Foreword by the editors

Negrar September 20, 2020

In publishing the introduction by Professor Gianpaolo Marchi, the 'long lost letter', and the diary of Giovanni Battista Pighi in one place, we wanted to create a contribution to war memoirs around Pighi's memoirs of 1915 - 18, which can serve new generation to better understand the events of just over a century ago, almost as if listening to the voice of those who lived through them. To get a wider audience involved, we've also released the English version. We have respected the integrity of the texts to the maximum, adding when necessary some explanatory notes between [].

The 'long lost letter' is Giovanni Battista Pighi's first response in 1968 to the request of his daughter, Laura Schram-Pighi, to write his war diary. The answer mentions the fact that her daughter, and therefore her grandchildren, would not have existed if he had been sent to the Asiago plateau in 1917, instead of being sent on leave to Verona. The letter was written only two months after the start of his retirement, but two years before the first writing of the war memoirs in 1970. Later Pighi copied this version in 1974, as he himself explains in his memoirs. The war memoirs are part of all the memoirs collected in 4 volumes, never published.

In 1977, Pighi took Albert, his eldest nephew, aside and gave them three objects. First, his compass, engraved with the number of the regiment. Secondly, the official stamp, which he used for official letters, and which we reproduce at the end of these memoirs. Lastly, he gives him a leather-bound notebook with the metal shield of the Italian army on the cover. The notebook was empty, except for one name "Armando Diaz".

Pighi explained that General Diaz had been the only staff officer who had come to visit the troops in the trenches. On that occasion, he had known him personally. Diaz understood that Pighi was a student at the University of Padua, and a man of letters, and told him that he himself would not write his memoirs, but that he entrusted this task to Pighi. General Diaz's wish was a further reason to publish this war diary.

By publishing this rediscovered letter, the beautiful introduction by Professor Gianpaolo Marchi, and the war diary of 1915-18, we intend to shed some light on this episode in the life of Giovanni Battista Pighi, about which nothing was ever written. 

Eventually, nearly the entire family contributed to this effort. We want to thank the other nephew, Marco Schram, for the advice to publish all this online in one place. Thomas Schram for editing the maps, and Paulina van Helden for final revision of the English edition.

The editors, Dr. Laura Schram-Pighi & Dr. Albert Schram

The Long Lost Letter

Casal 27/8/68: 6.30pm

Dearest four members [of the Schram family], 

if in November 1917 (half a century ago) I had gone to the Asiago plateau, with 9999 probabilities out of 10,000 today I could not have gone; my name would be read with a thousand others on the "memorial" of the Veronese fallen in S. Luca, and perhaps on some niche in one of the many war cemeteries on the plateau; grandfather Opo [father Bartolomeo Pighi] and grandmother Epe [mother Euterpe Polettini] would have died several years earlier; Signorina Peppina [his wife Giuseppina] Marcorini would now be Signora X, a happy mother and grandmother who knows where, and she would never have come to Casal; Mr. Kees Schram [Laura's husband] would be just as happily married to a Neapolitan or American or Friesian or who knows who, and so far, all in the natural order of things.

But you, Laura, you, Alberto, you, Marco, would be "non-existent" in the most absolute way, "non-existent" always and forever. So you see the importance for you three of the interview which, in one of the first days of November 1917, I had with a gray and mangy reserve captain, in Vicenza, the Machine Gun Center of Barbarano had sent it to the Brigade in the morning Regina, who was then fighting on the Cengio (above Arsiero) and, not out of a desire for novelty, needed to renew fifty per cent of her subaltern officers every day; I had to report to the Headquarters in Vicenza for instructions. 

The Command was in one of those old majestic Vicenza buildings. I go up the grand staircase, with statues and frescoes, and I look out into what must have been one of the reception rooms: painted ceiling or walls, marble and all the rest; behind a long table (planks on quarry-beds, with blankets billowing on the planks), is the gray captain; I present him my papers; he takes off his glasses, if he puts them back on, he asks me if I'm a student; "Signori, second year student in Padua"; "Faculty?"; "Letters" (with some shame); "I" (with complicity) "am a professor at the Scientific-Literary Academy of Milan (at the time it was the only one, in Milan, equivalent to the Arts Faculty).

He handles my cards a bit: "Where is she from?"; "From Verona" I reply; "Does your family live in Verona?": "Yes, Sir"; "Then present yourself at the Machine Gun Depot of S. Floriano; I believe it is near Verona; so you can come by and say hello to your people": and he gives me the quickly scribbled "pass sheet"; he dismisses me: "Go" and gives me the hand; "Thank you, Captain Sir", greeting and off to the station to catch the first train for Verona.

Later, when I went to Milan in 1925, I tried in vain to find out who that university professor captain was. It is my personal theory that he was my Guardian Angel in disguise, it doesn't seem completely unfounded to me. The fact is that when I, this schoolboy, go downstairs, he finds no one; deserted, the streets almost deserted. The train at the station was ready to leave; the windows shook with the roar of the thundering artillery on the edge of the plateau, 25 or 30 kilometers away; the translation departed like an express train; I pulled out the release document: the date of presentation at San Floriano was on the fourth day; the Angel, I mean the gray Captain, had even thought of making me stay at home in Borgo Venezia for three days.

The story was necessary to explain to you my desire, I don't know whether to return or to go to Asiago. Nothing of warlike pilgrimage, in this desire of mine: nothing of visiting the places where, fifty years before, etc. I simply wanted to go to an interesting place, where I had never been: pure tourism, without visits to the very sad ossuaries. Pure tourism, with the never-fading memory of my day in Vicenza in November 1917.

[Travel description] The weather here is as crazy as you are; and I fear that the "invasion" by Dutch tourists of our lakes and beaches has something to do with it. Beautiful and very hot Monday, fog and wind at night, it matters Tuesday morning. We decide to leave, recklessly, piling raincoats and anoraks in the car. The weather was fine for us during all the trips; but from Vicenza to the plateau it now rained during the night, and in Verona it rained in the morning. Casal, time 8.05, kilometers 57.941 at the start. Motorway entrance at S. Michele (Verona E) at 8.30, km. 57.954. Exit the motorway at Vicenza Ovest, go straight on for Thiene, stop in a bar in the municipality of Piovène, 9.30 am, km. 58.026. Bar closing on shift, kind owner, gives us coffee. Up the magnificent road that goes under the Pau, reaches the edge, descending into the Asiago basin. Stop in town for the usual postcard and the usual cappuccino and crodino [an Italian alcohol free aperitif].

Asiago is at 999 s.l.m. for 1 local there are 1,001 for tourists. Bought an alpine cap (15 cm.) for Beto and Maco [nicknames for grandchildren Albert and Marco]. Way to Camporovaro (1.957m). Ghèrtele (1.130m), Osteria del Termine (1.312m) at the old border. Now in Vezzena (1.402m) border between the province of Vicenza and the Trentino region. Sound. We go down to the Osteria del Monte Rovere (1,240m), where the Asiago plateau ends and that of Lavarone begins: it is 11.30h, km. 58.092. Up to Lavarono, Chiesa, Virti, Carbonare (1.076m). From here up to Folgaria, Monte Sommo pass (1.350m); a little further on in Folgaria it opens up to Val Lagerina (Val d'Adige, a thousand meters below). From the village of Folgaría (1.166m) we go up to Serrada (1.230m): it is 12.05h, km. 58.108. We decide to stop at the Serrada hotel. You eat well, at a high price. We set off again at around 13, along those terrible unpaved roads for the first 3 km.) which descend at breakneck speed (Scottini, Puèchem, Valduga) to Terragnolo and Noriglio-Rovereto; stupendous and vertiginous avenue.

The driver is a bit weighed down by the polenta stew; but it works well; meeting a bus means having to go back for 200 or 200 or 500 meters until you find a cave. In Rovereto we had to choose: shall we go up the Vallarsa, Pian delle Fugazze, Campogrosso, Recoaro, etc? (you know the way). We had enough of the mountains, and we decide to take the state road n. 12 (Abetone-Brenner).

Down at great speed (except for the Rovereto crossing, traditionally provided with signposts). Some difficult overtaking, but luckily the worst (tankers and the like) goes towards Trento, and us towards winter. at Domegliara fortune turns; colossal beasts [trucks] occupying the road. We wave to them "hello, hello" (now they say "bye bye") with our little hand, and we turn sharply left towards S. Pietro, Valpolicella road (clear), Verona, Casal: arrival at 15.15h, km. 58.215. In all 274 kilometres.

That's all. Mom will add in practical chronicle; but I don't think you have much of importance, we are fine. Did your mother tell you that we were in the Arena twice at Lucia and Aida? Once in the very seat (offered by Mr. Mayor) and once in the second tier, like the people? I think so (or maybe I told you about it). On the 2nd we will go to Bologna, for a very boring and very odious session, which I hope will be the last, because I have decided not to show myself again and again and again. We'll be back on the 15th for Rita Cuccioli's wedding, and then that's it.

Nothing else again. We hope to hear from you soon, all good. Many and many kisses to all.

For picture and video se the original page in Italian.