This We’ll Defend…Viva San Marino!

San Marino, the early 1970s

It was his very own Kingdom in the Clouds…

Well, it wasn’t a kingdom, and it certainly wasn’t his, but the chocolate-boxy Republic of San Marino was truly enjoyable.

‘Small things well done’, as Mum said.

After four years in the Australian army with Vietnam service, Phil Danté used his savings to fly to Paris, then travelled down to Villefranche-sur-Mer and the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur to stay with distant relatives. He had a truly wonderful time but didn’t wish to overstay his welcome.

He journeyed by train to Monaco, then Genoa, inwards towards Florence, then San Marino, the last of the small Italian city-states except for the Vatican. From there he’d explore Venice, then Rome where he would fly to London, stay with more distant relatives in Cornwall and attempt to find employment. If he failed, he would cross La Manche and enlist in la Légion étrangère.

Sadly, the San Marino Railway remained closed since it was bombed by the RAF in 1944. A coach took him ever upwards and there he was.

The wind howled during the night shaking his pensione with such vigour that Phil believed he’d fly to Oz like Dorothy and Toto.

The next day was splendid with blue skies and white puffy clouds.

One of his sightseeing high points was the Changing of the Guard, a similar ceremony to one he enjoyed in Monte Carlo and looked forward to seeing in London. The delightfully diminutive ceremony held in la Piazza della Libertà featured colourful soldiers in shakos, green tunics and red trousers. It evoked pleasant memories of his toy soldiers and his mother’s toy theatre.

He noticed an older gentleman looking at him.

After the ceremony, the two approached each other.

‘Godfrey Hindmarsh…former Coldstreamer…call me God…’

‘Phil Danté…former Royal Australian Regiment…You sound like my first Corporal…’

‘You can always tell a soldier, but you can’t tell him much…Vietnam?’

‘Shot at and missed…shit on and hit.’

I’d ask you to join me for tea, but when in Rome…’

‘Or in San Marino…do as the San Merinos do.’

‘They’re not sheepish, Phil.’

Phil hid his surprise in hearing an Englishman use his Christian name so soon after meeting.

One of the many things Phil loved about his Continental odyssey was the feel of timeless sophisticated lingering in a sidewalk café watching the world go by. They shared a barretta di cioccolato with their caffè lunghi.

After God explained he would be meeting his wife following her shopping safari, the pair gave each other brief accounts of how they ended up in San Marino.

‘Have you ever heard the story about the San Marino Artillery?’

‘No, God…is it like The Guns of Navarone?’

‘Far from it…Like the rest of the world, San Marino, who remained neutral during both World Wars, had a great period of prosperity in the 1920s before the Great Slump. There was an excess in the exchequer, so the government of the day went to their various ministries and asked if there was anything that they wanted but formerly couldn’t get due to budgetary restraints. The Treasury asked the Army,

“You’re a good army, what would you like if you had some extra money?”

The Army answered, “We want a cannon!”

“What do you want with a cannon?”’

God’s accent changed to one of Italian pride.

‘”To defend our nation! To fire salutes!”’

God’s voice changed to one of a pouting child,

‘”We want a cannon! Every army has a cannon! All we need is one! We want a cannon!!!”’

‘Defending the nation is their canon.’

God winced and continued,

‘The Treasury had their people look into it, and they reported back in delight’,

God spoke in a triumphant Italian accent,

‘“This is a great opportunity! Artillery pieces and other military weapons and munitions are as cheap as chips! Italy has artillery pieces that were never fired that they’ll give away!”

‘Everyone was happy. The Army of San Marino had their cannon, the Government was thrilled with the cooperation and economical procurement, even Italy felt good about it. But…what’s the first thing you do with a field gun when you get it?’

‘They just weren’t shooting their mouths off…’

God smiled and pointed to wordlessly tell Phil he was on target.

‘They fired their field gun, but no matter where or with what trajectory, it always ended up exploding in some farmer’s field in the Italy.’

God went into mock Italian hysterics with hand wringing and a funny voice that made Phil burst out into laughter; it reminded him of his Italian neighbours in Leichhardt.

‘Well of course, the storm in a teacup became an international affair with each nation regarding the situation as one of national pride. San Marino didn’t want to be told what to do as they never told Italy how to run their army, but there was financial restitution to pay to the farmers. The Army of San Marino said their field gun was the only thing protecting the nation from an Italian invasion, and they’d use it if they had to…’

‘Did Italy surrender just to be on the safe side?’

‘No. The Italians and the San Merinos, as you call them, had a Mexican Standoff.’

Phil imagined Eli Wallach’s forty thieves staring down The Magnificent Seven,

‘Who was the first to blink?’

‘Some unknown genius worked out a compromise where the Kingdom of Italy provided the Army of San Marino with four machine guns in exchange for the field gun…Everyone was content…Oh, there’s my wife. Must dash. Pleasure to meet you.’

They shook hands and smiled with their eyes, then God paid for their coffee, and joined his wife. The pair turned, waved, and walked out of Phil’s life.

Phil reflected it was a small story for a small nation. Was it really true?

To paraphrase John Ford's film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,

‘When the legend becomes fact, tell the legend.’

FIN

Recommend Write a ReviewReport