Letter : Macoroni and Toselli in Italy

Introduction

My uncle, Allan Stoddart died in 2004 leaving a widow, Jean with many happy memories and a collection of war time letters he had written, some photographs, diaries and memorabilia. Allan had wanted to tell his story and maybe he did tell some of it but it was never recorded. Jean has given me his letters and so far I have transcribed those written to my parents, Florence and Bill and a few to Allan’s mother. Using extracts from some of the letters, photographs and memorabilia and information from diaries, a small glimpse of his story is now told. Jean and I understand the site’s terms and conditions.

Allan enlisted in Dundee in January 1940 and was UK based until he sailed on the troop ship, S.S. Almanzora with the 5th Division Signals to India in March 1942. Over the next 3 years, the war took him from India to Iraq, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Egypt, Sicily (landings), Italy (including Anzio), Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Palestine, Italy, Palestine, Italy, (home leave), Belgium, Germany. The 5th Division moved about so much they were nicknamed the “Cooks Tour Mob”.

This Letter

From diary entries, Allan was somewhere near Cantalupo, Italy when he wrote this letter to my parents. The route card above shows the planned route for later that month.

Letter

2332853
L/Cpl Stoddart A
15th I.B.H.Q. Signal Section
C.M.F.

11 November 1943

Dear Florence and Bill,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Your mention of the piano reminds me of another incident which happened some time ago. It’s about an “Iti”, who sheltered me under his roof. The roof leaked — but that’s by the way. This in retrospect was a very funny experience but I can’t give you details now. This Iti at any rate fed me on macaroni and believe it or not, it’s the first and last macaroni I’ve seen in Italy. But oh God, the macaroni had been cooked in olive oil and I’m a firm believer in olive oil for external use only. But could I refuse a good man’s hospitality? Could I hell. Finally this Iti had a violin which he produced upon slight encouragement. And I had a ‘shot’ too. Well, Florence, your opinion of my ability upon the same instrument was never liable to make me get swell-headed, but ah, if you had heard me that night! The Iti did and with a patronising and half-contemptuous smile he proceeded, with many a flourishing gesture, to knock hell out of Toselli’s “Serenata”, “Souvenir”, and God knows what else. I tried vainly in any language available to explain how long it was since I had played, but of no avail and at last I literally crept under the table (to keep the rain off) and went to sleep. I had been working very hard that day.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Allan

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