The sinking of the heavy cruiser Zara in the account of two survivors

Below are the accounts of two survivors from the heavy cruiser Zara, sunk on 29 March 1941 in the battle of Cape Matapan. Both come from the book Le battaglie navali del Mediterraneo nella seconda guerra mondiale, by Arrigo Petacco. I decided to include the first one as well because, although short and told in third person, unlike the other, it comes from someone who was on the bridge, next to Zara’s commanding officer, and thus gives some insight about what was happening there in those moments. The two accounts somewhat complement each other, as the first one ends as the Mediterranean Fleet opens fire on Zara, and the second begins just after the shooting is over; the first survivor was up on the bridge, the second deep in the bowels of the ship.

 

The first account is from Sub-Lieutenant Giorgio Parodi, on the bridge. At 22:25 a red signal was spotted to port. “That is Pola”, Captain Luigi Corsi (Zara’s commanding officer) told Parodi. Then, as if having second thoughts, he added: “But do you think that is indeed our recognition signal?”. Parodi answered that, in fact, the signal looked different to him. In that same istant, a searchlight lighted up the formation, and more precisely the heavy cruiser Fiume, that was following Zara. Corsi cursed: “Why are they using the searchlights? Has everyone gone insane onboard Pola?” Everyone was still completely calm. They were all certain that the other ship was Pola, although her behaviour seemed a bit strange. Thus, when Warspite fired her first salvo against Fiume, Corsi furiously shouted: “Now they are even firing on us! Make the recognition signal at once!” But in that moment a second salvo struck Fiume, and Corsi realized the truth. “These are 381 mm guns!” He shouted. “We have fallen into a trap!” Immediately thereafter, Zara was hit as well. The ship was soon on fire.

 

The second account is narrated by Lieutenant (E) Salvo Giuseppe Parodi, in the engine room. (Not related to Giorgio Parodi: Parodi just happens to be the most widespread surname in Genoa, one of Italy’s most important seafaring cities. There were five different Parodis on the five ships sunk at Mapatan: two on Zara, two on Pola, one on Alfieri). The narration starts just after Zara had been effectively wrecked by the Mediterranean Fleet’s gunfire.

 

“Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant (E) Quercetti came down to my compartment; he appeared very calm and told me what follows. We had gotten near Pola and we had fallen into an ambush by British ships that had fired on us at point blank range (2,000 meters) after lighting us up with their searchlights. From what could be understood, we had been hit amidships. For the moment, the buoyancy of the ship was satisfactory, but many men had been killed and there were many wounded, especially scalded by the steam. Quercetti did not have particular orders for me. Later, the commanding officer phoned me and ordered to start the engines in reverse, explaining: “We are going to take a look at Fiume’s wreck, which is burning”. This was the first time I learned that Fiume had been hit. Meanwhile, Lt. (E) Quercetti had gone away, leaving to me his lifebelt, as I did not have it. In that moment I only had a few men with me. After a few minutes – I do not know how many – Captain Corsi phoned, saying: “Enough, Parodi. You can stop. We have made a circle: I think that the engines aren’t of use anymore”. I replied: “Ok, Captain. Anyway, I will stay here just in case. What must I do with the personnel on watch?” There was a pause, then the captain answered: “Send them up on deck”. “Should I have the boilers put off?” I asked. “Yes”, he replied. “And, if you cand find him, put me through to the Chief Engineer. I am alone on the bridge and this is the only working phone”. I thus sent Mechanic Petty Officer Filippi to boilers nos. 1 and 2 to tell the firemen to put them out and go up on deck. Then I sent two firemen looking for Lieutenant Commander (E) Chiapperini [Zara’s Chief Engineer]. Filippi did not come back, but shortly thereafter one of the firemen returned with the Chief Engineer. I put Lt. Cdr. (E) Chiapperini through to the bridge by phone, but almost immediately he gave me the receiver, saying “You speak, I can’t understand anything”. I did as he said. Captain Corsi told me: “Your chief is not phonogenic. He does not understand what I say and I do not understand what he says. This order is for him, relay it to him and give confirmation: prepare the destruction of the ship and inform me of the measures taken”. Without putting the receiver down, I repeated the order to Lieutenant Commander (E) Chiapperini and gave confirmation to the commanding officer. Lieutenat Commander (E) Chiapperini, who looked very depressed, left without saying a word. Immediately thereafter, a gunner came in the engine room with a mine-crate and a box of matches. “Executive officer Giannattasio sends these to you” he said. Helped by the fireman, I placed the explosive below the pipes of the circulation pumps, then I took a sledgehammer that was fixed to the bulkhead and I went down to unscrew the bolts of the condenser’s hatch. Having returned to the manoeuvre floor [? some sort of engine control room perhaps?] I met Sub-Lieutenant (E) Marchese, who had gone down to check that the explosives had been brought to me. He left us as soon as he ascertained that. I then reported to the commanding officer that in the forward engine room everything was ready for the destruction of the ship. The commanding officer, who had spoken very calmly and clearly for the entire time, repeated that he was alone on the bridge. As for the order to blow up the ship, he waited to give it in due time. I repeated that I would remain where I was, waiting for his orders. He simply replied: “Thanks”. The two or three firemen who had remained with me had left and I believed that I had remained entirely alone. All the machinery were stopped: there was a deep silence. At 23:45, perhaps because I was feeling a bit nervours, I phoned the bridge. There was no answer; I tried again a few minutes later, but in vain. At 23:57 I tried again with the same result. I remember the times with this precision because I anxiously observed the clock, counting every minute. Exactly at 23:59 I decided to go up on deck, but before, perhaps in order to buy some more time, I went down to check on the esplosives. At the oil pump I found fireman Panzini, on watch, and near the auxiliary condenser I found leading fireman Sabatini, also on watch, together with a fireman whose name I do not remember. They told me their had remained at their stations, waiting for my orders. I ordered them to go up on deck. Fireman Panzini did not have his lifebelt; I reprimanded him for this, but had it not been for Lieutenant (E) Quercetti, I would have been in the same situation. I gave Panzini the lifebelt that I had and that he tried to refuse. Finally they saluted me and left. I remained there for a few more minutes, then I returned to the manoeuvre floor, where I found the lifebelt, which Panzini had evidently left there before going up. I went up on deck and I noticed that the ship had a list of about six degrees to starboard. For the entire time I had been below decks, I had not heard a single cannon shot, neither by the enemy nor by us. The gun deck, starboard side, was pitch dark. By using my flashlight, I saw that the room was cluttered with cots: some bodies lay near the port cabinets and others were near the bulkhead, perhaps dead. I then crossed into the firemen’s sink room and then to the port side of the gun deck. There, Commander Giannattasio illuminated me with his flashlight. I told him that I had just come up from the engine room, as I had been unable to obtain any reply from the bridge. “You did well”, he replied. “Go down to the no. 1 and 2 boiler rooms and check whether anyone has remained there. You’ll save me the trouble”. I went to the boiler rooms. There was no one. Everything was in order, but there was a terrible heat. I went back up through the port side gun deck, and at the foot of the ladder that led to the open deck I met Major Mazziotti of the Naval Medical Corps and Major Misitano of the naval administrative services, who were carrying a wounded man. In this gun deck, forward of the ladder, there were many dead and many men gravely wounded, most of them with burns. I went up on deck, helping to carry one of the wounded. The night was pitch black. Forward of the officer’s kitchen, that is almost amidships, I met a group of officers among whom were Admiral Cattaneo, Captain Corsi, Commander Brovelli [Cattaneo’ chief of staff ] and another two. I presented myself to Captain Corsi, telling him that I had been carrying out his orders in the engine room until a few minutes before. That I had decided to come up on deck when I had failed to obtain any reply from the bridge, and that there was nobody left below decks. “Excuse me”, he said, “I did not phone you anymore”. Then he took me by my arm and said: “Thank you. You have done your duty. I knew I could count on you”. The Admiral, who was a little away, said: “Good, Parodi! Now throw as much wood as you can into the water”. However, as I was leaving he asked me how long it would take to scuttle the ship. I answered that, in my opinion, it would have taken a few hours through mere flooding, half an hour by setting off the scuttling charges with a long fuse, and twenty minutes with a short fuse. Turning to Captain Corsi, Admiral Cattaneo said: “We really have to do as we decided”. Before leaving, I asked about the fire in the bow, and Captain (E) Bastianini [chief of the Engineering Services of the 1st Cruiser Division] told me it had been quenched. I went aft, and near the wardroom I met Lieutenant (E) Quercetti. I relayed to him the admiral’s orders and entered the wardroom with him in order to throw the tables and chairs into the sea. They floated well. In the wardroom there was a group of wounded men and I remember well fireman Nao who asked me: “Mr. Parodi, sir, do you think we will save ourselves?” “Certainly”, I said, “I am sure”. He then asked me for something to drink; I knocked down the door of the winery, already partially extirped, and from the wreckage I picked up seven or eight bottles. By breaking their necks, I gave liquor to several wounded men. Some of them had their faces burned and their lips swallowed and purple. I had to try to help them because I feared they could cut themselves, given their condition. When I got to one of them, I only had a little “Ersatz” gin left. “Such rubbish” he told me. “Can’t you give me a drop of the good one?” Lieutenant (E) Quercetti was shoeless and had slightly injured himself in one foot by walking on the broken glass. I accompanied him to my cabin and gave him a pair of my shoes. We then went to the port side gun deck and together we carried two large murals (?) which we threw into the sea on the leeward side. The floats that were not being used by the men in the water remained alongside the ship, as the ship drifted at a higher speed and carried them with her with her side. Most of the crew were already in the sea: some officers, helped by seamen, had thrown them some lines, and with these they pulled some aboard. The men pulled from the sea were for the most part in bad conditions, in a state of collapse and freezing. Sub-Lieutenant Celi especially distinguished himself in this rescue work. Among the officers who had remained aboard to help with the rescue work, I remember, in addition to the high ranking officers that I have already mentioned: Lieutenant Fabrizio, Sub-Lieutenant (E) Marchese, Sub-Lieutenant Celi, Lieutenant Arimondo, Sub-Lieutenant Tomaselli and, of course, Lieutenant (E) Quercetti. I did not see any wounded officers, but I was told that Lieutenant Baracchi had been wounded by a splinter while he was at manouvre station, and, carried to the infirmary, had been dead on arrival. Major Mazziotti and Lieutenant Foldi told me that they had carried the corpse to his cabin; they even asked me if I wished to see him, but I did not go. Ensign Moni had been wounded in the legs, but even in this condition he had done his utmost to quench the fire in the bow. Sub-Lieutenant Carraro had been seriously wounded in his hands. Nonetheless, he had done his utmost to throw overboard the ready-use ammunition in order to prevent it from catching fire. Meanwhile, the group that included the Admiral and the commanding officer had moved aft; I went near them; they were discussing the problem of the badly wounded men. The Carley floats had been thrown overboard immediately, but were now distant from the ship (the rafts in the bow had been destroyed). Only the port motorboat was left, but it could not be launched because the davit had been damaged. It was decided to put the most seriously wounded men on this boat anyway; a decision mostly taken, I think, in order to raise the morale of the men. But I had discovered that the boat was holed in its port side. (I later learned, while I was a prisoner in Egypt, that one of the wounded, Petty Officer Mazzella, who was in this boat, saved himself and was recovering in an hospital in Egypt). Commander Brovelli started to organize this operation and I saw him while he was personally helping carrying the wounded. Lieutenant Foldi, Lieutenant (E) Quercetti and, I think, Sub-Liuetenant Celi also helped. I helped carry three of the wounded. I cannot say how many were placed in the boat. The three that I had helped were placed on the deck. Commander Giannattasio was also among those who helped carry the wounded. I returned to the spot where Admiral Cattaneo and Captain Corsi had remained. The Admiral nervously asked where was his adjutant. Commander Brovelli, who was coming up in that moment and overheard the question, said: “Make me younger, Admiral. Let me be your adjutant. I already have the aiguillettes”. Brovelli’s behaviour, calm, good humour were always marvelous. After some time, I think around 1:15, the Admiral asked me again how long would it take for me to scuttle the ship. He looked nervous and evidently his thoughts were entirely focused on Zara’s destruction. I told him that if he wanted to do it safe and fast the best way was to blow her up. The Admiral, even more nervous, replied: “That’s what I have decided to do”. A voice that could have been Lieutenant Fabrizio’s then said: “We could do it towards dawn”. “Dawn or not dawn”, declared the Admiral, “I want the ship to be scuttled before the British come closer. And before dawn they will be surely here”. The Admiral did not have his lifebelt: he had given it to one of the wounded who complained for the cold. A little later I heard the voice of Commander Giannattasio who was calling someone below decks, and I went to him. He gave me a lifebelt: “Parodi, ten meters forward from here there is a wounded man without lifebelt. Go and make him wear it”. I carried out the order. Commander Giannattasio did his utmost everywhere to save everything and everyone and everyone had words of admiration for him. When I came back, Commander Giannattasio was talking with the Admiral and Captain Corsi, then he went to the lower decks together with Lieutenant (E) Quercetti. The latter later told me, when we were in Egypt, that they had gone down to open all the seacocks and to check on the scuttling charges. Captain Corsi, who was perfectly calm, asked for a cigarette. I had two and I gave him one, saying: “I’ll go to my cabin and pick up a few more packs”. I indeed took some cigarettes and my ID documents. I also wanted to take the photos of my wife and my daughters, but I did not dare. It seemed to me that I would be stealing something from our Zara, which I knew would soon disappear forever. I then went back up on deck and I offered a pack of cigarettes to the Captain. Smiling, he said: “Thank you, but I think they are too many!”. I quickly left, heading where there were groups of seamen and one or two officers. I met Lieutenant Foldi, who was now much calmer, and who talked to me again about Baracchi’s death. Lieutenant Arimondo was smoking his usual cigar. I greeted him and he told me in our Genoese dialect: “I am savoring this Toscano [type of cigar]. It might be the last”. It actually was. War correspondent Bardi was drenched wet and shivering with cold. I tapped him on the shoulder, saying: “Think what a great article you’ll be able to write now!” He smiled, saying “You never lose your good humour”. Indeed he wrote there his best article, sacrificing his life among the seamen who had learned to respect him. I returned to the group which was gathered around the Admiral, but almost immediately Captain Corsi ordered everyone to go astern. Within a short time, we were all there, I think about 200-250 people. The Admiral moved forward to the center of the group and climbed on the hatch of the officers’ ladder, saying: “A crew that goes from its ship to an enemy ship is a crew that surrenders. The crew of the Zara does not surrender. I have given order to scuttle the ship”. He then ordered the salute with cheers. Immediately thereafter, Captain Corsi jumped up in the Admiral’s place. “In a few minutes our Zara will cease to exist” he said. “When we will be in the sea, we will be shipwrecked. Maybe someone will be lucky and will be rescued by the enemy. Remember that in this case it is necessary to give your surname, name and rank. It is forbidden to give any other information and you must not give it”. He then ordered the salute with cheers and invited everyone to abandon ship. Commander Giannattasio had already gone down to light the fuses. I said goodbye to the Captain, who did not have his lifejacket. He shook my hand and told me: “Farewell”. In complete silence and perfect order, the crew jumped into the sea. Majors Mazziotti and Misitano were near me, and the former asked me to go with them. They jumped from the port side. I lowered myself into the sea by using a line. The water was very cold. I had a lifebelt and, as I entered the water, I avoided wetting my head and shoulders. This precaution probably saved me from the death that caught my companions. The lifebelt worked perfectly. I slowly let go the line and rejoined the two Majors, who were hanging on a plank. Along with them was a seaman whose name I don’t remember. Swimming around Zara’s stern, we crossed to the starboard side. I estimate that we were about a hundred meters away, when, near the aft engines, the first explosion took place, announced by a hiss; then we saw a white column rise. After about four or five minutes there was another explosion in the forward ammunition magazine. A white-pink column now rose to such an height that I could not evaluate. For a second the whole scene was illuminated. The flames gushed out in surges and seemed to throw up large and voluminous objects. When the flames subsided, in the remaining dim light I saw Zara list to starboard and start to capsize. A few minutes later we were reached by a series of enormous waves. Then everything was smooth.”

Of Zara’s crew of 1,086 men, only eight were picked up by an Italian vessel, the hospital ship Gradisca, on April 1st, 1941, after spending four days adrift in a life raft.

279 survivors had been rescued by British ships in the morning of 29 March: among them both our Parodis, as well as, of the other people mentioned in the account, Major Salvatore Misitano, Lieutenant (E) Lamberto Quercetti, Lieutenant Giuseppe Fabrizio, Sub-Lieutenant (E) Alfredo Marchese, Sub-Lieutenant Beniamino Celi, Petty Officer Gaetano Mazzella, and Fireman Domenico Pansini. They spent the next four or five years in POW camps in South Africa, India and other parts of the British Empire.

799 of Zara’s men perished, including (of the men mentioned in the account) Admiral Carlo Cattaneo, Captain Luigi Corsi, Captain (E) Domenico Bastianini, Commander Franco Brovelli, Commander Vittorio Giannattasio, Major Alberto Mazziotti, Lieutenant Commander (E) Pasquale Chiapperini, Lieutenant Giovanni Battista Arimondo, Lieutenant Enrico Baracchi, Lieutenant Carlo Foldi, Sub-Lieutenant Mario Carrara, Ensign Sergio Moni, Petty Officer Alvaro Filippi, Fireman Battista Nao, and war correspondent Gianantonio Bardi.

Zara's crew