Six months on the Italian front

by Julius M. Price

He was attending the wounded in a temporary ambulance station at the back of the firing line when he realised the danger of the situation. Men and officers were falling all along the line, and it was imperative that their places should be immediately occupied if the position was to be held. On the spur of the moment it occurred to him to call on the least wounded of the men he was looking after to try and help.

Explaining to them how critical was the situation, and also what was likely to happen to them if the Austrians recaptured the place, he stirred up such excitement and ardour that, regardless for the moment of the pain they were suffering from their wounds, those that were able sprang to their feet and returned to the trenches where, seizing the rifles of their fallen comrades, they managed to continue to defend the position till reinforcements arrived.

If there was one thing more than another that struck me whilst amongst the troops in the mountains, it was the extraordinary enthusiasm displayed everywhere, even here in this bleak and exposed position; the moral of the men was incomparable, and they seemed to be blessed with an inexhaustible stock of good humour and the power of taking things cheerfully. It was indeed impossible to mix with them and not feel the influence of their youthful eagerness and their confidence in ultimate victory.

Napoleon’s well known aphorism that an army fights on its belly is well borne out in the Italian Army; and even on these lofty peaks the soldier, whatever he may have to endure in the shape of inevitable hardship, never suffers from want of food and well-cooked meals.

The food convoys make their journeys with unfailing regularity, for there must be no hitch in the commissariat arrangements—and it is safe to assert that there is not a single soldier, no matter how isolated he may be, who does not receive every day his regulation allowance of 400 grammes of meat (about half a pound), a kilo and a half of bread, macaroni or polenta, coffee, tobacco, and half a litre of wine.

Of course the menu is not very varied, but neither is the national Italian cuisine at any time. Rancio, a soup-like stew, made of meat and macaroni or some similar pasta, with a sufficiency of good, wholesome bread and a drink of red wine, should be sufficient to satisfy the appetite of any soldier.

I made a meal of rancio on many occasions after a long and cold motor run, and always found it so appetising and comforting that I wished I could have got it every day. This stew is the usual plat du jour of the Italian soldier as is the stchi in the Russian Army, and is always served out steaming hot.

In advanced trenches, outposts or similar exposed positions, where culinary operations are, of course, impossible, the rancio is taken to the men after dark in special receptacles for keeping it hot, known as Cassette di Cottura, which are constructed on the Thermos principle. The men would indeed begin to think things were going badly if the “food party” could not succeed in reaching them.

So far as the officers are concerned, these mess arrangements, when up in the fighting line, of course, depend largely on circumstances, though these do not seem to be always governed by the difficulty of access to the position or its remoteness from the base.

I had a pleasant proof of this at Pal Grande. The officers hospitably insisted on our taking “pot luck” with them, as they were just going to have lunch, and it turned out one of the best al fresco repasts I have ever sat down to.