I would elbow my mum when she spoke Italian in England, until I realised each part of my identity is more than just a ‘half’
Since I was small, I have liked sitting on stairs to read. In my childhood home, in Nuneaton, I favoured the square of carpet between the two flights, positioned directly opposite the wall-mounted clock, so I could keep an eye on how many pages I could squeeze in before bed. My favourite place to read, though, has always been the red tiled steps that lead to the front door of my nonna’s house in Puglia. There are photos of me and my cousins on those steps at every age. If I close my eyes, I can feel the terracotta under my hands, somehow always warm, even in deepest winter.
Throughout my childhood, I grappled with the question: “Ti senti più inglese o più italiana?” – do you feel more English or more Italian? I’m British-Italian, and most of my family live in the heel of Italy’s boot, in a very small town of – at the last census – 6,200 inhabitants. My mum is one of five siblings, and the only one who moved any real distance from San Donaci, relocating to the Midlands for love, before having me, her only child.
Silvia Saunders is an author. Her debut novel, Homesick, is published in January 2025
