Friday, October 25, 2019

The Diary of Sub-Lieutenant Carlo Casolari, Part Three



Captain Gozzi suddenly decides that I can leave the river to go to the 105 [battery] only on Tuesday and Friday. Several comments about my discipline, considered as excessively lax, follow. I have been assigned Sergeant Major Fenigno. A good Sicilian boy. At least he does not live nearby. I have nothing against the locals, but they are constantly asking for leaves, which the Captain, also a local, unvariably grants. Anyway, I don’t torment myself too much. In fact, very little. I almost lost the habit to think and I let the most complete apathy overtake me. (…) Sometimes, when I receive letters from former girlfriends, I am seized by discomfort, for instance in the case of Luci’s note – perhaps she thought it would please me, but this reminded me of when she left me, in Piandelagotti, before departing. Mannaggia i fimmene [Sicilian: “damn the women”], as they say here! On the 19th I am summoned to Sciacca, at the first battery, in order to receive coded information from the BBCC [??]: “Mr. … suffers from acute hepatitis and must undergo surgery. His condition is not serious as of now”. I confirmed: “Flowered land, dag on sword and something floats on the water of Zilani”. The dead body they found was carrying documents considered of great importance for national security. It seems that the enemy was trying to make us believe in a landing in Sardinia. All was followed by an anti-paratroopers alarm. This was the fourth ambush they fell into, but even if we had thwarted the attack, there’s nothing good to be expected: by all evidence they were testing the water for the invasion.

Meanwhile, beautiful as the sun, Captain Raimondi left for two months of sick leave. One at a random, Raimondi, the one with connections, as usual! On 20 January we are rewieved by the General in command of the 6th Army, Roatta. This time it is my turn: I am closely scrutinized about the movements. I expect a reprimano, instead they have little to say all considered. Meanwhile, for my studies, I have set aside analytic geometry in order to focus exclusively on mathematical analysis and chemistry. I might make it, by golly. I am not very sure.

(Taken and freely translated from: https://www.yumpu.com/user/grigioverde.org)

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

The 54th Infantry Division "Napoli"

Collar patch of the 54th Infantry Division "Napoli"

The 54th Infantry Division "Napoli" was created in Caltanissetta on 15 April 1939, formed by the 75th and 76th Infantry Regiment and by the 54th Field Artillery Regiment.
The Division spent the entirety of the war in southern Sicily, stationed between Caltagirone, Mirabella and Piazza Armerina, ready to intervene in support of the coastal units in the case of an enemy landing on the coast between Gela, Licata and Pozzallo. Its first commander was General Renato Coturri, replaced in 1943 by General Giulio Cesare Gotti Porcinari, a 54-year-old officer hailing from an aristocratic Florentine family (he held the title of Count) who had fought with the Bersaglieri in the Italo-Turkish War and World War I, receiving two Bronze Medals for Military Valor.
At the time of the Allied landings in July 1943, the "Napoli" Division was divided into two groups, one of which was stationed between Ramacca and Scordia (west of Catania and Augusta), and the other more to the south, in Palazzolo Acreide, as a mass of manoeuvre for the XVI Corps. After the landings, the Division engaged the advancing Allied columns in heavy fighting near Noto and between Lentini and Brucoli; units from the Division launched reiterated counterattacks near Floridia throughout July 10, until they were attacked by prevalent Allied forces coming from Ponte Diddino on their left flank and forced to retreat towards the hills north of Solarino, where they kept countering the enemy advance during July 11. At the same time, other units from the Division were heavily engaged in Palazzolo Acreide; on July 12, it seemed for some time that the frontline had been stabilized on the Palazzolo-Solarino-Priolo line, but on the following day more Allied troops, having landed north of Augusta, encircled the Division, which was almost wiped out in the subsequent fighting. On that day, General Gotti Porcinari and his staff were captured near Solarino. On July 14 the surviving forces that had managed to escape encirclement gathered near Scordia, where they were almost completely destroyed while protecting the withdrawal of other Axis units from Caltagirone-Vizzini towards Scordia. Between 16 and 24 July the remains of the Division sustained sporadic rearguard fighting, and on July 25 – the day of Mussolini’s removal from power – they were sent to Linguaglossa where they were supposed to be reorganized. The impossibility of obtaining replacements, however, rendered this impossible, therefore they withdrew towards Messina, crossing the straits between 11 and 14 August and being then gathered near Fondaco Melia, south-east of Scilla (Reggio Calabria). So few men had escaped from Sicily, anyway, that the Division was officially dissolved on 14 August; the only one to suffer this fate, among the four Italian "regular" infantry divisions that fought in Sicily.
 
General Gotti Porcinari after his capture

General Giulio Cesare Gotti Porcinari wrote the following report about the condition and morale of the men under his command on the eve of the Allied invasion: “Everyone was firm in their purpose to keep the enemy away from the island. Three-fifths of the soldiers in the division had been recruited in districts of Sicily; therefore, they weren’t free of deep concern about their families, given the (constantly growing, in the last period) violence and extension of the bombing and strafing attacks on towns and countryside by enemy aircraft. In October 1942, the division was asked to provide officers and soldiers (volunteers) that would be sent to Russia, replacing troops that in turn would be repatriated from Russia and would replace said volunteers (3,500 men). Thus the units lost one third of their strength, the best educated, most enthusiastic and most willing men, and the division was placed in a terrible state of crisis, as in one stroke the thorough training (specialist troops, non-commissioned officers, officers, shock troops) of men and units, that had been carried out in multiple areas, was nullified.
At the end of May 1943 General Testi, the commander of the division’s infantry, previously Chief of Staff of the XVI Corps, was transferred to mainland Italy; Colonel De Fonzo, commander of the 54th Artillery Regiment, was appointed Chief of Staff of the Intendance of Sicily; on 15 June Colonel Mazzarella, commander of the 75th Infantry Regiment, a role which he had held firmly, was removed from his position and transferred to the 213rd Coastal Division. We thus lost capable senior officers, who knew well the regions and the units under their command.
The troops that had come from Russia were not content with their transfer to Sicily, for the following reasons:
a) they had not been granted the leave they had been promised; they had only been granted fifteen days instead of thirty as they had been told;
b) they weren’t in excellent physical condition, a considerable percentage of them suffered from the consequences of frostbite and suffered from sores after brief marches;
c) according to them, they had been told that in Sicily they would enjoy a period of relative rest and calm; instead, they had been tasked with heavy guard duty, patrol duty, working on fortifications, alarms, and prolonged posting in malaria areas with little water or comfort (Butera regio – Catania plain).
The continuous changes in their rations and the reduction of their quantity, coupled with difficulties in buying food, represented an unfavorable element for the spirit of the troops.
The regiments had between 1/3 and ¼ of their troops that, due to superior orders, were not given any leave, not even in case of death of their parents. When some of these men were granted leave by the divisional command in derogation from these orders, they were sent back to the division under the escort of Carabinieri [military police], and the divisional command was reprimanded by the Ministry for this. Most of them were excellent soldiers who, in great numbers, asked their colonels and the commander of the division the reason for this undeserved mistrust and their different treatment from that of the islanders, who instead enjoyed leaves.
With the specious pretext of lack of transport, at the end of 1942 all leaves for mainland Italy were suspended, while troop trains were used exclusively for German troops.
The distribution of tobacco was irregular, while it was noted that the civilians were smoking “Milit” cigarettes, exclusively reserved to the troops.
Another loss, in addition to that of the commanding officers, was the transfer to the coastal units of all soldiers born in 1910-1911-1912-1913-1914, who were replaced with hastily-trained recruits born in 1923. Still in June 1943, the Division was deprived of 12 officers and 100 enlisted men, chosen among the best, in order to create a unit for a special Arditi battalion elsewhere”.

Men from the 75th Infantry Division (from www.antoniorandazzo.it)

Thursday, August 15, 2019

The Diary of Sub-Lieutenant Carlo Casolari, Part Two



Every now and then I manage to disengage from the routine and I go to Sciacca with the excuse of going to the battery, in the hamlet of Carbone, and I catch a break. The spa town is the only sign that civilized world is still there, waiting for you. Radio, coffee, merry companies, students. When I compare my life with the others’ I become terribly clouded. And it’s the same old theme: at least those who are at the frontline, in Africa or in Russia, are suffering for something. But what about me? Days pass while waiting for the weather to clear up so that I can go to the battery; then unimportant things happen, and I can’t find the concentration I need to study. Sometimes I find myself drawing airplanes, or waiting and hoping for letters that won’t come. I subscribed to Le Vie dell’Aria and Ala d’Italia [two aeronautics magazines]. 

On the other hand, from home, they sent me the watch. It’s been four months since I came here at the Garbo [Carboj]: I think they’d be enough to straighten out the maddest mind. A quiet life like this is undoubtedly good for both body and soul. Only to a certain extent, however, beyond which I do not know what can precisely happen. But I do not wish to continue it enough to see that. On 12 January, the first bombs come. British aircraft have struck Sciacca. This does not change my condition of “involuntary shirker in the area of operations”, but this is also my luck. If I were to go to the real frontline, I would not come back, or at least I wouldn’t come back unscathed. They say that such foreboding is usually not wrong: perhaps the frontline will come here, too.

(Taken and freely translated from https://www.yumpu.com/user/grigioverde.org)

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

The battle of Gela, part two: the first Italian counterattack

Sicily, January 1943: Renault R35 tanks in Italian service, ready to be reviewed by King Victor Emmanuel. These tanks were the protagonists of the first Italian counterattack at Gela. 

At 4:37 in the morning of 10 July, the 3rd Battalion of the 33rd Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Division "Livorno", moved from Butera – where it was quartered near the railway station – towards Poggio Lungo, where Captain Riccardo Maccecchini’s 552nd Company (112th Machine Gun Battalion) was trying to halt the American advance. The 3rd Battalion, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Nicola Bruni, reached the northern slopes of Poggio Lungo at 8:00 in the morning, but was taken under fire from the "A" and "B" Ranger companies (captain Lyle) that had previously captured the southern slopes, along with three intact 75 mm Italian guns that were now being used against their former owners. The light cruiser USS Birmingham also opened fire on the attacking troops.
As this was happening, another Italian counterattack was also underway, this one by Mobile Group "E" (Lieutenant Colonel Davide Conti). This attack had begun at 5:40 and was led by twelve Renault R35 light tanks, captured by the Germans in France and ceded to Italy, now belonging to the 1st Company of the 101st Tank Battalion, 131st Tank Regiment. They had moved from Niscemi. These little tanks, that weighed just ten tons and were only armed with one 37 mm gun and one 7,5 mm machine gun, were hopeless against the Shermans or the Grants, and could be easily disabled by pretty much any American anti-tank gun; but this was all the Italian forces in Sicily had left at this point. Their crews could only pray for a miracle. The R35s advanced along State Highway 117 at a speed of no more than 20 km/h, firing widly, followed by the 2nd Company of the 102nd Motorized Anti-Tank Battalion (Captain Luigi Emilio Ferrari), armed with 47/32 guns; the 155th Motorized Machine Gun Company (Captain Giorgio Venturini); the 9th Battery, 3rd Artillery Group of the 54th Artillery Regiment "Napoli" (Lieutenant Francesco Marchegiani), equipped with eight 75/18 mm howitzers; and the 1st Section of the 326th Truck-Borne Anti-Aircraft 20/65 mm Machine Gun Battery (belonging to the 26th Infantry Division "Assietta").

The R35s of the 131st Tank Regiment being reviewed by the King in January 1943

The 9th Battery, which during the march from Niscemi during the previous night had already sustained a firefight against American paratroopers, some of whom had been captured, was deployed near the Ponte Olivo airfield, in a ditch protected by an anti-splinter bulwark, from where it was possible to keep Highway 117 under fire; at 7:30 the battery opened fire, soon scoring hits on some 105 mm American guns that had not yet been brought into place. At the same time, the 155th Motorized Machine Gun Company came into contact with American troops near the level crossing, but was stopped there by well-directed American naval gunfire. The 3rd and 4th Platoon of the 2nd Anti-Tank Company, led by young Lieutenant Amedeo Fazzari, had advanced too far and were taken under fire from American mortars and light artillery hidden among the nearby houses, at a distance of less than 300 meters. Two guns were disabled and many of their gunners were killed; Lieutenant Fazzari was also killed, as was 22-year-old Sub-Lieutenant Ottavio Bazzoli-Righini from the 28th Artillery Regiment "Livorno", an Aemilian from Forlimpopoli. Bazzoli-Righini, a deputy battery commander, was killed by a burst of machine gun while he was exposing himself in order to better aim his guns; he was posthumously awarded a Silver Medal for Military Valor.
 
A disabled and captured Renault R35, belonging to the 1st Company, 101st Battalion, 131st Tank Regiment, photographed by US troops in Gela on 20 October 1943, three months after the battle

At this point, Lieutenant Colonel Conti ordered Captain Giuseppe Granieri’s three tank platoons to advance in multiple waves along Highway 117. Three of the twelve tanks were forced back by shortage of fuel and ammunition; the other nine pushed on, but were spotted by Captain Lyle, who reported their arrival to Lieutenant Colonel William Orlando Darby, who in turn requested naval gunfire support: the request was soon satisfied, and the light cruisers USS Savannah and Boise and the destroyers USS Shubrick and Jeffers opened fire on the advancing R35s. Between 8:00 and 12:55, 572 152 mm shells and hundreds more 127 mm shells rained on the attackers. One by one, the little Italian tanks started to fall. One of them was obliterated by a direct hit; another one was disabled by a hit in the tracks; a third one, Captain Granieri’s tank, broke down. The five surviving tanks managed to enter Gela, where their arrival caused some mayhem among the American troops, who expected this to be the vanguard of a much larger armored force.
At this point, however, a R35 broke down, and another one had to turn back because it had run out of ammunition. This left three tanks, all belonging to the platoon commanded by Sub-Lieutenant Angiolino Navari, a 25-year-old Tuscan elementary school teacher who had been called up for service in 1940. Navari had already fought in Africa, and now found himself leading what was left of the Italian counterattack on the American beachead – in fact, he had taken the lead since the moment Captain Granier’s tank had broken down. Before leaving Niscemi, Navari had given his personal items to his orderly, Ivo Masoni, telling him to give them back to his family in case he would be killed. (Masoni complied with this order after the war, and on that occasion met Navari’s sister, Maria Assunta: the two fell in love, and later married).

Angiolino Navari on a M13/40 tank (Il Tirreno). Not a particularly good tank, but better than what he would later have in Sicily...

One of his three tanks was hit and disabled as it moved through the town; the other two pushed on and advanced along the road that ran parallel to the railway, as the American infantry in front of them hastily retreated. Rangers barricaded in the upper stories of the houses threw hand grenades on the tanks as they passed. One of the two remaining R35s, whose crew was composed of Sergeant Cannella and 22-year-old trooper Antonio Ricci from Cerveteri (near Rome), had to stop at the beginning of Gela’s main street, near the Hotel Trinacria (where the Americans had established their provisional headquarters), because its cockpit had been inundated by the smoke from its own weapons: trooper Ricci came out of the tank, and was immediately killed by a hailstorm of rifle fire and hand grenades. (His old father would later come down all the way from Cerveteri to Gela on a horse-driven cart, in order to retrieve the body of his son and bury him in his native town). Sergeant Cannella restarted the tank on his own, following Navari, and the two R35s advanced along Via Carrubazza (present-day Via Generale Cascino): when they were near Porta Caltagirone, however, Cannella’s tank was hit and forced to go back. When it reached the crossroads with the road to Vittoria, the tank was hit again by a 37 mm anti-tank gun, personally manned by Lieutenant Colonel Darby: this time the R35 caught fire, and Sergeant Cannella, slightly wounded and in a state of shock, had to climb out of it. A girl came out of a nearby house, ran towards him, hugged him and cleaned his face with a wet towel; then American soldiers arrived and took him prisoner.

A Sicilian boy looks at a disabled and burned R35 in Gela, 14 July 1943

Sub-Lieutenant Navari and his driver, trooper Carlo Cuschini from Fiume (also 25), were now alone, advancing under a hailstorm of hand grenades and machine gun fire. Near the Gela-Vittoria railway the tank suddenly stopped, and Cuschini had to come out in order to restart the engine by using the hand crank, which could only be activated from outside (!). He succeeded in restarting the tank, but that was the end of him, as he was gunned down before he could climb back inside. Navari continued alone; he reached the crossroads between Corso Umberto I and the main square, just 300 meters from the beach, but there the engine stopped again (or, according to other versions, the tank was disabled by a bazooka hit, or by Darby’s 37 mm gun). The young officer popper out of the hatch, wounded, gun in hand: before he could do anything, Lieutenant Colonel Darby shot him in the head with his Garand rifle. It was 10:30 in the morning of July 10. Sub-Lieutenant Navari would be posthumously awarded the Silver Medal for Military Valor; he has no known grave.
 
Inhabitants of Gela and U.S. troops walking near a destroyed R35 tank after the battle

Meanwhile, Captain Venturini and half the men of the 155th Motorized Machine Gun Company had been killed or wounded; Lieutenant Franco Girasoli took command of the survivors, but the Americans launched a counterattack, and at 11:00 Lieutenant Colonel Conti gave order to withdraw to Castelluccio. Lieutenant Colonel Bruni’s 3rd Battalion also withdrew there, along with the remnants of the 552nd Machine Gun Company, after resisting for three hours under heavy naval gunfire in the strongpoints of Poggio della Femmina and Monte del Falcone.
Thus ended the first Italian counterattack at Gela.

(Main source: Report from the Command of the 18th Coastal Brigade, found in the Italian Army Historical Archives by Gelese historian Nuccio Mulè)

Monday, July 1, 2019

The invasion of Sicily in the eyes of a young boy


Future military historian Tullio Marcon, then living in Augusta, was just thirteen when the Allies landed in July 1943. An account written by him, published on the wonderful website ‘Operation Ladbroke’, gives an interesting perspective of the invasion through the eyes of a kid:


When Italy entered the war on 10 June 1940, I was living in Venice. Like all boys of my age, I was a Balilla [a boy in a compulsory junior Fascist youth organisation] who believed in my country, and in its right as a poor nation to make itself one of the rich ones, like, most of all, Great Britain. It was this that they taught us in school and in the parades on “Fascist Saturday”. And this was why I became good at identifying the RAF aircraft which bombed the nearby industrial zone. It is certainly to the RAF’s credit that it spared this city, which is unique in the world. Perhaps for this reason, when a Wellington bomber was shot down by the AA defences, its crew was given a tour of Venice in a motorboat before it took them to prison. A way of saying “thank you”?
In 1941 we moved to Taranto, the main Italian naval base. There, for over a year, we endured many bombing raids and suffered from hunger. The rationing was very strict in the city, more so than in the countryside. So we moved again in the summer of 1942 to Augusta [in south-east Sicily], where my mother was from. We hoped to find a little more bread there, even if it was closer to the war and, in particular, to [British] Malta, whose aircraft were always very active over Sicily. Augusta, being a front-line naval base, had been among its usual targets since 1940.
Nevertheless, by 1943 the strategic importance of Augusta had greatly diminished, precisely because of the intensification of the air attacks. The submarines that were based there were withdrawn to the Tyrrhenian Sea. Only the naval reconnaissance group remained, whose seaplanes suffered ever heavier losses from enemy fighters. RAF bombers conducted nuisance raids by night which damaged the people’s morale. These also wore out the AA guns, which by now had been in use for three years without spare parts. American bombers, on the other hand, operated in daylight, and every day they passed over Augusta, headed elsewhere, apparently ignoring it.
We could not know if and when it would be our turn, but we hoped to be spared. But the arrival in port of a petrol tanker, which had to unload fuel, broke the spell. On 13 May, 50 Liberator bombers came to sink it. They did not succeed, but instead inflicted dozens of casualties on the civilian population, and caused severe damage to houses. When the AA batteries saw that their barrage was ineffective because of the great height of these four-engined planes, the sense of being completely at the mercy of the enemy foreshadowed the by now imminent collapse.
Evacuation
The town was now without water and light, and the streets were piled with rubble, so the remaining citizens who had not already abandoned Augusta were forced to do so. They took refuge in the surrounding countryside in the houses of parents or friends, in caves excavated from the rock, or even in the open, beneath the trees, helped by the mild weather of the approaching summer. The evacuation naturally caused many difficulties in getting food, given that the distribution points for rations were moved to places many kilometres apart, which had to be reached on foot under the hot sun. There was also the threat of being strafed, as the Malta Spitfires attacked everything that moved. Only the garrison of the Italian Navy remained in Augusta. We evacuated to a house belonging to my parents three kilometres from the town, on a hill we called “il Monte” [“the mountain”, i.e. Monte Tauro, a ridge north-east of Augusta].
In the vicinity there was an AA battery, which I visited, like all the boys, being curious about cannons and machine-guns. The AA gunners took a liking to me. These were not young men, some were unfit for normal military service, and most were recruited locally. They were enrolled in the Militia [Milmart], which in Italy was entrusted with the AA defences. It was the military arm of the Fascist party, so they wore black shirts. In the battery – numbered AS674 – they knew me as the boy who was familiar with aeroplanes. It was precisely through being a good spotter that one morning I was the first to recognize a formation of Boston bombers which appeared suddenly at a very low altitude, but which flew past, headed elsewhere. For a few weeks the Germans also deployed a battery of 88mm flak [anti-aircraft] guns nearby. The 88mm guns were much more effective than our 76mm guns. However I was not allowed near the flak battery, so I could not familiarise myself with them. In any case, even if the regime promoted friendship with “Comrade Richard”, the rapport between the allies was never warm [“Camerata Richard” was an Italian popular song praising the German soldier as ally].
When on 11 June Pantelleria surrendered and was occupied by the Allies, those living in Sicily had no doubt that the invasion of the island was only a matter of weeks away. The island was now under siege, attacked from the sea and from the air. Any vessel which ventured out onto the water was attacked, and often sunk. One was torpedoed on 15 June by a British submarine a few miles from Augusta, in full sight of the people (myself included) who could see it from “il Monte”. There was no hour of the day or night when we did not hear air raid sirens.
The Allied air offensive became overwhelming in the first week of July, helped by almost total lack of opposition in the air, after the Italian and German fighters had been almost completely destroyed on the ground. In an attempt to shelter from the bombs, we spent the night in a neighbouring house, near which had been dug a deep shelter several metres under ground, but it was humid, infested with fleas, foul smelling and crowded. In the end I decided to trust to luck and I stayed outside. On 9 July there was an unreal calm, and since a very strong wind rose which made the sea rough,  we thought – and the Armed Forces HQ in Sicily also thought – that this night the enemy would not land. But this illusion only lasted until ten in the evening.
Invasion
At that time, from Augusta, we saw and heard the flashes and roar of AA fire at Syracuse, twenty kilometres distant to the south – a diversionary bombing by Wellingtons was underway to protect the landing of the glider brigade [Operation Ladbroke]. There followed a silence fraught with uncertainty. Nobody managed to sleep. At last, at about three in the morning on the 10th, we learned that a landing in force was underway between Syracuse and Cape Passero. We were told this by a couple of officers who had also been evacuated to a nearby house, who came to say goodbye because they had been called urgently to Augusta. The word “invasion” then spread rapidly, accompanied by fear of what would happen with the arrival of the enemy, now considered inevitable. Indeed propaganda had over time convinced the civilian population that they would be submitted to many abuses, especially by negro troops, as had happened in 1941 at Benghazi according to a booklet, distributed the year before, with the eloquent title of “What the British did in Cyrenaica”.
The enemy, that is to say the British Eighth Army, arrived at Augusta two days later, at sunset on 12 July. The [SAS] men of the Special Raiding Squadron [SRS] attacked from the sea, landing in the city with its now-deserted houses. Meanwhile, the British 17 Infantry Brigade arrived from inland, after defeating the resistance of an Italian battalion and some German tanks. I have described what happened in these two days elsewhere [in his books]. I will only say that, apart from air attacks, we suffered an entire day of naval bombardment, which was an extremely stressful experience, accompanied by hunger – there being little or nothing to eat – and by lack of sleep – it being almost impossible to fall asleep.
As for me, I was curious like all the boys about the extraordinary things that were going on. Ignoring the risks, I watched out in the open, and I could see how the situation was deteriorating. It was something I would never forget. What particularly dented my Balilla creed was witnessing, on 11 July, the sabotaging of the guns so that the enemy could not use them. The gun crews then left, removing their black shirts, as it was rumoured that the British executed Fascists. It was not true, but we did not know that until afterwards. It was then that I had the feeling that this was the end of an Italy in which we had been made to believe. The trauma for my generation – which was seared by this experience – lasted a long time, and has never completely healed.
On 13 July, early in the morning, after our fourth sleepless night, having heard artillery in the distance and the sounds of vehicles close by, we decided to return for a few hours to our house. It was about 100 meters from the one with the shelter, where we had gathered on 9 July. So my mother took my hand and we went out cautiously, not knowing what we would find outside. With astonishment mixed with fear we saw what we could not have imagined – the olive grove we had to cross was full of tents and soldiers. The British were there, with their “Tommies” and their “Jocks”, and their helmets that looked like frying pans. They were intent on making the first tea of the day on some tiny stoves, or digging holes in the ground where they could lie down in the event of an air attack.
Chocolate
We were amazed to see that all this took place in silence, without the clamour that would be heard in an Italian or German camp. This was why we had heard nothing during the night. We went hesitantly along the path, without the soldiers paying us any attention, but then one of them approached us smiling and said “Good morning”. This was an unexpected way for an enemy to behave. My mother understood the greeting, but could not speak English, so she answered in French with a shy “Bonjour”. The soldier held out a tablet, asking me in English: “Do you like chocolate?” I looked at my mother, who held me back from taking it, fearing that it was poisoned. Then the soldier understood, and took a piece and ate it laughing, saying “Good, good”. The ice was broken. Our meeting with the “enemy” had come about in a most unexpected way, even if tinged with caution, which was reciprocal. Indeed, when the soldiers came later to ask for water to drink, which we drew up from the well, they made a sign for us to drink it before they did. They also feared that it might be poisoned.
Others also had positive experiences with the “invaders”, noting that the soldiers showed interest first in the dogs, then in the children and finally in the adults. It was reassuring to see that many of them had large rosaries around their necks, and so must be Catholics like us. They were Scots. Towards evening, after a German air attack, while we were in the house with the shelter, we saw some soldiers heading towards it. Even though it seemed there was nothing to fear, it was still too early for us to feel safe. We above all feared that they would rape a woman. Among some 40 people, the men were few and not young, many of us were only boys and there were women both old and young. After a rapid discussion among the adults, it was decided that the soldiers on the terrace would be welcomed only by older ladies, none of whom were attractive!
To this day I ask myself what these young men thought of such a welcome! But it did not last long, because we saw that they were only seeking company, they were kind, and they carried biscuits and corned beef. In fact, they were all very different from what we had feared. In this way, from that evening on, the visits became a pleasant routine, overcoming the language barrier with the universal language of gestures. The soldiers often sang songs like “Rosamunda” [“Roll Out the Barrel”], “Donkey Serenade” and also “Lili Marlene”. All of them were homesick, and often showed us photographs of mothers and wives. Naturally the young women and the girls were also by now in the group, and one soldier made eyes at them. He especially seemed to like one of them, one of my cousins called Maria, who was blonde like an English girl. Perhaps he was in love, for one day I saw that he had painted the name “Mary” on his truck!
But do not imagine that the war was over for us. The port of Augusta, full of [British] ships of every kind, attracted the attention of the Luftwaffe by day and night. Sometimes, however, the particular sound of their engines made me believe they were Italian aircraft. Then, it was a case of mixed feelings. Because they were ours, I hoped they would not be shot down, but at the same time I was afraid of ending up under their bombs. And then there were the problems of survival, first among them being food, which was scarce and lacking protein. We had forgotten the taste of butter and meat, and also sugar and pasta.
An Incident
In an attempt to improve the nutritional value of our food, especially important for growing children like me, we decided to ask the soldiers for help, but bartering, not begging. The only thing which we could exchange, having seen that it was very welcome, was wine. So one day I went to the tent in the camp where the food reserves were kept and showed the corporal in charge a bottle of wine. I got him to understand that I would give it to him in exchange for a tin of corned beef. The proposal was warmly welcomed, and the corporal told me to come again the next day with more wine. And so I did, receiving not one but two tins, because the quality was good. All this, which allowed us to taste meat again after weeks, depended however on the exchange of wine, which got scarcer and ran out after a few days. So one morning the corporal saw me with empty hands, and I made him understand that the wine was finished. He then raised a hand and showed three fingers, then four, indicating that he would give four tins for a bottle. Faced by my helplessness, eventually he was convinced and, as a gesture of sympathy, he made me a present of two tins.
Meanwhile, the area was filled with men and vehicles of all kinds, among which those little machines called Jeeps intrigued us. The mass of vehicles was incomprehensible to us. We realised that we had been at war with the whole world, seeing among the soldiers those with “Canada” or “Australia” written on their sleeves. They were united by a single badge, the crossed shield of the Eighth Army. Generally, the rapport between the soldiers and us boys was friendly, but in my case at least there was on one occasion a little incident.
I never asked any questions, but if somebody asked me if I was a Balilla I did not deny it. This little pride of mine was noticed by a soldier in the camp who, evidently, wanted to teach me a lesson. So one day as I was going along the path, he stopped me, picked up an abandoned Italian field cap, ground it under his feet and whistled the “Marseillaise”. My humiliation was such that I picked up a wooden mallet (for driving in tent pegs) and I threw it at the soldier’s legs. I knew perfectly well that I was committing a serious act, but I did so without regret. By chance, the sergeant in charge of the camp had seen it all. He called me and the soldier over, and made us stand in the middle of a clearing. Then he called all the soldiers out of the tents and made them form a semicircle around us. He began to speak, and I thought of the sorrow my mother would have for the punishment that I knew for certain would be inflicted. Instead, at the end of talking, the sergeant said something sharp to the soldier, and then shook my hand! Years later, I understood that on this occasion I had witnessed how little credence the British give to the motto: “My country, right or wrong”.
Aircraft Recognition
Of many things I remember that happened to me that historic summer of 1943, I pick a couple concerning my great interest in aircraft and Battery AS674, of which I have already spoken. A few days after the occupation, I again began wandering about the area. I looked with sadness at our guns, disfigured by explosions, and at the Bofors [AA guns] which the 2 Royal Scots Fusiliers had placed alongside. These Scots let us boys come close to look at the Bofors, which we did with interest, as our army did not have it. One morning when I was there, a Warhawk fighter flew low over us, and I instinctively pointed and shouted “Curtiss”. A gunner heard me, called me over and, showing me a booklet with the silhouettes of 30 aircraft, made me understand that he would give it to me if I could recognize at least ten. I accepted gladly, and the exam began. He covered the name of the plane with his finger and I, if I recognized it, gave its name, in Italian of course, and mispronouncing some a little. But that was good enough. I passed the exam with 15 marks out of 30 and the booklet was mine. I still have it, and it is one of many souvenirs of that period.
The soldiers liked me, this boy who passed the test, and who asked neither for chocolate or biscuits, but only for “aircraft recognition books” (these three words being the first English that I ever learned). So I was allowed to return to Battery AS674 to read the gunners’ magazines and books about aircraft. On one of these mornings the battery was surprised by an unexpected attack by dive bombers against a convoy which was entering port. As usual a barrage of fire rose against the attackers. Everything was firing, from 3.7 inch [heavy AA guns] to Tommy guns and you needed a lot courage to face that reaction. As usual, I did not seek shelter, and a soldier planted a helmet on my head and gave me some binoculars, pointing upwards: “Germans, Junkers 88!”. I looked and, with a pang in my heart, I saw that they were not Ju 88s, but our Re 2002s. Their desperate action was not rewarded with success, because the ships dodged their bombs.
That which I had read about so many times in the newspapers was now in front of my eyes – the Italian air force was attacking. By an irony of fate, however, we were now on the other side of the front. I prayed that our courageous men would all return to base, but years later I learned that some of them were shot down by Spitfires which were waiting for them above. When the attack ended, I tried to tell the soldiers that these were Italian aeroplanes, so they would understand that Italians were also capable of fighting bravely. But it was useless. By now the Allies thought everything that flew was German. Even the chivalrous respect of their enemy was denied to these Italian pilots.
The peaceful evening visits on the terrace by the soldiers became a regular occurrence. This was also happening in all the other houses on “il Monte”. On the evening of 25 July, they arrived saying: “Mussolini finito, kaput”. We did not have a radio, as it was forbidden to keep one, so we did not know what was happening in Rome. The soldiers were curious to see the reaction of the people to the news, and they were very surprised to see that there was not much reaction. They could not know that long since, especially in Sicily, Mussolini had lost whatever respect he had because of the war, which had turned out to be an unforgivable mistake. Further, the invasion made Italy seem far away, relegated to secondary importance, regardless of the events that happened there. But perhaps it was also hard for the British to understand how Sicilians handled the great upheavals of history.
Black Soldiers
In early August, the time came for the soldiers camped nearby, including those at AS674, to leave. I remember how on the last evening, a Scotsman sat alone on an isolated rock with his bagpipes, and played one of those Highland airs that so evoke the cold and mist. But a triumphant Sicilian sunset, coloured red and violet, contrasted visibly with his music, which seemed veined with sadness. The next day the soldiers came to say goodbye to us in the manner of friends. It was an extraordinary thing, because we were in effect still enemies. But it was also an example of the human solidarity that exists away from the flags. They had understood our sufferings, and we in turn knew they returned to fight, risking death.
To make matters worse, we were told the camp would be taken over by negro soldiers of the auxiliary services. This upset the people, because they feared the violence which Italian propaganda had described. These negro troops had British officers and sergeants, and were in fact very disciplined. They had a variety of tasks: laying smoke during the nightly air raids, unloading supplies and ammunition, and distributing water from tanker trucks.
The houses on “il Monte” had cisterns that collected rain water, which was used for drinking and washing. But that summer there was such overcrowding, following a spring with poor rainfall, that reserves were minimal. So the occupation HQ ordered that each group of refugees should be given water from tanker trucks driven by negroes. When our turn came, the tanker truck pulled up in front of the house where the women were waiting with bottles, buckets and other receptacles. The driver held up a bar of soap and rubbed it between his hands, to show how to use it. The women roared with laughter, one woman saying to him in Italian (which he could not understand): “So it’s come to this, that you have to come from Africa to teach us to use soap!”
Our fears about the behaviour of the negroes soon vanished. They were gentle and you could see they were a little shy. The white men who commanded them also adopted the habit of coming to pass some hours on our terrace, as the Scots had before them. They left about 9pm. Half an hour later, some negroes also sought out our company. They came timidly onto the terrace, sat down and tried to say something that was difficult to understand. We learned they were from Kenya and Uganda, that they were Catholics. They were homesick, having left many children at home. They made it clear to us that it would be better not to tell their superiors that they visited, to avoid being reprimanded. We kept their secret, because they were good and kind.
On the subject of kindness, I remember an episode with a man called Moses and a companion whose name I do not recall. One evening, we got them to understand that the next day my mother and I would be going to Augusta, to get our house ready for our return, and so we said goodbye to them. They told us to wait a few moments, and went towards their camp. They came back a little later with two identical parcels, which they warmly begged us to accept. In each they had put a tin of meat, a packet of biscuits and some sweets, because they thought we would find nothing to eat in Augusta. If this was not disinterested kindness of spirit, I do not know what is!
Home
I have talked about returning home. It was at the beginning of September, and finally AMGOT [the Allied occupation government] authorised visits in groups, before allowing the population to finally return to their houses, despite a thousand difficulties. Up until that moment, access to Augusta was prohibited, because of the air raids, but also because the management of the naval base was easier without the population present.
When permission was given to return for three hours only, my mother and I went – on foot, naturally – towards Augusta, meeting more and more people along the way. There was a brief low-level air attack which caused everybody to scatter under the trees, then we resumed our march. At one point, we encountered a band of the 6 Seaforth Highlanders, and were amazed to see the musicians wearing kilts. I remember that the bass drummer was a giant some six and a half feet tall, wearing a leopard skin. Shortly before this, while we were in the column of people on the road, an MP on a motorcycle stopped suddenly in front of my mother and me, exclaiming threateningly: “You’re Germans!” The misunderstanding arose because we were both blonde-haired in a crowd of black-haired people. Finally, he was convinced and allowed us to proceed.
In town, the engineers had removed the rubble, but we had to walk on a carpet of shell splinters and unexploded ammunition. Many houses were hit after 13 May, and others were occupied by the troops of the British garrison. With our hearts in our mouths we picked our way towards our home, which was on the first floor of an apartment block. We saw it from afar – the building was still standing. We climbed the stairs anxously, afraid we would find the house occupied. It was empty. But after the initial relief passed, we discovered it was missing the camp beds, a table, chairs and other things, which certainly – as we had seen – had been used by the soldiers to make their camps more comfortable. It was war. Many drawers of the wardrobes were open, but not much was missing.
One thing that was missing was my Balilla uniform: the black shirt, the shorts, the grey-green knee socks, the blue neckerchief, the black fez and the badges bearing the profile of Il Duce [Mussolini]. I’m sure some soldier took my uniform as a souvenir. And I still wonder if by chance it survives to this day in some corner of Britain!

Tullio Marcon in his later years (from www.augusta-framacano.net)