205. Italy and Back Part 6: The Catholic Church and “Osterias”

By the early 1970s, the lace mantillas had gone out of use and women entered churches bareheaded.  Masses were said in the vernacular and the faithful caught on better saying Mass in Italian than I did.  Mass in the vernacular may have given a new ring to the liturgy but that didn’t stop priests marrying and the churches becoming emptier every day.

As the figure of the Parish Priest became less imposing, with Cardinals on their deathbed declaring to be happy to die while still a Catholic, inferring the changes would desecrate the faith; the ‘obligation’ to attend mass was held less prominent by Vatican II, perhaps it also was no longer a mortal sin now to miss Mass, but with Vatican II, the line between “bad” and downright “evil” became less distinct and no one really knew the difference.  Under this light, the character of the faithful had to change too. 

I got the impression that the people who were in church now were not the ones who once used to come in their hordes because you didn’t want to be left out in the cold.  However, one thing did not change and stuck like an oak tree that would not be uprooted, in village churches at least- the women seated themselves on the left benches of the aisle and the men on the right.  The crossing over of one to the other side was yet to be seen. 

So it was with bars- or as people called them “osteria”- you never saw women in bars.  A woman got the reputation of being, if not quite a prostitute, but at any rate loose if she so much entered a bar alone.  In the village this description is no exaggeration, in towns you saw the occasional female, with other females or accompanied by a male, take their morning cappuccinos, or just before lunch aperitifs, but such were not many or a common occurrence. 

This was mainly due, I believe, to the same fact that women wear veils in Arab countries- you were brought up to consider your place as a woman as that of being at home.  A woman was led to believe her place was not to socialize in public or attend public gatherings alone.  Some public places, bars in particular were looked upon as a den of iniquities reserved only for males.  I suffered much from this atmosphere because in Britain I happily spent a great deal of my time sketching faces and composing some of my best poems in coffee bars or even pubs.

In the 70s even in a socialized city like Vicenza as soon as dusk fell women disappeared from circulation to the sanctuary of their homes.  Being alone and free with an immense desire to experiment writing poems in this much musical language, Italian, I would sit a mournful figure in a corner of a bar sipping one cappuccino after another so as not to be told to go away. 

In some, less sophisticated bars, men played cards, whilst others simply propped up the counter, turning their deep brown marsalas or grappa around in their glass, talking or discussing animatedly with one another...  no one drank cappuccinos, and beer was still a rarity.   When I looked up from my scribbling, I would see their eyes cavernous and dark for long staring still, unflinching, across in my direction, sizing me up wondering how much of a whore I was... I wrote some of my most poignant poems in Italian during this period.

Continues...

Related Articles:

200.  Italy and Back: Part 1

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