This morning we went to Piazza Roma to see if there are any buses for Mestre, upon discovering there are, we go back to the barracks and gather the few things we have, then go back to the piazza. We take a bus to Mestre, there is no transportation here so we decide to walk to Padua. Me, the man from Rome, and 3 Albanians start walking to Padua. After a few kilometers we come across an American checkpoint. The soldiers stop us and ask us where we’re going. We tell them we need to go to Rome. They make us wait then load us into the first American truck that arrives. After driving for quite some time, we stop and the truck doesn’t move for about 1 hour and a half. During this stop, I get out and ask at a nearby farm why we’ve been stopped. They tell me the bridge of boats over the Adige River is broken, due to this incident there is a 5-kilometer-long line of vehicles backed up. When we cross the Adige River, the sun is setting. We later cross the Po River in Ferrara. They drop us off near Bologna, they’ve reached their base. We spend the rest of the night here.

We begin walking toward Bologna, a cart passes by so we place the few belongings we have on it and walk beside it. We reach Bologna at around 8:00. We go to the barracks for soldiers where there is a huge line of people at the door. There are hundreds of entire families, thousands who want to go south, every morning from these barracks trucks leave transporting people south. We get in line, but once they’ve filled all the spots, they close the doors. All remaining people are sent to the barracks nearby. Here, there are huge rooms without beds, just some hay on the ground where entire families sleep all together. We each find our own spot in the room and we spend the night here.

This morning we went back to the barracks where the trucks depart from. While getting in line, I see a policeman I seem to recognize, I go up to him and say: Aren’t you they guy who used to work with Vincenzo Verrengia in Casale? He says he is. I ask him how long he’s been away from Casale, he says not long and assures me that everyone is well and nothing bad has happened. This news leaves me feeling very happy, I feel hopeful that nothing has happened to my wife, my children, my sisters, and my father, and that they are all well.

It’s late, they’ve filled up all the seats. Yet again we are not amongst the people who get to leave. We take a stroll around the city, looking to buy some food. We go back to the barracks to sleep, but it’s unbearably stinky, we’re packed in here like animals. But all this is nothing to me because that beautiful day is nearing, the day in which I will finally be able to embrace my loved ones. Plus, I’m far away from the orders and slavery of those rotten German assassins, especially that horrific Mr. Rockinger. My poor fellow townsmen who are still in that damned factory and that stinky lager. They’ll never be able to leave that factory until the Allies arrive and hold a gun to the head of that bastard Rockinger.

This morning we were in line again to get a number to leave, but yet again we didn’t manage.

Back in line at the barracks again, I check the numbers of those who are ahead of me in line and realize that I should be able to leave today too. But as people come out with their departure tickets, I don’t get any closer to the entrance. I realize something’s wrong. I get out of the line and go around the back of the barracks, here I find a large open door and many people secretly sneak in through here. Naturally, I do the same and get a ticket. I go out and tell my Roman friend to get out of line quickly and do what I did. He comes back saying the door had been closed. I say goodbye to him and tell him I’m leaving in a few hours. He begs me to wait till tomorrow to leave with him but I say: Sorry, I can’t wait for you because it’s been 20 months since I’ve seen my family, my father, my sisters, everyone, and I have no idea if anything happened to them, and I can’t wait to embrace them all. At around 11:00 we leave in a truck, they take us to another hutment near Forlì. While I’m walking I see Pasquale Migliozzi, a 20-year-old boy from Casale who was also deported to Munich. I ask him how he ended up here and he tells me the factory he worked for released him so he made his way here. They take both of us to a place where there are American soldiers. They let us take showers there and sprinkle us with disinfectant powder. We spend the night there.

We go to Rimini by truck, since most of the railways are damaged. From here we take a train- 8 horses, 40 men, almost double the amount but I don’t care, I’d even be happy to travel amidst garbage. At around 1:00 Pasquale Migliozzi and I reach Rome. As soon as we get there, we take the tram to my cousin Domenico Piccirillo’s home on in Via Ostilia #36, I know this place well since I’d been there more than once. As soon as his daughters and wife Adalgisa see me in the stairway, they are shocked. They bombard me with questions, I tell them a bit of my odyssey. Then my cousin Domenico arrives, he is also very happy and excited to see me in good shape. He says: “Eat something now, you can rest and sleep here tonight, then tomorrow you can go home.” I reply: “We’ll eat here but after that I want to leave. I want to make it back home today.” So my cousin tells his son Renato, who had also come home in the meantime, to take us to Piazza San Giovanni. He says trucks heading south always depart from there. We say goodbye and go to Piazza San Giovanni. Shortly after, a small truck heading to Naples arrives, we ask if he can take us, he says yes so we climb in. There are other men in the back. I ask how much it costs and he says 500 lira a person. I give him 500 lira, he turns to Pasquale for 500 lira, but I tell him my 500 lira was for us both, he settles for that and we drive off. At around 7:00 we reach the crossroads between Casale and Ventaroli. We get out and walk to the first house in Casale. We stop here and I write a postcard I picked up in Rome and give it to Giuseppe Taffuri’s son, Gennarino, and ask him to take it to my wife saying that a man from Sessa Aurunca gave it to him after seeing me in Rome the day before. After 10 minutes, I start walking again, I’m so excited. At the “Crucella” bridge, a crowd of people comes toward me. I see Gennarino and ask if he delivered the postcard, he tells me he gave it to my wife’s father and told him the truth, that I stopped at his house to wait.

At Giuseppe Taffuri’s home I asked for news about my loved ones, he assured me they are all well. 20 meters away I see a little boy running toward me, at first I think he’s Carluccio, Peppino La Vecchia’s son, he certainly has grown… but then I realize it’s my little Antonio and I embrace him with all the affection and love of a father who has been away for so long and with such little hope of returning home alive to his loved ones. People pummel me with questions, they all hug me, and together with them I walk toward my home. I reach the doorway of Via San Pasquale #14 where my family lives, there are so many people around me I can’t even enter. They are all shaking my hand, asking me how my fellow townsmen are, I assure them they are all well, then I push through the crowd and go inside. Here I can finally embrace my dear wife, my daughter, my father, and everyone. The good Lord answered my prayers. This is and will always be the most beautiful day, the most beautiful moment of my life. My diary ends here. Evening of May 8, 1945