Odyssey of a watchmaker: Rando Bertoia and the story of the Arandora Star A Glasgow-based Italian shopowner is the sole survivor of a little-know episode in Second World War history-this is his compelling story.

The peculiar clock and watch "hospital" called Victoria Watchmakers, owned by Oriente and Rando Bertoia, has been a landmark in Glasgow's Victoria Road since the late '40s. Giovanna, Rando's wife, assures me it was still going strong, but the recent death of Oriente and a stroke that put her off work for four months pushed Rando to finally sell it. "I think we're closing at the right time," Rando states, "this is a dying trade, as most people nowadays buy cheap digital watches and, when they break down or stop, throw them away." While we chat about the history of the shop, Rando uncovers his left wrist to show me two watches, perfectly synchronised, "I've always had the habit of testing a watch by wearing it for a while before giving it back to a customer to be sure it works properly," he explains, smiling, "sometimes I even used to wear several of them, up to my elbow." In a way, time has been good to Rando who, at 86, is also the only living survivor of the Arandora Star disaster.

His father first moved from Italy to Scotland in 1912 where he worked for the terrazzo flooring specialist Toffolo-Jackson. Ermenegildo Bertoia specialised in mosaics, an art he had learnt in Spilimbergo, in the Friuli Venezia Giulia region, also known as "the mosaic city" because it hosts the most important mosaics school in the world. Ermenegildo collaborated in making various mosaics around Glasgow, among them the apse mosaic in Holy Cross Church, Crosshill, the tile work at the entrance of the City Chambers and The Pavilion Theatre, and the Rangers crest on Ibrox Football Stadium.

On 10 June 1940 when Mussolini declared war on Great Britain, Winston Churchill initiated a policy called "Collar The Lot": Italian men living in Britain at the time were to be interned in Canada or Australia, as they were considered as a potential threat to the country. Rando, born in 1920 in Montereale, near Pordenone, was taken away with his father in the early morning hours of 11th June from their house in Glasgow's Gorbals. His brother Oriente, only 13 at the time, remained home. First they were taken to the police station in Strathbungo, another area of the city; then they were transferred to Maryhill military barracks.

The first internment camp Rando saw was at Milton Bridge, near Edinburgh, he stayed there with his father till 24th June. From there, they were taken to Bury in Lancashire, where their group was joined by Italian internees from England, among them there was also Rando's cousin, Luigi, from Newcastle. At the end of June, they were transferred again, this time to Liverpool. "We thought they were going to take us to the Isle of Man, but, when we saw the size of the ship awaiting us there, we realised they were sending us somewhere else," Rando says. What looked like a random selection was carried out and Ermenegildo and Rando were separated. The former was sent to the Isle of Man for nine months, Rando boarded the liner Arandora Star, bound to sail for Canada.

One day after the ship set sail, on the morning of 2nd July, she was torpedoed 125 miles west of Ireland by the German U-boat U47, under the command of Gunther Prien, also known as the "Bull of Scapa Flow"; he had secured his fearsome reputation by sinking the battleship Royal Oak in the Orkney Islands. Prien was returning to base from a tour of duty in the North Atlantic with just one torpedo in the submarine's arsenal. He launched it at the Arandora Star-and within 30 minutes, the ship sank.

No proper embarkation list had been compiled, and, if there was one, it was probably lost in the sinking. It is estimated that on board there were 1,673 passengers, among them Italian civilian internees, Austrian and German Jewish refugees, German POWs, crew members and a military guard. There were around 850 survivors. Bodies were washed ashore in Ireland and the islands of Uist, Barra and Colonsay. Among the Italian victims there were Alfonso Crolla, original partner of Edinburgh deli Valvona & Crolla; the father, grandfather and uncles of Scottish artist Sir Eduardo Paolozzi, and Francesco D'Ambrosio, confectioner and restaurateur from Hamilton, who, at 68, was the oldest Italian on board the ship; London-based singer Enrico Muzii, from Naples, later buried on the Isle of Barra; Father Gaetano Fracassi, who had dedicated his life to the Manchester Italian Community, and Decio Anzani, from London, secretary of the anti-fascist organization League for the Rights of Man. It was the biggest loss of life ever suffered by Italian civilians in a single incident outside their homeland.

"It was a terrible carry on, but, even though I couldn't swim, I was among the lucky ones," Rando recounts, "I had friends on board and they dragged me on a life boat, saving me. I didn't even wet my feet." In his testimony, featured in the book The Internment of Aliens in Twentieth Century Britain, Rando wrote about the aftermath of the disaster; when, seasick and lying on the floor of the lifeboat, he could hear only an uncanny silence and the gentle lapping of the waves against the boat.

Rescued by the Canadian destroyer HMCS St Laurent, the survivors were taken to Greenock, where Rando discovered his cousin was missing. Luigi, a swimming champion, had probably been knocked out by the rafts people were throwing in the water and had sadly drowned. Heartbroken, the survivors were first sent to Birkenhead and from there back to Liverpool to embark the motor ship Dunera that, after 55 days, reached Australia. Rando was interned over there for four years, "The Australians treated me well, the soldiers were very friendly, I must take my hat off them," he recounts, "there was a time when I was very sick, I had pneumonia, and the military doctors came in twice a day to look after me. They never treated me like an enemy." Rando spent most of his time in internment keeping himself busy: he attended drawing classes, played chess, studied Italian, did some wood and metal working and wrote.

When Mussolini was deposed in 1943 and Italy went over to the Allies, the situation of the prisoners changed: they became allies and were offered the opportunity of working in the Australian bush cutting trees. Rando worked in the bush for a year, then found a job as a terrazzo worker in Melbourne. After a while, the British authorities asked him if he wanted to go back to Britain. He boarded the liner Mauritania in August 1946 at Sydney and arrived at Liverpool in the first week of September. A day later he was back in Glasgow. At first, Rando wasn't allowed to go and work with his brother who had opened up a watchmaker shop, as he was still under restrictions. "I went to work with a Scottish watchmaker and I was quite happy there," he remembers, "but, as soon as the restrictions relaxed, I finally joined my brother at the Victoria Road shop."

Repairing watches, especially old clocks, often antique family heirlooms, gave Rando joy, "I've loved this job, as I was always fascinated by watch mechanisms," he states, "I would have been happy to repair them for nothing, but you have to pay the bills somehow."

At present, there is an ongoing campaign to raise awareness Arandora Star incident; obtain an official apology from the British Prime Minister; and seek compensation for the many Italian families who suffered personal and financial loss. Rando doesn't agree with the main aims of the campaign. "I always stated there shouldn't be an apology from the British government, but there should have been an apology from Mr Mussolini," he states, "if Italy hadn't gone to war, there wouldn't have been any Arandora Star, so blaming the British government for what happened is wrong. I can't say anything against the government of this country as, after all, it was trying to make the country safer. You must remember that, while many Italians were alright, there were others who might have been dangerous. There have been journalists who asked me why the U-Boat sank the Arandora Star. Well, this is not a mystery: it was sunk because Prien was a Hitlerian gangster and had ordered to sink as many ships as they could to get a medal. Others asked me if there were any signs of a red cross on the ship, but I think it would have made no difference if there was a sign of the zodiac or a red cross on it, that man was just out for a medal."

How will Rando pass his time now that the shop is sold? "I will concentrate on writing," he answers, underlining that his handwriting is not as clear as it was when, as a young man, he jotted down the account of his Arandora Star and internment odyssey on a scrap of lavatory paper, so now he's switched to typing. "I'm a bit slow at it," he reveals, "but I try to write every night."

Who knows, by losing the historical landmark in Glasgow's Victoria Road, we might gain a talented new writer.