(dalla più recente alla più vecchia)
Nel bacino di lettori che si è creato col passaparola, qualcuno ha partecipato attivamente alla fase post-redazionale segnalando refusi e omissioni che sono verranno corretti prima della seconda stampa (quella della distribuzione in libreria e attraverso la vendita dal sito bookabook).
Ecco, per chi fosse interessato a correggere la propria copia, le sviste che ci sono sfuggite e le relative correzioni:
|Pagina||Riga||Refuso, omissione, ecc.||Modifica|
|32||25||quello avevano||quello che avevano|
|66||21||sì sfuggiva||si sfuggiva|
|74||23-24||regolari elezioni||regolari lezioni|
|159||4||dove sostenne||dove Enzo sostenne|
Martedì 15 novembre, puntuali come non mai, le ragazze (e qualche sparuto ragazzo…) di BOOKABOOK hanno iniziato a fare consegnare ai sostenitori del crowdfunding per “Sette Marinai, sette infermiere” le loro copie pre-ordinate.
È seguito un veloce “spacchettamento” (unboxing in English…) documentato spontaneamente da foto esplicative e commenti entusiastici recapitati in più modi.
Someone, however, out of necessity or just to show off their italic elegance and to flash a “bella figura”, embarked on the difficult enterprise, even if they had to face an examination in Swedish, a language they rarely used outside their workplace. They also had to overome their qualms about driving on the left: this was unnatural even for those who already had an Italian licence, issued by civilian or military authorities and easily convertible to the equivalent Swedish permit. Among the residents of the Italian Colony, two of the first men to get a regular permit were Sandro Paschetto and Mario Secondo. Sandro bought an old 98cc Rex moped and Mario got himself a ‘thirties Buick Roadster which was very soon confiscated by the police, who told him that it was a stolen car and that the people who sold it to him were “Gangsters from Malmö”, who specialized in conning unsuspecting foreigners.
During his stay in Sweden, Piero never got round to having his Italian licence converted to a Swedish one, but after a few years in Johannesburg a member of the Italian Bowling Club in Orange Grove (the less elegant of the two existing Italian Clubs in Jo’burg) offered to sell him a grey Renault Dauphine, which immediately appealed to Serafina too. He immediately put down some cash in advance and, trusting the driving skills he had acquired during the war, inquired about which procedure to follow to get himself a driver’s licence from the Transvaal Traffic Department.
He realised, though, that his grasp of English wasn’t strong enough to pass the test on traffic rules and regulations. But luck had it the some members of the Italian Club were very helpful in assisting newcomers to South Africa with finding accomodation, jobs and obtaining the infamous “permits and licences” one needed to be able to legally drive “motor cars and lorries”, or to have and to carry fire-arms. Advice was nearly always free of charge, a form of mutual self-help scheme.
Sometimes, however, the advice given was not exactly orthodox.
“Margherita”(Daisy, in Italian, a girl’s name) was the nickname of a well-known patron of Italian clubs and associations. A big, hairy man whom you would not associate to anything flowery or girlish, neither for his looks nor for his profession: he was a mercenary, and a veteran of the central african wars that raged in those days. Margherita became the commanding officer of “Operation Licence”, and trained Piero to answer the questions that he was to face at the Traffic Department. The training was very brief : any question asked by the Inspector’s Indian assistant was to answered with one word, “Yes!”
“No worry, Mister Piero.” Margherita explained that a box of Johnny Walker Red Label for the Inspector and “coupla quid for the Indian” would do the trick.
The successful exam was recounted numerous times during the Bowling Club lunches, at the sunday pic-nics that our closely-knit Italian neighbourhood held in the countryside outside Johannesburg, or along the Vaal River, which divided the Transvaal from the Orange Free State, and at house parties that we Italians loved.
Only four questions were asked, around a table-top blackboard with two crossings chalked on it, and four Dinky toys (a car, a truck, a bicycle and a double-decker bus) which represented city traffic:
“If you are in the car here, and the bus is there, must you give way?”
Three more questions followed.