Hitler had been horrified by the humiliation of his ally and, the day after Mussolini’s arrest, had personally charged Otto Skorzeny, a Waffen SS colonel, with his rescue.12 It had taken Skorzeny many weeks to find out where Mussolini was being held, and it was only by intercepting coded radio messages that he had been able to establish his exact location. How to rescue the man proved more challenging. The location of the Campo Imperatore, on the side of a mountain, ruled out a parachute drop. Aerial reconnaissance, however, revealed a small airfield nearby. Skorzeny decided to land a group of handpicked commandos by glider – a risky option but the only one available.
In the early afternoon of 12 September, as the twelve gliders prepared to descend, Skorzeny realized that the airfield was not flat, as he believed, but on a steep hillside. It left him with no choice but to crash-land his commando team on the uneven but flatter ground in front of the hotel.13 With the loss of just one glider, the risk paid off and, despite being outnumbered by the carabinieri, the SS commandos quickly secured the area after the guards surrendered without a single shot being fired.
Radioing for assistance, Skorzeny asked for a small STOL (Short Take-Off and Landing) aircraft to be flown in.14 After it touched down on the short, rocky plateau, Mussolini was brought out of the hotel and bundled aboard. Although the plane was designed for just one passenger, Skorzeny insisted on accompanying him; twelve SS men held it back by its wings while the pilot revved the engine at full power. On a given signal, they let go and it took off, but the aircraft failed to gain enough height and one of its wheels hit a rock, causing it to veer off the plateau and down towards the valley below. Only the pilot’s skill saved the situation; struggling to maintain control, he managed to pull the plane out of its dive and Mussolini was transferred safely to Rome.
Two days later he met Hitler at the Führer’s headquarters near Rastenburg on the Eastern Front. They agreed that Mussolini would return to German-occupied northern Italy as the puppet head of the Italian Social Republic, based at Salò on Lake Garda.
Italy was now formally divided. The Allies and Marshal Badoglio’s government controlled the area south of Salerno; the rest of the country, by far the greater part, was in the hands of Mussolini’s puppet government – de facto, the Germans.
Fey had been at Frassanelle for ten days when she received a panicked telephone call from Marchetti, the estate overseer at Brazzà: ‘He was at his wits’ end because the villa had been requisitioned by SS troops. He said that the soldiers were behaving rather badly, treating the place as if it were their own. But he also had good news: a message had arrived from Detalmo, who was safe and hiding out with the partisans near Milan. Straight away, I decided to return to Brazzà to see if I could intervene. I was worried for the contadini working on the estate and for the house, and I felt that if I was there, being German, it might help the situation. I went alone, leaving the children with the Papafavas.’
The scene that greeted Fey at Udine station was chaotic. The Germans were now deporting thousands of Italian soldiers to work camps in Germany and three or four trainloads were passing through the station every day.15 The soldiers were locked into cattle wagons, without food or water, and the conditions on board were appalling. On the northbound platform, local women, fearing their own sons and husbands might be in the wagons, had set up a long table, laid out with bread, food and cigarettes. When the trains stopped, the women rushed to hand the provisions out. Other women collected the notes the soldiers dropped on the platform in the hope that someone would send them on to their relatives. Sometimes the trains did not stop and, as the long lines of wagons passed slowly through the station, a flurry of notes fell on the platform. Fifteen-year-old Rosanna Boratto, who worked as a shop assistant in the centre of town, collected the notes every morning: ‘I did not live in Udine, but it was my stop on the train to work.16 So I could only collect the notes between 7.20 a.m. and 7.50 a.m. because I had to rush off to work … The soldiers threw them out. All you could see were their fingers because the bars in the windows of the wagons were so narrow, they couldn’t get their hands through. The notes fluttered on to the platform and I picked them up without anyone stopping me. I didn’t send them off immediately but kept them in my handbag. One evening at home, I told my parents and showed them the notes I had collected. We posted all of them.’
Nonino was waiting for Fey outside the station with the pony and trap. Driving through the centre of the city, it was a very different place from the one she had left ten days before. The Germans were everywhere and the locals, hurrying along with their heads down, looked anxious. Everywhere, the latest edicts from the German High Command were posted on the walls of churches and historic buildings. Notice after notice had been slapped haphazardly, one on top of the other as the number of offences punishable under martial law had grown. The most recent edict related to Allied prisoners of war: ‘Any Allied POWs that are being harboured must be handed in.17 If Italians offer them shelter, food, or help of any kind, they will be subject to terrible punishment.’ Another announced that ‘the German authorities will immediately arrest those who do not obey an order and they will be dealt with severely.’
Outside the shops, parties of soldiers were loading vehicles with food and other supplies they had commandeered. Fascists, once again in charge of public institutions, strutted through the streets in their black uniforms, having been reappointed to the positions they held before Mussolini’s fall. ‘Generally, people are afraid they will carry out vendettas and reprisals against those who replaced them earlier in the summer,’ one resident reported.18 He went on to describe the racket the Fascists were running at depots formerly belonging to the Italian Army: ‘People are rolling home big barrels of olive oil and carrying away big sacks of coffee on their backs. They’re even taking bales of leather, linen, furs, and shoes and boots from the depot in Via Grazzano … The people getting the stuff are people who know how to hold their own, speak German or who are friends of the Fascists. Or they are people who pay 20L at the entrance to get in … Anyone out of favour caught trying to loot the supplies is shot. Already, at one warehouse, three have been executed by the Fascists.’
Leaving Udine, Fey noticed the roads were empty except for women, children and the elderly. Over the course of the twenty-minute drive to Brazzà, Nonino told her what had been happening while she was away. On 15 September, three days after she left for Frassanelle, the Germans had issued an ultimatum: anyone between the ages of eighteen and forty-five, excluding married women with children, had four days to prove they were in gainful employment. Once the deadline expired, those without occupation would be arrested and deported to Germany. To escape deportation, hundreds of deserters had fled to the mountains to join the partisans. Others were hiding out in the woods and in farm buildings. Before fleeing, the men had thrown down their arms and ammunition, and there had been daily incidents of death and mutilation resulting from children finding and playing with the weapons.19 There had also been a number of murders, committed by partisans who had come down from the mountains to kill Fascists and those they suspected of collaborating with the Germans.
As they turned into the drive at Brazzà, Fey was dismayed to see that it was crammed with SS troops and military vehicles: ‘As I had feared, they belonged to an elite corps and were therefore the worst imaginable soldiers. I rushed up and presented myself to the major in charge who, to my surprise, told me the unit was moving on.’
After the SS troops left, Fey was convinced that her original instinct to remain at Brazzà was right. With the neighbourhood in a state of lawlessness and the possibility of more German troops arriving, she needed to be in situ to protect the house and the families working on the farm. On the spur of the moment, she decided to return to Frassanelle to collect the boys. If she and the children were living there and she gathered round as many friends as possible, it would be difficult for other troops to occupy the place.
Her plan, however, proved short-lived: ‘I was just
boarding the train for Padua when Nonino suddenly arrived, panting, on the platform. He had frantically cycled the 12 kilometres from Brazzà to tell me that within minutes of my departure another contingent of German troops had occupied the house. Nonino had learned that the officers were dining at Al Monte, a well-known restaurant in the centre of Udine. As my heart was now set on staying at Brazzà, I jumped into a taxi. When I arrived at the restaurant the officers were still there and, hoping to win their sympathy, I made up a story. I told them that I had left my two small children in Padua temporarily, and we had nowhere to live for the winter. I said I would be infinitely grateful if they could put aside at least a couple of rooms for our use. Initially irritable and uncooperative, the officers agreed to discuss it at Brazzà the next day.’
Determined to hide as many things as she could while there was still time, Fey asked the officers for a car to take her home: ‘To my surprise, they agreed, and I drove to Brazzà in a beautiful little Fiat 1500, which had almost certainly been requisitioned from some poor Italian.’
The officers were airmen from the Luftnachrichten-Regiment 200, which was responsible for the Luftwaffe’s radar network in occupied Italy. At a meeting with the unit’s quartermaster the next morning, it was agreed that she and the children would occupy three rooms on the first floor of the villa. They were some of the best rooms in the house; one, a spacious sitting room, led on to steps down to the garden; another led out to a magnificent terrace, with a view over the fields to Modotto, a picturesque village owned by Detalmo’s family.
Satisfied with the outcome of her meeting, Fey returned to Padua to fetch the children.
In reaching her decision, she was unaware of the danger posed by her husband’s activities in the Resistance. Not having heard from Detalmo since the armistice, she did not know that agents from the Sicherheitsdienst – the German security service – were searching for him throughout the north of Italy.
A warning note sounded on her return: ‘An SS officer was waiting when I arrived back at the house with the boys. I was about to take the children indoors when he stopped me, asking if we could have a few words in private. He then proceeded to ask me all manner of questions, at first, fairly politely, but then as my answers proved unhelpful, he became more hostile. His main interest was Detalmo’s family. He told me they had killed a partisan leader by the name of Pirzio-Biroli.fn2 I knew it wasn’t Detalmo because this had happened in Albania during an attack on the airport at Tirana. But then he said they suspected another member of the family, who had distributed anti-Nazi propaganda. Of course I thought of Detalmo at this point, but I didn’t say anything and the officer was unable to get anything out of me. Finally, irritated by my unhelpful replies, he left.’
As soon as the unpleasant interrogation was over, Fey sat down to read two letters from Detalmo, which had arrived in her absence. They were signed ‘Giuseppe’, the alias they had agreed he would use if the need arose. She opened the letters with a heavy heart. While, evidently, the SS did not know that the man they were looking for was her husband, with the Germans in occupation at Brazzà it was now impossible for Detalmo to come home. The best she could hope was that he would join the local partisans and hide out in the nearby mountains:
12 Sept 1943
Dear Fey
Don’t write to me until I give you a new address. At the moment, I am continually on the move. Writing is difficult, and I’m not even sure if the post works. Anyway, don’t worry about me. I am well, and I am eating well. I’m leading a rather adventurous life, which is not without its attractions. After I have told you everything, you will never again be able to say that I’m not sporty.
Love and kisses,
Giuseppe
The second letter was dated three days later. Clearly, he had received her message asking whether she should leave Brazzà:
Dear Fey
I don’t know if this letter will reach you. I also wrote a couple of days ago. I am writing to tell you that I’m going south. I’ll write as soon as possible, but I can’t say when that will be. From here I cannot advise what would be best for you and the little ones. Ask friends for advice and then decide. I hope that soon we’ll be together again. Lots of love to Corradino and Robertino and thousands of kisses for you. I am totally in love with you, and you are continually in my thoughts.
Yours,
Giuseppe
Fey was shocked to see that Detalmo was ‘going south’. It could only mean that, whatever he had done, it was too dangerous for him to remain in the north. Briefly, it occurred to her that his activities in the Resistance threatened her own safety and that of the boys. But then if this were the case, she reasoned, he would have told her to leave.
She and the boys quickly settled into their rooms. ‘Then after only a very few days,’ she wrote, ‘I received a covert message from Detalmo, delivered by one of our contadini. To my great excitement, he was in Udine, hiding in the apartment of our dear friends, the Giacomuzzis, and wanted to see me. I passed the word to Nonino, who quietly prepared the carriage and our little white horse, Mirko. Soon we were rattling down to our secret appointment. Detalmo was a little ragged and thin, but otherwise in good shape. The emotion of seeing each other again was enormous.’
Fey spent the night with Detalmo at the Giacomuzzis’. It was then that he explained why he was on the run from the SS. Since the armistice, when he had opened the prison gates at Mortara, enabling thousands of Allied POWs to escape, he had used his connections in the Resistance to help a number of the men cross the Alps to Switzerland or to join the Allied forces in the south.
As it was impossible for Detalmo to return to Brazzà, they decided that he should try to reach Rome, where he could disappear and play an active role in the emerging underground movement. On her part, Fey was adamant that she should remain at Brazzà. It was the best environment for the children and she was confident that she could handle the occupying troops. Further, if she was there, she could protect the house and the contadini from the Germans. Reluctantly, Detalmo agreed. He told her the decision was hers, but again cautioned her to go to Frassanelle at the first sign of danger.
The next morning, Nonino returned with the carriage. Despite the risk of being discovered by the Germans, Detalmo was determined to sneak into Brazzà to say goodbye to the boys. ‘Nonino dropped us on the small road that ran round the estate,’ Fey remembered, ‘and we stole in through a gate, praying we would not be seen. The gate opened into the vegetable garden and from there we were able to dash through a small wood to the house. As soon as we got inside, I went to look for Ernesta and Cilla, our maids.fn3 “Remember, you have not seen Detalmo,” I told them. “If the Germans ask about a strange man, tell them it was a travelling salesman.” It was terribly dangerous but worth it. The children were delighted by the secrecy of the visit, and we all spent a happy day together, the doors and windows of our room tight shut. After dark, Detalmo slipped away through the garden, out to the road where Nonino was waiting for him with Mirko and the carriage. Carrying false documents, he left for Rome. I felt proud of him, even though it meant I was now on my own with the children.’
11.
In the interests of protecting her two small boys and the contadini working on the estate, Fey set about establishing a rapport with the Germans. Anxious to ensure that no suspicion should fall on her as a result of Detalmo’s clandestine activities, she went out of her way to be as accommodating as possible.
There were some forty airmen living in the house and in makeshift barracks around the park. Stationed at Campoformido, a nearby airfield, their job was to monitor Allied aircraft flying over the region and to coordinate the distribution of planes and supplies to Luftwaffe bases further south.
Fey’s primary contact was with the two senior officers, Major Ottokar Eisermann and Lieutenant Hans Kretschmann. In Major Eisermann she found a sympathetic figure. As she acknowledged, he made the day-to-day routine of life under German occupation easier than it might other
wise have been: ‘It was my good luck that I had a commander with whom I got on. Middle-aged, stout and slow-moving, Eisermann had a soft spot for women. He considered it his bounden duty to help and protect me and would often pay me little compliments in the style of the last century. He regarded all social duties, including his afternoon and evening get-togethers with his fellow officers, as a boring obligation. What he liked best was his morning stroll through the park, sauntering along, hands behind his back, becoming overexcited at the sight of some exotic tree or an unfamiliar flower.’
Kretschmann, however, the major’s much younger aide-de-camp, was a very different character. Tall, slim with deep-set blue eyes and prominent cheekbones, he was the unit’s political officer. In this capacity, it was his job to indoctrinate the airmen in Nazi ideology and to reinforce combat morale through training lessons and weekly lectures. Like Eisermann, Kretschmann was scrupulously polite to Fey; yet, from the outset, she was wary of him: ‘Educated by the Nazis and soaked in their propaganda, Kretschmann lacked flexibility of thought. I do not believe he had a single independent idea in his head. His opinions had been learned at school, in the Hitler Youth, and at military college. While he was socially adept, I felt his chivalry was a tool he had picked up and cultivated for his own advancement. Unlike Eisermann, it did not come naturally to him, nor had he learned it by example from his family. Thus, there was a danger that in a crisis Kretschmann would discard such virtues as quickly as he had acquired them.’
Clearly ambitious, Kretschmann had a close relationship with the men under his command. He was a heavy drinker, and would take them to local bars where, after dinner, he would leap on to a table and tap-dance to their wild applause. But he was also prone to depression and his volatile temperament was another reason for Fey to be suspicious of him.
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