European Resistance Archive/European Resistance Archive (ERA)

I used to ride my bicycle from Castellazzo to piazza Fontanesi in Reggio,

to go tell the landlord if we were buying or selling. Since we were sharecroppers, we had to report to him everything that concerned the land.

I had to do this journey many times, and I often had to jump in the ditch to hide from the airplanes.

One day I asked myself if they would fire at a bicycle. I kept going on the road, as the airplane was bearing down on me.

One time I was stopped at the checkpoint by the hospice.

There was always one there, but that day a man had been killed.

So there was a group of fascists walking from San Maurizio towards the hospice,

where the local fascist headquarters were. They had laid a boy who was slaughtered

on an improvised stretcher, and walked towards the hospice singing:

“Allarme siam fascisti” (Call to arms, we’re fascists).

The checkpoint at the hospice was right by the railway crossing.

They took my bicycle. That bicycle was everything to me.

It was a young girl’s Ferrari.

The problem was I was carrying a bag with some partisan stuff.

I immediately held on to the bag real tight and started to scream and cry.

It was all an act, although I was also a little bit afraid.

A fascist stared at me for a while, then took my bicycle and threw it at me.

We both fell on the ground, the bicycle and I. I got back on my feet quickly, and he told me:

“Do not ever come around here again”.

I can still remember his boots were very tall. He seemed like a giant to me. That’s how it felt then.