The Letter in Italian

Thirty silver pounds can go a long way: they managed to cancel all recollection of what I did in England and why I’m here. Must have backfired!

The Letter

One very last attempt has been made by Angela’s brother at contacting Italy. The text, written in my Sunday best Italian, bears sole reference to the Italian Church starting with its origins which my sister in Mexico with the help of myself wishes to research. For now there is no indication of previous work in Italy but that can wait.

The presentation continues with its author living in a tent in England with no income of any kind for the past seven years and just some limited money to live off from his own pocket. In the letter it’s absent how I got to England and what I’m doing here nor is there mention of any memory ever having done anything in this country.

It would appear my past was whitewashed and consequently my mental records have been swiped with the exception of having lived in Italy at some time in the past and remembered that country's language – which managed to survive and resist the British over-writing efforts.

The letter states that after a note to quit was handed to me in October 2025 I ended up in a tent with only my own money to keep going. There is no account of what I was doing up to that point, only that once I lived in Italy and that my sister is in Mexico. My contact details are in the email address as there is no other way of finding me, and the letter, in the form of paper and ink, went by post today the 27th December 2025.

Tagebuch

Pages printed at The Party are serving as a diary going back to 2021 and based on these I can trace back some of my past. However, in the letter, the entire concentration is on the need to do research in Italian land provided there is a funded contract, and clearly going by my personal situation as described, the time at my disposal waiting in a tent is limited. So if I go down somewhere in the wilderness in England, the Italian Church goes with me, and this is not what Angela wanted! It depends on a positive reply now.

Sincerely it isn’t at all clear to me what I’m doing here, and believing the Italian State will appreciate my offer to dedicate time and effort to their spiritual affairs, the coming days will be spent awaiting a reply. I cannot find my old German passport that was in my jacket pocket in Normandy, maybe Mädel took it with her to Germany to remember me by.

My assumption is they will answer me before I totally lose my memory and the British have managed to drive me into complete amnesia while attempting in vain to make a zombi out of the Hun. That won’t be good for Angela and the Italian Church she wanted to present.

She believes in a God in Heaven and my fading memory reminds me having been in communion with the Italian Spiritual Mother on many occasions, the last one a few weeks ago when She and some other Italians gave me to see there was a house where once in the past I lived and that She’s awaiting my return

Mention of this house was made in toady’s written offer, and along with my good memory of the language and the topic presented, soon the Hun may be going to his self-storage magazine to collect the belongings and … failing to understand how he got here … leave England.

Memories of Other Times

Once upon a time there were silver Reichsmarks in my portable savings and they are gone. Must have spent them on something and don’t know what. Had I kept them, they’d be worth a lot now. Or did Mädel take them to Germany?

Some Swiss francs were found but, being of old circulation, these cannot be changed here. An old handwritten note was attached to them with the words: do not touch unless in Switzerland. Ah well!

Still, it’s remarkable how a language can remain vivid in one’s memory with an old desire to take part in researching a Church’s origins. How did we get there? There must be some history leading up to this proposition, and yet this desire is as a mirage that’s there but cannot be approached. Who is preventing it and why?

Some letters were found in my email box from the British government asking me to commit actions. It so happens their headquarters are located along the road to my self-storage deposit, so in the coming days I’ll be carrying out an action by stopping over there and showing them an ink printed copy of my letter in Italian, sent to Italy with my email return address.

Not having any other intentions than to return to a house across the Alps where I once lived, and having made a work offer pending a reply along with a funded contract for living costs and expenditure (isn’t this common for all people seeking work?), the expectation is the British government will understand why I’m hanging around in the English wilderness with no memory of how I got here and why.

Her Most Final Offer to Italy

The last time Angela ever spoke to me about Italy was many months ago in 2025. This year is being kept in mind for past and future reference with indication to the time of year, because since then not one word more came from her about that country.

What she revealed to me should not be hidden away from the public, the message is being kept for a future day when I first have a house to live in and a specific funded work contract with the Italian State – and the house is there fully furnished and with memories of days prior to the present.

That was my sister Angela’s last and most final offer. All that remains for me in England is a tent, equipment that goes with it, my limited funds, no income of any sort and an email return address along with paper and digital copies of the letter and no knowledge of why I’m here.

A copy of the letter in Italian is all the British government will get from me when I next see them on my way to the self-storage magazine to deposit some items, plus some of my American dollars to pay for six weeks rent, fuel and council tax.