Italy's armed forces at the ready in a 1915 postcard. In the foreground the artillery, infantry, an Alpine soldier (in feathered hat), and a Bersaglieri (in plumed headgear). Behind them are a bugler and lancer; in the distance marines and colonial troops. The Italian navy is off shore, an airship and planes overhead. On the reverse are the lyrics of a patriotic Italian March by Angelo Balladori, lyrics by Enrico Mercatali. It ends with a call to the brothers of Trento and Trieste, Austro-Hungarian territory with large ethnic Italian populations.
Reverse:Marcia ItalicaD'Italia flammeggin le sante bandiereBaciate dal sole, baciate dal vento,Su l'aspro sentier di Bezzecca e di TrentoDe l'alma Trieste, sul cerulo mar.. . . Fratelli di Trento, Triestini fratelli,La patria s'è desta alla grande riscossa!Dell'aquila ingorda la barbara possaDai liberi petti domata sarà!Parole di Enrico MercataliMusica di Angelo Balladori.Casa Editrice Sonzogno - Milano. 1915.
". . . Finally, on the morning of the 1st we make our way down. We have to walk slowly in single file along a dangerous ridge under enemy fire. I'll never forget this for as long as I live. It's about 10 p.m. when it gets to my turn to go. The path takes almost an hour. I'm on top of the ridge and I go on step by step ducking the shrapnel fire. Nothing. I continue. After two paces I'm still unscathed. At the third, Zani from Vicenza, ten metres in front of me, is hit in the head. He screams and falls down the precipice. The poor wretch's head smashed on the mountainside. I see his body tumbling down. He was a good lad. I keep going, constantly asking myself when my turn will come. Someone behind me is hurt, screams, but keeps going. At one point the bullets are coming thicker and faster. The ridge is interrupted by a crevasse. I throw myself in. Fandella, the corporal of the 15th is already down there. We're lying on the corpse of a poor Alpine soldier. The firing is constant. A rock above our heads is hit and covers us in rubble. Fandella's lip is cut. I'm still unscathed. We get to Spleca at about 5 p.m.I'm shattered."
Italian infantryman Virgilio Bonamore wrote of fighting the Austro-Hungarians in the Julian Alps. Most of his battalion suffered frostbite in the last days of July, 1915, a period during which it rained constantly. On the morning of August 1, his unit was relieved, and made its way along the ridge, vulnerable, in single file.
Intimate Voices from the First World War by Svetlana Palmer and Sarah Wallis, page 159, copyright © 2003 by Svetlana Palmer and Sarah Wallis, publisher: Harper Collins Publishers, publication date: 2003
1915-08-01, 1915, August, Alps, Isonzo
