My grandmother (born in 1938) often told me how her mother and father (my great-grandparents) helped a British soldier. It was the end of the war, around 1944 or 1945 (having been a child, she never remembered the exact date). She and her family (two sisters, two brothers, and herself) lived in the countryside and were mostly farmers, except for my great-grandfather, who occasionally worked in a shoe factory to earn a little extra money (shoe factories were just starting to open in my area around that time).

The encounter with the soldier, according to my grandmother, took place in autumn, almost winter, because she told me she clearly remembered that she, her sisters, and her mother, who had been out feeding the chickens, were having fun pretending to smoke. (When they blew, steam escaped, so presumably it was already cold.)

Grandma clearly remembers this tall man, dressed as a soldier, but with holes in his shoes, who came knocking on their door. My great-grandmother offered him a basket with bread, freshly harvested eggs, a jug of wine, and a pair of great-grandfather’s shoes, because in the factory where he worked he sometimes took shoes as payment instead of money.

According to my grandmother, the soldier was with them for a short time, just enough time to eat something, try to exchange a few words and warm up a bit in the house, since he probably had to rejoin others and had left just to look for food. But before leaving, he hugged my great-grandmother tightly and thanked her, saying “you’re the same as mum”. My grandmother remembers these words very well, she was really touched.

In fact, from what she told me, foreign soldiers often came to Montegranaro (Fermo) to ask for refuge or food or wine, because being a small village populated mostly by farmers and “poor” people, it was easier to hide there or find a welcoming home.