Victoria's Story - A Work in Process: From Humble Beginnings, Thrust Into The Unknown, To Freedom of Self-Discovery

By Victoria Tassone-Amato

After a very strict upbringing, Vittoria/Vicki/Victoria struggles to ‘fit’ in the more modern society of their new Country to which her immigrant parents brought her.

It is a story as seen and experienced initially by a 5 year old, from the time she leaves her birthplace; her long sea voyage to Australia; the restrictive cultural rules she had to adhere to whilst in her ‘inner society’; and the lengths she had to go to, in order to give the appearance that she was just like the other girls in the ‘outer society’.

It is a story of the ever-present anxiety of her ‘double life’ being found out; the ever-present fears of embarrassment if her ‘outer society’ friends were to find out how ‘stuck’ her family was in their old country’s cultural ideas and beliefs; and her naivety to believe that if she let her guard down she would be met with disbelief and ridicule; only to later discover that Australia was made up of ‘New’ Australians.

It is a story of the ‘dating’ challenges faced by a young female growing up in such a restrictive household and the calculated risks she took, (sometimes with her co-conspirators), in order to get her parents’ permission to go out with her friends.

It is a story of learning from her parents to appreciate and be thankful for what she had; and that her trait of having compassion for others was only possible because of the love and family values that were instilled in her.

It is a story of the human spirit’s great capacity to heal the disappointments; hurt and betrayal; which, in turn, enables one to forgive. Of the strong faith one needs to possess in order to accept the physical and emotional pain with which one is afflicted in life. And of the great strength with which one is graced in order to cope when in such pain.

But mostly, it is a story of the comradery which existed between the families during that era. They relied on and helped one another with everything. They laughed, cried and shared with one another. There was a sense of belonging, closeness and security that seems to be missing in the lives of so many of our young people today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: May 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781662944918

Book preview

TASSONE–AMATO FAMILY TREE

From Top-Left side: Victoria’s Family:

Nicola and Maria Teresa Trombetta (née Mirigliani) (Nicola Tassone’s maternal Grandparents);

Salvatore and Elisabetta Tassone (née Trombetta) (Nicola Tassone’s Parents);

Andrea and Vittoria Leto (née Marino) (Immacolata’s Parents);

Nicola and Immacolata Tassone (née Leto) (Victoria’s Parents);

Bottom Left: Sam and Andrew Tassone (Victoria’s brothers);

From Top-Right side: Victor’s Family:

Giacomina (née Ciccarelli) and Francesco Amato (Victor’s Parents);

Bottom from right: Mary Boniciolli (née Amato); Mike Amato and Rose Sallustio (née Amato)

Within Centre Heart: Victoria Tassone and Victor Amato as children;

FRANCESCO and GIACOMINA AMATO

Francesco Amato was born on 12 January, 1906 in Molfetta, Bari, Italy. He passed away on 26th October, 1985 at his home in Ashbury, NSW.

Giacomina Ciccarelli was born 15th May, 1915 in Molfetta, Bari, Italy. She passed away on 13th September, 1966 at her home in Ashbury, NSW.

Francesco and Giacomina were married in Molfetta in 1934. They had four children, three of whom were born in Italy; Rosa, born 28 August, 1935 (Died 11 August, 2021); Mary (named Maria at birth), born 24 July, 1938 (Died 13 Sept., 2013); Mike (named Silvestro at birth), born 11 July, 1939 (Died 28 May, 2017).

Francesco immigrated to Australia around 1940-41, leaving his wife and 3 young children behind. He first lived and worked in Tuncurry as a Fisherman alongside some of his cousins and countrymen. He then rented a place in Rozelle and arranged for the rest of his family to join him in Australia. Francesco was a conscript in the Australian Army during the Second World War, but thankfully, as his battalion was assembled in Hyde Park, Sydney to be deployed to the front, word was received that the fighting for Australians in that particular phase of the War had come to an end.

After the Second World War, Victor’s father, along with other veterans, were offered low interest rate loans when purchasing a property or business to help with re-establishing themselves after the war. Being a Fisherman by trade, Francesco was offered such a loan, had he wished to purchase his own fishing vessel. Apparently Francesco’s unwillingness of borrowing money (from anyone), but rather make cash payments for any purchase, resulted with him declining the offer. But it wasn’t only Francesco who thought this way, as many others were of the same mindset.

Shortly after Giacomina gave birth to their fourth child, Victor, on 8 December 1947, Francesco decided to return to Tuncurry, along with his family, where they lived in Bent Street. Francesco continued working in the fishing industry. When Rose and Mary had completed their secondary education; due to the lack of employment in Tuncurry and Foster, Francesco and Giacomina decided to return to Sydney where there would be more employment opportunities for their children. They rented a house in Waterloo Street, Rozelle for a couple of years before purchasing the family home at 44 King Street, Ashbury.

Francesco began working on trawlers, which would see him being away from home for longer periods of time and which would take him to many other New South Wales ports; Ulladulla being one of them. The trawling continued for approximately four years and because of a few near fatal accidents, Giacomina felt it was too dangerous a job for her husband and so Francesco eventually gave up this line of work.

Francesco then worked at both Cockatoo Island and Garden Island carrying out general maintenance work, such as cleaning and painting on the ships berthed at the dry docks. This was not as easy a task as it is nowadays, as there are machines to do much of this type of work. Also, there is no doubt the lead contained in paint back then as well as asbestos, may have contributed to Francesco’s bronchial issues. Francesco retired as supervisor of his ‘gang’ at Garden Island around 1970. He decided to visit his place of birth of Molfetta, Bari, towards the end of 1971.

Francesco had a few siblings, some whom I am not aware of their whereabouts; but one of his sisters lived and married in Tuncurry. They had three children; Peter, Maria and Rosa. Peter married and lived in Tuncurry, while Maria and Rosa each married one of the Russo brothers from Wollongong and who remained in Wollongong thereafter.

Left: Some good old locals posed beside the ‘Tuncurry’ being built at Wright’s Shipyard

Right: Some Italian fishermen with their catch of the day on Government Wharf, Tuncurry in 1930s. Seated at left, Enrico Bonventi, Joe Fazio with the basket, Johann Fazio with bream & flathead & Vince Fazio with the crabs. The boy in background is Conrad Amato (not related to our ‘Amato’ family)

Left: Bob Nixon (Enrico Bonventi’s son-in-law) pictured with Bob Witt & Bob’s father; Percy Nixon unloading the catch from the fishing boat ‘Kia-ora’ at Tuncurry; dredge operator, ‘Ces’ at right.

Right: Francesco Amato (left) with fishing mates & their catch on Wallis Lake, Tuncurry early 1950s

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NICOLA TASSONE

1 November 1916 – 18 October 1995

Points of Interest:

The name Nicola (pronounced Ni-cô-lá – as in ‘cola’) is a boy’s name meaning ‘Victory of the people’.

‘Ni-cô- lá’ is a Latinised version of the Greek personal name ‘Nikolaos’, derived from Nikos meaning ‘victory’, and laos meaning ‘people’, therefore implying the meaning ‘Victory of the people’. The English form of the same name is Nicholas. ‘Ni-cô-la’ was a frequently given male name among the traditional Italian nobility, and was used often in the middle ages.

Nicola Tassone was born on 1 November 1916 in the little town of Santa Caterina dello Ionio in the province of Catanzaro in the Calabrian region of southern Italy. He was the third-eldest of six children to parents Salvatore and Elisabetta (née Trombetta) Tassone.

Elisabetta and Salvatore Tassone Snr. (Nicola’s parents & Victoria’s paternal Nonni)

Salvatore and Elisabetta Tassone’s children:

(First child was a girl but was stillborn);

1) Bruno; born 1908 (died circa 1932);

2) Teresa; born 1912-Died 15 November, 1998. (married Giuseppe Giannini); Children: Caterina (Nuzza) (who married Tony Andreacchio); grandchildren: Rosa (married Nick Pupo); Santo (married Deborah); Teresa (who married Sam Allouche); great-grandchildren: Daniella and Marco (Rosa’s); Laura and Melissa. (Santo’s); Sarah, Adamo and Isabella (Teresa’s); great-great-grandchildren: Luca (Laura’s); Bruna; (who married Domenico Colubriale); grandchildren: Elisabetta and Franco; great-grandchildren: Anna Teresa;

3) Nicola; born 1 November, 1916 – Died 18 October, 1995: (who married Immacolata Leto); Children: Salvatore (Sam) (who married Franca Innocenti); Andrea (Andrew) (who did not marry); and Vittoria (who married Victor Amato); grandchildren: Imma Maria, Enza and Belinda (Sam’s); Nicole, Paul and Adrian (Vittoria’s); great-grandchildren: Matthew and Daniel (Imma’s); Edward and Brigitte (Enza’s); Juliette and William (Belinda’s); Noah, Liam and Cassandra (Cassie) (Nicole’s); Jessica and Kristen (Paul’s);

4) Vincenzo (Cècè); born 16 February, 1919 – Died 12 April, 2006 (who married Vittoria Andreacchio); Children: First born, a boy, died in infancy; Elizabeth (married Luigi Caristo); Antonietta (Annette) who married Lou Gatto); grandchildren: Dominic, Vincent and Robert (Elizabeth’s); Victoria, Dominique and Stephanie (Annette’s);

5) Caterina (Nuzza); born 1922 – died: (who married Pantaleo Leto who was killed during the Second World War): Children: Domenico (who married Elisabetta); and Salvatore (Sam) (who married Rosa); grandchildren: Caterina, Concetta and Pantaleo (Domenico’s); Cathy, Maria and Belinda (Sam’s); great-grandchildren: Max and Isabella (Maria’s);

6) Immacolata (Lisa) (She was always known as Zia Lisa); born 1926 – died 21 November, 2017 (who married Nicola Leto, but this ‘Leto’ is not related to the ‘Andrea Leto ancestry’); Children: First and second born children died in infancy; Bruna (who married Max Di Matteo); grandchildren: Philip, Carla, Nicholas;

For some time during his married life, Salvatore Tassone Snr. travelled to and from California, America, trying his luck at gold panning. The small amount of money brought back would be used to buy the needed essentials; and also towards purchasing their humble home at Via Loi in Santa Caterina.

The Californian Gold Rush History Lesson:

The 1848 discovery of gold in California set off a frenzied Gold Rush to the State the next year as hopeful prospectors, arriving in covered wagons, clipper ships, and on horseback, some 300,000 migrants, known as Forty-Niners (named for the year they began to arrive in California, 1849). This massive migration to California transformed the State’s landscape and population. The Gold Rush was characterized by violent clashes among settlers, miners, and Native Americans over access to the land and its natural resources.

On January 8, 1848, James W. Marshall, overseeing the construction of a sawmill at Sutter’s Mill in the territory of California, literally struck gold. His discovery of trace flecks of the precious metal in the soil at the bottom of the American river. The Gold Rush, as it became known, transformed the landscape and population of California.

Map of N. California highlighting the regions to which gold prospectors flocked

The prospectors came to the Sierra Nevada Mountains; east and north of San Francisco, staked claims to spots of land around the river, where they used pans to extract gold from silt deposits. These prospectors came not just from the eastern and southern United States, but from Asia, Latin America, Europe and Australia as well. Improvements in steamship and railroad technology facilitated this migration, which dramatically reshaped the demographics of California. In 1849, California established a state constitution and government and formally entered the union in 1850.

Though migration to California was fuelled by ‘gold-tinted’ visions of easy wealth and luxury; life as a Forty-Niner could be brutal. While a small number of prospectors did become rich, the reality was that gold panning rarely turned up anything of real value, and the work itself was back-breaking. The lack of housing, sanitation, and law enforcement in the mining camps and surrounding areas created a dangerous mix. Crime rates in the goldfields were extremely high. Vigilante justice was frequently the only response to criminal activity left unchecked by the absence of effective law enforcement. As prospectors dreaming of gold poured into the region, formerly unsettled lands became populated, and previously small settlements, such as the one at San Francisco, exploded.

Photograph of a white male ‘Forty-Niner’ panning for gold circa 1850

As competition flared over access to the goldfields, xenophobia and racial prejudice ran rampant. Chinese and Latin American immigrants were routinely subjected to violent attacks at the hands of white settlers and miners who adhered to an extremely narrow view of what it meant to be truly ‘American’. As the state government of California expanded to oversee the booming population, widespread nativist (anti-immigrant) sentiment led to the establishment of taxes and laws that explicitly targeted immigrants, particularly Chinese immigrants.

Illustration depicting Chinese men panning for gold in CA

As agriculture and ranching expanded to meet the needs of the hundreds of thousands of new settlers, white settlers’ violence toward Native Americans intensified. Peter Hardeman Burnett, the first governor of California, openly declared his contempt for the native population and demanded its immediate removal or extinction. Under Burnett’s leadership, the state of California paid bounties to white settlers in exchange for Indian scalps. As a result; vigilante groups of miners, settlers, and loggers formed to track down and exterminate California’s native population, which by 1890 had been almost completely decimated.

Though the Gold Rush had a transformative effect on California’s landscape and population, it lasted for a surprisingly brief period; from 1848 to 1855. It did not take long for gold panning to turn up whatever gold remained in silt deposits, and as the extraction techniques required to mine for gold became increasingly complex, gold mining became big business. As the mining industry exploded, individual gold-diggers simply could not compete with the level of resources and technological sophistication of the major mining conglomerates.

When Salvatore and Elisabetta Tassone’s eldest son, Bruno, was about 12 years of age he began to have ‘fits’. As he grew older and whenever he felt a convulsion coming on; in order to protect himself and those around him from any injury, he would run to a safer area in which to convulse. Due to the lack of doctors to give a diagnosis on his strange and sometimes violent seizures, Bruno was mistaken as being mentally unstable. Sadly, Bruno was eventually institutionalised at the Girifalco Mental Asylum, approximately 55 km away (1hr by car) from Santa Caterina.

Apparently, whenever they visited; Bruno would tell his parents that he was being tied up (and who knows what else) and would be very upset. I was unable to find out how long after, but I understand it wasn’t too long before Bruno was thankfully taken out of the Institution and brought back home to Santa Caterina. He was later diagnosed to have Epilepsy. Unfortunately, as most of us are aware; there were hundreds of thousands of lives that were either misdiagnosed or undiagnosed before medical breakthroughs were made, which gave the medical profession new understanding of the illness at hand.

Bruno died at the young age of twenty four. To read of some of the atrocities which occurred within these institutions by so-called ‘professionals’ is heartbreaking. But it would take many, many more years for the mistreatment of patients to be stopped at these ‘Lunatic’ Asylums, as they were, sadly, called then – and which some are still referred to as such!

I feel so sad when I think of how a young and innocent Bruno must have felt being misdiagnosed and then having to undergo some of those barbaric ‘treatments’ whilst at the Asylum. He and many others who did not need to be there, literally had no voice; let alone words with which to plead their case. I have to say that I have been brought to tears whilst doing my research on this and other Asylums, reading similar stories as Bruno’s and stories of so many others who died within those walls!

Notes from my research:

The Psychiatric Hospital, Historic Complex is a majestic structure that once housed the former provincial mental hospital established in 1881. Originally it was a 17th century monastery of the Friars Minor.

Girifalco’s Mental Asylum, known as the ‘Complesso Monumentale’, built in southern Italy following the one in Palermo and Aversa; emerged as a result of the gift of the building known as the Convento dei Riformati (Convent of the Reformed) made by the town of Girifalco to the provincial administration. The purpose of the gift was to convert the convent into a building used to shelter people declared mentally unwell.

Until the date of its closure, the mental asylum housed numerous patients suffering from various diseases which came from many parts of Italy and worldwide. The repressive effects of the true mental asylum often inspired creative activities of an artistic nature. This has led to an abundance of poetic and artistic works as a direct representation of that painful reality. Regarding the procedure and the habits about the cure and custody of the patients, there are not many details only that apart from normal procedure of cure, new methodics were used such as manual works to rehabilitate them from insanity. In 1978, the Basaglia law imposed the closure of all the Italian asylums, Girifalco’s included; it was turned into a public institute for mental health, which is still in function today.

My research also revealed that in the 1922 March on Rome, Mussolini seized power and became a dictator who was officially recognized by the reigning House of Savoy of the Kingdom of Italy. Once Mussolini was in power, Ida Dalser and her son Benito Albino Dalser-Mussolini were placed under surveillance by the police, and paper evidence of their relationship was tracked down to be destroyed by government agents. Ida persisted in continuing to claim her role as the dictator’s wife and even publicly denounced Mussolini as a traitor. Eventually, she was transferred to the island of San Clemente in Venice, where she died in 1937. The cause of death was officially given as a ‘brain haemorrhage’?!

Benito Albino Mussolini was abducted by government agents and was told that his mother was dead. In 1931, at the age of 15, he was adopted as an orphan by the fascist ex-police chief of Sopramonte. Initially educated at a Barnabite college in Moncalieri, he enrolled in the Italian Royal Navy and always remained under close surveillance by the fascist government.

Nevertheless, he persisted in stating that Benito Mussolini was his father and would not renounce his parentage. He was eventually forcibly interned in an asylum in Mombello, province of Milan, where he died on 26 August 1942 at the age of 26 after repeated coma-inducing injections. Ida and Benito were officially described as a danger to themselves and others but hospital records show that they were both lucid!

My dad, like many children born in those times; and especially in small towns, did not attend school for long; neither was education the same as for those born later in a more modern society. There was no need for multiple classrooms, especially for small towns. In some towns there would be only one room with children of different ages and all would be taught the basics of writing; reading; arithmetic. In many countries children were only required to attend school until they were ten years old, so would only attain the equivalent to 4-5 years of primary school education. But as was also the case in many small towns all over the world back then, because children were needed to help work the fields; help their mothers at home; were often sick due to the lack of medicine (and far too many perished); education was not the priority.

But my dad had a bright mind, especially with numbers. It would always amaze me how he could solve an equation in his head before anyone else could on paper; even after handheld calculators came into circulation. He would often tell my children that it was important for them to work out the figures in their heads before reaching for the calculator.

I have long wished that I had asked Dad more questions about his experiences during the Second World War. But as a young girl, whenever I heard the adults speaking about the horrors that had occurred; I never felt comfortable enough to initiate an indepth conversation for fear it might upset him. And then as I grew and developed a love of reading, after reading books centred on stories during Wars, I began to understand why he hardly ever spoke about his own experiences during the war.

Dad often mentioned going to places such as Tunisia, Albania, Abyssinia and Greece before he married Mum; and before Italy become involved in the Second World War. From what I have been able to find out is that Dad was then conscripted as an Airman in the Italian Army. Some of the facts; both told to me or particulars translated from documents found after Dad’s passing, are as follows:

The only time Mum and Dad spoke about Benito Mussolini, Il Duce, was to say that when he initially came into power he was respected because he reduced crime and unemployment by embarking on public works such as roads, railways, canals, draining marshes, constructing buildings such as flats, schools and hospitals. In 1926 trade unions were banned and replaced by organised worker’s and employer’s co-operations and there was plenty of employment.

Then shaking his head, Dad would say that Mussolini forgot about his roots and the reason his people initially took a liking to him. Then pointing to his head he went on to say that, È diventato un ‘pezzo grosso’ (He became a ‘bighead’) and that his own self-importance was why he couldn’t see that Hitler was just using him for his own abominable plans.

Mum also told me that there was propaganda spread by the Germans, even reaching their small town, such as: Attento se nel tuo paese vengono questi Americani che stuprano le donne e ammazzano i bambini; non credere a quello che vi dicono. (Be careful if these Americans come to your town, who will rape the women and kill the children; don’t believe what they tell you.)

She told me how awful the German soldiers would treat the men in the town; that she had witnessed men being kicked off a moving truck and made to run behind it to wherever they were going. She also told me about the time she witnessed a German soldier cutting a man’s hand as he was trying to hang on to a truck. She said that all the women were petrified and tried to stay inside their homes whenever there were German soldiers in town. She said that some of the women were in fact raped by some of those soldiers. This she didn’t tell me until after I was married.

Mum told me how relieved they were when gli Americani did eventually come into town. She said they were all very tentative about coming out of their homes at first, but as they witnessed the kindness they showed handing out candy to some of the older children who ran towards them, they eventually made their way to the Piazza where there was celebration that the Germans had surrendered. She said as the news got around, everyone was going down on their knees in thanking God for sending these wonderful Americani to save them from the Germans.

Dad once told me that he was lucky to be alive because one of the planes he was supposed to have been on, took off without him and never made it to its destination, having crashed soon after taking off, killing all on board.

At one time, when we were watching a documentary which depicted some of the horrors of war; with a sad and low voice, Dad would tell us the numerous times he witnessed trains going by with the bottoms of dysentery-riddled soldiers sticking out of the opened doors. He then softly murmured, almost to himself: "Chissà quanti di quei poveretti sono arrivati dove stavano andando, o se sono tornati a casa." (Who knows how many of those poor guys made it to their destination; or if they ever made it home.)

Dad did talk a little about his time in England as a Prisoner of War. I don’t know the exact dates, but from a small piece of paper found amongst Dad’s items, it shows his photo and ID number and is dated 11 June 1944 (see below). It seems that he spent approx a couple of years there.

He talked about how he and his comrades were well-treated by the English people. He said that they had good housing, considering all that was happening. The local people got to know them and were treated with respect and admiration for being good workers. Most of the camps were working camps, with most of the other POWs, including Dad, were assigned work with which they were most familiar; be that on farming properties; repairing roads; repairing tools and/or furniture; building; and much more. Whilst researching this topic I found there to be so many stories which tell a similar story of how well the Italians and many other POWs integrated with the locals.

After Dad passed away, I also found a few old ‘Learning English’ booklets which had his name on them and which he apparently used to teach himself the English language during the time he spent in England.

From left: Vittoria, Salvatore, Immacolata, Andrea and Nicola Tassone in uniform. Because I didn’t have a photo together with Dad before we came to Australia; after he died I managed to interpose his image as above. Could have done a better job if I had the technology of today at my disposal. I am still quite happy with what I managed to accomplish nonetheless.

At left: Nicola Tassone dressed in what seems to be a traditional Greek costume

At centre: Nicole Tassone in the Italian Army ceremonial uniform

At right: Nicole Tassone in the Italian Army uniform

At left: Nicole Tassone in his Italian Airforce uniform

At right: Nicole Tassone’s image on his Italian Army Certificate at end of war

Nicole Tassone sitting at centre with some of his comrades

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Below are some of the barely readable papers, which state:-

Nicola Tassone: POW ID No. 153940: 55 Working Camp, Shalstone Camp, Shalstone, Buckinghamshire: Serial No. Z083604: Dated 11 June 1944.

Also amongst Dad’s items was a little booklet titled ‘L’inglese in Tre Mesi – Con pronuncia figurativa’ (‘English in Three Months’ – With figurative pronunciation) which he must have used to teach himself English whilst at the camp – that was definitely my dad!

Below are translated details on Nicola Tassone’s Enlistment Form:

Regia Aeronautica: R. Aeroporto G" Pessi Parvis, Rodi, Command Office:

Unlimited leave sheet:

Special services provided:

Nicola has served as a military conscript in the Italian islands of the Aegean Possession.

Travel identity paid for sending on leave:

From Rhodes to S. Caterina Ionio on March 9, 1939 for 3 days:

By rail:-

From Brindisi to S. Caterina Ionio in 30,10 Lire

By sea:-

From Rodi to S. Caterina Ionio in 115,00 Lire

National Combatants Association:

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Nicola was amongst a group of men who then immigrated to Australia at the end of the Second World War and originally worked on the harsh Queensland sugarcane fields. Amongst these men was my mother’s young brother Domenico (Uncle Mick) and other relatives and men from their town. Apparently my dad considered my Uncle Mick a bit too refined to do that kind of work, so he managed to get him some work as a tailor which had been his trade back in Italy.

I remember both my dad and Uncle Mick telling me stories of how each man had a particular task while they lived together. They told me of the scarcity of cooking items and that most times would not have a drop of oil to use in their pasta sauce; and how precious it was when they were able to either buy or barter for it from another worker. They would also tell me of the snakes that would be waiting for them in their cabins or in the loo at the end of a hard day’s work. For me that would be one of the worst situations I could be in.

Left: Nicola Tassone at centre with some of his working mates cutting down canes

Right: Nicola Tassone on the right, with working mate loading up the sugar canes

Nicola Tassone at far right with his working team taking a break!

After a couple of years in Queensland, these men travelled to Sydney and shared a small place in Bourke Street in the city where they looked for work and saved their money to be able to either send for their families or, if single, look for a bride. Eventually the men settled in and around Sydney and those with families still back in the old country, arranged for their travel to Australia.

Observation by Italian Priest and Writer Giuseppe Capra in 1909: The moral conduct of Italians who had immigrated to Australia during the recent 55 years had been superior to any other nationals here represented – British included. Italians are work and savings-oriented; intelligent; sober and very much sought after.

References made by Randolph Bedford and Ros Pesman Cooper in a study of Italians: Hard-working, frugal and sober.

A few things I personally observed over the years, but especially during the earlier years growing up in the household, which I am pretty certain were related to Dad’s experiences during the war, were as follows:

In the very early years, on some of the occasions we were on picnics; the men would sit around a table after lunch and have a friendly game of cards, with the betting always being in small change. Regardless; when Dad was one of the players, everyone knew that he would not be playing to keep his winnings.

I soon became aware that at the end of each game, my dad would send someone to buy ice-creams for all the children, even if he had to add more to his winnings. On a few of these occasions, there may have been two small tables with two sets of men playing cards. As the years went by, I noticed that the rest of the men would also contribute to the cost of buying the ice-creams, not only for the kids but also for the women. I remember having admiration for my dad for being the instigator of this tasty habit.

I also became aware that when these get-togethers took place out of reach of a store where the ice-creams could be bought, Dad never joined in the game, even when pressed to do so. He never felt the need to justify his stance and was happy enough to sit behind the gap of two players as an observer and join in with the comradery. When I queried Dad on why he wouldn’t play cards as such times; he simply told me that he had seen his share of ordinary men ruin their friendship, with some turning into gamblers after winning big, only to sometimes lose all their savings. That was my dad alright – a man’s man who was morally courageous enough to stand up for what he believed; even if this meant to sometimes be the stand-alone, or be the odd man out!

A few years after I married, although Dad came along on a few of our Sunday picnics; which were now only with our closest families (of which there were still quite a few of us); he eventually stopped coming along altogether. No one could persuade him; and as would always be the case with most things, I was nominated to try and convince him to come along. Although I was successful on a number of occasions, I could see it was only because I was asking him, but sensed that his heart wasn’t in it at all.

On one of the last occasions I was asked to speak to Dad about coming along, I also made it clear that he was not to feel he had to come along just to make us happy, but only if he really wanted to come along on some of the outings. Dad then said to me:

Guarda Vittoria; sono molto felice di vedervi uscire tutti insieme, ma ho visto abbastanza del mondo…sono felice di stare a casa e riposarmi. Per favore figlia, fallo capire a tutti…va bene?!

(Look Vittoria; I’m very happy seeing you all go out together, but I’ve seen enough of the world…I’m happy to stay home and rest. Please daughter, make them all understand this…alright?!)

And with this, I bent over to kiss him as he sat on his recliner and said to him, okay Dad, don’t worry; no one will ask you to come again – unless you really want to? Dad knew I was only being facetious with my last remark.

Also during the earlier years; whenever we went out as a family and there was no one left at home, Dad would be the one to close the front door. Before we had a family car, a few seconds after we had started walking, Dad would walk back to check if he had in fact closed the front door.

This however was an improvement from the many times he would not only check that the front door was in fact closed, but would unlock it; go through the house to see if the back door was locked; that the stove was turned off; and then once again close the front door behind him. On a number of occasions, when we had the family car, I remember Dad getting behind the wheel of his beloved EH Holden station wagon; and as he was about to start it up, would decide to go back to check that he had locked the door. Everyone in the car would roll their eyes in frustration, until the time I couldn’t stand it anymore and blurted out, "Ma-aaaa!….make him stop!"

To which Mum replied: Cosa posso fare? Se gli impedissi di tornare, sarà ansioso per tutta la sera. E se lo avesso fermato di tornare indietro per controllare che fosse tutto a posto e che fosse successo qualcosa? Lascialo tornare tutte le volte che vuole perché non gli dirò di non tornare indietro!" (What can I do? If I stopped him from going back, he’ll be anxious all evening. And what if I stopped him from going back to check that everything was alright and something was to happen? Let him go back as many times as he wants because I’m not going to tell him not to go back!)

So on the very next occasion I stayed behind with Dad and went around the house; and starting with the back door, then the stove, windows etcetera saying: locked; off; locked; and then as he closed the front door, I pushed it with my hand and said Dad, we’ll both make sure the door’s locked; yes, it’s locked; okay? To which he just affectionately grinned from ear to ear. When we got to the car I noticed Mum silently chuckling. After this episode, I got in the habit of staying behind with Dad and checking everything before we left the house.

I have to admit that from that evening on, not only did we see a more relaxed person enjoying the day/evening, but this new ‘responsibility’ I had just taken on board – and without me being aware of it at that time – had actually served in making me vigilant and safety conscious throughout my life. Except for the one time at our Kingsgrove home when I forgot a small pot of food on the stove on low heat, while I and the kids went to Vigil Mass.

On our return we found Victor standing on our front patio with the front, back and side doors and windows wide open as smoke filtered out. This was pre-microwave age when I used to heat up Victor’s dinner for him to have on his return from work. I clearly remember thinking back to Dad’s OCD-type-habits and couldn’t believe that I must not have double-checked everything that night like I had been in the habit of doing. So it goes to prove that it really does pay to double-check everything doesn’t it Dad?!

There were many other small, but noticeable idiosyncrasies which my dad possessed; and which after years of contemplating upon them, I put it down to his life-experiences; be those he experienced during the war or the after-effects of it, as most of us also pick up along our own life journey.

Left: Nicola Tassone with the love of his life Immacolata

Right: Family Portrait: Victoria, Sam, Immacolata, Nicola and Andrew Tassone

I was with Dad when the Oncologist diagnosed him with having lung cancer. He explained that considering his age and the spread of the cancer, it was inoperable and recommended Dad having radiotherapy treatment.

When I was alone with the Oncologist and asked for his honest prognosis, he told me that the reason for the radiotherapy was so that it would reduce the risk of Dad choking from a haemorrhage; which would be a terrible way to die. When I pressed him on how long Dad had left, he said that even with the radiotherapy, he would give him up to six months. Dad had been coughing up blood for some time before he mentioned it to Mum and me. It was incredible to think that although Dad had given up smoking almost 40 years earlier; and had also had a chest x-ray only 11 months earlier, the result of which was negative; Dad’s tumour had progressed very quickly from its onset.

When we came out of the Oncologist’s surgery, although Dad was trying very hard to keep a meek and mild look on my account; he couldn’t stop himself from dry retching before he got in the car. On our way home, he asked if the Doctor had told me how long he had to live; to which I told him that with the radiotherapy and eating well, it could be years – which was also what I told Mum.

When we reached home and I had parked the car, Dad turned to me and said, Mi dispiace di doverti disturbare con questo; ma se è possibile, lasciami morire a casa! (I’m sorry that I have to trouble you with this; but if it’s at all possible, I would like to die at home!).

After I had told Mum the barest of details whilst trying to appear positive, I bid them both Ciao, with a kiss. Although I told them not to come to the door, Mum went straight to the kitchen, but Dad came out with me and closed the door behind him. As I was about to get in the car, he said:

Vittoria; Ti ringrazio per tutto quello che hai fatto per noi; sei stata una brava figlia; vedrai che Dio ti benedirà. Non voglio che ti preoccupi più di niente e di nessuno; prenditi cura di te stesso e della tua famiglia. Mi senti?!

(Vittoria; I thank you for everything you have done for us; you’ve been a good daughter; you’ll see that God will bless you. I don’t want you to worry about anything or anyone anymore; just look after yourself and your own family. You hear me?!)

And with that, he put his arms around me and held me for such a long time, that the tears I was trying so hard to hold in were now silently streaming down my cheeks. Once I was in my own home (which was just around the corner), I bawled my eyes out so as I would be cried out by the time the kids and Victor arrived home from work.

Thankfully, after taking Dad to St. George Hospital to have the radiotherapy five days a week for several weeks, with a break between treatments; we were fortunate to have him with us for another two years. During this time we had get-togethers with the extended families as much as possible; and as the word of Dad’s illness began to spread, many friends and relatives whom he had not seen for some time surprised him with a visit.

Although Dad began losing weight, it wasn’t until the last two months prior to his death that he began to deteriorate at a fast pace and was eventually bedridden for the final two weeks. During those weeks I administered the liquid morphine as directed by the doctor; I sat on the bed holding and gently caressing Dad’s hand, while I, Mum, Andrew, Uncle Mick, Aunty Ann and Zia Lisa all joined in to recite the Rosary led by the ladies from Mum’s church prayer group. One heart-warming moment for us was when at one stage, Dad, who was in and out of consciousness; upon opening his eyes, looked up at me and asked why we weren’t saying the Rosary.

Although Father Terry Brady (now Bishop Brady) had been seeing both Mum and Dad regularly at Mass; when I contacted him to make him aware of the situation, he came to the house and administered the Last Rites. I stayed over with Mum and Andrew for the last couple of nights before Dad breathed his last breath in the very early hours of 18 October 1995.

Our Lady of Fatima Catholic Church, Kingsgrove, where the funeral was held, was completely full with mourners. This church is a rounded shape; has a gallery which was also full. There were mourners standing all around the back of the church and spilling out into the front foyer and doorways. Dad was known to be an honourable man; a man of his word; and was loved and respected by all who knew him.

You see; to me, my dad was not only my protector, teacher and best friend; my dad was my tower of strength and hero whose presence has always remained with me.

The following extracts from emails exchanged between Bruna and me during the last hour of Bruna’s mother’s life (Dad’s sister, Lisa), is evidence of what faith and prayer can achieve:

On Tue, 21 Nov 2017 at 6:13 AM, Victoria Amato wrote:

No worries Bruna, it’s the least I can do and yes memories make us both laugh and cry; that’s life isn’t it?!

I had my special little candle on all day yesterday and will leave it on all day. She has been in my daily Rosary and Victor and I also said a special prayer for her. Andrew told me that when he went to see her yesterday, she kept saying, Bruna; Bruna; it’s the same as my dad’s last words, Vittoria; Vittoria. So as I say, be assured that she has always loved you very much.

God bless you all at this difficult time and especially Mum Lisa. I’ll offer up some more of my pain for God to take her to her afterlife soon – if He hasn’t already?! Victoria…xx

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On Tue, 21 Nov 2017 at 6:18 AM, Bruna Di Matteo wrote:

Thank you Victoria. She is such a fighter; it kills me to see her like this. I hope she wasn’t worried about me. She always did worry and I know how much she loved me and the kids. When I tried to speak to her last night she was fighting to say something and I could feel her frustration and how upset she was. She reacts to my voice. She deserves all the peace and love in the world.

Thank you for your prayers. I’ll keep you posted. Bruna…xx

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On Tues, 21 Nov 2017 at 7:02 AM Bruna Di Matteo wrote:

God heard our prayers! He has taken her home! Bruna…xx

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On Tue, 21 Nov 2017 at 7:09 AM, Victoria Amato wrote:

OMG Bruna! Just before your last email I said another prayer in front of ‘The Diving Mercy’ and offered this morning’s pains for Him to take her. Praise be to God!

God bless you and don’t cry for too long – just thank Him! Victoria…xx

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On Tue, 21 Nov 2017 at 8:47 AM, Bruna Di Matteo wrote:

Thank you God…You have answered our prayers. Bruna…xx

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On Tue, 21 Nov 2017 at 8:53 AM, Victoria Amato wrote:

Bruna, how ironic that your mum left this world while we – you and I – the 2 ‘girls’ with whom your mum had such a bond, were communicating and reminiscing about her life and praying for God to stop her suffering and take her – amazing!

As I keep saying, I truly believe in the power of prayer and the power of praise. Victoria…xx

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On Tues, 21 Nov 2017 at 9:01 AM Bruna Di Matteo wrote:

Victoria, you are truly blessed with beautiful words; and yes, how beautiful that you and I were speaking about my mum – she knew! I hope she didn’t suffer and I feel so bad I wasn’t there with her. Bruna…xx

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On Tue, 21 Nov 2017 at 9:09 AM, Victoria Amato wrote:

Bruna,

Something else I remembered; and that is that your mum, my mum, my Zia Angelina and Zia Carmela grew up like sisters and remained like that for such a long time; and also my dad especially loved his sister; and how ironic that your mum happened to be the one to help my mum and me to attend to Dad during his last hours on this earth; once again – amazing! Sending you a big hug. Victoria….xx

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Centre pic: Left front: Nonna Elisabetta Tassone (née Trombetta) with two of her daughters and two of her grandchildren. Behind Nonna is Caterina (but always known as ‘Zia Nuzza’; (married name also ‘Leto’ and mother of Domenico and Salvatore (Sam) Leto.

At right front: Teresa Giannini and daughters behind her – Caterina (Nuzza) (married name of ‘Andreacchio’ and mother of Santo, Rosa and Teresa); and Bruna (centre); married name ‘Colubriale’ and mother of Elisabetta and Franco).

Left pic: Vincenzo Tassone (Zio Cècè and Nicola’s brother)

Right pic: Lisa Tassone (named ‘Immacolata’ at birth) married name ‘Leto’, but not related to Andrea Leto; and mother of Bruna Di Matteo)

Left pic from right: Nicola with his brother Vincenzo (Zio Cècè) (Elizabeth and Annette’s dad)

Right pic from left: Nicola with one of his best mates Matteo Scoppa (Joe, Vince and Nata’s dad)

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IMMACOLATA LETO-TASSONE

5 January 1923 – 5 August 2008

Immacolata was born on 5th January, 1923 in the little town of Santa Caterina dello Ionio. She passed away on 5th August, 2008. Immacolata was the eldest of 4 children to parents Vittoria (née Marino) and Andrea Leto. Her siblings were Angelina (born 7 May 1926 and died on 25th December, 1985; and married Francesco Aversa); Domenico (born 22 January, 1929 and died on 8th January, 2008; and married Angelina Delfino) and Francesco (born 7 June, 1931 and died on 28th October, 2006; and married Lisetta and resided in Rome).

Immacolata’s mother, Vittoria, was the sister of my Zio Vincenzo Marino (father of Frank and Mick Marino). She died in her mid-thirties from pleurisy; a condition that could easily have been treated had she been properly diagnosed.

Left: Andrea and Vittoria Leto (Immacolata’s parents)

Right: Andrea Leto with his second wife, Caterina, whom he married after Vittoria’s death

In those days, the Marchese would lease out portions of land to the ordinary citizens to work and maintain. The leaseholder would grow his crop for personal use and also to sell. He would also pay a percentage to the Marchese.

Andrea Leto (Nonno) receiving two of many Awards and medals for his work in Agriculture

My Mum was thirteen years old when her mother died; and being the eldest, it mostly fell on her shoulders to not only care for her younger siblings whilst her mother was ill, but was left to care for them after her mother’s death; with their ages then being five, seven and ten. This didn’t last long as Immacolata married Nicola Tassone on 29 April, 1939 having turned sixteen only a few months earlier.

While she continued to help out with her younger siblings, she herself became a mother only 9 months later when she gave birth to her first child Salvatore (Sam) on 28 February, 1940. She had turned seventeen the previous month. Clearly a case of ‘out of the frying pan and (straight) into the fire’ situation; especially for one so young. Mum went on to have another son, he being Andrea (Andrew) born 20 September, 1942; both being born post Italy’s African invasion and pre Italy’s involvement in the Second World War. Then on 29 August, 1948 (post war), I, Vittoria was born.

Left pic: 21-5-1939: Immacolata and Nicola had married one month before this photo was taken and Immacolata would already have been 4 weeks pregnant! Here you see Immacolata, Nicola & Immacolata’s first cousin Natalina. Natalina was the daughter of Teresa Marino (who was Immacolata’s deceased Mother’s sister).

Teresa was seduced by a man of nobility whilst in his employ as a maid. Thankfully he did acknowledge Natalina as his daughter & provided for her. Natalina’s mother, Teresa never married. In those days there was a stigma with having illegitimate children. However, Natalina married a wonderful and gentle man by the name of Raffaele Gentile (‘gentle’!)

1975 Immacolata & Nicola visit Santa Caterina:

Centre: 36 years later Immacolata & Natalina are reunited on Natalina’s terrace

At right: Immacolata with the baby Jesus statue which was at Natalina’s home

Notes of Interest:

The reason for nobility still around at that time was that Italy was known as the Kingdom of Italy and each State had its nobility. Recognition of Italian nobility ceased in 1946 when the Kingdom of Italy was replaced by a Republic. Under the Italian Constitution adopted in 1948, titles of nobility, although still used as a courtesy, are not legally recognized.

Left: Natalina and Raffaele Gentile on a trip to Vatican City

Right: The crocheted bedspread ‘Zia’ Natalina made and shipped over for Vittoria

It was customary for the first born of each sex to be named after the paternal grandparents and the second of each sex after the maternal grandparents. By right, I should have been named ‘Elisabetta’, but because my maternal grandmother had died, permission was given for me to be named ‘Vittoria’.

Nonno Andrea’s second wife Caterina had a nephew by the name of Francesco Aversa, who later married Angelina. As one would imagine, back then courtships and marriages would have been a much more straightforward process than it is today; especially in small towns.

Some interesting, but sad facts:

My mother’s stepmother, Caterina went on to give birth to a boy; but unfortunately, not only did she lose him at the age of two, but this was also the case with many young children dying from lack of diagnosis and/or medications. Zia Giuseppina (Peppina) Leto (wife of one of Nonno Andrea’s brothers) lost one son; Zia Lisa (Dad’s younger sister and Bruna’s mum) lost two sons; Zia Vittoria (Dad’s brother’s wife and mother of Elizabeth and Annette) lost one son; Zia Caterina Marino (Frank and Mick’s mother) lost nine children during infancy; and there were many other women who also lost children at an early age.

Back: from left: Immacolata with son Salvatore; Zia Peppina Leto with son Domenico

(Born 6-3-40 – Died 4-9-41); Zia Nuzza with her first-born Domenico; Zia Maria Leto

(Zio Pasquale’s wife who was much older than all the other ladies).

Assunta Tropiano (née Marino and sister of Vincenzo, Teresa and Vittoria-Marino-Leto (Immacolata’s Mother) who was the mother of Carmela Tropiano (who married Matteo Scoppa) and was also my mother’s maternal aunt; committed suicide in the nearby reservoir. It is said that after her daughter Carmela and family immigrated to Australia, she would tell people that her daughter ‘abandoned’ her and took her grandchildren away. Although Zia Carmela was really a second cousin to me, because she was close to Mum’s age, I, my brothers and our cousins always called her ‘Zia’. Over the years, although Carmela didn’t speak much about it, the thought that she may have been indirectly responsible for her mother’s death always haunted her.

I remember Mum telling me of the fun times she shared with her sister Angelina and the many other female relatives on the days they would attend to harvest the olives or other field trips. There was no modern machinery like the long-handled-vibrating-tong with which to shake the olives from the branches. No; there was the much more fun way of placing sheets around the trees as they took turns to shake the ripened olives off.

The women would take food items with them; and when it was time to eat, they would make a fresh insalata (tomato salad) to dip the homemade pane into the tasty tomato/oil juice to have with their ‘asciutto’ (ploughman’s lunch).

I have a suspicion that the girls made good use of these days, in the hope that one of them might share some enlightening information about their marital relations experience. One can see quite clearly from the picture below how these young married girls not only enjoyed each other’s company, but also relied on one another for practically everything.

From right front-anti-clockwise: One of Immacolata’s brothers; Immacolata; Zia Lisa (Nicola’s younger sister); Zia Angelina; Zia Teresa (Nicola’s older sister); other family friends. It looks as if Immacolata was the storyteller this time and not Angelina as was to be the case in the future. Angelina seems to be in stitches at her sister’s tales – priceless!

From left: Immacolata with her step-mother Caterina; brothers Francesco and Domenico;

Their toddler step-brother and son of Caterina and Andrea (who died shortly after this photo);

Angelina; Nicola standing. All enjoying a tasty hot meal whilst out in the ‘campi’ (fields)

Left: Brothers Andrea and Salvatore Tassone

Right: Immacolata with her children Salvatore, Andrea and lip-biting Vittoria

Then there were the religious traditions of feast day processions through the town where men would carry the statue of Jesus or Our Lady Mary or of the patron saint of the town, Santa Caterina. On some other feast days of our Lady Mary, the smaller statue would be left inside a designated home where it would remain for the week or so on the prepared little alter and where the owners of the house and their relatives would come together and pray.

Prayer and Adoration in front of the statue of Our Lady at Immacolata’s home:

Left line straight up: Zia Nuzza; Step-Nonna Caterina Leto; Sam Tassone;

Left inner-line straight up: Nuzza (Andreacchio); Sam Aversa; Andrew Tassone;

Right line straight up: (?); Zia Angelina; Zia Lisa; Immacolata;

Did I miss anyone? Oh yes; that cute little poser in the centre – Vittoria, of course!

It must have been daunting in those times for Mum at 31 years old to leave her father and other family members; not to mention the only life she had ever known; and have to travel for a good month to the other side of the world; as was the case for my aunties, uncles and their families. While there were other people from the town making this long trip on the same ship, she still had to watch over 3 children, whose ages at that time were, Sam 14; Andrew 12½ and me, Vittoria, age 5½; and be prepared for the unknown. I wonder what was going through her mind as she said her goodbyes to her loved ones left behind. One can only imagine!

I remember as a child; and even for years after arriving in Australia, how happy it made Mum to see a large moth fluttering around the ceiling, exclaiming: Guarda, guarda, è lo Spirito Santo; riceverò presto una lettera; lascia stare…nessuno che la tocca! (Look, look, it’s the Holy Spirit; I’ll be getting a letter soon; let it be…don’t anyone touch it!).

In the beginning we would all have a laugh, but when the letters began arriving a couple of weeks after the appearance of a big moth, we were all believers!

I also remember that as a child, whenever I saw Mum upset because she hadn’t heard back from her father or another relative, I would actually pray for the appearance of a moth; if only to bring a smile to her face. Then when I spotted one, I would jump up and down with joy, screeching to Mum to come see the Spirito Santo. There were times when my brother Sam would get annoyed in seeing this bug fluttering around for days and whenever he attempted to shoo it out of the room, I would cry out, No, no, Sam; don’t touch it; it’s the Spirito Santo; leave it alone! He would eventually shake his head and give up.

This is why I will never (is possible) whack a moth. I learned very young to try and encase them in my hands and release them outside. The only exception was on one of our stays at our then Mollymook Beach holiday house.

When we arrived this particular time, we noticed there were numerous moths around the house and indeed around the doors. Not giving it too much thought and wanting to get inside and start unpacking the car; as soon as we entered the house we noticed many more moths within the house, many now fluttering around. Vic said we should spray the inside, leave it a while before we came back in; but I told him I wanted to try and shoo them out first. Although I managed to ‘cup’ and release quite a few; with every one that I did save, there were more and more awakening and fluttering everywhere. So I had to bite the bullet and spray the whole house and hoped that by leaving the door open, most of them would fly away. Many did, but many didn’t. I know the ‘Spirito Santo’ understood my dilemma?! But to this day, killing a moth is as a last resort. Apparently the reason for those moths was due to the inland drought. In fact, on the evening news they showed the thousands of moths being attracted by the lights at Parliament House in Canberra.

I have incorporated some of my tribute I read at Mum’s funeral in the following section:

My mum loved family picnics and always looked forward to them. It was never a chore for her to make the foods she knew we