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 The submarines that were based there were withdrawn to the Tyrrhenian Sea.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)

(Source: http://www.operation-ladbroke.com/tullio-marcon-allied-invasion-sicily-memories-balilla/)

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)

The capture of Noto

British troops enter Noto, photo by Phil Stern

Noto, a Baroque town of 26,000 inhabitants a few miles inland from Avola (halfway between Syracuse and Pachino), was the seat of the headquarters of both the 146th Coastal Regiment and the 437th Coastal Battalion. The garrison consisted of the fourth company of the 437th Coastal Battalion (another company from the same battalion was stationed in Marzamemi, a third one was defending plants in the area, and another one was garrisoning fortifications in the Noto-Tellaro area), as well as a platoon of bicycle infantry and an anti-tank unit. Colonel Felice Bartimmo Cancellara, commander of the 146th Coastal Regiment, sent the bicycle platoon on the road that connected Noto to Piano della Pace, so that the link between the regimental command and the 374th Battalion in Avola would be mantained; the rest of the troops, supported by three self-propelled guns, prepared to defend Noto from the advancing troops of the 151st British Brigade (50th Infantry Division), which had landed between Capo Negro and Calabernardo, and of the 231st “Malta” Brigade, that had landed in Marzamemi.

Noto city centre with the baroque Cathedral

That afternoon, the situation looked dire for Cancellara’s troops: British forces, continuously reinforced by newly landed men and weapons, were isolating the coastal strongpoints; the 430th Battalion had ceased all communications with the regiment at 13:00, nearly all of the coastal batteries had ceased fire, and only a few isolated strongpoints remained of the 374th Battalion. British troops were encircling Noto, and the only roads left open were the San Corrado and Villa Oliva roads, that led to Palazzolo Acreide. The road to Rosolini had been closed off following the withdrawal of the 447th Anti-Paratrooper Squad. By 15:00, all communication with the command of the 206th Coastal Division and the 122nd Coastal Regiment had ceased, and swarms of fleeing soldiers, sailors and airmen coming from Syracuse were spreading news that that town had already fallen. Hospitals were overflowing with wounded soldiers and civilians; all medical officers of the 146th Coastal Regiments, as well as its chaplain, were busy attending to the four hundred injured soldiers and civilians that filled the hospitals in Noto and Avola, where they had been evacuated from Palazzolo Acreide, a nearby town that had suffered two heavy bombing raids on 9 and 10 July.

Colonel Cancellara sent two dispatch-riders on motorcycles towards Modica and Palazzolo: the former was tasked with making contact with the divisional command, but was forced to go back after finding that the road to Rosolini was already in Allied hands; the latter came back with the news that the 75th Infantry Regiment would launch a counterattack towards Floridia, and that the 146th could expect no reinforcements.

Modern-day panoramic view of Noto

The Allied attack on  Noto began at 14:00. The outposts on the roads to Avola and Calabernardo were attacked by British troops supported by tanks, and the Italian troops were forced to retreat towards the outkirts of the town and the town hall. Villa Petrosa was taken; sergeants Carlo Montesi (23 years old, from Agugliano in the Marche) and Arturo Natoli (33 years old, a Lombard from Varese), privates Vittorio Bonatti (20 years old, from Moglia in Lombardy) and Anselmo Ricò (34 years old, from Ramiseto in Emilia) and two tank troopers were killed, and the bicycle platoon lost half its men killed, wounded, or captured. The fourth company of the 437th Coastal Battalion then launched a counterattack, led by 45-year-old Captain Michele Valzani (from San Pietro Vernotico, Apulia) and 54-year-old Captain Lino Angelotti (from Palermo); at the cost of two men killed and five wounded, the company managed to recapture Villa Petrosa, restoring the original frontline. (Valzani and Angelotti were later awarded the Bronze Medal for Military Valor for this feat). At 18:30, however, British troops started to enter Noto, driving once again the defenders from Villa Petrosa; the Italian garrison retreated to the town hall. At the same time British columns, guided by some locals, marched up the San Giovanni valley and moved towards San Corrado, to the rear of Cancellara’s regiment. Cancellara concluded that his position was compromised, and decided to retreat under the cover of darkness. Around 22:00 on that evening, the Italian defenders withdrew to Noto Alta (upper Noto) and the contrada of San Giovanni, and at midnight a column formed by the fourth company of the 437th Battalion, by the command of the 224th Artillery Group, by the 233rd Self-Propelled Artillery Group and by Engineering troops, led by Cancellara, started its march towards San Corrado, with the aim of reaching Palazzolo Acreide and linking up there with the 75th Infantry Regiments. Despite British shelling, the column manage to cross the Castagna mined bridge and to reach Villa Vela, a few kilometres from Noto.

The 146th Coastal Regiment had left behind over one hundred men killed and another hundred seriously wounded in Noto, and equal numbers in Avola. The 430th Coastal Battalion had suffered the heaviest losses, especially in Ognina, La Villa, Fontane Bianche and at the mouth of the Cassibile.

Italian POWs in a temporary enclosure near Noto

(Main source: “La battaglia degli Iblei”, by Domenico Anfora)

The strange case of the 185th Paratrooper Regiment

Paratroopers of the 184th Division "Nembo" in 1943

The average quality of the Italian troops stationed in Sicily at the time of the Allied invasion was, admittedly, pretty low. The ill-armed, ill-trained and even ill-clothed soldiers of the Coastal Divisions, that made up the majority of the troops of the Sixth Army, were essentially third-rate troops, whose combat value was not much greater than that of a “Dad’s Army” or a local militia. The four infantry divisions were somewhat better, but lacked any combat experience and were severely short of vehicles and adequate weaponry. The Italian Army of summer 1943 had long lost its best units; all armoured divisions had been destroyed in Africa (though two were being reformed), half of the Alpini divisions had been lost in Russia, and the same fate had befallen on most motorized divisions and on those infantry divisions that had managed to gain enough combat experience so as to make them effective units.

Nevertheless, even at that stage, the Regio Esercito still possessed a precious few elite units. One of these was the 184th Paratrooper Division “Nembo”, “sister-division” of the legendary “Folgore” that a few months earlier had sacrificed itself at El Alamein; its paratroopers could be considered among the best trained and motivated soldiers in the Italian Army.

In June 1943, most of the “Nembo” had been shipped to Sardinia, in order to defend that island against a possible Allied invasion. Only the 185th Paratrooper Regiment had remained on the mainland, stationed near Florence; in early July the Regiment was transferred to Apulia, and a few weeks later it crossed the strait of Messina and landed it Sicily, where its use was planned agains the advancing Allies. Instead, for reasons left unexplained, this elite regiment was held for a couple of weeks near Messina, without coming into contact with Allied forces (save for the air force, that bombed it without respite), and was then withdrawn to the mainland without having fired a shot. It was paratroopers from this regiment, in early September 1943, that fought the last engagement of the Royal Italian Army against the Allies before the Armistice of Cassibile, when they clashed with the advancing Canadian troops on the Aspromonte Massif, in Calabria.

The strange story of the 185th Regiment’s abortive involvement in the Sicilian campaign is narrated first hand by Paolo Lucifora, who was then a Second Lieutenant in command of the machine gun platoon attached to the Command Company of the 8th Battalion, 185th Paratrooper Regiment.

“After the fall of the Fascist regime, the 185ht Paratrooper Regiment of the “Nembo” Division was ordered to move from Apulia (where it had been transferred from Florence in early July) to Sicily. After getting there, [the regiment] was deployed in the surroundings of Barcellona Pozzo di Gotto: the 8th and 11th Battalions in the countryside south-east of Castroreale, the 3rd in Acquaficara. The positions held by the Regiment were supposed to be the last bulwark for the defense of Messina, threatened by the American troops advancing from Palermo. The soldiers’ morale was high, especially after receiving news that in a few days the units would have been sent to the frontline north-east of Patti, ready to receive their baptism of fire. The events, however, would take a different turn, among other things because the enemy air forces knew well the positions held by the 185ht, that soon began to be bombed.

On 2 August the area were the 8th and 11th Battalions were camped was hit, wounding some paratroopers and killing Sergeant Giuseppe Vinci. On the following day, an attack by Spitfires near Acquaficara surprised a column of the regimental anti-tank company coming from Milazzo, where, in between the bombing raids, they had stocked up ammunition and provisions. In the heroic attempt to isolate a truck that had caught fire Captain Ugo Malavasi, the company commander, and Sergeant Severino Del Balzo were killed by strafing, and other paratroopers were wounded.

Meanwhile, the situation in Sicily was deteriorating. The Germans were sending towards Messina their battle-worn units, with the intent of transferring them to Calabria; everything seemed to point to the [185th] Regiment ending its story on the Peloritani mountains. However, contrarily to what had been expected, on 10 August, when the high command [in Sicily] had passed into German hands, the 185th also received the order of transfer to the continent. The 3rd Battalion was the first to depart. The other two, instead, had to wait till the morning of 12 August, when the vehicles used for the transport of the 3rd Battalion came back. Unfortunately, after passing Rometta Marea the vehicles were stopped by a German roadblock and redirected, despite the protests of the regimental commander, to the roat to Saponara, which was a dead-end road. The paratroopers had only one choice: wait there to be taken prisoner, or abandon the vehicles and anti-tank guns and try to climb the Peloritani mountains in order to reach Messina. The latter solution prevailed; each soldier was given individual ammunition first, and then the ammunition of the sub-machine guns was distributed as well – on average, each paratrooper had to carry a weight of ten kilos. Then, at sunset, the march towards Messina began, along the arduous paths that led to Mount Dinnammare (1129 meters above sea level), towering above Messina. 

Mount Dinnammare

The paras reached the mountain ridge late in the night, then began climbing down the other side of the mountain; near dawn, the units – without having lost a single man or bullet – made a brief stop in the Camaro Fiumara, behind the first houses of the nearby village [in the outskirts of Messina]. From there, walking through the rubble-filled streets [of Messina], the soldiers reached the Maritime Station. A sudden tragedy, however, struck the boys of the 11th Battalion: the far end of a machine gun’s tripod, while the machine gun was being put down on the ground, hit a small bomb and caused its explosion, killing four paratroopers and badly wounding another twelve.

For lack of embarkation craft, the units were forced to spend the night in the railway tunnel below Montepiselli, and in the morning of August 14 they were again ready for embarkation, when another tragedy struck the paratroopers of the same battalion. Someone [according to Lucifora himself, probably a disgruntled paratrooper] fired some shots against Second Lieutenant Bottino, hitting him and causing the explosion of the hand grenades in his vest, killing him and Captain Caforio, the company commander, as well as four soldiers, and wounding another fifteen men, including Colonel Parodi, the regimental commander.

Finally, in the late morning of 14 August, the units embarked on motor barges, under fire from enemy aircraft, to which they replied with their own submachine guns in addition to the barges’ anti-aircraft machine guns. After landing in Calabria, the units were deployed betwen Santa Cristina d’Aspromonte and Soneria Mannelli (3rd and 11th Battalions) and in Bagaladi (8th Battalion). The latter remained camped there till the morning of September 4, as mobile reserve for coastal defense”.

 

Paolo Lucifora

(Source: Archivio Storico Messinese 84/85, Società Messinese di Storia Patria)

The battle of Palma di Montechiaro

An American tank drives through a street in Palma di Montechiaro

After seizing control of the road and railway that connected Licata to Agrigento, in the morning of 10 July the Americans started to advance inland: towards the north, with Colonel Charles E. Johnson’s 15th Regimental Combat Team, and towards the west, with Colonel Harry B. Sherman’s 7th Regimental Combat Team. The latter advanced towards Contrada Sillitti Alta, with the task of capturing Palma di Montechiaro, a town of some 15,000 inhabitants to the north-west of Licata. General Ottorino Schreiber, commander of the 207th Coastal Division, sent the scouting platoon of the 1st Motorized Machine-Gun Centuria (Company) of the 17th Blackshirt Battalion, commanded by capomanipolo (Lieutenant) Fausto Maianti, from Agrigento. Maianti took position east of Palma, but was soon forced to retreat westwards, while Schreiber sent more troops towards Palma in an attempt to stop the American advance: the 2nd Battery of the 223rd Skoda 100/22 mm Artillery Group, commanded by Captain Giorgio Rota, from Aragona; a 105/28 mm battery from the 22nd Artillery Group, from Chiusa Sclafani; and most importantly the 523rd and 525th Truck-Borne Bersaglieri Battalions, both part of Colonel Alessandro Venturi’s 177th Bersaglieri Regiment. The Bersaglieri arrived near Palma but ran into American troops coming from Licata, supported by tanks, and suffered heavy losses in the subsequent fighting. Most of Major Mario Salvatore’s 525th Battalion was surrounded and overrun after bitter fighting; the survivors, with just one gun from the 105/28 battery (which had taken position west of Licata and was also destroyed in the fighting) and the entirety of the 100/22 mm battery, retreated towards the bridge of the Naro river. To make up for these losses, more reinforcements were sent: the rest of the Motorized Machine-Gun Centuria, under the command of Blackshirt centurione (Captain) Roberto Grandi; Major Giuseppe Maritati’s 526th Bersaglieri Battalion; and eight 90/53 mm self-propelled guns from Major Carlo Bosco’s 161st Group, which General Mario Arisio, commander of the Twelfth Corps, had sent only after refusing three previous requests. These troops took position in Favarotta, blocking Highway 123, where they were repeatedly attacked by the 15th RCT and by the 3rd Rangers Battalion, supported by 105 mm howitzers from the 77th Field Artillery Regiment. The death toll so far amounted to 409 men: 123 Italian soldiers, 40 Germans, 73 civilians and 173 Americans.

The Italian counterattack towards Palma di Montechiaro, on 11 July, was carried out by troops from Colonel Goffredo Ricci’s Raggruppamento Mobile Ovest (Mobile Group “West”): Major Mario Sabatini’s 527th Bersaglieri Battalion, coming from Masseria Giudice; a tactical group under Colonel Tito Verratti, advancing from Chiusa Sclafani with the 35th and 73rd Bersaglieri Battalions (both belonging to Colonel Pio Storti’s 10th Bersaglieri Regiment), the 22nd 105/28 mm Artillery Group from Favara, and the 12th Battery of the 103rd Guardia alla Frontiera (Frontier Guard) 75/27 mm Group (Captain Massimo Olivieri); and thirteen AB 41 armoured cars from Captain Carlo Alberto Orsi’s 10th Cavalleggeri di Lodi squadron (but these never reached Palma).

In the morning of 11 July, the 527th Bersaglieri Battalion advanced from Cozzo Mosé and managed to force Major Everett W. Duvall’s 2nd Battalion of the 7th Regimental Combat Team to retreat from Palma di Montechiaro, thus recapturing the town. Fighting continued south of the town and on the surrounding heights for the rest of the morning and the afternoon. Colonel Venturi praised Major Sabatini for the recapture of Palma, but this success was short-lived: in a few hours, the 527th Battalion was badly mauled by the American reaction and left with only a hundred uninjured men, who eventually surrendered at 15:30, after being surrounded by superior forces supported by tanks. Major Sabatini, a great-grandson of Giuseppe Garibaldi, managed to evade capture; he would be taken prisoner a week later, in Agrigento.

 

Crown prince Umberto of Savoy visits the barracks of the 527th Bersaglieri Battalion a few weeks before the invasion of Sicily. Facing him is Major Mario Sabatini (Alberto Sabatini collection, from www.militarystory.org)

The 73rd Bersaglieri Battalion was more fortunate; left with just one 105/28 mm gun (the rest of the battery had been destroyed by repeated air attacks along Highway 115, unopposed by the Axis air forces despite several requests), it was able to reach the Naro river together with the 2nd 100/22 mm Battery of the 103rd Group. The 35th Bersaglieri Battalion and the 12th Battery, instead, coming from Castrofilippo, had been delayed by air raids. Colonel Sydney R. Hinds’ 41st Infantry Regiment, advancing along with a company of Sherman tanks from the 66th Armor Regiment (Lieutenant Colonel Lindsay C. Herkness) and supported by the 14th and 62nd Field Artillery Regiments (under the command of Carl I. Hutton and Donald V. Bennett, respectively), entered Naro at noon. The 35th Bersaglieri Battalion, having finally reached the area, took position in the heights north of this town at 13:30 and resisted there under fire for the rest of the day, but was forced to withdraw during the night.

(Source: http://www.militarystory.org/la-battaglia-di-agrigento-10-16-luglio-1943/)

The battle for Palma di Montechiaro is thus described in the American official history (Albert N. Garland, Howard Mcgraw Smith, “U.S. Army in World War II – Mediterranean Theater of Operations – Sicily and the Surrender of Italy”):

“General Truscott, meanwhile, had called his senior commanders together on the evening of 10 July and issued his orders for the next day's operation. The 7th Infantry was to thrust westward to take Palma di Montechiaro and the high ground just beyond; the 15th Infantry was to continue north along Highway 123 to seize Campobello; General Rose's CCA, operating between these two combat teams, was to seize Naro, then assemble on the high ground to the north and east and prepare for further action. The 30th Infantry, guarding the division's exposed right flank, was to send one battalion cross-country to seize Riesi, there blocking an important avenue of approach into the division's eastern flank. The 3d Battalion, 7th Infantry (Lt. Col. John A. Heintges), led the advance on Palma di Montechiaro early on 11 July. Crossing the Palma River bridge without incident, the battalion encountered heavy fire from Italian troops who occupied strong positions along a line of low hills just south of the town. Deploying his troops, building up a base of fire, and using supporting weapons to excellent advantage, Heintges pushed slowly ahead and drove the Italians into the town itself. As the battalion prepared to push into Palma around 1100, numerous white flags appeared on buildings in the town. Colonel Heintges dispatched a small patrol to accept the surrender. Unfortunately, civilians, not soldiers, had displayed the white flags, and the small American patrol came under fire. Two men were killed, another two were wounded. Enraged, Heintges gathered together ten men and personally led them across an open field to a building which seemed to house the heaviest fire. They reached the building safely, planted demolitions on the lower floor, withdrew a short distance, and set off the explosives. The blast signaled start of the attack, and the battalion swept into town behind its commander. The Palma defenders had been reinforced by a task force that had moved down from the Naro River, and heavy fighting erupted up and down the main street. For two hours the battle raged from house to house. Around 1300, having had enough, the surviving Italians began pulling out westward along Highway 115. Quickly reorganizing his battalion, Heintges followed in close pursuit, rapidly cleared the hills on the south side of the highway, and dug in there to await the rest of the combat team”.

Italian POWs carry their wounded in Palma di Montechiaro

The fall of Monterosso Almo and Licodia Eubea

Monterosso Almo as it looks today

In the morning of 13 July 1943, Colonel Anckorn sent Colonel Murphy’s 1st Battalion towards Monterosso Almo.

Monterosso Almo was garrisoned by the 75th Infantry Regiment’s recruit battalion, green soldiers commanded by Major Rosario Catanzaro. Catanzaro had been first ordered to reach the regimental command in Solarino, and later to join the battered remnants of the 146th Coastal Regiment that were defending Vizzini Scalo, but the battalion did not move. In the report he later wrote, General Giulio Cesare Gotti Porcinari, commander of the 54th Infantry Division “Napoli”, wrote that “the recruit battalion in Monterosso Almo was unable to move to Solarino due to lack of vehicles and ammunition. The latter were sent by the divisional command just in time for it to be deployed in defense around the town, as two patrols had already come into contact with enemy forces near the Giarratana crossroads. The subsequent actions prevented its transfer”. (The 146th Coastal Regiment, commanded by Colonel Felice Bartimmo Cancellara, had sustained heavy losses in the fighting in the Gulf of Noto and had now withdrew to Vizzini Scalo, where they had taken defensive position along with a German machine gun unit).

In the evening of 12 July, some troops from the recruit battalion had fought a brief skirmish against a scouting platoon from the Canadian 1st Brigade, deployed near Giarratana. A Canadian soldier had been killed, some others had been wounded, and the Canadian platoon had withdrawn. The Canadians were replaced by a tactical group fromed from Colonel Anckorn’s 157th Regiment; coming from Chiaramonte, this group had sent the 1st Battalion towards Monterosso and the 2nd and 3rd Battalions towards Licodia Eubea.

Monterosso Almo fell without fighting. The Americans entered the town around noon on 13 July; Major Catanzaro and his 800 demoralized rectuits surrendered without resistance. The only casualty was apparently an unfortunate Italian soldier, whose futile death is thus remembered by local Santo Canzoniero, then a young boy: “Near the mill in Contrada Acquasanta, a little out of the town, there was an ammunition depot. A young northern soldier had been left guarding it; when the first American soldiers approached, a group of elderly women shouted to him in their dialect “Surrender, drop your rifle, the Americans are here”. The poor soldier, who being from the north probably did not understand their Sicilian dialect, held on to his Carcano mod. 91 rifle, confused and hesitant. A burst of rifle fire killed him at his post”.

After seizing the town, the 1st Battalion advanced a further five kilometres along the road to Vizzini, until they ran into a German combat group commanded by Captain Robert Rebholz.

Meanwhile, the 2nd and 3rd Battalion, moving from Chiaramonte Gulfi, headed towards Licodia Eubea. This town, located on top of a 630-metre hill, was defended by a German rearguard from Rebholz’s group, well armed with machine guns, submachine guns and flamethrowers, and supported by artillery. Behind them, to the north-east, were Vizzini Scalo and the remains of the 146th Coastal Regiment.

The battle for Licodia Eubea was brief but bitter; by the evening of 13 July, the 3rd Battalion of the 157th Infantry Regiment had taken the town, for the loss of 20 men killed and 40 wounded. Angered by their losses, the Americans shot seven Germans that had been taken prisoner. Then they advanced towards Vizzini, where they were engaged by the 146th Coastal Regiment and by more German troops.

(Source: “La battaglia degli Iblei”, by Domenico Anfora)