The Painted Altar

Chapter Twenty-Four

Author's note: I have started publishing part 3 of this novel as a stand alone novella entitled Beyond the Wire, principally so that I can take part in a competition of historical fiction. If you come across the novella in any book lists you're swiping through it will be of limited interest to you. Modifications to the text you're reading here are minor and Beyond the Wire will be published three uploads behind The Painted Altar. Thanks as always for your support.

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Other than the survivors from our own platoon - fellow Puglians mostly alongside a handful of boys from the neighbouring regions of  Molise and Basilicata - camp 106a was also home to the remnants of another platoon, its members in the main hailing from the other side of the Italian south, Calabria and Campania. One of the most effusive and distinctive characters amongst our new western brethren was a Neapolitan boy called Francesco 'Chicco' Brancaleone. That he was the former junior middleweight champion of Campania was a boast he quickly and triumphantly made known to everybody. Given his square jaw and lean, muscle-honed frame, it was  claim nobody put in doubt. Add in the slick, naturally quiffed hair he spent many hours lovingly combing, the michievious twinkle to his eye and infectiously outgoing personality, it was little wonder that he was one of the very few to breach English defences, so to speak. Rosie, I seem to recall his girl's name was. A blue-eyed blonde who looked not a little unlike Bette Davies.

Almost all we prisoners had nicknames.  Michelangelo was my mine on account of the painted altar. Through his bookishness and silent introspection, Ettore Lo Bianco had earnt himself the moniker of 'The Monk'. Chicco Brancaleone, meanwhile,  was known to all as Carnera, after the Italian world heavyweight champion Primo Carnera.

Well Carnera, he must have noted the connection Irene and I had made. Detected that initial romantic spark between us. "Hey Michelangelo," he whispered conspiratorially in my ear one May evening as we rattled campbound in the back of the lorry. "You and Irene ever feel the need for a bit of privacy, I can show you where and how if you like."

It was, I told myself, purely out of academic interest that I tagged along beside him as we made our way to the washroom a few minutes later. "Here," he whispered as we passed under the water tower. He paused his step, eyes swivelling left and right, alert to the apearance of any nearby guards. "The perimeter wire right behind me. Was me and a few other of our boys they had lay it. Only, at one point the guard who was keeping an eye on us nipped off for a pee. That's why if you look closely - and I mean real closely - you'll find the barb's not quite as tightly wound here. If you've got steady hands..." There was a glance down at mine. "Artist's hands like yours.... A lean figure. Well, a man can just about wriggle himself through." A smile crooked the corners of his lips. "Done it myself, couple of times."

"You mean---?"

"Me and Rosie." The smile growing wider, he discreetly tossed his head ninety degrees to the right, towards a clump of ash trees about two hundred metres beyond the perimeter. "Cycles out here from her farmhouse, waits for me in those trees." He now looked down at his own hands, their backs gridded with scars like etching crosshatch. "You'll get a couple of scratches on your way out, another couple on the way back in. You need to be handy with a needle and thread too. Rip your uniform to shreds."

Yes, I recalled seeing him one Sunday morning hunched in the sunshine in his underwear, uniform puddled at his side, face scrunched in concentration as he sought to thread a needle.

"But what about the guards?" I asked.

Luck, he admitted.  Oh yes, there was no getting away from it: one required a touch of  good old-fashioned fortuna. Whilst nocturnal patrols were infrequent, they were also unpredictable. No telling when the on-duty officer might decide to lay down his newspaper or furtive pornography for a moment, have a quick swing round the perimeter.