Reflections of a stormy petrel

Frascati is something which, according to Our Lord, cannot be hidden: a city built on a hill. It rises, a part of the historic crown of "Castles of Rome", descended from the Latin free cities of antiquity, on the volcanic ranges of central Lazio, steep and old and beautiful.

Years ago, a Polish woman came to the neighbourhood, meaning to settle. She had a little girl who was born in Frascati, and was therefore an Italian citizen. When her time came, she was sent to the local elementary school; and by her sixth year of school - which was this year - the Polish lady's daughter had built up a reputation as her year's star student, hard-working, well-behaved and always neatly turned out.

Which is impressive when you consider that she and her mother had spent the last month of winter living in a local cave.

The woman had never managed to get a permanent job, and the stream of temporary cheap jobs that had kept mother and child going for ten years had dried out. So she had taken that strange refuge - directly below a local public park; and every morning she and the child used the park's fountains to wash, and every evening the child did her homework, God knows how.

The woman had a boyfriend, who became worried and got in touch with social services. Eventually mother and daughter were found a place in a volunteer housing project. But there is something immensely impressive about the cleanness and dignity of this story - which, according to today's La Repubblica newspaper, is absolutely true.