With British Guns in Italy | Page 7

sunken
road, leading down to the Vippacco. The guns themselves were
concealed in thick bowers of acacias, the branches of which had been
clipped here and there within our arc of fire. I doubt if anywhere, on
any Front, a British Battery occupied a position of greater natural
beauty. The officers' Mess and sleeping huts were a few hundred yards
from the guns, right on the bank of the Vippacco, likewise hidden from
view and shaded from the sun by a great mass of acacias, a luxuriant
soft roof of fresh green leaves. Our Mess, indeed, had no other roof
than this, for there was seldom any rain, and, as we sat at meals, we
faced a broad waterfall, a curving wall of white foam, stretching right
across the stream, which was at this point about seventy or eighty yards
wide. Innumerable blue dragon-flies flitted backwards and forwards in
the sunlight. Though the weather was warm, it was less hot than usual
at this time of year, and the surroundings of our Mess reminded me
vividly of Kerry. In the first days that followed I could often imagine
myself back in beautiful and familiar places in the south-west corner of
Ireland. Only Italian gunners coming and going, for several of their
Battery positions were close to ours, and the Castello di Rubbia across
the water, slightly but not greatly damaged, broke this occasional
illusion.
These Italians took us quite for granted now, and that evening I began
to learn about their Front. Things were pretty quiet at present on both
sides, but greater activity was expected soon. I made the acquaintance
of Venosta, an Italian Artillery officer attached to the Battery. He was
from Milan, a member of a well-known Lombard family, and had a soft
and quiet way with him and a certain supple charm. At ordinary times
he preferred to take things easily, and was imperturbable by anything
which he thought unimportant. But in crises, as I learned later on, he
could show much calm resource and energy.
* * * * *

I woke next morning to the sound of the Vippacco waterfall, and the
following day I got my first real impression of this part of the Italian
Front. The Battery was doing a registration shoot and I went up in the
afternoon with our Second-in-Command to an O.P. on the top of the
Nad Logem to observe and correct our fire. It was a great climb, up a
stony watercourse, now dry, and then through old Austrian trenches,
elaborately blasted in the Carso rock and captured a year ago. The Nad
Logem is part of the northern edge of the Carso, and from our O.P. a
great panorama spread out north, east and west, with the sinuous
Vippacco in the foreground, fringed with trees. From here I had pointed
out to me the various features of the country. The play of light and
shade in the distance was very wonderful. Our target that afternoon was
a point in the Austrian front line on a long, low, brown hill lying right
below us, known officially as Hill 126. The Austrians some days before
had sent us an ironical wireless message, "We have evacuated Hill 94
and Hill 126 for a week so that the British Batteries may register on
them." They evidently knew something of our whereabouts and our
plans!
Coming back we stopped at the foot of a hill on which stands the
shell-wrecked monastery of San Grado di Merna, a white ruin gaunt
against the darker background of the Nad Logem. Here a new Battery
position was being prepared for us, only three hundred yards behind the
Austrian front line, but admirably protected by the configuration of the
ground from enemy fire. An Italian drilling machine was at work here,
operated by compressed air, drilling holes in the rock for the insertion
of dynamite charges, and, by means of gradual blasting, gun pits and
cartridge recesses and dug-outs were being created in the stubborn rock.
Here a heavy thunderstorm broke and we sheltered in the Headquarters
of an Italian Field Artillery Brigade, likewise blasted out of the
mountain side. I returned with Venosta. I asked him to show me the
famous Bersagliere trot, and by way of illustration we doubled along
the road for about half a mile. On the British Front the spectacle of two
officers thus disporting themselves for no apparent reason would have
caused much remark and amusement. But the Italians, whom we passed,
seemed to see nothing remarkable in our behaviour. They are, perhaps,
more tolerant of eccentricity than we are.

It may be of interest at this point to say a few words about some of the
special characteristics of the Italian Army. Every modern Army has
adopted a distinctive colour