Graziella Cappelletti
Born in the village of San Valentine in 1942, in the house where she still lives today, Graziella Cappelletti has an optimistic and sunny disposition that has accompanied her throughout her life, helping her face even the most difficult moments with strength and calm. She is an only child, while her father’s family had four children and her mother’s six. Graziella’s father was initially a farmer, then worked as a foreman builder for the construction of the village’s first road during the Fanfani plan. At home they were three people until the 1960s, when an uncle came to live with them. In 1968 she got married and, shortly afterwards, her daughters were born. At first the house was small and very crowded; today it has been renovated and she lives there on her own.
As a child, she remembers that the floors were made of bricks and, to sweep without raising dust, they had to be dampened. Brooms were made of sorghum or “scopuccio”, fashioned from heather branches. In the post-war years food was scarce, and many dishes now considered delicacies were everyday fare back then: pici, acquacotta, bread soup.
Despite everything, she recalls that life was good and people made do and enjoyed themselves with very little. Almost every family kept chickens and pigs, which roamed freely around the village. The village was very populated. The school was initi ally just below her house, then moved several times. A single teacher taught all five primary years, yet the standard of the fifth year was comparable—if not higher—than today’s lower secondary level. Continuing education beyond primary school was a privilege for the few, mostly those living in towns.She and the other children travelled on foot or by donkey, going as far as Sorano even twice a day, along the hollowed-out roads. It was normal for a ten- or eleven-year-old girl to move about independently, in a climate of great trust. Shopping was done in Sorano; only later did travelling vendors arrive with donkeys.
She remembers people coming from Onano to beg with baskets, asking for an egg or a piece of bread, and her mother taught her never to send anyone away empty-handed. An elderly man would also come with a basket of spools of thread, which he bartered for rags. In a nearby street, worn-out pieces of trousers and shirts were discarded, and women would collect them to exchange for thread. Money was scarce, and bartering—especially with eggs—was common. The family opened a shop in 1954, when she was 12, and ran it for many years, until the 1980s. At first it was a very small room, with long pasta stored in wooden crates and short pasta in paper sacks.
They started with very little—just pasta and a few chocolate bars. They did not stock tomato purée, and nobody bought preserves, as everyone in the countryside made their own tomato sauce. There were no hygiene controls, and the only tool was a set of scales. To obtain a health certificate, they had to travel all the way to Grosseto, facing a demanding journey with a hired driver from Castell’Ottieri.
Over time, the shop grew. In the 1970s it was registered in her name; in 1985 it was moved to a larger premises, and she kept it until 1998. It was work she enjoyed, but it was very demanding: there were no fixed hours and customers came continuously. Even when she went home for lunch, if someone arrived they would come and fetch her, and she had to interrupt her meal to reopen the shop.
There was no Christmas or Easter—work went on until late in the evening, and one could not refuse customers, because gaining one took time, but losing one was easy. Only later, when regulated opening hours were introduced, did the work become more manageable.
There were other shops in the village too: a tabaccaio, selling government controlled tobacco and salt, with the only landline telephone, run by Santino, who would loudly call out people’s names when they received a phone call.
Social life in the village was lively. People danced in the square with a record player, organised gatherings in their homes, and played together. Young people came from Sorano and Castell’Ottieri, and the local boys, jealous, sometimes punctured their bicycle tyres.
The postman arrived from Castell’Ottieri on a donkey. In front of the house there was a high slope from which the girls could see the whole street, and with their friends they would watch for his arrival, racing to see him first. He delivered and collected mail, and the girls waited eagerly, especially for letters from admirers they had met at dances in the villages or from boyfriends away on military service. Despite poverty, life was peaceful.
Graziella with her cat, sitting by the fireplace
She and the other children travelled on foot or by donkey, going as far as Sorano even twice a day, along the hollowed-out roads. It was normal for a ten- or eleven-year-old girl to move about independently, in a climate of great trust. Shopping was done in Sorano; only later did travelling vendors arrive with donkeys. She remembers people coming from Onano to beg with baskets, asking for an egg or a piece of bread, and her mother taught her never to send anyone away empty-handed. An elderly man would also come with a basket of spools of thread, which he bartered for rags. In a nearby street, worn-out pieces of trousers and shirts were discarded, and women would collect them to exchange for thread. Money was scarce, and bartering—especially with eggs—was common. The family opened a shop in 1954, when she was 12, and ran it for many years, until the 1980s. At first it was a very small room, with long pasta stored in wooden crates and short pasta in paper sacks. They started with very little—just pasta and a few chocolate bars. They did not stock tomato purée, and nobody bought preserves, as everyone in the countryside made their own tomato sauce. There were no hygiene controls, and the only tool was a set of scales. To obtain a health certificate, they had to travel all the way to Grosseto, facing a demanding journey with a hired driver from Castell’Ottieri. Over time, the shop grew. In the 1970s it was registered in her name; in 1985 it was moved to a larger premises, and she kept it until 1998. It was work she enjoyed, but it was very demanding: there were no fixed hours and customers came continuously. Even when she went home for lunch, if someone arrived they would come and fetch her, and she had to interrupt her meal to reopen the shop. There was no Christmas or Easter—work went on until late in the evening, and one could not refuse customers, because gaining one took time, but losing one was easy. Only later, when regulated opening hours were introduced, did the work become more manageable. There were other shops in the village too: a tabbachiao, selling government controlled tobacco and salt, with the only landline telephone, run by Santino, who would loudly call out people’s names when they received a phone call. Social life in the village was lively. People danced in the square with a record player, organised gatherings in their homes, and played together. Young people came from Sorano and Castell’Ottieri, and the local boys, jealous, sometimes punctured their bicycle tyres.
The postman arrived from Castell’Ottieri on a donkey. In front of the house there was a high slope from which the girls could see the whole street, and with their friends they would watch for his arrival, racing to see him first. He delivered and collected mail, and the girls waited eagerly, especially for letters from admirers they had met at dances in the villages or from boyfriends away on military service. Despite poverty, life was peaceful.
Graziella in her living room
During agricultural seasons, such as threshing or pig processing, the whole village worked together and shared meals. Wheat was dried in the sun on sheets laid on the ground, and children were tasked with guarding it from animals. Graziella began cooking later in life because she was busy with the shop, but she always watched her mother prepare simple traditional dishes such as polenta, vegetable soups, homemade pasta, broths enriched with eggs and pecorino—what they liked to call “elderflower” and which elsewhere in Italy is known as stracciatella—poultry and homemade desserts. For the broth, for example, eggs were beaten with a pinch of salt and grated pecorino, then added to the hot broth and stirred gently until achieving the typical soft consistency. She also recalls cheese-making: the family owned around 60 sheep, and every day the cheese had to be milked, processed and cleaned, often early in the morning before opening the shop. In 1965 Graziella got her driving licence and shortly afterwards bought a small family car, which she used to stock up on goods from nearby villages. Festivals were important and eagerly awaited. During the village festival in September, each family hosted a musician; in Graziella’s home, since her father was part of the organising committee, they hosted two musicians for the entire day. Large meals and traditional desserts were prepared, bringing out the best crockery: starters, cured meats, homemade crostini, the so-called “fior di sambuco”, tagliatelle, tortelli, followed by main courses such as roast chicken and pork cutlets, and finally desserts. The wives of the revellers spent a week preparing sweets for the festival. One of the most anticipated was aniseed biscuits, cut into small pieces and shared with everyone along with a glass of wine. At Easter, traditional Easter breads required days of preparation, and baking had to be organised in shifts using the village’s wood-fired communal oven. Alongside bread, various kinds of flatbreads were made, with pork cracklings, oil and salt, cheese or rosemary. Easter bread took three or four days of work and had to be carefully monitored, because if they overproved they would collapse. To help them rise, they were placed in the bed. Which bed? With the same dough, her mother made “pupa” and cockerel shapes for the children, decorating them with coffee beans or peppercorns for eyes and shaping the clothes, arms and feet. This was a widespread custom among families with children, and the figures were then eaten. As a child, when dolls were not available, older girls would make them from rags, always calling them “pupe”, and using corn silk for hair. At Christmas the family gathered in large numbers: on Christmas Eve they ate spaghetti with anchovies, chickpeas and salt cod, and her father would bring in the Yule log—a large log to place in the fireplace, which had to remain burning all night and into the following day.
Antonello's family pictures
Graziella on the doorstep of her house
Over time, Graziella has preserved many traditions. She enjoys cooking for her grandchildren, especially desserts such as tarts, tiramisù and cakes. Among her favourite dishes remain pici and acquacotta. She cooks “by eye”, without weighing ingredients, relying on experience and smell. For pici, for example, she makes a well of flour, adds warm water and a pinch of salt, kneads on the board and lets it rest for ten minutes. She then rolls out the dough, refines it slightly, dusts it with flour on both sides, cuts it into thin strands, arranges them on trays with flour underneath, and gently lifts them with a knife to let them rest before cooking. Even today she prepares castagnole for Valentine’s Day. She describes herself as an “old-fashioned” person, attached to things and careful not to waste. She cares deeply about tradition and sharing: when her grandchildren are with her, the house fills with life, just as it once did.
In the bottom right, Graziella’s old shop