The Story of a Samurai Chess Set. Part 4: Wine Squeezing. Wine Smelling. Wine Tasting

Me, at school, in Falcone, Frascati, Rome. 1957.
(I know it's 1957 from the two stripes on my arm, second class, age 7)

From yesterday：I'll make a sideways move in the next post. Still not quite getting to the Samurai Chess Set, but getting to some of the surrounding vibes of what was going on in those days of La Dolce Vita. And then to the Chess Set.... 

Me, above, at the time that Pa taught me the rudiments of Chess. He taught me the moves of each piece, the importance of controlling the centre of the board, of keeping your pawns in tight formation, of Castling the King. As the Pope was Castled, down the road from us, at the Castel Gandolfo... 

But before that there's Italy of the fifties. Italy, Rome of the Dolce Vita. Rome and the surrounds of the grapes that we harvested each year and did, in reality, stomp into, in those far-away days, to squeeze out the juices for our Cesare Red Vinos.

I'm posting this photo above of the lady stomping grapes is that it happens to be the same year, in the same place, where we were, in 1957. We, as kids, did the same. We also stomped the grapes, though in much larger vats, and outside, right there in the middle of the vineyard. 

Of course I remember it to this day. The smell of the grape juice, freshly foot squeezed. The squish in the toes. The murmurs of approval, voices of encouragement from the adults. The smiles. "Brava, Anna! Bravo, Pietro! Avete fatto bene, ragazzi!"

We, smiling, stomping harder, even. Me, the elder, at seven, knowing I'd soon be tasting the results of our stomping. That I would be taken down to the cellar by Mimmo, handed a long, curved bamboo stick with a tiny bamboo cup tied to the end, told to thrust down into the bunghole of a cask, draw out, to taste the vino sciolto. The vino fresco. "Com'e, Pietro! Justo, non?"

Fresh, loose wine, bubbling still with its sugary yeasts, and me, nodding knowingly to Mimmo who looked on, at me, all of seven, trying my first wines, and me, "si, Mimmo, e buono, grazie!". 

Oh the heaven. Oh the pleasure. Oh the smells and tastes. Oh the memory. 

Oh Dear. I don't seem to have made any forward progress on the alleged aim of this series: to talk about the Samurai Chess Set. My only excuse must be that I've just castled my King and am waiting for my opponent to make a move. And I'm not pushing. And he's not either. 

At some stage there will be more about the Chess Set. Promise. It's just that for me, wandering down this alleyway of memories is just unavoidable. I'm there. It's 70 years ago. They were the Sweet Times. Though the wine was Dry.