BLACKSHIRT BLACK SHEEP

Radio Record, 15 July 1938, Page 14

BLACKSHIRT BLACK SHEEP

, or The Chink in the Armou of Funiculi di Funicula Based on a cable messuge from Rome, July 3: "Of 64 high Fascist directors, only eight passed all the athletic tests... . The events included vaulting over a row of wpright bayonets, jumping from a springboard through a blazing hoop, and vaulting over a war tank."

By

GORDON

MIRAMS

IETRO FUNICULI was a most difficult bambino. He had none of the virtues and scarcely any of the more spectacular vices. of Italian childhood. To his anxious parents, he seemed to be entirely lacking in ambition. The Funiculis were very strong on ambition. They came of sturdy peasant stock-as far back as there were records, the Funiculis had tilled the sweet soil of the valley of Funicula, high up in the Apennines ~-and the oldest inhabitants of the village still spoke of the great day when Rigmarole Funiculi, Pietro’s great-. grandfather, had beaten champions from all over Italy ju a spaghetti-eating contest, as a result of which he suffered a severe attack of Apenndicitis. And this same

Rigmarole had also been the best mab in the Apennines for vendettas, until the day came when, finding that there were no more enemies left to kill, he became so angry that he stabbed himself fatally in the back. But there didn’t-seem to be a single drop of old Rigmarole’s rich red blood in the sluggish stream that flowed through little Pietro’s sickly veins. Listlessly he would don his little black shirt each morning. It "might have been red or brown for all he seemed to care. And every day there was a scene when his plate of spaghetti was put before him at breakfast. "Oh,

take the nasty stuff away,’ he would ery. "I don’t want any worms to-day." In Wolf's Clothing ND then, while Pietro’s many brothers and all the other little boys in the little village were outside proudly toddling up and down with their little wooden rifles, learning how to be good little Fascists, there would be Pietro hiding under his mother’s voluminous skirt in the tiny kitchen. ‘ Of course, he had to do a certain amount of training with the local Wolf Cubs, but if ever there was a sheep in wolf eub’s clothing it was little Pietro Funiculi. His only remarkable feature was his voice. yeu for a small boy, it was very high and girlish. "Oh well," sighed his father resignedly, "It is the will of Tleaven, There’s nothing for it but to make him a sondolier or, failing that, a grand opera singer."

(AME the day that was to alter Pietro’s whole life. He was ten years old at the time. Signor and Signora Funiculi had had to come down from the hills and go into Rome on business, and as none of Pietro’s married brothers and sisters would let him stay with them for fear that he would contaminate ‘their own children, his parents had to take Pietro with them. To: keep the child occupied Papa Funiculi secured him a ticket to see Mussolini's Mammoth Circus, a spectacular entertainment which was offered free to the Roman populace in place of bread. There was a cast of 64, all high Fascist directors. They were the best-paid entertainers in Italy, and they performed under the pereqgnal ennervision of Benito Mussolini,

the world’s greatest showman. As Pietro watched the show with awe-struek eyes, something happened to the lad. For the first time in his life, he knew ambition. He, too, would become like those brave athletic Fascists who were leaping over hedges of bayonets, jumping through blazing hoops and vaulting over war tanks while Mussolini cracked his whip. So this was what Fascism meant. .

A Rapid Change T’ was a very silent aud very thoughtful boy whom Siguor and Signora Funiculi took back to the valley of Funicula in the high Apennines. But somehow, they felt that he was changed, and very soon they had evidence that surprised and delighted them. On the morning after the return from Rome, Mama Funiculi surprised Pietro standing in front of a+ mirror with a curious, tense expression on his face. His receding chin was thrust forward in a way that was positively startling, and he was vigorously massaging it with garden fertiliser. At first Mama EFunieuli thought that be must have gone ouf of his mind, until she noticed that he kept looking at a photograph of Mussolini. From then on, the change was rapid, ‘The intensive jaw exercise and massage took effect, and Pietro’s. chin became positively craggy. But more (Contd. on page 39.)

Blackshirt Black Sheep THE CHINK IN FUNICULI’S ARMOUR (Continued from page 14).

than this, the boy was mixing with his fellows and becoming their leader in such innocent Italian games. as "Chase the Ethiopian" and "Bait the British.’ Previously, whenever he had been forced to take part in these childish pastimes, Pietro had had to be the Ethiopian or the British: but now he was so enthusiastic and his playing so realistic that several of the smaller, weaker boys were seriously injured. But this was excused by the authorities as pure Fascist zeal. Bach day, Pietro ate 10,000 yards of spaghetti; each day he hurled himself recklessly through blazing hoops, and over bayonets fixed to the top of poles. There wasn’t a war tank in the village; but Pietro found the water tank quite suitable for practice purposés. HE years passed. Pietro married a sturdy peasant wench from the Apennines and raised a family of sturdy little apenndices, By this time, his fame had spread far outside the village of Funicula, Ar last it reached the ears of Mussolhni himself. ‘Get me this Funiculi of Funicula," said Il Duce, to his athletic secretary. "Take him in hand, give him the works. I have an idea that he may be the man I am looking for to rule Italy when I am gone. But there will be strong opposition. Many other athletic young men are fired with the ambition to perform in my eircus. In three years’ time I shall hold a grand test, at which all the trainees shal} compete. ... A few niay become high Fascist directors, a {cw may Le suitable as branch man-agers-but only one wiil be chosen to succeed the world’: greatest showman HREE years later. The second March on Rome is taking place. From far-flung provinces they come; from the depths of the Pontine Marshes and the heights of the perpendicular Apennines, the flower of Fascist youth is conyerging on the Eternal City, with hearts pounding bravely beneath their spotlessly-clean black shirts. Under a forest of outstretched hands and protruding jaws, Mussolini arrives at the Circus, takes his place on a dais in the centre-.of the ring-and the tests begin. ROM the very first, Pietro Funieuli showed his .prowess, his ‘undeniable claim to be a super-Fascist. Nonechalantly trilling the battle-song of the Funiculis of Funicula, he leapt from the springboard through . a series of blazing hoops, before ‘the fiery terror of which eyen hardened Fascist directors shrank--back . appalled. ike one of Rome's sacred geese in flight, he-soared over forests of upturned bayonets. ‘Having vaulted over six war tanks one on top of the other he cleared the Dome of St. Peter’s as an encore. e When the Ethiopians were turned into the arena, Pietro resembled. -a knife cutting. through cheese,’ He was knee-deep in liquidated -Abyssinians

before the other contestants had even started. Even General Franco, Mussolini’s guest-of-honour, was | appalled when, in the tests, Pietro Funiewi demonstrated how he would have won the Spanish War. Harder tests of Fascist skill followed, such as grinding the axes, bundling the fasces, and revolving on the Rome-Berlin axis. Still Pietro remained unchallenged. He revolved so fast on his axis that Mussolini himself became giddy. "This,. indeed, is a MAN," breathed Mussolini in awestruck axents, "No one else seems so fitted to lead the Italian nation to its high destiny. But first I must put him to the supreme test of Fascism." With jaw stuck out so far vhat he almost overbalanced, Pietro was conducted to the : dais, "You have done well, Pietro mio," boomed Mussolini. "There is just one question for you to answer. Consider well before you speak. You see this shirt I am wearing. It is a white one, is it not?" Pietro did not hesitate a inoment, Really this was too easy. Clearly and contidently his reply rang out: "Oh, no, Duce! That shirt of yours is not white. It must be clear to all men that it is black." There followed a moment of hushed silence. Then Mussolini was seen to shake his head sadly. And sadly came his verdict: "Toke him away. He has failed in tne supreme test. A man who is not prepared to swear that black is white could never be a dictator!’