As told by those who lived it
Sunday, January 10, 1943
I depart on foot from Moruri, heading to the military district for a medical examination. After being declared fit, I reach Porta Nuova station on foot and board a train to Padua to join the 5th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Regiment and take the oath: I am 19 and a half years old. After more than two months, I reach Naples, attached to the 113th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Regiment. At that time, Naples is targeted by bombings: I often find myself enveloped in smoke clouds from the explosions. In July 1943, the Allies land in Sicily, and after five months in Naples, I depart for Albania on July 31. From Naples by train to Bari, then on the ship Aprilia. On August 1, we disembark at Durazzo and are transported by truck to Vlora to the Italian camps already established in Dascriviza near the Voiussa River, 30 km beyond Vlora. I sleep at the base on a three-tiered bunk bed, surrounded by bedbugs and lice.
Albania
Albania had already been conquered by the Italians, and the Albanians were trying to reclaim it. We had to defend the area from many attacks by Albanian partisans until the end of August and up to September 8, the day of the armistice. At that point, we believed we could finally go home, thinking the war was over. The colonel, commander of the 42nd Artillery Regiment of the Parma Division, gathered everyone: our ordeal was just beginning. On September 9, the Germans arrived. We were ready to fire with the 117 (a strong piece hauled by mules) and the 7513 positioned in a vineyard. Fortunately, negotiations with the Germans prevented a likely defeat in a firefight, resulting in our disarmament. The Albanian partisans, knowing Italy had turned against Germany, sought an alliance with us. When we refused, they attacked us fiercely on September 12, using many of the weapons they had seized. The first shell hit the barracks, causing a massive explosion and killing one of my comrades. During a moment of calm after a second shell, I decided to move towards the stables, about 100 meters away, hiding under a pile of branches used for building shelters.
The Attacks and Capture
On the night between September 12 and 13, we endured several attacks, resulting in many Italian soldiers’ deaths. The bullets whizzed by our ears, and the fear was tremendous. Across the river, the Albanians shouted at us to surrender and join them while continuing to fire mortars. At midnight, a strong attack began, which we managed to repel. On September 14, terrified, we abandoned the camp and headed for Vlora without any communication to provide news and updates on the situation: we only knew of the armistice announcement. It was chaos: our commanders, who stayed in their positions, didn’t know what to do. In Vlora, we slept outdoors under the olive trees, and the next morning we set off again, but after about twenty kilometers, we had to turn back because there were too many partisans, and we were disarmed. On the morning of September 15, after walking about fifty kilometers, we were out of danger, but we were ordered to follow the Germans’ instructions, who also provided us with some food. During this time, about fifty soldiers managed to escape and disappear. After six days of walking, my feet were bloody, and I could barely move. The Germans forced the remaining Italian soldiers to board small trucks for a two-day journey. During the journey, we faced another attack by partisans on Mount Tepleni. A burst of machine-gun fire grazed us. Some still-armed Italians got off to defend the convoy with the Germans and were killed. Arriving near Lake Ochrida on the Bulgaria-Greece border, we took a train towards Yugoslavia, traveling all day. In the evening, the train stopped, and we slept outdoors. The following morning, we were packed 56 into a cattle car on a train bound for Germany: the journey lasted 16 days, with the central door of the wagon always open, allowing us to relieve ourselves outside the moving train. We traveled through Bulgaria, Hungary, Romania, and Germany without passing through Czechoslovakia. We passed through Bucharest, Budapest, and Vienna, heading towards Berlin, destined for the Bad Sulza C concentration camp. Upon arrival, our bodies and clothes were immediately infested with lice. I was the only one from Verona; many were from Friuli. After 8-10 days, I began working in the fields, constantly watched by guards. With nothing to eat, we survived on leftovers thrown by the commanders into the barbed wire. On October 17, we were transferred again. We left in the morning by train with only six tiny potatoes to stave off hunger. Upon arrival in Muhlhausen, the Germans forced us to walk around and spat on us: they couldn’t stand us Italians. Then we were sorted. By noon, I arrived at Clengrabe [Grabe Weinbergen?]. I had already finished the potatoes and was extremely hungry. Along the way, I found a beet that partially satisfied me. In the evening, about 30 of us were housed in a small dormitory with a military guard and a civilian guard, identifiable by a recognition armband on the shoulder, who supervised us. This would be our new place of detention. We were treated as slaves: the masters came to pick us up, accompanied by a guard, and we were at their service until the evening when we were taken back to the dormitory with two-tiered bunk beds where we spent not only nights but also holidays.
We were replacements for a group of Frenchmen who had been moved to factories under German orders.
Life with Otto Kirstain
My master was Otto Kirstain; he made me work but also fed me: a pigeon and some boiled potatoes. I rejoiced as if it were a feast while in the evening, Otto indicated that it was time to return. I managed to sneak some potatoes to eat secretly by the stove: how good they were! Otto was wealthy, had many fields, and treated us reasonably well. We had breakfast with coffee in the morning. At 10, two slices of bread with lard or jam. We ate heartily! At noon, there was soup, at 3, a little cake, and in the evening, potatoes cooked with the skin. I ate with the master, the old woman [master’s mother?], and the Russian woman. The Russian woman from Mongolevo [?] was very unattractive but very kind. She gave me a handkerchief, which I still keep today: it was embroidered with her name, Marfa. She spoke German, and I gradually learned a few words.
The first year went very well; we were lucky because we were a small group, about thirty people, we had a stove, and it was very warm. The work involved managing the horses, removing manure, and tending to 20 cows. In the afternoon, they picked us up from the fields around four, had us dine, and then at six, we were forced back into the dormitory. We had no change of clothes, and the Germans provided nothing. We barely managed to wash and clean our clothes. My family tried multiple times to send me bags of food and clothing, but without success.
Winter 1944
The winter of 1944 came, and Christmas and New Year’s passed without us noticing. We had no news from Italy, and the mail was censored. Occasionally, some information trickled through: things seemed to be going very badly in our country, probably worse than for us in Germany. The Allies were pushing the front further north, and there were partisans in the Lessinia mountains near us. I wrote home and received a package from my mother in Verona containing a shirt. Naturally, we had no intention of escaping because at least we had some assistance in these conditions and didn’t know which direction to take to return home. In early June 1944, I contracted malaria with a high fever, dropping to 40 kg. Eventually, I was hospitalized after a day-long train journey and treated with quinine. I was fortunate; a German doctor who had previously served in our country worked at the hospital. Through him, Otto requested my return to work on his estate. For me, it was salvation. On June 6, the Allies landed in Normandy. The bombings intensified. From our hospital farmhouse on top of a hill, we saw the railway line below us continuously bombed by the Allies to disrupt the supply lines of weapons and food to France. At the end of June, another patient and I were allowed to leave the hospital after 20 days of treatment. After the visit, I could return to my previous work with Otto. To regain strength, I secretly ate two eggs a day, collected directly from the henhouse. I feared being sent back to the concentration camps if my work performance was poor. In June, the fieldwork involved harvesting wheat. I arranged the “faie” on a cart that the master, a hard worker, passed to me. July passed, and by mid-August, the Allies landed in southern France and approached Germany.
Becoming Civilians
In September, we assumed civilian status. We now had much more freedom. We slept at the master’s house. We were designated “Italian Military Internees”.
