A Hero's Tribute
Story by Jackie Blackburn, photos by Claudia Guzman, video by Mandi Lindner
Just off via Lapis, between a row of apartment homes and a popular local restaurant, is an iron gate. Compared to Cagli’s picturesque piazzas and homes, the gate barely stands out. Ironically, the plain façade hides one of Cagli’s most precious treasures: il Monumento Caduti.
As a tribute to the sacrifices of their fallen comrades, veterans of World Wars I and II built the monument shortly following the second campaign. Though Italy officially sided with the Axis powers, the resistance movement was strong. Cagliese of all walks of life contributed, including a few officially on the Axis payroll.
At the end of the park opposite the gate, approximately 200 feet up a gradual hill is a small chapel. Inside the neo-classical structure lists the names of the soldiers from Cagli lost in the two wars. A few paces to the right of the chapel, a rock approximately the size of a large beach ball lists local partisans -- resistance fighters -- who perished as a result of the campaigns. Several of the hundreds of names listed on the two monuments were not stereotypical heroes, but rather, everyday people who did their very best to live in accordance with their basic principles of right and wrong.
Below are two stories told by those who lived in the vicinity of Cagli during World War II, illustrating the wit, bravery, compassion, and heroism necessary to survive. Their experiences may seem extraordinary today, but at the time, they were just part of life.
There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of such stories that remain untold. Some are still able to share their experiences; many of their friends and family cannot. Sharing their experiences does not change the outcome of either war, nor does it revive companions lost. Learning these stories does, however, reinforce the truth that warfare, for whatever reason, is no light undertaking. Military strategy does not often consider the human element within warfare, an element that is often neglected when historians compose their accounts. But to Italians like Romano Romanini and Armando Picchi, the simple act of surviving is the greatest measure of the success of a military campaign.
Romano Romanini
Romanini holds a photo of his mother, Maria Giorgeschi. -- Photo by Claudia Guzman
Born in 1936, Romanini lived in Pescara with his brother and parents. At the war’s onset, his father was stationed in Albania as an officer in the Asscurazioni Generali. At the time, the family lived in rural Bari for safety.
Things in Bari weren’t as safe as Romanini’s mother, Maria Giorgeschi, hoped they would be. As fighting intensified, she took her children to St. Angelo, her hometown. They lived with several others in a farmhouse outside of town for the duration of the war.
Though Italy was officially a part of the Axis forces until 1943, Nazi soldiers consistently harassed native Italians. Often, soldiers barged into homes and demanded whatever they wanted, including women. If the Italians attempted to protect themselves, Romanini explained, the Nazis would punish the community. If a Nazi soldier disappeared, ten local men would be executed.
Romanini recalls one particular soldier’s late-night visit. The soldier wanted one of the teen girls living in the house. In a desperate attempt to dissuade the soldier, Giorgeschi began asking him questions about his home: Did he have any daughters? Was he married? What religion did he practice? The soldier sheepishly admitted having a wife and being Catholic. Quick-witted Giorgeschi explained that she, too was a Catholic, and that violating a woman would break church law. She picked up her rosary and convinced the soldier to pray with her for forgiveness. Before long, the soldier was on his way back to camp, with no harm done.
Armando Picchi
Armando Picchi served as a drill sergeant for the Italian air force during World War II. From 1937 to 1938, he was based in Rome as part of the conscription, a requirement that all Italian men to serve in the armed forces for a fixed time. After a two-year break, he continued his service in Yugoslavia until Italy joined the Allies in 1943. With the change in alliance came a change in loyalty, and Picchi and many others threw away their fascist uniforms and deserted the military. Had he been caught, Picchi would have been executed on the spot for his offense. Picchi returned to his home in Cagli intending to hide for the remainder of the war. Shortly after his return, however, German troops claimed his home for a command post and evicted him.
Fearing his life, Picchi joined his wife and her parents at their home in rural Cagli. For the remainder of the war, he worked in the fields. He recalled living in constant terror that the Germans would discover his earlier service in the armed forces and deport him. Every day, he watched from a window while German troops carted truckloads of his neighbors and friends to their almost-certain deaths. Every day, he waited for his turn to come, for the Germans to knock on his door. Fortunately, that day never came, and Picchi and his family returned to their home just before the war’s end in 1945.
In addition to the daily fear of deportation, Picchi witnessed bombings and battles, including the Bettalgia di Villano near his home. From morning until night, he recalled, the Partisan resistance fighters and Germans fought close to his home.
Today, Picchi reflects on the war as a terrible time, during which Italians suffered greatly at the hands of the Germans.
What does a memorial such as il Monumento Caduti mean today? For an ex-soldier such as Picchi, it is a place at which he remembers friends from another life. For the historically inclined, it is a permanent record of a time long past. For everyone, il Monumento Caduti is a vivid reminder of the ultimate cost of war.
Web production by Jackie Blackburn
