Nat R. Knaster
From Bologna to Capri
1945
The great piazza was rimmed by a tremendous crowd as a group of large army trucks lined up at the far end of the square. Bologna would be a testing ground today of the voluntary disarmament of the patriots. This important step after a city’s liberation might set the pattern for all of northern Italy so this was a moment of tension. A band struck up, and, the army of patriots picturesque in their Tyrolean and varied colorful uniforms march into the square in excellent military formation. With a smart eyes right, they passed the reviewing stand and on to the waiting trucks to surrender their arms to the G.I.’s stationed there. The event came off very smoothly and the photographs taken were also used for posters to be distributed in newly released areas.
After two days of stories, air-raids, sniping and hand-grenades, I promoted a small supply of ‘C’ rations and caught up with the army at Verona. Being a ‘lone-wolf’ correspondent has its disadvantages far in addition to driving and servicing the ‘jeep’, I had to forage for food and shelter, the latter an interesting item among ruins and rubble. Arriving in Verona light at night I was fortunate enough to find a couple of café tables in the back of a tiny inn to stretch my sleeping bag over. Next morning I received news from G.2 of Mussolini’s capture and, throwing my gear into the jeep, headed for Milan.
When I had left Florence, my base, to go forward, I had been given a directive to follow and the last item, number sixteen, had read – ‘A photo of Mussolini’. It was intended as a joker. I was thinking of item sixteen as I headed north, driving through a series of thunderstorms that left the inside of the jeep looking like the deck of a destroyer in a heavy sea. There were signs of recent fighting everywhere and streams of German prisoners were marching to the rear, many unguarded, all glad that it was over for them. As I entered Milan was directed to the square where the former dictator and his henchmen hung on the rafters of a modern gasoline station. I got my photos and later, when the bodies were taken to the morgue, I went there. Lying about on the floor of the morgue were about a dozed bodies of the former Fascist leaders, like so much cordwood. Propped against one wall were three simple pine coffins on which they were fastening the lids. They were marked Mussolini, Clara and Pavolini and with some persuasion were reopened for photos. Their unmarked grave in a cemetery in Milan in contrast to the nearby graves of some of their victims, covered with flowers and marked by memorials made pointed pictures. After covering these and other stories of interest, I heard that there were still two divisions of Germans south of Milan holding out for word from Germany to surrender.
Sensing a story, I drove to a village near their encampment and despite the inhabitants warnings, drove slowly towards their outposts waving a white handkerchief. As I approached I could see their weapons gleaming in the tall grass and I was taken by a sentry to their H.Q. My request for a surrender story and photos the officer in charge considered premature but my insistence forced him to call another officer and have me escorted to his quarters. I spend a couple of hours trying , but the answer remained the same, I was premature, and they were the armed enemy, so I was escorted to the outposts once again. Passing groups of lounging soldiers, some surprised as seeing the jeep with the ‘star’ others shouting ‘hello yank’. My escort, a lieutenant, left me there with a smart salute and an “Auf Wiedershenen”. The only thing I had for my effort was a story which some thought fantastic.
From Milan I drove to Turin and then to Genoa, the seaport. The port itself, wrecked, mined, and booby-trapped, by the retreating enemy, its harbor rendered useless by sunken ships provided a picture story. While taking the photos at the pier’s end, of sunken vessels being dynamited out of the channel, we were jittery wondering when the concussion might set off mines or traps nearby. The city itself was now patrolled by its new police force, former patriots. A very picturesque lot, one made a good human interest picture. Young looking, about fourteen and small, but very fierce looking in their leather jerkin and bandoliers of bullets with a beltful of hand grenades and his machine gun slung over his shoulder. But, he was sucking on an ice cream cone he had purchased from s street vender and still looked like any other boy with a cone. Tho the port area was badly damaged, the birthplace of Christopher Columbus and other monuments were quite intact.
Returning to Florence, and assignment to Venice awaited me . Driving there and parking in a large square near the canal, I was taken by gondolato a hotel. Most of my assignments I covered on foot and found Venice an amazing adventure. What impressed me first was the silence, like climbing to the top of a mountain from the bustle of a city. You could walk, or ride in a gondola, and the peace of this place is like a sedative after war. In fact, at that time, it was being used as a rest camp for the men of the British Army, an ideal spot. It is an ageless place, one that should never disappoint the most inveterate traveler with it’s hundreds of bridges and canals, its palaces and historic old places, and its romantic appeal.
Back in Florence, I found them still in festival mode over V.E. day. I was able to get a few photos around this beautiful old city with its famous Duomo and palaces, and galleries and the ‘old bridge’ all lined with little craft shops. An interesting picture story was the restoration of “old masters”, some mildewed after being kept in damp underground safety during the war. Tho pretty badly damaged, Florence still retains
unharmed her famous landmarks.
Returning to Rome the processing for returning home began and there was time to see the eternal city. A visit to the Vatican alone is worth the trip to Italy. Filled with treasures from all parts of the world, its famous gardens and chapels and it’s paintings particularly are something to remember. With its churches and palaces and historical landmarks of Ancient Rome such as the Coliseum, built by captives after the all of Jerusalem.
From Rome I went to Naples to ‘sweat out’ a ship home and the view of the bay with Vesuvius in the background is a vistas that you never grow tired of. Here, they also have the ‘Funiculare’, a cog wheel trolley that takes you up an almost perpendicular hill. What a view of Naples from here!
Pompeii is just a short train ride from Naples and a surprising revelation is the wonderful intactness of the old city. Walking its streets paved for chariots , the ruts still visible, and its temples and beautiful homes and shops quite intact, it seems like a ghost town. Buried by the old enemy, Vesuvius, and protected by ‘mother earth’ thru the centuries Pompeii restored is a great historical monument.
Another spot of interest near Naples is Capri, the island whose beauty has been the inspiration for artists and musicians. Used as a rest camp the the U.S. Air Force, it boasted an American drug store complete with soda fountain and all, an incongruous note in the midst of nature’s splendor. A mountainous island, every turn in the road offers a breathtaking panorama. (Three paragraphs of scratched out, but readable: re departing Naples) My last vision of Italy, was Naples beautiful skyline as my ship slowly left the harbor.