Six months on the Italian front

by Julius M. Price

It would be impossible to conceive a more wonderful motor trip. For scenery it is probably unsurpassed in the world. I have never seen anything to equal it. Our route part of the way went along that most romantic of lakes Idro. The road, which is magnificent, follows all the sinuosities of the shore on the very edge of the water, winding in and out, and in many places passing through tunnels in the cliff-like rocks.

You somehow had the feeling that one ought not to be on a warlike expedition in such glorious surroundings, for the grandeur of it all overwhelmed you.

Further on we passed through the valley of Valtellino, famous for its grape vines, and for several miles we were driving past the curious terrace-like vineyards in the mountain side, looking so peaceful in the glorious sunshine. Then, as we gradually ascended, the scenery changed, and we were in amongst gaunt, forbidding mountains, towering above the road on either side.

All trace of cultivation disappeared by degrees; nature here no longer smiled, grim pine forests made black patches against the rugged slopes; there were traces of early snow on the high peaks, and the air was becoming chilly. The contrast with the tender beauty of the lower part of the valley was impressive in the extreme.

We were now approaching the area of military operations, and occasionally we heard in the far distance the dull boom of guns. The ascent became steeper, and at length the road left the valley and began to climb up through the mountains by a series of corkscrew turns that are so familiar in mountainous districts, but here the acclivity was so steep that the turns were correspondingly numerous, and it was a veritable nightmare of a road.

Our car, a Daimler of an old model, with a big, heavy tonneau, soon began to feel the test and commenced to grunt and hesitate in a manner that was not at all pleasant, considering that we were on the edge of a precipice and there was no parapet.

The way the chauffeur had to literally coax the panting engine at each turn makes me shudder even now to think of—every time I fully expected it would fail to negotiate it, and we should go backwards and be over the edge before he could put the break on, so little space was there to spare. The only thing to do was to sit tight and trust to luck. However, we reached the top safely, and at length arrived at Bormio.

We had been advised that the first thing to do was to ascertain the whereabouts of the commanding officer of the division and get his permission to visit the positions, as it lay entirely within his discretion. Our Salvo Condotti being subject to such restrictions as might be deemed necessary at any place.

There was no difficulty in discovering the Headquarter Staff building; it was a short distance from the town, in a big, new hotel and hydropathic establishment, with fine park-like grounds. In peace time it must have been a delightful place to stay in.

The General was away, but we were received by a Staff Colonel, who spoke French. On seeing our papers he made no objection to giving us permits to visit any position in this sector, and even went so far as to suggest that we should go the following day up to the fort on the Forcola close to the Stelvio Pass, and that an Alpino could accompany us as guide. It was probable that we should be under fire a good part of the way, he added, but what we should see would be sufficiently interesting to compensate for the risk.