British Sergeant Now Mayor Of A Sicilian Village

Northern Advocate, 18 January 1944, Page 5

British Sergeant Now Mayor Of A Sicilian Village

The little village of San Pietro Clarenza, in Sicily, is perched high up in the mountains and from its small square you look down upon a postcard vista of Catania and the sea sparkling in the sun. I do not know how old the village is, but it has changed so little in 500 years that it makes no difference. The food is what the gardens provide, the drink is red wine and the chief amusement is talk. Into the village of San Pietro came the conqueror. He came riding a motor-bike, a gentle, soft-spoken sergeant with a Mr Chips moustache, a Mr Chips tolerance and a smattering of Italian. San Pietro looked quizically at the conqueror, so different from the knavish lout portrayed on the Fascist poster in the square, and managed a tentative smile. Sei'geant Kenneth Irwin Carruthers, of Little Corby, near Carlisle, smiled back and said “Buon giorno.” He walked into the municipal office, a cubby-hole in a mouldy building, and looked out on the panorama of valley beauty and an old well which was to be his water supply. He stacked his rifle, sat down behind his desk and was open for business. He Took Over To the sergeant fell the problems of the village water supply, policing and general administration. The place was too small to warrant any highpowered staff. So the sergeant became the mayor. He calmed the fears of the local Carabinieri and soon had his police force functioning. He turned a corral into a detention pen and looked into the records of the local Fascists —most of them came to the office to recant at such length and with such fervour that the sergeant had to arrange a special recanting hour and limit recantations to fifteen minutes each. This measure seriously disappointed the village orators, who were prepared to deliver ten thousand words of vituperation against their erstwhile allegiances. Having received excessive assurances of the village’s loyalty to the Allied cause, democracy, the rationing system and whatever else the sergeant represented, the real work began.

I spent a day with the sergeant and found it to be as crowded as that of any administrator of a major city. A constant flow of visitors and prob, lems enough to test the judicial patience of a Solomon and the technical ingenuity of an Bdison, fills the hours before darkness, a

The Carabiniere brings in the village barber. Alfio. Alfio was out after curfew. What should the punishment be" The sergeant ponders and makes the decision. His bicycle will be sequestered for one week.

The barber leaves —not so bad. Pietro comes in. He is stationmaster at Sparragonna. He is looking for his family—lost in the chaos of war. The sergeant looks through his records, talks to the Carabiniere and then suggests to Pietro that he should go to the large adjoining town, Mascalucia, and speak to the Amgot official. Pietro departs hopefully. Acts As Magistrate Gaetano comes in. He also has been out after curfew. He explains that this was due to a puncture on his. wife’s bicycle. What could he do? It had to be.fixed. He is ready to talk for an hour, but the sergeant politely rebukes him and tells him to go home. Vincenzo is brought in by an indignant Carabiniere. He refused to obey an order in the food queue. The Carabiniere’s dignity has suffered severely. The policeman throbs emotionally, clucking like a hen deprived of its egg. The sergeant tells Vincenzo that he must behave and do what the Carabiniere says when he is standing in the queue. Both of them go off chattering. Giovanni comes in. There has been a report that he has arms in his house. “But where? But where?’ says Giovanni, rolling his eyes wildly. A few questions are asked. Giovanni is told to go home. He leaves shaking his head sadly. Such injustice to make the charge—which one of his vindictive neighbours could it be?

Antoni comes in wringing his hands. His wife, his • wife, he repeats, looking helplessly at the sergeant. Well, you see, his wife is like that and she must see an obstetrician. There is none in San Pietro. He must take her to Catania.

The sergeant writes out a pass. He will try to arrange transportation in a passing vehicle. Salvatore comes in, cap in hand and very apologetic. There is no water available for his waterless commuity of Valcorrente. The donkeys which normally carry the water are somehow out of order —they cannot work. What should he do? The sergeant tells him to impress other animals for the purpose. He leaves happily with permission to borrow animals from his neighbours. He is already planning which neighbours to harass. Orazio has done a serious thing. He has sold meat without permission. Black markets start that way. He is sentenced to be detained for one night, and to sweep the street in the morning. Then he may go home to sin no more. And so it goes on, hour after hour. At last at nightfall the sergeant lies wearily down to sleep. But even then there is a knock at the door. With lavish excuses a prominent local antifascist has come with a lengthy thesis on the reforms necessary for San Fietro and the world. May he please read it to the sergeant? The sergeant listens, then dozes off and finally is sleeping soundly. The village reformer reads on and om-un-ncticingly. Life goes on in San Pietro under the bright summer stars.