“There is no Santa Claus in Italy.”
Harsh words indeed from my beloved grandfather, Batiste, as I sat at his knee just two weeks before Christmas many years ago. He was recounting to me tales of his poor childhood in Italy. I looked up into my grandfather’s face, and smiling brightly told him, “that’s ok Pop, we live in Australia and he comes here every year so don’t worry. I’m getting a brand new bike!” He gave that exasperated sigh I often heard when I was around him. I’m sure deep down he realised I was a lost cause, but he persisted with the Befana Legend.
He told me that as a child, he had to wait until January 6, The Feast of the Epiphany, to get his presents. I was still wondering who the “Epiphany’s” were and how come they had his stuff, when he said that Christmas gifts were actually delivered by an old crone with a hairy mole on her chin who flew in on a broom. She was called La Befana.
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