My mother, Anna Maria Fantini, was born into a matriarchal family, a rarity in 1930’s Italy, when men had complete power in society. Her mother, Rosaria, was one of 8 children (seven daughters and one son), born to an esteemed and talented blacksmith, Giovanni, and his wife Nicoletta, a righteous but ambitious woman, very protective of her daughters and devoted to her first born and only male child, who emigrated to the United States when he was very young. With time, the physical distance that separated my great-uncle from his family and the “first-born son syndrome” were to have great repercussions on his relatives in later years, and to this very day. But that’s another story. Giovanni’s work ranged from fabricating ornate railings for balconies, light fixtures and furniture, to decorative and religious items, thus it was an activity that allowed him to fully develop his artistic talent. As in every self-respecting Italian household of the time, Nicoletta taught her daughters the basic skills they would need as wives and mothers: to cook, weave, knit and sew, but the girls had that added value inherited from their father, that allowed them to become skilled artisans in their own right, thus contributing in no small way to the family income.
My mother, sitting in Uncle Joe’s dining room, surrounded by his intricate cast iron art work.
The eldest daughter, Eusebia, was a highly acclaimed dress designer and seamstress and above all, the “manager” of the family workshop; Ernesta, the most eccentric and capricious of the seven, designed the intricate embroidery patterns skillfully executed by her other talented sisters, Antonietta, Consiglia, Concetta, Rosaria and Annunziata, who were specialized in various aspects of embroidery and lace manufacture. With time, their fame grew to the point of making them eligible to establish a legally accredited artisan’s school, where local girls could learn how to design and sew and embellish their own clothes and linens. It was important back then for girls to learn how to weave cloth and fashion it into the articles necessary for their families once they married.
My grandmother Rosaria, was one of the four daughters who Nicoletta had ‘deemed to concede in marriage’ to suitors of proven worthiness. Two of her sons-in-law, including my grandfather Ernesto, were well to-do-widowers with children from previous marriages, the third was a prosperous farmer and the fourth was an artisan from a nearby coastal city. After marrying Ernesto, my grandmother dedicated herself to her own family, leaving the business to the other sisters. Concettina, Eusebia and Antonietta were all more or less convinced spinsters, whereas Ernesta married at the age of 45. All of the “working” sisters were totally dedicated to their art and at their school, they passed their expertise on to generations of young women, including their three nieces (my mom and her two sisters, Elide and Elisa). All of the girls learned the basics of each craft, but my mother became specialized in dress design and creation, and in later years she developed a particular talent for creating wedding gowns.
My mom often spoke of this nurturing environment as a happy time, where her aunts would play with and dote on her and her sisters. She was the youngest of the three daughters but she wasn’t at all the ‘spoiled baby’ of the family. Her bright, good natured demeanor made her a favorite playmate among her friends. When my siblings and I were growing up, my mom often told us about her childhood years, saying that she had never disobeyed her parents or done anything to deserve punishment. We, of course, couldn’t believe her, thinking she said it to “encourage” us to be better behaved, but throughout the last 41 years living in Italy, this bit of information has been confirmed many times by friends and family. Looking at her picture here, in which I think her pure soul is reflected in her eyes, I think it’s safe to say that it really was true.
Anna Maria, age 9
Undoubtedly, the love and attention she received strengthened her and provided her with the resilience that would prove vital when put to the test throughout the hardships experienced before and after World War II. Perhaps in some way, those very hardships contributed to forging her, as privations often do. During the war, the entire population of the village, including her family, was uprooted by the Germans who had established their line of resistance to the Allied Forces moving up the Italian peninsula, the Gustav Line, in the area where my parents’ hometown, Fossacesia, rose on a hill overlooking the Sangro River valley and the Adriatic Sea. This exposed them to Allied bombings and German retaliations, which destroyed or severely damaged most of the once peaceful, quaint little village. One day when her group was moving from one refuge to another, my mom was almost killed when a German soldier, just for the fun of it, shot her faithful dog Bricco, which was scampering right next to her. Overwhelmed by shock and grief, she became hysterical and it took the strength of her aunts and mother to hold her back and make her keep walking, terrified as they were that the soldier would take a shot at her, too. The ravaging effects of the war years would help my mother develop her deep love and compassion for animals and children, and most of all for the suffering.
Beyond the Horizon 