, il colonnello Valerio. La conosciamo tutti perché, questa, è Storia ragionevolmente discharged despite all the assumptions, controipotesi, sensational revelations, denials and more. In this story, however, do not know what William has been a partisan in the four days between 25 and 29 April 1945. Expected to have wandered for Milan will be celebrated, it is understandably drunk from grape marc, have made love with a boy, has waved his flag, will do anything, personal and collective, that ribadisse to be still alive . I do not think it was easy to be convinced, despite the atmosphere. Meanwhile, 28 April, Mussolini, Petacci and other Fascist Republicans are shipped the next world, and here we return to history. The 29 aprile, però, li ritroviamo tutti insieme. Il partigiano Guglielmo scampato alla fucilazione, i fascisti fucilati e Claretta Petacci. Sono tutte e due nella stessa piazza, la storia e la Storia; piazzale Loreto.
La stessa piazza, è oltremodo bene ricordarlo, dove qualche mese prima 15 partigiani erano stati fucilati, ed i loro cadaveri straziati tenuti esposti al ludibrio per un giorno intero su un marciapiede. Occhio per occhio. Al "Duce", alla sua amante e agli altri gerarchi fu riservato lo stesso trattamento. Prima esposti sullo stesso marciapiede, e nelle medesime condizioni; poi appesi per i piedi a ciò che venne genericamente definito un "traliccio", e che invece era la struttura di una stazione di benzina. E qui succede something, indeed, a mixture of things.
Claretta Petacci, the lover of the "Duce", suffer the same fate as the others, except that, being a woman, wearing a skirt. In that position, very uncomfortable even for a corpse, the garment is reversed and left naked. The partisan William was intended to be part of a security cordon that prevented the angry mob of raging on the bodies of the fascists; quite realistic assumption. A young partisan can not do it, and decides to save the woman humiliation certainly useless, even if we do not know if, roles reversed, a young fascist would do the same with a partisan killed. The young partisan is going to ask to a friend If you have a safety pin, and this gives it to him, then asks for help to climb the tower. Comes forward a partisan William, and together with the young guerrilla climbing damage the structure, it is the time to be decided in the picture below the title. Along with securing the pin to the petticoat Claretta Petacci, dead, covering it. The story would, ultimately, ended up here.
not entirely. First of all, even the young guerrilla who took on the lattice with the quarryman William Pacini Elba has a name and a surname. She was born in Turin on 14 June 1921, seven years before Che Guevara, a young girl was a skilled swimmer. Her name was Carla Voltolina , and this was its appearance at that age:
Non molto tempo dopo si innamorò di un altro partigiano, che sposò. Con ingenua fierezza, mi sono sempre compiaciuto di dire che siamo nati lo stesso giorno: il 25 settembre. Si chiamava Sandro Pertini . Anche quando fu eletto presidente della repubblica, la Carla continuò a fare la sua vita; era diventata psicologa, e negli ultimi tempi lavorava a Firenze, all'ospedale di Santa Maria Nuova. Una volta la incontrai sull'autobus, alla fermata di via Martelli davanti alla libreria Marzocco. Molti anni fa, in un altro secolo e probabilmente anche in un altro mondo.
Il partigiano Guglielmo ebbe a dire, e c'è motivo di credergli, che in quelle ore a piazzale Loreto aveva had no fear that in the months and months in combat in the mountains. Now I'm going to fetch another glass of არყის, then followed.
I am deeply convinced of two things.
The first is that the treatment and those others hung Mussolini was quite right and proper. The moral revisionist not affect me miss smear, even with regard to Petacci. He shared a destiny, and stop, do not see why it should be reserved for special treatment. Remain faithful to their man until the end is not, then, necessarily a certificate of merit and admiration, otherwise the same should be said of Frau Eva Braun and Mrs. Elena Petrescu conjugated Ceau Ş escu.
The second is that, certainly, in the midst of that angry mob who wanted to rage over the corpses of the fascists, there have been many who until a few months before hail them and shouting "Duce, Duce" in the streets. But there is something to marvel too, and is typical of any dictatorship. If I have to rail against the Italians and their attitudes, I will not do this, success is always and everywhere. When the tyrant falls, are the first to want to tear his fan of the past, only to then return to regret it. And, anyway, when you live under occupation and they tell you to go wild in the streets yelling, it takes courage to do otherwise. Usually the start of firing and killing:
Now yes, the story and the story has ended.
do not know when the partisan William is finally back on the island of Elba. He may have spent their lives elsewhere and go back to old age, or, perhaps, will be returned immediately. The young guerrilla who had risen with him on the left pylon for a road, him for another. He says he does not like to talk about that episode, William, because he was afraid of not being believed, perhaps not even known to have been photographed.
And do not even know how to define the gesture, because I do not like the word "pity." Perhaps, perhaps, a gesture of elementary civilization in those hours which, however, can not be judged with common meters, or, perhaps, more simply, the act of two boys who had not lost his sense of humanity even before humanity of those who had not shown.
Sooner or later, however, the partisan and quarryman William Pacini will be back on the ferry from Piombino, for coming back to San Piero. It had to have things on my mind, and has had within it the necessary strength to live a normal life, secluded, perhaps keeping his ideals, or perhaps even abandoned. Things will happen during a long life, especially when, at a given moment, that life was due to end soon instead, and that has continued for so decided his fate.
Marina di Campo, a few years ago, an area of \u200b\u200bspace behind the moat Vapelo, just where my aunt lived Bastiana after he returned from Argentina, was used as a parking lot. It was decided to name this space "Piazza Sandro Pertini", and the unveiling of the plaque was invited Carla Voltolina. Was present, it is said, also William Pacini. The closer, becoming recognized, and she wanted to give him a red rose that had just been delivered by the mayor (my former professor of mathematics at the holidays, a heroically and who tried in vain to get me a bit 'of algebra in the pumpkin). I hope that Rose has followed the partisan William in his grave, and I think when those guys back then did not remain a single one.
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