The Diary of Sub-Lieutenant Carlo Casolari, Part One

Carlo Casolari, born in Modena (Emilia-Romagna) on 1 December 1921, was studying engineering when he was called up for service on 28 February 1941, at age nineteen. He attended the artillery officers’ school in Moncalieri, near Turin, and graduated as a Sub-Lieutenant on 7 March 1942; he was then immediately despatched to Sicily, arriving in Caltanissetta on 30 April. From there he was sent to Castelvetrano on 12 August 1942, assigned to the 44th Heavy Field Battery of the 43rd Artillery Group (later renamed 63rd Artillery Group), part of the 202nd Coastal Division. The battery was located in Contrada Carbone, a fraction of Sciacca, a town in western Sicily, roughly halfway between Marsala and Agrigento; its armament consisted of 75/27, 75/906 and 149/12 mm guns. Two more guns, a 105/28 and a 65/17 located along State Highway 115 (the former at km 115, the latter at km 105), were later added.

Casolari spent over a year in Sicily, living through the events of the Allied invasion and becoming one of the few members of the Coastal Divisions to make it back to mainland Italy. He left a diary, which his son Paolo later published with the title “L’anima muore di sera” ("The soul dies at dusk").

The first chapter begins in January 1943, when King Victor Emmanuel III reviewed the Sixth Army for the final time:

"All is ready on the banks of the Garbo [the Carboj, a small river that Sciacca and Menfi]. We polished our guns and cleaned up our barracks: it is the first of January, at 12:00 the Savoy will pass, Victor Emmanuel III, visiting the troops. I told my soldiers to show dignity, which they have no lack of, when they want.

His Majesty the King comes on a dented car, accompanied by a string of high-ranking officers, but there is no pomp; there’s instead General Mario Roatta, I think a Modenese as well, the new commander of the Sicily Army. He stops to talk with the Colonel. His eyes are inexpressive behind his glasses. In Sciacca they told him – as if he didn’t know already – that our coastal battalion is not really a stronghold: 35 kilometers of coast defended by four guns, and all of this to be controlled “on foot”, on a daily basis. The King tries some set phrases; he looks very human in his low stature. “We will do our duty anyway, come what may”. He says.

Days pass without other events. Military life is not exactly an adventure, at least not here in dry and windy Trinacria. I made a request to be transferred to the Battery and to the Ministry of the Air Force: my dream of becoming a fighter pilot is vanishing, I fear. If at least they could give me my railway record book soon. So that I could dream a leave! At least I have my studies of engineering and chemistry, and the correspondence with those fellows who weren’t drafted because they were born a month after me, and are enjoying their time in Modena with the girls.

I miss Delfina, a lot!

At night, the wind howls and doesn’t let us sleep.

Blessed Sicily: when there are rain squalls, the waters drenches the tent and everything inside. And in the morning the uniforms stands up by itself, as if by magic, and it’s a pleasure to wear it. I would like to meet those jokers that supply the Royal Army, and who surely made money off the cloths.

The rainbow that follows my dreams, though, is splendid; it rises from the river, shining a dazzling whirl of colors right upon our heads. It is enchanting, but does not last."

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