As we travel up into the hills, Eugenio recalls his first journey as a prisoner of war in 1942. He holds my hand as he silently surveys the changing landscape. Then, he points out of the window. “Guarda! Look! It was somewhere around here. The Pietermaritzburg transit camp where we were first detained on arrival in South Africa.” He shakes his head. “Crazy to think that I turned twenty-one out here. Sometimes, during that time, I felt old for my years. I’d seen active service, death, and then the camps. But, I was still a young boy at heart.”
I cannot imagine what he must be feeling. This is a momentous occasion for him.
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