poor town, its economy fragile. There are many government-subsidized housing complexes. Most tourists are Germans, who are more willing than most people to swim in the heavily polluted Adriatic. The old castle is buttressed by a complex steel-scaffolding system. A sign declares that this is part of a restoration project. But the sign is a decade old and the work does not progress.
While Ortona is not prosperous, the countryside always amazes the veterans who return. When they marched over the Moro River, they entered a landscape ravaged by artillery bombardment. Their memories of it are stark. The farmers seemed desperately poor, simple peasants. It was a land remembered in black and white â rather like the old war photos and documentary footage that recorded the two great wars of the twentieth century.
The farms today are relatively thriving. Houses are well cared for. Country folk drive expensive Italian cars and chatter on cell phones in the same way as their city cousins.
In winter, the countryside is a lush collage of colours and thick vegetation. It is more reminiscent of the Quebec townships in early fall than of a land burdened by winter. Temperatures are erratic. In the course of one day, it can be so warm you strip to shirtsleeves, only to be shivering an hour later when a chill wind blows off the Adriatic. One hour more and a heavy, icy squall races over you. The night after my trek from the Moro to Ortona, I strolled after dinner through soft moonlight back to my hotel. The evening was warm. I wore only a blazer, unbuttoned. In the night, I woke to a hush reminiscent of Canada. Sure enough, it was snowing. In the morning, olive trees bowed under the heavy weight and some branches broke.
While Ortona and the surrounding countryside have recovered physically, the battle remains etched in the memory of the people. Remembrance is often paid. The stories of the suffering a family endured are nurtured and kept alive from generation to generation. So inculcated into the community psyche is the battle that merely mentioning that I am
Canadiense
and writing about the battle gains me entry to virtually any home. Despite the fact that the Canadians brought upon Ortona a great deal of destruction and death, there is a great sense of respect for the sacrifice made by the Canadians, who are viewed by all people of this area as liberators.
This stands powerfully at odds with the way Canada remembers Ortona. An unnamed CBC commentator broadcasting from London on December 28, 1943, said that Ortona would figure in the battle lore of Canada. Yet today few Canadians recall ever hearing the name. Even those who recognize the battles of Dieppe, Hong Kong, and the Canadian landing at Juno Beach during the Normandy invasion seldom know anything about Ortona. For some reason, the battle slipped quietly and decisively from the nationâs consciousness. True, Canadians are not much given to remembrance of the battles in which fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers fought. But the blind spot of memory with regard to Ortona seems inexplicable.
Two factors may be at work here. First, there is a tendency in Canada to wallow in military failure or perceived controversy rather than to explore and celebrate battles won. Book after book refights Dieppe and retackles the defeat at Hong Kong. In the Normandy invasion, Canadians were part of one of the climactic battles of thewar. This has rendered it a good topic for anniversary tributes. But the Battle of Ortona was neither obviously timely nor possessed of any momentous controversy. So historians have turned their backs on it. Added to this is the reticence of the veterans themselves to describe their experience at Ortona. The psychic scar is still prevalent. In Edmonton, during the annual reunion of the Loyal Edmonton Regiment, one old soldier said to me, âI donât see what your interest in Ortona is. There were other battles. It was just one of them.â Later the
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