by Iris Origo
The shelling seemed farther off, the mined path was behind us, and a peasant brought us glasses of water. Until then, there had been no moment in which to stop and think, but now we began to realise with dismay, all that we had left behind. The people in the vat-room—had they been warned? No one knew, and we looked at each other in horror. Then at last Assunta remembered: ‘Yes, she had seen the fattore go in to warn them.’ But what they could do next it was difficult to imagine, for the old grandmother who was with them was unable to walk, and there were also several children. Probably they would merely hide in terror in a ditch. One could only pray that none of them would be killed.
And then there was Giorgio’s body. We had hoped to bury him the night before, so that at least we could show his grave to his family when we are able to trace them, but the firing on the road to the cemetery prevented us from getting there. So we had had to leave him in that little room, unburied. [7]
And then the dogs—they, too, had been forgotten. We fed them up to yesterday, but in the hurry of leaving we did not remember to go up to the kennels (five hundred yards away, and under shell-fire) to fetch them. And poor Gambolino, the poodle, is terribly gun-shy. Even if he is not killed he will go almost mad with fear. It does not bear thinking of.
After a brief rest (too brief, but as long as we dared) we went on again—Antonio and the keeper, Porciani, taking the longer and more dangerous road, on which the pram could be pushed, and the rest of us scrambling along a rough track up and down steep gullies. The children were getting very tired, but struggled manfully on, and we lifted them over the steepest places. Twice planes came hovering over us, and we all crouched down in a ditch. Then when we came out into the open cornland, beyond Pianoia, came the worst part of the journey. The shelling had begun again, and on the Montepulciano road, a few hundred yards below us, shells were bursting with a terrific din. The children were afraid to go on, but on we must go. Some more planes came over, and we lay down for cover in the tall corn. I remember thinking at that moment, with Benedetta lying beside me and two other children clutching at my skirts: ‘This can’t be real—this isn’t really happening.’
At last we reached a farm on the road, occupied by a German Red Cross unit, and there again we got some water and a short rest. But the officer came out and, hearing that it was a Kinderheim, gave us disconcerting advice: take refuge at once in the Capuchin convent on the hill, he said, and don’t push on to Montepulciano. ‘What is happening at La Foce today, will happen there tomorrow.’ For a minute we hesitated, but the convent, we knew, had no food and no sort of shelter, so we decided to risk it and push on. From this point onward, the Germans said, the road was safe, and so we took it, a long, straggling, foot-sore procession. Half an hour after we had passed, that very stretch of the road was shelled.
After four hours we got to San Biagio, at the foot of the Montepulciano hill, and there sat down in a ditch for a breather before the last pull. We were very tired now, and a dreadful thought came over us: ‘What if the Braccis should have left?’ ‘What if we find no shelter here?’ But as we sat there, a little group of Montepulciano citizens appeared, then yet another: they had seen us from the ramparts, and were coming down to meet us with open arms. Never was there a more touching welcome. Many of them were partisans; others were refugees themselves from the south whom we had helped; yet others old friends among the Montepulciano workmen. They shouldered the children and our packages, and in a triumphant procession, cheered by so much kindness, we climbed up the village street, Antonio at the head, with Donata on his shoulder. Bracci and his wife Margherita came out to meet us, the children were at once settled on cushions on the terrace, and the Montepulcianesi vied with each other in offering accommodation. Antonio and I acted as billeting officers. Three went to one house, four to another, and the Braccis nobly took in not only our whole family, but all the refugee children as well. The Braccis’ mattresses and blankets, which had been walled up, were pulled out again and laid on the ground, the children (after a meal of bread and cheese) put to bed, and at last we were able to wash and rest. Only one child was the worse for the terrible experience: Rino, who had a touch of the sun and suddenly fainted. Benedetta (sharing a bed with me) woke up, when I came to bed, to say: ‘We’ve left the bangs behind at last, haven’t we?’ and then fell into a twelve hours’ sleep.
We have left behind everything that we possess, but never in my life have I felt so rich and so thankful as looking down on all the children as they lay asleep. Whatever may happen tomorrow, tonight they are safe and sound!
JUNE 23RD
So we felt on our first arrival, and today the thankfulness endures, but the awareness of new problems also awakens. During the night the gun-fire seemed mercifully far away, compared with what it had been at La Foce, but it was quite near enough to remind us that we may soon be taking refuge in this cellar, too. Moreover, we find that yesterday’s experience has left its trace; I was far more frightened last night than I was at the time, and lay in bed sweating. In the morning Schwester Marie said that the same thing had happened to her, too. Nor is the atmosphere of Montepulciano agreeable. The population is very jumpy, and when I went out in the morning to try to buy some necessities for the children and myself, I found every shop shut and barred. The Maresciallo of the Carabinieri is in hiding, and two sergeants are the only members left of the police force. There is no light and also no water, the piping having been blown up, and food is becoming scarce. The electric mill is also no longer working, so that there is a bread shortage; and the peasants are too frightened to venture into the town, so that there are no vegetables, milk or fruit. Two of our men ventured out to forage in the farms, and returned triumphantly with some milk and vegetables for the children—and the Comune has still got some rice—but if the situation goes on for long, the conditions will be those of a siege. The Comune reserves have been broken into by the Germans who have taken practically everything except the rice. However, for eight or ten days longer we can hold out, and surely it will not be longer than that? Little anxious groups gather in the streets exchanging views, and the wildest rumours spread. The Germans are going to defend Montepulciano; they are going to knock down the houses on both sides of the main street so as to be able to pass it with their tanks; the whole town is to be evacuated; and so on. At midday we gather clandestinely in the little back room of a mechanic who has succeeded in putting up a battery radio, and listen to the scanty news (Allied) from Rome. It is not good—Chiusi has been taken again by the Germans, and fierce fighting is going on in the district. And, as the day goes on, the cannon-fire in the Val d’Orcia increased imperceptibly, while more German batteries respond from this hill.
All day German officers call upon Bracci, the mayor, for whom Antonio acts as an interpreter, demanding cars, tyres, bicycles and so on, and when there is some opposition, one of them says: ‘What’s all this nonsense? Don’t you realise that in two or three days’ time your whole town will be flattened out?’
To protect this house from looting we have put up a notice Kinderheim La Foce, with a Red Cross above it, and the letter given us by the paratroops’ captain at La Foce, stating that this Kinderheim is to be left alone.
In the afternoon there is horrible news: a young partisan, who is accused of having shot a German at Chiusi (and who was caught in a cypress tree up which he had climbed for shelter) has just been publicly hanged on a lamp-post in the main street. He is to be left hanging there for twenty-four hours, in sight of the whole population, as an example. Bracci believes the poor wretch is innocent, but a German soldier says that he has recognised him, and the alternative is the execution of ten innocent hostages, from the town. The German captain who gives these orders is a most sinister brute, elegant, hard and cruel. The bishop is present at the hanging and, in spite of a protest from the Germans, courageously imparts his benediction to the dying man. The corpse’s presence hangs like a blight over the whole town, and the people who live in the main street dare no
t open their shutters on the horrible sight. But at night a volunteer guard has to be formed to ensure that no one comes to cut him down, as, if this should happen, the German captain has announced that he will hold Bracci personally responsible.
Photograph of the sign put up on the house to protect it from looting
In the evening the firing seems to be louder, and the news is still bad. We are all gloomy, foreseeing that Montepulciano, in its turn, will share the fate of La Foce. There are several good shelters, but not enough for the whole population, apart from the food and water shortage. And the thought of the corpse outside haunts us all.
JUNE 24TH
Antonio spends the morning with Bracci inspecting the air-raid shelters, and returns with the comforting news that they are excellent, and that the cellars beneath this house are sufficiently large to accommodate us all. Moreover, they give upon the garden, and, if necessary, we could carry down a small cooking stove to prepare the children’s food. We are immensely relieved, for what was haunting us yesterday was the fear of having to drag the children on somewhere else, the whole weary trip once again. Now, whatever happens, we have decided to stay on here and see it out.
At six a.m. the corpse is at last taken down, but we are forbidden to bury it in the cemetery. The indignant Bracci sons say: ‘We’ll put up an inscription on the spot, telling what the Germans have done,’ Their father says: ‘No, we’ll put up a Madonna del Buon Consiglio (Our Lady of Good Counsel). We’ve had enough exhortations to hatred for at least one generation.’
In the afternoon the news is better. Chiusi is again in Allied hands, and a report comes that a monk at the Capuchin monastery has seen Allied troops climbing up the ridge below Casalvento. If this is true, La Foce may already be freed. [8] Already our spirits have begun to rise, and we begin to speculate when we shall be able to go back. Even if our house is entirely destroyed, we could perhaps send the children up to Pietraporciana, where there is a spring of water, and ourselves camp near our own house, and see what, if anything, can be saved. It is a very odd feeling to be entirely possessionless, but it seems curiously natural. One feels that one is, at last, sharing the common lot. And the kindness of everyone is endless. One lady has lent us mattresses; another towels; yet another has given me some underclothes; another has provided Schwester and the nurse with some clothes; every shopkeeper has produced something for the children; and when Porciani and Gino visit the surrounding farm houses in search of milk and vegetables, the peasants produce all that they have and flatly refuse to be paid.
In the evening some of the German batteries round Montepulciano cease firing, and we conclude, with renewed hope, that they have left. Moreover, some of the bridges on the roads between Montepulciano and Val di Chiana are being blown up by the Germans, from which we infer that they do not intend to use them for their retreat. Go to bed easier in mind, and sleep well for the first time.
JUNE 25TH
Poor Benedetta, who was all right the first day, is now showing the effect of what she has been through. Yesterday afternoon she was sick several times, slept uneasily all night, and this morning was tearful and headachey; slept again all the morning and complains on waking (although for the first time there is no heavy firing nearby) that she hears ‘the bangs’ in her sleep. Two of the other children were similarly affected, but at once, the first day.
Antonio sees one of the officers from the German H.Q. at Monticchiello, who says that heavy fighting is still going on in that region. This means that our peasants are still under fire. We watch Allied planes bombing German batteries at Acquaviva and near Chiusi, and there is a good deal of sporadic firing all through the day in the Chiusi-Trasimeno district. The midday radio announces the capture by the Allies of Sarteano, but still they seem to be getting on no farther either in the Foce or the Chiusi area. Perhaps the medieval prophecy, that the decisive battle of the war will be fought on the shores of Lake Trasimene, is about to come true!
In the afternoon a man who had gone out into the country foraging, reports that our two assistant factors, Michele and Piero (who had set forth for Montepulciano behind us, and had never turned up) have been captured by the Germans, and shut up in a pig-sty in the very farm on the road where we had met the Red Cross unit. Antonio accordingly sets off to the German lines, and discovers that the two men captured are Michele and a friend of his, a Carabiniere. They are both suspected of being rebels and spies, and, according to the German officer’s account, they seem to have lost their heads altogether, and to have told a lot of obvious lies. The officer said that he had already sent them off to H.Q. for examination, but on Antonio’s way back he met a car containing both the unfortunate young men, their hands tied behind them. Antonio succeeded in stopping the car and identifying Michele to the escort, and we trust that this may save him, and that some of the Germans at Monticchiello, who were billeted at La Foce, may also recognise him. But Bracci is pessimistic: he says that Pianoia, where all the trouble with the partisans was, is a bad place to be caught in, and that their hands being tied is a bad sign. Poor Michele! He is no hero, and it is his blind panic on the first day, when he did not come with us, that is responsible for this. But it is horrible to feel so powerless to help him, or any of our people: the fattore and his family in that cave in the cliff, where the firing has been unceasing—our wretched peasants, crouching in their shelters or in the caves, homeless and foodless—and even our poor dogs. What tragedies shall we find, when at last we do get back?
And meanwhile, with every day that passes, harvest-time is drawing nearer. If only we are liberated by the end of the month, the corn can yet be saved. As soon as we get back, before digging for our possessions, before anything else, every able-bodied man must set to reaping. But shall we get back in time?
JUNE 26TH
A good deal of firing during the night and morning. Later on we learn that it was directed against Chianciano, and in the afternoon some bombs are dropped there, and some wounded are brought to the hospital here. In Chiusi the street-fighting still continues between the German and Allied forces. The wretched population has had a terrible time, for when first the Allies occupied the town, five days ago, the anti-Fascist leaders immediately and prematurely showed their rejoicing, and pasted up manifestoes proclaiming the beginning of a new era. The next day the Germans occupied the city again, plundered every house and hanged, according to the account that has reached us here, no less than nineteen citizens in reprisal. [9] Since then the fighting has been continuous, each side occupying the city in turn, and little enough can be left of it.
At Cetona, too, the greater part of the destruction is due to a similar cause. On the Allies’ arrival the town bells were prematurely rung in rejoicing, whereupon the retreating Tiger tanks turned their fire again upon the city.
The news from abroad (heard secretly in the same little room) is good: Cherbourg occupied and Vitebsk taken. The local news not quite so good: Piombino is occupied, but severe fighting continues on the shores of Lake Trasimene. We do not, however, need the radio to tell us about the fighting in this district, which we observe by merely looking down on the plain from the balcony of this house. In the evening we hear that Castiglione and Rocca d’Orcia are occupied by the Allies, and that they have reached the stream Astrone, between Chiusi and Chianciano.
Our hopes for Montepulciano begin to rise again; very possibly the retreat may take place towards the Val di Chiana, and we shall be spared. However, as the shelling grows nearer, we prepare the cellar in case it seems better to move the children there. Many people in the town are already sleeping in shelters, as yet quite unnecessarily. Late at night German soldiers enter the shelters and announce to the inhabitants that the whole population of Montepulciano will be evacuated at five o’clock next morning. The story is entirely without foundation (as is proved by the soldiers’ refusal to repeat the order to Bracci), its object being merely to sow panic and to empty the houses for German looting. Bracci tells everyone not to budge.
Michele has turned up! Antonio’s statement to the German escort identifying him has saved him, and he and his companion were both freed early this morning. And he brings, at last, news of La Foce. It is better than we dared to hope. The house is still standing. One shell has fortunately burst just behind the farm kitchen in such a manner that the rubble is covering the entrance to the ditch beneath the house in which all our suitcases are hidden, thus, perhaps, saving them from being stolen. Two other shells have fallen in the little patch of garden just outside the cellar, where the children came out to play, and many others in various parts of the garden, stables, etc. But on Saturday night, when Michele left, the villa itself was still untouched.
Several of the farm houses, on the other hand, have been hit, particularly Casalvento, where a German battery was placed. The line of fire has been all along the hillside. An old peasant from one of those farms turned up here last night in search of his family, but they have not appeared, and are presumably hiding in some cave. (Two three-months-old twins among them, whose mother is short of milk.) The fattore and his family, according to Michele, are still in the cave in the cliff.
The local news today is better. The Allies have at last retaken Chiusi and are pushing on towards Chianciano, and on the lake towards Castiglione del Lago. We watch their progress by the artillery fire which we can see from our balcony. German sappers are already mining the bridge immediately beneath this house: we watch the dynamite being prepared, open all the windows, and wonder when the explosion will be.
In some ways, these days have been more trying to the nerves than the more dangerous ones at La Foce. Then, there was a constant need for activity and decision. Now we are just sitting about, in someone else’s house, and waiting. The children are tired and whine, Benedetta has a digestive upset, I have the worst attack of hay-fever that I have had for ten years, we all feel bound to be careful of every scrap of food and drop of water, and everyone’s nerves are on edge. Beneath our windows the Allied and German forces appear to be dancing the Lancers—back and forth, forward and back. Now the gunfire seems nearer, and our spirits rise—now it is farther again, and they fall. ‘Listen to the firing over Chianciano! They are German guns, hurrah—that means that the English are there already!’ Half an hour later: ‘No, it was the British guns, as before.’ (And the wounded begin to arrive at the hospitals.) And every day the pall of fear—reasonable and unreasonable—hangs heavily over the little town. More and more Germans arrive, ordering that the shops be kept open to supply their demands. They demand a car, bicycles, a gramophone, a watch, and all these demands are enforced at the point of a pistol. This house, so far, seems to have been protected by the Kinderheim notice.
