European Resistance Archive/European Resistance Archive (ERA)
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I used to ride my bicycle from Castellazzo to piazza Fontanesi in Reggio,
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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.
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I had to do this journey many times, and I often had to jump in the ditch to hide from the airplanes.
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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.
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One time I was stopped at the checkpoint by the hospice.
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There was always one there, but that day a man had been killed.
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So there was a group of fascists walking from San Maurizio towards the hospice,
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where the local fascist headquarters were. They had laid a boy who was slaughtered
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on an improvised stretcher, and walked towards the hospice singing:
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“Allarme siam fascisti” (Call to arms, we’re fascists).
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The checkpoint at the hospice was right by the railway crossing.
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They took my bicycle. That bicycle was everything to me.
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It was a young girl’s Ferrari.
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The problem was I was carrying a bag with some partisan stuff.
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I immediately held on to the bag real tight and started to scream and cry.
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It was all an act, although I was also a little bit afraid.
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A fascist stared at me for a while, then took my bicycle and threw it at me.
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We both fell on the ground, the bicycle and I. I got back on my feet quickly, and he told me:
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“Do not ever come around here again”.
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I can still remember his boots were very tall. He seemed like a giant to me. That’s how it felt then.
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