Exploring Old Barletta

Sunday 7th January 1911

Breakfast at 8oclock.

After shaving got out shore togs and brushed them well, polished my best boots, then dressed, bending on a clean collar and tie. Once more garbed like a Christian I went ashore, having for companion the British fireman, our one and only. I possessed two pence in English money, twenty pfenning, German, and five centissimi Italian; My mate had nothing in the money line, so we were not rich. 

We made our way along the quay, which, as I remarked before, is a breakwater. In conjunction with another breakwater to the s’uth’ard it forms the harbour. A couple of barquentines and one brigantine lie longside. At anchor are a dozen fishing boats (sail) and one steamer, all Italian. On the South shore is a large factory with nearby, a large grey ancient looking fort which marks one end of the town.  

We entered the town passing under what seemed to be an old time city gate. Close to this stood a crumbling old church with the date 14 - - . Turning to the left we came across three men and two boys busy spinning a four stranded rope of coarse material. Interested (what seaman would not be) we watched for quarter of an hour the manipulation of their primitive spinning jenny, then, somewhat reluctantly, we made our way into the maze of narrow streets. All the building seem antique and are very interesting.

A procession of a dozen brown garbed monks wearing sandals, (the foremost of whom carried a long staff surmounted by a crucifix) was one of the first sights we saw.  As they wended their way along the street, the passersby respectfully doffed their hats. A busy Sunday morning we found it, throngs of citizens filling the streets and especially the market where all manner of goods were on sale. The fish seller’s stalls took our fancy the most. On one we saw a young shark and plent (sic) of squid. Big fish was not plentiful, the sprat or sardine variety being the most common.

Coming to an old church with a very dirty chalkmarked door, near which were rows of cheap footwear exposed for sale, we stopped. Bells were ringing, calling the faithful to mass. Seeing several entering the chiesa we became bold and did likewise. Of this church’s great age, one glance dispelled all doubt. The sun shining through a stained glass window just over the little choir gallery, cast a pleasing azure colour all over the interior. The effect was delightful. The mass commenced at 11 am. It being a low mass there was no singing, but throughout the service a young and strong female voice led the prayers which continued to the finish of mass, only ceasing temporally during the Consecration, that sublime moment at the Church’s most sublime service.

The praying being said in Italian I could not follow it, that’s with the exception of the Litany of the Blessed Virgin which was said in Latin, and which I knew well.

Leaving the church we strolled slowly back to the ship, arriving in time for dinner. You bet your life! Aboard all the afternoon indulged in a nice nap. After tea, the young Austrian sailor who had seven shillings English invited the Dundee man and me to go ashore with him. The money he got exchanged for Italian at the pilots (sic) little shop, getting a lira for each shilling thereby losing two pence on each. We had a couple of Vermouths and a long confab with the pilot about the Italian Turkish war. He was telling us that the Italian soldiers were making good headway, having driven the Arabs and Turks well into the desert. After hearing the atrocities committed by the enemy we found ourselves becoming pro-Italian. 

Our presence in the streets aroused attention of the natives, a difference in personality or dress seemingly evident. Many greeting us with a curious “Inglese” or a good natured “Good night”. Most seemed interested. Eventually we found ourselves in a cinematograph show. Places like these are always open on Sunday in Italian, Spanish and other Southern countries. We came out 10:15.

Two cafes saw us after that. Personally my drink was caffe lata as strong drink is not to my liking. It was a quarter to twelve when we reached the Dunholme.