Round-up at San Giorgio Di Nogaro

Round-up at San Giorgio Di Nogaro

German soldiers have entered the town square during the day and are herding civilians together by pointing guns and shouting orders. Five figures (who have their hands tied behind their backs) have been separated out and taken towards the front of a building.

Label reads “250”: signed by the author; caption reads “17 MARZO 1945.S. GIORGIO DI NOGARO UD, rastrellamento tedesco, il paese è circondato, tutti gli uomini concentrati in piazza XXo settembre; io abito in quella casa all’angolo al no 37, nulla mi sfugge dall’inizio alla fine. Ma dalla mia casa è possibile fuggire, si cercano capi partigiani i quali simulando malore, vengono soccorsi dall’ostetrica, mia madre e fatti fuggire. Un giovanissimo soldato Tedesco di guardia davanti la mia casa, in precedenza aveva chiesto a mia madre: “mamma pane, io tanta fame!” e mia madre gliè nè dà. Lui si era accorto che le persone uscite di lì, non erano più rientrate ed accorato e grato di quello che aveva ricevuto da mia madre, gli dice: mamma non farlo piu, ti bruciano la casa! Dall’alba al muro, da ore, 5 uomini, attendono, in un stillicidio tremendo il momento dell‘esecuzione, G. I. sorpreso all‘alba perche cantava per le vie del paese, al muro, in tasca teneva palottole [sic] di pistola. Se le passa in bocca, divelle col piede un ciottolo della cunetta, ed una alla volta, le sputa a piombo nella buca. E. N. è catturato con una mattassa di filo di rame, sabotatore è messo al muro il filo era mio e veniva a riportarmelo, gliè lo avevo imprestato per la pesca. Quella tremenda giornata iniziata male, finì bene, nessuno venne fucilato, alcuni sospettati furono portati via, ma poi tornarono a casa.”

Caption translates as: “17 March 1945 – German sweeping in San Giorgio di Nogaro (Udine province). The village is surrounded, and all men are gathered in the 20th September Square. I live in that house on the corner, number 377. I didn’t miss anything, from beginning to end. However, it is possible to evade from where I live. They are looking for partisan leaders who, faking a sudden illness, are aided by my mother, an obstetrician. She helped them escape. A young German soldier was on watch in front of my house. He had already asked my mother before: “Mom. Bread. I’m really hungry!”, and my mother gave him some. He noticed the people going out of the house who never came back and, heartfelt and thankful for what my mother gave him, told her: “Mom, don’t do that again or they’ll set your house on fire!”. From dawn, for hours, five men are awaiting their execution at the wall. It felt like an eternal and distressing trickle of dread. G.I. was caught at dawn singing in the streets of the village. While at the wall, he had some gun bullets in his pockets. He put the bullets on the inside of his mouth; he removed a cobblestone from the ditch with his foot; and, one at a time, he perpendicularly spat them in the hole. E.N. was caught holding a copper wire bundle. He was considered a saboteur, so he was put at the wall. The wire was mine and he was taking it back to me. He borrowed it because he wanted to go fishing. That horrible day started off on a low note, but it ended on a high one: nobody was shot and those suspects who were taken away, came back home.”

One tempera on paper, pasted on mount board

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