Giovanni Zamparelli: "the most beautiful ship of the world" and the Armistice of Cassibile

Italy's famous sail training ship Amerigo Vespucci, the only Regia Marina ship still operational to this day, is known as “the most beautiful ship in the world”, as she was hailed in a radio message by USS Independence when they met in the Mediterranean in 1962. Built in 1931, she originally had a sister ship, Cristoforo Colombo.

Giovanni Zamparelli, twenty years old, was a cadet onboard Cristoforo Colombo, attending the second year at the Livorno Naval Academy, when the Armistice of Cassibile was announced on 8 September 1943. Since its foundation in 1881, the Academy has always had its seat in Livorno, but in the summer of 1943, after Livorno had been heavily bombed, it had been temporarily moved to Venice. At the time of the proclamation of the armistice, Amerigo Vespucci and Cristoforo Colombo, which formed the Training Ship Group together with Palinuro, were carrying out a training cruise in the northern Adriatic Sea. What followed is described in Zamparelli's diary:

"Trieste, Wednesday, 8 September 1943

Finally, today, after two days of sailing, we were supposed to remain in port; everyone, indeed, thought that they would enjoy a full shore leave. Life on board went on as usual until 10:00, when there was an air raid alert. But after an hour all ended without anything extraordinary [happening]. At 15:00, suddenly, the news spread: it seems that we are leaving. The news reach me [while I am] in my cot: I am still half asleep and I refuse to go, but the assembly calls me back to reality. It is true indeed, we are leaving and hastily, too. We throw a glance around in the port and we see that all the steamers have their engines under pressure and and are preparing to depart. At 16:00 we too set sail, followed by Vespucci and Palinuro [another sail training ship, formerly the Yugoslav Vila Velebita, captured in 1941. Not to be confused with the current Palinuro, which is a different ship]. We know nothing about the reason of our departure, much less about our destination. Some say that this morning, during the air raid alert, a reconnaissance aircraft photographed the harbour and that we are leaving to escape a possible air raid. But nothing is certain and a certain commotion reigns onboard. The four hospital ships that had been in Trieste for two days sail at our side in line ahead, but they soon leave, steaming (apparently) towards Venice. We are following the Istrian coast and now it seems certain that we will go to Pola. We are escorted by two MAS and one aircraft. By now nobody makes questions anymore and everybody is calm when suddenly news spread onboard about the amistice. A seaman runs towards the forecastle, loudly calling his mates; small crowds form and the news spread in the blink of an eye. 20:30 Now the radio tramsitted Badoglio’s proclamation. Italy, having acknowledged the impossibility of resisting the enemy’s superpower, has sent a request of armistice to the English [sic] command. The terms have been accepted, therefore all resistance on every front ceases from this moment; on the other side the government pledges to resist enemy infiltration of foreign powers. The news seem unbelievable. We hear excited voices and even some screams of joy by some irresponsible people. The commanding officer gathers us all in the forecastle. He is moved and outraged. He speaks hastily, a bit excidetly. He attacks those idiots who yelled and finally urges u sto stay united in this moment more than ever. By now, onboard, a stifling silence reigns everywhere; few men still feel the need to discuss, everyone withdraw into themselves to think. I look beyond the ship’s side and think. The moon shines unperturbed above us. A man next to me seems to be weeping, but I am not sure, nor do I turn to look at him, I feel the need to remain alone to think and fret my soul. The voyage continues, without anything new or important [happening]. At 24:00 we enter the harbour of Pola. (…) Finally at 2:00 we are moored at a buoy and everybody goes to bed. I am on guard duty amidships and therefore I have to stay up till 4:00. I am alone and I start thinking about the rumors that circulated aboard today. Among other things, they said that the Germans have occupied Trieste, and there are even some [men] who stated they had seen smoke when we sailed away from Trieste. Is this true? What will they think of me at home? At 4:00 I finally go to sleep. I feel extremely tired: as soon as I reach the wardroom I lay down, but I cannot fall asleep. Too many things happened today.

Thursday, 9 September 1943.

I get up at 6:00, as usual. Now I feel sleepy and I’d like to sleep. As soon as possible, I go up on deck; the weather [sky?] above us is grey, with low-lying mist. The weather, I feel, makes the atmosphere reigning onboard even gloomier: it is the famous awakening after a catastrophe. It seems to me that the sadness is ever greater than yesterday: at this point everyone has had the time to reflect about the seriousness and irreparabilità of the situation. Even those who yesterday were screaming, I think, are now sad. Some say that we will soon leave again. We are at the buoy at the entrance of Pola harbour. Inside the port we can see a battleship, the Giulio Cesare, and a destroyer; their engines are under pressure and they are ready to depart. (…) Around 9:30 we set sail, but it’s not very clear what is our destination: some say it is Kotor. I have been told that on the register it has been written: The training campaign for the cadets of the Royal Naval Academy ends today, wartime sailing now begins.

Friday, 10 September 1943.

We sailed all night with course south-east, towards Cattaro. At 7:15 we spot an Italian submarine, far away. At 8:00 another submarine, nationality unknown, is spotted, but it soon disappears over the horizon. Palinuro is always towed by Vespucci (…) There are always those who want to yap, and they would suggest to scuttle Palinuro and abandon her in the middle of the sea. Who knows, perhaps they are nervous and they fear that they aren’t fleeing fast enough. Palinuro emits some smoke every now and then, and finally around 12:00 she is again able to sail on her own. At 12:30 we are roughly off San Benedetto del Tronto. 13:00: signals from Vespucci. News immediately spread aboard that we cannot go to Kotor because the Germans are there. We reverse course and sail towards Ancona, as our commander had been suggesting for a long time. Palinuro with Commander Giudice carries on along the previous course and soon disappears, emitting smoke and with all sails set. What will she do? Where will she go? We also know that she has little food aboard. We are now off Fiume. By now, we have reversed course twice in a short time. Nobody knows if we should go north or south. We are indecision personified. It seems to me that there is not enough courage to make a decision and that we are just buying time. Perhaps it is right [to do so]: we are waiting for some message [with orders/clarification]. But they are now saying that Rome is no longer broadcasting. It seems to me that someone onboard is nervous. I am extraordinarily calm; in fact, this feeling of adventure almost does not displease me. 17:40: a submarine of unknown nationality is sighted. The submarine makes a sharp turn towards us; we alter course to get away. A merchant ship that is nearby turns away at full speed to escape. 18:40: the submarine is recognized as Italian, it’s the Ametista. Vespucci stops her engines and the submarines comes alongside her, it seems to me that we [too] are stopping. 19:15: the commander goes back on board and the submarine gets in motion again. The crew is lined up on deck. “At attention” is sounded, and onboard and from the submarine echoes the cry: “Long live the king!”. Ametista sails away amid a waving of caps, alone on the vast sea in the indecision of the moment. We are all a bit moved. I now learn that Rome has been occupied by the Germans. How will my parents be doing? What will they do? The stewards are beastly nervous; some tables had to serve themselves; our [steward] did not eat and ceded us his portion. Better this way. They say that they have been told that the Academy has been disbanded and they are all desperate. 20:00: we are sailing towards Ancona. 24:00: I am on guard duty at the engine order telegraph. (…) Sixty miles to Ancona.

Saturday, 11 September 1943.

We are now a short distance from Ancona. The ships stop. Our commander goes on board Vespucci in order to have a consultation. 7:00: general assembly on the forecastle; the commanding officer talks to us. News just came, he tells us, that the Germans are close to Ancona, it is therefore not possible to enter that port. We will sail towards Venice, because, although the Germans advancing from Trieste are already in Conegliano, it seems that there is no danger for now. “Do you want to throw yourselves in the mouth of the Germans?” The commander asked us; but with his decision it seems to everyone that we are indeed throwing ourselves in their hands or that we will at least end up cut off, in a foreign place not suitable for resistance. We will sail north towards the open sea and in the night we will throw ourselves on the coast. If we’ll have to fight, we will fight and we will defend ourselves, says the commander. There are 150 rifles onboard and a few hand grenades. Monte Conero [a promontory near Ancona] appears on the horizon and slowly disappears from view, thus fades another destination of this pilgrimage of us. The crew of the launch, who have been onboard Vespucci, say that there is a little confusion onboard [her]: and even here, now, there is a certain apprehension. We see that the lifeboats are being readied, and the motorboats are being refuelled. Suddenly explodes the urge for the backpacks. Everyone wants to get the large backpacks from the seamen and thus pack their things. Who knows why? Assembly is ordered, the backpacks are unpacked (…). The voyage carries on regularly; the sea has become desert; since this morning we have not met a single steamer, only two aircraft appeared far away on the horizon. Around 13:00 we sight a minesweeper sailing south: it comes alongside and tells us that they have escaped from Fiume, which is now in the hands of the Croats. There are even some women aboard. Radio London [BBC broadcasts in Italian] repeats once again the same story: the English [sic] are in Taranto and Salerno and are advancing; Italian ships (4 battleships and 7 cruisers) have reached Malta. The Germans are in Brindisi and Bari and in almost all cities of Northern Italy: Turin, Genoa, Bologna, even Milan has fallen. Of Rome I learn that before the ocupation there were several artillery duels and that now the English [sic] are having fun efficaciously bombing the German stongholds. Poor Italy! What will be of my parents? What will they do? This is the thought that torments me the most and that does not give me rest. 16:00: news have now spead that the Germans are in Padua as well. Will it be true? The voyage carries on regularly; we are now about sixty miles from Venice. 17:40: we sight a bragozzo [traditional Adriatic sailing boat, used for fishing]. It comes alongside us. The men speak excitedly; a strong excitement still shines through their words and their faces. They say that they come from Venice, where the Germans have now arrived. The Germans are in Piazzale Roma [large square on the mainland used as bus station, main access to the the old city] and there are German submarines in front of the lagoon. The command of the fortress area, they say, gave contradictory orders, sail and not sail, and they managed to escape. We come closer to Vespucci; (…) the bragozzo staggers away towards the south. A launch (…) carries Captain Siamarra onboard Vespucci. The consultation is pretty long; the captain returns onboard and we leave at last (course 130). We are now about forty miles from Venice. The morale onboard suddenly rises. A short time earlier, we had received a sermon from the commander for our apprehension; but now we are going south. Some lucky star is protecting us: someone is praying for us; where would we have ended up if we had not met that bragozzo? I feel like I am living a Salgarian adventure: I feel like we are those pirates who sail the seas asking for information from boats and small boats. Some seamen are singing on the forecastle. It is a rather melancholy song, but it matches with this lunar landscape. (…) It seems that we are heading for the Tremiti Islands.

Sunday, 12 September 1943.

The voyage continues regularly. (…) Luckily the sea remains desert. Radio London continues broadcasting the usual news: the 35,000-ton battleship that has been sunk was the Roma. Additionally, it makes public the conditions of the armistice: if they can be called conditions, as it seems to me that there are almost none. They say that English [sic] forces are patrolling the entrance of the Adriatic. 11:30: we sight a fishing boat. We halt; the fishing boat comes alongside Vespucci. A Sub-Lieutenant and about twenty men are aboard; they are armed and have a lot of ammunition. They tell us they come from Split, that has been occupied, and they mean to reach the coast of the Marche. The Brindisi radio knows our call sign and continuously calls us. We do not reply. (…) 13:00: Radio London reports that the English [sic] have arrived in Brindisi and have seized the city and the harbour. 17:00: we now learn that Vespucci responded to the calls from Brindisi; she also got in contact with Taranto. Let’s hope the communication was not intercepted by German stations, or else. (…) I now learn some news that the minesweeper coming from Venice had delivered yesterday: the cadets of the 3rd class abandoned Venice onboard the [liner] Saturnia. 19:30: we halt and our commander goes onboard Vespucci. When he comes back, we learn that it has been decided to go straight to Brindisi. On my part, I am not displeased: we are no longer going to buy time in the Tremiti Islands, we have a destination, make it or break it. The crew is a bit exicted; more frankly: they are nervous as buffalos. Among other things, rumors have spread that the English radio said that out of 27 Italian steamers that tried to cross the strait of Otranto, 15 have been sunk. Mr. Bini gathers us all on the forecastle and speaks to us; he speaks well, and as always I feel he is very simpathetic. Later the commander also speaks to us and to the crew. The seamen have made a black flag with skull and with the words “Battaglione Colombo” [Colombo Battalion]. I now learn that around 4:00 we should meet two corvettes sent from Brindisi to rendez-vous with us. We look for them all the night but although there is the moon, there is low-lying fog that impairs visibility.

Monday, 13 September 1943.

07:00: we sight the smoke of two ships. They are the corvettes that finally have reached us. After so much time, we are no longer alone. We can finally defend ourselves. (…) The voyage continues regularly for the entire day. We only sight an aircraft, but it does not come close. (…) There is some apathy onboard; we are safe now and we all think that maybe these are the last hours of freedom. After five days of tension and little sleep I feel tired. 20:00: an engine explodes with a loud crash, luckily without injuring anyone. Providence wants us to notice how much it protected us in these days. Where would we be now if this breakdown had happened two days ago? We must all recognize that we had blind luck. We carry on with the surviving engine; at this point, we are very close to the harbour. We clean the ship and ourselves; everyone changes clothes; we expect an inspection onboard by some English [sic] authority as soon as we’ll arrive. The pilot comes aboard and around 21:00 we drop anchor in the outer roadstead. Although it is now dark, we can see that everything is normal around us, we don’t see any destruction. From the pilot we learn that there is not a single English here and that they have never been seen at all. We are a bit confused but we don’t ask any question: by now we are used to see all sort of things. These six days have changed us. We are about to finally go to sleep in our cots after five days, when we are called on deck for a speech by Mr. Bini. We return to the wardroom but are again called on deck. This time it’s the commanding officer talking to us, and he relates to us the latest news. Of the English [sic], here in Brindisi, there is not even the shadow. The third class has happily arrived here and are now housed at the naval college. The Italian fleet has been allowed to keep its flag. Finally, the commander informs us that the Naval Academy won’t be disbanded, but will regularly continue its courses. The third class has already resumed its lessons. The commander asks us if we are happy of this news. Nobody speaks and a heavy silence oppresses everyone. Eventually, after some solicitation, some “yes” are heard. The news causes a surge of voices and discussions. I don’t know what to think".

Palinuro, lacking enough fuel to reach an Allied or Italian-controlled port, was ordered to reach Ortona, Abruzzo, where she remained immobilized and was sabotaged and then abandoned by her crew as German troops occupied the town. The Germans unsuccessfully tried to get her back in sailing condition and eventually, when they retreated from Ortona in December 1943, they blew her up.

Ametista, after meeting Vespucci and Colombo, reached Ancona – at the time still in Italian hands – and then sailed again on 12 September, heading south. After a few hours, however, her commander, who disagreed with the armistice, scuttled the submarine off the town of Numana.

Cristoforo Colombo was handed over to the Soviet Union in 1949, by order of the peace treaty. She was renamed Dunay and used by the Soviet Navy as a training ship in the Black Sea until 1963, when she was destroyed by a fire.

Vespucci is still happily with us.

 

Vespucci and Colombo in Brindisi, September 1943