The Motor Scooter – Comedy or Tragedy

THE MOTOR SCOOTER – COMEDY OR TRAGEDY

I wanted to go to Italy for a noble cause – so that I could relate more effectively with the Italian immigrant women during their birthing experience. The year before I had completed my midwifery training in Perth, Australia and I still had the moans, cries and screams of “Mama mia, che dolores!” resounding in my ears. If only I knew Italian I could be of more help.

I arrived In Perugia, Italy in March 1962 and started studying at the Universita Per Stranieri. I soon found out that university life was not all about studying, but also about meeting people from all over the world and discovering the sights, sounds, foods and wines of an Italian town and having lots of fun. Before long I wanted to explore farther afield but didn’t have the means of travelling so easily.

Then I met Robert, a student from England, who told me he wanted to sell his scooter, a Lambretta, which he had bought from another student, who had bought it from another student, who had bought it from another student, etc. The licence plate showed Paris and a number, but no date. He had no papers, knew nothing about the former owners and said “I just want to get rid of it.” He asked me for $20 and I replied, “Sold”. I had never ridden a motor scooter, knew nothing about mechanics, but thought this might be my answer to exploring farther afield in Umbria.

After a few trial lessons from Robert I was off and away – first to Assissi, the home of St. Francis, to Orvietto to taste the famous wine and to Spoleto to see La Festa dei Due Mondi, an international festival of modern and old art and theatre. Then, with another student riding behind me, we travelled all the way to the Adriatic coast to see the festa in Ravenna and to the tomb of Dante and on to San Marino, the smallest republic in the world.

However, I was beginning to understand why Robert “just wanted to get rid of it”. Every so often the scooter would cease, but, no worries, there was always someone who would stop his car and come and help me get started again. The Italian men made the most of every opportunity, especially to a young blonde, obviously a foreigner. At one time two policemen on motorbikes stopped to help, then escorted me all the way back to Perugia. I was thrilled but in trepidation for fear they would ask for papers.

At the university I met another student who told me that his girlfriend was a nurse working in Naples as a civilian at the American Navy Base Hospital and would be leaving within weeks to go hitchhiking with him. My course at the university was nearing the end, I had very little money, I needed a job, this was my chance. I wrote to the hospital and was told to come for an interview.

I left at 5 a.m. and headed for Naples, but with the usual stops and starts, it took two days. At one stop, a truck came along and instead of trying to fix the scooter, he put it in the back of his truck and drove me right into Rome where I stayed the night. My friend there helped me to get going the next morning and I set off to complete the journey. I had not a care in the world!

I had the interview, got the job, found a place to stay in a pension and started working. I used the scooter to weave in and out of the streets of Naples and explore the beautiful coastline. It still gave me the usual problems but I still had the never ending signori italiani to help me whenever it was needed. I wondered how long it could last.

Not long. One day I parked the Lambreta in a downtown parking spot and returned to it only to find a policeman standing before the licence plate and writing in his little book.

I was scared, I did not want to face the law in Italy. I had to “get rid of it”, so I asked advice from a young man who also lived the Pension. I had seen him tinkering with his car and thought he might have some ideas. He did and said he would disassemble the scooter and keep the motor and any other parts he could use. What could I do with the left over pieces? I decided to put them into big bags, take the ferry to the Isle of Capri and drop the pieces into the ocean. It took me two trips to get rid of them. I felt a sense of relief but at the same time great nostalgia for a treasure that had given me so much pleasure. Instead of moaning “Mama mia, che dolores!”. it was “Mama mia, che vergogna!”