While she quickly established good relations with the Germans, their animosity towards Italians placed her in an awkward position. Deeply resentful at having been drafted in to defend Italy after the Italians had betrayed them, their anger was compounded by the large numbers deserting from the Italian Army, content to leave it up to German forces to defeat the Allies. The airmen were further incensed by the partisans’ actions against German military personnel. Following the armistice, snipers had killed a number of soldiers in the neighbourhood. Others had died in ambushes and random attacks on sentries’ positions outside depots and along the main roads. The consequence was that, in Fey’s presence, and in front of her domestic staff and farm workers, the airmen made derogatory remarks, repeating the racist jokes in circulation and dismissing Italy as a ‘nation of donkey drivers and chestnut sellers’.
With the exception of Fascists who had benefited from Mussolini’s return, the locals’ animosity towards the Germans was equally visceral. The deportations, the commandeering of food and the threat of death or severe punishment if they contravened the edicts of martial rule provoked hatred, heightened by their fear.
Fey found herself caught in the middle: ‘My position as a German was not that comfortable at Brazzà. On the one hand, I had people of my own nationality staying in the house. In spite of their faults, I could not fail to understand and frequently sympathize with them. On the other hand, I had to maintain the distance appropriate for an Italian towards an invader. I was, for instance, often tempted to accept offers of car rides to Udine from the Germans. But even when I was in the greatest hurry, I refused. I knew how such little things could create the wrong impression.’
Despite Fey’s efforts to please both sides, word of her close relationship with the Germans quickly spread. To begin with, people trudged great distances to ask her to intervene with Nazi officials, either on their own behalf or more usually for a son or brother who was about to be deported. ‘They came in the belief that I, being German, could obtain more than an Italian,’ Fey wrote, ‘but they were mistaken. I was often treated with more suspicion than the Italians by the German authorities in Udine. The little word “von” in my surname showed all too clearly that I came from an aristocratic family, and the Nazis had never liked aristocrats. Despite hours of running back and forth between German officials, I was not able to save anyone from being deported, which of course made the local people more sceptical about me.’
Brazzà lay in the parish of Santa Margherita, which consisted of nine villages, four of them no more than hamlets. For the population of 3,160, the way of life had changed little since medieval times and everyone knew each other’s business.1 The poverty in the tight-knit communities, where nearly everyone was related and those who owned a bicycle or who could afford to buy wedding clothes were regarded as wealthy, meant that, with no other form of entertainment, the church and other people’s lives were a central focus.2
In these deeply devout communities, the priest kept a close eye on the moral behaviour of his parishioners, which he then reported to the Vatican. Once a year he was required to fill in a questionnaire – one that the Vatican sent out to every parish priest in Italy – enquiring about the moral and religious standing of his congregation. His answers for the year 1939, gleaned at confession and through his position as the leading authority in the parish, reveal how closely people’s lives were observed:
What is the percentage of church attendance in the parish? – 99%.3
Are there any groups in the parish who are against Catholicism or circulating anti-Catholic propaganda? – No, apart from two infantile old men who have become the object of ridicule.
What is the moral behaviour of the parishioners? – Among the young there is a spirit of indifference, which is a reflection of the times, and libertine behaviour is creeping in.
Are women wearing provocative clothing? – Yes.
Are indecently dressed women staying away from church? – A few.
Are women entering church bare-headed? – No.
Are there any public or private scandals? – Yes, because of lax virtues among women.
How is this being dealt with? – Their mothers are being talked to and it is being addressed in sermons.
Is there any swearing or alcoholism? – Some.
Are there any concubine unions? – Yes, three.
What’s the average annual illegitimate birth? – 4.
Is the spirit of the family still extant? – Yes.
Are people still reciting the rosary? – Yes, except when they are working in the fields.
Are there any Jews in the parish? – No.
Are there superstitious practices and seances? – No, but some local superstitions continue to exist.
The culture of reporting meant that at Brazzà, knowing Fey’s true loyalties, the contadini confided information that she then had to keep from the Germans. She knew where deserters were hiding; she knew which landowners were concealing Allied POWs in the woods on their estates; she even knew the names of local priests involved in organizing the burgeoning resistance groups in the area. While touched by her employees’ trust, it meant lying to Eisermann and Kretschmann when they asked about particular individuals or questioned her about hideouts that could be used by deserters and Allied prisoners of war.
Yet the fact that the two officers took her into their confidence was proof that her strategy was working. Calculatingly, she had set out to convince them that she was simply a naïve young mother: ‘Whenever the war or the Nazis were discussed, I was careful not to express an opinion. This was partly strategic and partly because I did not trust myself. I knew I had to avoid getting entangled in political discussions in case my hatred of the Nazis slipped out.’
Besides the strain of having to play a double game with Eisermann and Kretschmann, Fey had other worries. She was fighting constantly with Bovolenta, the farm manager at Brazzà, who disagreed with her methods. A shifty man in his late sixties, he resented taking instructions from a woman – particularly a German one – and Fey suspected that he was cheating her by doctoring the weight of crop yields in order to sell the estate’s produce on the black market.
She was also worried about her parents in Germany. With private letters forbidden, she had not heard from them since the armistice. The Allies were bombing Berlin and Munich and she was desperate to know they were all right. Relaying her anxiety to Major Eisermann, he agreed to allow her to use the military post, providing she called herself Private August von Hassell and used a military postal number.
‘All is in chaos here,’ she wrote to her mother at the end of October. ‘I think Brazzà needs my vigilant eye. The situation is fairly difficult; the Italians hate everything German. I have not heard from you, which worries me a lot, especially when I know of those terrifying air raids. Then there is the separation from my dear husband for who knows how long; and lastly, my house is occupied by troops, so I have become a guest in my own home, a most unpleasant feeling!’
Almuth, who was living with her parents in Ebenhausen, wrote back immediately. She began her letter with a cryptic message confirming that the ‘official’ post – i.e. the military post – was their only chance of remaining in touch: ‘My dear little soldier. Officially, the post is working again, but only officially. Tell my sister [meaning Fey] that it is still pointless to write directly.’ Almuth went on to describe the bombing raids in Munich and Berlin. While it was comforting to know that her family was alive, hearing their frightening experiences heightened Fey’s anxiety, and she was also troubled by the fact that, overseen as the military post was by the censor, it was impossible to know what was really happening or what they really thought. She had no means of judging how close her father and his circle were to eliminating Hitler or the extent to which he was in danger from the Gestapo.
Above all else, Fey missed Detalmo. He had been gone for almost a month and in that time she had had just one message from him, delivered by a friend who was visiting
Brazzà, to say he had arrived safely in Rome. Hand-delivered messages were the only means of communication and the opportunities were few and far between. During the long evenings alone at Brazzà after she had put the boys to bed, just to hear Detalmo’s voice, she reread his letters from Mortara. ‘Darling, I miss you and the children very much. The long period at Brazzà ended so suddenly that I haven’t had much chance to feel it taken away … Darling little Fey, I want you to feel that I am very near to you, always behind you. So you must not be afraid and feel alone.’
Early in November, Fey learned from Major Eisermann that large numbers of troops were being drafted into the area. Following a crackdown in Gorizia in the eastern part of Friuli, thousands of men belonging to the Communist Garibaldi partisan brigades had fled west, and were hiding out in the mountains behind Brazzà. They now controlled a number of the roads and mountain passes, threatening the Wehrmacht’s supply routes from Austria.
That evening, fearing the region was about to become a battle zone, Fey wrote a panicked note to Detalmo, suggesting that she and the children should leave Brazzà and join him in Rome. By chance, a neighbour was leaving for the capital the following day and she promised to deliver the note.
Fey was not expecting a quick reply, but some days later, as she was working in the garden, she saw a shabbily dressed man coming up the drive whom she did not recognize.
It was mid November, a crisp, bright morning, and the boys were playing beside her. She watched as the man strode up to the front door and heard him ask the soldier on duty if she was at home. Immediately, she sensed that he belonged to the Resistance and that, in brazenly approaching the house, he was risking his life. While the Germans allowed her to come and go as she liked and did not screen her visitors, she hurried across the lawn and greeted the man like an old friend so as not to arouse the sentry’s suspicion.
As soon as they were alone, the stranger told her he had come from Rome and had a letter from Detalmo. Leading him through the house to her private quarters, she assured him that they were safe, and offered him a meal after his long, dangerous journey. ‘He gave me to understand that he was in Friuli to contact the partisans. He stayed for a while and, after the strain of trying to keep on good terms with both the locals and the Germans, it was a relief to be able to talk frankly to someone from the “outside”. We discussed the war, Detalmo, and whether I should move to Rome with the children. He said there was plenty of food in the city and that air raids were infrequent. He also said that Detalmo was missing us and was keen for us to join him there.’
Detalmo’s letter, the first Fey had received in a month, revealed that he had become active in the city’s underground movement:
I am so happy to have this opportunity to write. I have been thinking so much of you all this time, and our separation has weighed heavily on my heart.
I haven’t seen any of our usual friends, and nobody knows of my existence here. My main job is going to be diplomatic and will probably necessitate journeys. Of course, it is too soon yet to establish anything for certain. We have been, and are being, very active in many sectors. As far as I can see, I am not going to do military business anymore. This is also because I do not feel very much like shooting German soldiers. I always think they wear the uniform of Hans Dieter.
We still have many doubts as to the ability of the Italian political ship to keep afloat by itself. At any rate, we are uniting our efforts in an out-and-out struggle to make things work. My closest friend is going to deal with the press, and I shall cope with contacts abroad. In my spare time I go on with political economics, a little article writing for the United States (propaganda), and other things.
Progress in southern Italy is slow, but we are expecting major operations rather soon, which should speed matters up. The crisis in Germany is extremely acute and may lead to anything – from now on – at any moment. In one word, I believe we will meet again before spring comes and that it shall be for always.
If you feel safer down here, this is a chance for you to come down by car with the children. But you alone can judge what is best. In your considerations please put first your personal safety and the children’s; second, the safety of our house and belongings. Don’t be dominated by laziness to move; the journey by car is easy. There is plenty of food in Rome …
Send me a reply without address, without my or your name or names of places or people. The bearer of this letter will tell you my second name.
My darling, I love you, and you stand out in my thoughts as something extremely great and important in life. I would like to be with you and console you a little. This is a great revolution, like the other great ones in history. We must make the new world. Let us only think of this difficult task and especially that we are going to work together with the children under the blessing of our great love. Put all other mournful thoughts aside …
Giuseppe
Still undecided as to what she should do, Fey remained at Brazzà for another week. Despite Eisermann’s warning, the expected drive against the partisans had not happened and, while her position in regard to the Germans and Italians was awkward, she felt she could cope. Much as she missed Detalmo, she remained convinced that Brazzà, rather than Rome, was the best place for the children and she did not want to leave until she absolutely had to. Looking ahead, she also thought it unlikely that Brazzà would be bombed. ‘Even if the front reached Udine, there was a good chance that Brazzà would not be touched, since it was not on the main road. I was sure the Germans would not stand and fight in the plain of Udine but withdraw to more defensible positions in the Alps.’
Then, on Radio London on 28 November, General Montgomery, the commander of the British 8th Army, broadcast a message to his troops. It was more than two months since the Allies had landed on the Italian mainland at Salerno and the much-vaunted ‘two-week dash’ up the coast to Rome had been thwarted by the Germans’ defensive positions. Montgomery’s message was a rallying call: ‘The time has come to drive the Germans north of Rome.4 They have been outfought, and we can now go forward.’
Fearing she would lose touch with Detalmo entirely if the Allies occupied the city, Fey left for Rome a few days later. She did not take the children with her. If they were going to move there, her plan was to return to Brazzà to collect them.
The Germans had requisitioned all motor vehicles, including taxis, and Fey walked from Termini, the main railway station in the centre of the city. There had been no opportunity to send a message to Detalmo to say that she was coming, and when she arrived it was a complete surprise. ‘He could hardly believe his eyes when he found me at the door. It was just wonderful to see him and we were so happy to be together again. So much had happened to both of us that it felt like years, not months, since we had parted in secrecy at the back of the park at Brazzà.’
Detalmo was living in a wing of the family’s palazzo in the Via Panama with his sister, Marina, who had come down from Venice. A wide, tree-lined street, it was in an elegant quarter of the city, close to the Catacombs of Santa Priscilla. Marina, rather than Detalmo, was the official occupant and, with the Germans still searching for him in the north, he had kept his arrival in the city secret. He did not appear when she had visitors and saw only friends he could be sure of or people who, like himself, were hiding from the German authorities.
Fey found the apartment seething with conspiratorial activity. Detalmo was working for the Partito d’Azione, an underground centre-left political party. His job was to liaise with British and American intelligence agents, who were operating undercover in Rome. The work, which involved preparing the ground for the democratic government they hoped to establish once the Germans were defeated, was dangerous. Several of Detalmo’s friends had already been arrested and were being held in the notorious Regina Coeli (Queen of Heaven) prison on the banks of the Tiber.
A succession of people moved in and out of the apartment at all times of the day and night and every room was used for some sort of clandestine
purpose. The garage operated as a print room where maps, marking the fighting lines, were produced to help escaped prisoners of war rejoin the Allied forces in the south; the cellar was used as lodgings by two partisans, who slept behind bags of coal; upstairs, on the second floor, a small walled-up room had been built where people could hide in case of police raids. Other rooms, as Fey described, were used as meeting places: ‘Much of the time was spent discussing the fine details for hiding such and such a person. There were so many people who needed to be hidden – partisans, Jews, and members of the underground political scene. Detalmo had close links to the Vatican and he was able to arrange for a large number to be concealed in convents and monasteries. As these properties belonged to the Holy See, they were extraterritorial and carried diplomatic immunity so were safe from the Germans.’fn1
Fey stayed in Rome for three weeks. During that time, the situation deteriorated. Despite Montgomery’s message to the troops, neither the 8th Army nor the US 5th Army, whom they were fighting alongside, was able to break through the German lines. By the middle of December the two armies were digging in for the winter in a vulnerable position below the monastery of Monte Cassino.
It was clear to Fey and Detalmo that the Germans were unlikely to withdraw from Rome, as people had speculated earlier in the month. ‘We spent hours discussing whether I should come to Rome with the children or remain in Friuli,’ Fey wrote. ‘It was so difficult to decide in the uncertainty that reigned; things could change dramatically from one minute to the next. The food situation in Rome was unstable and no one knew how much longer supplies would continue from the embattled countryside. Rome itself could turn into a war zone at any time. But what in the end decided us was Detalmo’s secret activity, which, if discovered, would endanger us all if we were staying at Via Panama. So the idea of establishing a family base in Rome was dropped.’
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