Chapter eighteenJuly 31st, 1950
Genoa Port, Italy
A long queue of people shuffled aboard the one-chimney, 8000-tonne Amarapoora. Older women bowed their heads and wept as their feet left Italian soil, perhaps for the final time.
Among the 634 passengers boarding that day was a group of bedraggled Italians from Trieste, comprising the Saforo family and their friends. Ettore carried their one, worn out suitcase, as his family, bewildered and elated, inched along the ramp onto the sturdy ship. Beside him was Martino, sleepy and quiet, but joyously present. Contessa’s cheeks were flushed with excitement and she kept nervously checking all their children were with them. When her sparkling eyes met those of her husband’s, they shared a smile of renewed optimism. They were doing it. They were
