Caterina Fradelli: memories of Zara, 1940 – 1946

At the altar of Our Lady of the Rosary in the Church of S. Simeone di Zara, at 6.30 on 15 April 1940, the parish priest Don Giacomo Foretich Colenda celebrated the wedding of Caterina Fradelli and Vittorio Varisco. During the honeymoon, happy days were spent in Trieste, Venice, Florence and Rome. On April 29th we returned home and the most difficult years of our lives began. On April 30, Vittorio was called to arms. I only saw him in the evenings on leave when he had no service commitments or the troops were not delivered to the barracks. It was like this for six months, from May to October. In November, the Federation, now without employees, asked and obtained from the Military Command that Vittorio resume work in his office. He no longer wore the grey-green uniform, but the service was still hard, without a timetable, as he was busy replacing the younger employees in the army; sometimes he didn't even return home at night. It continued like this throughout 1940, while I was peacefully experiencing my first pregnancy. On March 22, 1941, little Gianna was born, and I had the joy of holding my first child to my chest. She was healthy and lively, weighing 3.700 grams, and was baptized in hospital on March 27. After a five-day hospital stay I returned home with my little big treasure in my arms, happy and worried at the same time. We feared the imminent entry into war against Yugoslavia, the geographical position of the city did not favor its defense especially considering its limited territory of just 53 kmXNUMX. We just couldn't stay calm. In those days the authorities invited the civilian population to move to the Peninsula. On 1 April 1941 the Ministry of War ordered the compulsory evacuation of the civilian population and all those who were not engaged in official duties. The schools were closed, we had to leave. Mother Ida was undecided, she didn't want to leave Zara, in the end she was convinced, she couldn't leave me alone on that journey with a creature of just ten days. April 2, 1941 was a very sad day, I still remember the anguish of leaving, even the sky shared our pain, it was leaden grey and the clouds were swollen with rain. The boarding order on the "Stamira", anchored at Riva Vecchia, was for ten in the evening, it was raining, I was carrying Gianna in my arms, our tears were more numerous than the rain falling from the sky. The rain was clear and transparent, our tears bitter and full of despair. We were assigned a bunk in a cabin with other people. I settled Gianna as best I could and curled up next to her, while Mom took a position at the end of the bed, halfway between sitting and lying down. Everyone was silent, lost in their thoughts. We remained in that uncomfortable position all night, almost without speaking until dawn, and it was like that for the entire crossing to Ancona. I wondered if we would ever return home. The ship cast off at five in the morning, escorted by two torpedo boats to protect its navigation. We arrived in Ancona around four in the afternoon on April 3rd. My brother Andrea was waiting for us together with his wife Rita Bersani, the students of his third year of high school were doing volunteer service at the port. We were not allowed to disembark immediately; a list of the displaced people, almost all of whom had no documents, had to be drawn up and subjected to a medical examination by the provincial doctor. Time passed and Rita, worried about Gianna, turned to the wife of the Prefect of Ancona, begging her to let the little girl disembark as soon as possible to free her from the long wait. The Lady listened to him attentively, then "Come with me" she said in a firm tone. He presented himself to the service picket. "Let me pass, it's a pitiful case," he ordered. He exchanged a few polite words with us, picked up Gianna and together they returned to land. With the Prefect's car, Rita took Gianna home, they lived near the War Memorial, the last street on the left, a climb called delle Rupi. He entrusted her to his mother, grandmother Alice, who was waiting for her. He took off her swaddling clothes and laid her in the bed of her three-year-old cousin Ida. Once the bureaucratic procedures were completed, after ten o'clock in the evening we finally went ashore where Rita and Andrea were still waiting for us. When leaving Zara, Vittorio, always far-sighted, had written the name "Fradelli" on all the suitcases so that Andrea's students could easily gather them in a safe place. We finally arrived home by car. Gianna was restless and I, a first-time mother, confused and tired from the trip, didn't know what to do. I gave her some of my milk, but she only calmed down for a little while and started whining again. To reassure me, Andrea called a pediatrician who examined the little girl, weighed her and finally concluded that she was in good health, healthy and lively. She was just hungry, my milk hadn't been enough for her. Given my physical and psychological condition, I had not eaten for two days, he recommended buying a powdered milk of the French brand Guigoz which was very popular at the time. He left reassuring us and refusing the fee, happy to have helped an Italian family from Dalmatia. Andrea went to the pharmacy to buy milk and so at eleven in the evening we satisfied the little girl's appetite and we could finally all rest after that long and tiring day. On April 6, hostilities with Yugoslavia began; the inevitable, much-feared war had finally arrived. For us, displaced on the Peninsula, the greatest concern and recurring thought was for those who remained to defend the city. The worst was feared, Zara was surrounded by the enemy who, although less strong and aggressive, controlled all the strategic points and communication routes. The war was won in a few days, the siege of Zadar ended on April 12, but gave way to a new, cowardly way of fighting. It was gang warfare, the enemy hid armed and suddenly set up bloody ambushes. We naively thought that war should have rules, but we soon learned that it has no rules and no respect for anyone. Later in life, it was always difficult for most of us Julian-Dalmatian exiles to think and even today it remains impossible to understand the truths that were taught. We discovered that those who had sacrificed themselves to defend our land, no matter what uniform they wore, were judged to be criminals, while those we knew as real criminals were celebrated as heroes. History, as always, is written by the victors. For us "Veneti de là del mar" ideology has always had little value, our greatest commitment was to maintain our ethnic and cultural identity. Even if we try to understand the enemy's reasons, sixty years after the end of that cursed war, we can finally affirm our truth. To friends and adversaries, even to those who are ignorant, we remind you that what happened then in Istria and Dalmatia has no comparison whatsoever with the history and chronicle of Italy at that time, victim of the civil war where the hand of brother struck brother. Those who do not know our history and ignore the drama suffered by the Julian-Dalmatian exiles are still many; others, those who are still our adversaries today, can only offer squalid testimony of the ideology they represent. Ours was another story, different from the one that some people still try to tell today, a story that is certainly difficult to understand also because no one has yet had the opportunity to write it in school books so that it can be taught to our children. A story of which we are aware we are uncomfortable witnesses. Yugoslavia surrendered and Italian soldiers occupied all of Dalmatia. We would have liked to hope for a quick and peaceful solution to the conflict, but none of us, knowing the enemy, had any good hopes in our hearts. We stayed at Andrea's for a month, and one day the messengers from the Municipality came to bring us the documents with which we could benefit from the subsidy granted to the displaced. Andrea refused, claiming that he didn't see the need for it, we were his guests, he himself would take care of our needs. Nothing strange in his decision, it was the natural result of an education, a way of feeling and behaving cultivated since always and not only in the family. The answer was almost obvious, even if given from the heart, none of us however had even thought of taking any advantage from our condition as displaced persons since we could provide for ourselves with our own means. When the military collapse of Yugoslavia came and the war ended, our first thought was to return to Zadar. Mother Ida was the first to take action, going to the police station for the necessary authorizations and then to the port of Ancona to purchase the tickets for the departure. He found all the cabins on the ship booked for the entire week. The employee in charge, given her insistence and wanting to make things easier for her, thought it best to ask her to show her card for the subsidy for the homeless. "I do not have this card you are asking for nor do I receive any benefits" was the curt reply. The employee then, perhaps surprised, certainly amazed, made her sit down and got on the phone calling the Port Authority in search of a solution to satisfy the indomitable Lady in front of him. He was told that everything was already booked, he insisted stubbornly, stating that it was an order and that by the next morning at nine o'clock there absolutely had to be a free cabin for Mrs. Ida Schlacht, widow of Fradelli, and her family. Since he was evidently receiving evasive answers, he continued to insist. Finally, he put down the receiver and turned to my mother with a sigh of relief and a satisfied smile, saying: "Everything's sorted, Madam, tomorrow morning you will be able to leave for Zadar in an excellent cabin with your daughter and granddaughter." Finally, giving her his hand in a polite greeting, struck by such determination he added: "But. . . Are all Dalmatians like you, Madam? "The next day, with hearts full of joy, we embarked for Zadar, lulled by the naive hope that, once the war with Yugoslavia was over, everything could start again as before and that life could resume as in the best days. That idea soon proved to be an illusion; with its heavy burden of horrors, a war was approaching in Dalmatia too, a war we did not yet know, and whose epilogue was the tragedy of an entire people and the destruction of the city. The short period during which we remained in Ancona and even more the "lightning war" with which the siege of the city had been lifted and our troops had occupied the entire Dalmatian coast, made us think that the city must not have endured great dangers. When she returned to Zadar, her mother found the rich and colourful pantry of jams, compotes and fruit in alcohol that she had prepared with so much love and patient skill had been ransacked, she protested vehemently. Victor explained that most people considered the success of the defense of the city to be quite unlikely, surrounded as they were by the enemy. Convinced that we would hardly return to Zadar, he had thought of letting his friends share in the goodness that was in the house and added that, enjoying those delights, they had toasted to his health.