PART THREE
ITALY
24
The Riviera Campaign
Welcome to the Riviera. The same lack of progress as Flanders, but not the same equipment. Less recognition than there or Spain. The weather isn’t too bad.
John Pemberton, Midnight in Marseilles (1927)
Compared to the other fronts, or even the war at sea, it is hard to call any part of the Western European Theatre of the Great War a ‘forgotten’ part of the conflict. If, however, there is one, it is the series of battles fought in south-eastern France between the winter of 1911-12 and the Viareggio Landings. Known as the Riviera Campaign, it was never the focal point of the war. The Flanders-Northern France Front was never short of attention, while Spain’s time in the limelight was offered by the nation’s position as the weak link. When attention turned to the war with Italy though, it was to the audacious operation that functionally ended the war in the Riviera.
Much as it was never the priority for the Entente, it was likewise never the main concern for the Italians. Having failed to achieve a breakthrough in 1911, they contented themselves largely with holding the line, preferring to commit their attentions to the Pact campaign to occupy the Balkans. It was not until the collapse of the Spanish regime that the imminent redirection of Entente armies their way forced Italian High Command to devote the lion’s share of their attention to the most obvious avenue of attack. This too, would disappear once the King’s Own Scottish Borderers waded ashore at C Beach.
However, the lack of attention paid to the Riviera Campaign does not mean it did not matter. Had either side gained the upper hand decisively, it would have immediately forced a halt to offensive action in Spain and the Balkans. The retreating side would be compelled to reinforce, while the advancing would equally have an obligation to press their advantage on, the most important front on the Mediterranean Coast [1]. It also had a major impact, of course, for the many men who fought in it, and for the local population. One of the combatants, in fact, produced what is one of the finest novels about the war.
Midnight in Marseilles, by John Pemberton, who served with the 10th Battalion, Northumberland Fusiliers, was first published in 1927. Set over an unspecified period of time, in an unspecified part of the south-eastern French front, in an unspecified unit, the novel offers a richly detailed look at the rhythm of the campaign. Its publication finally offered the veterans of the war in the Riviera their day in the sun [2].
2nd Lieutenant John Pemberton, shortly after commissioning
Though Midnight in Marseilles is still very much a war novel, and includes scenes of combat and deprivation in the trenches, it is perhaps more notable for its descriptions of the world away from the front. The third chapter of the book is dominated by a week-long journey through the key cities on the Entente side of the line, Toulon, Marseilles, and Arles. It is telling of Pemberton’s skill at capturing the mood that the French translation is considered a part of the region’s cultural heritage.
Toulon, the closest city to the front, he describes thus:
It is a city at war, but not because of the presence of soldiers like us. Rather, it is the nervous, tense energy that permeates every interaction. The heightened sensitivity of the inhabitants to noise; their instinct to look at any sudden movement in the periphery; the whole of Toulon has not just the trappings, in sandbags and military signposts, but the feeling of a trench.
At first, this might seem an absurd thing. After all, are we not on leave here, far from any trench? But there is the rub. We are on leave and, should the line move here, we shall find another place to go on leave. For the people of the city, there is no alternative. Since the start of the war, a movement in the Riviera that may barely register on the map could well mean occupation. As we listen out for the shell that could end our lives if it falls just a little closer, they listen out for the sound of the front (always faintly audible) that could end their lives as they know them if it comes just a little closer.
Marseilles, on the other hand, the group finds livelier:
It is, of course, not as it was before the war. It is not so tense though. The cafés will still have the buzz of conversation and, if you know the right old waiter to ask (for they are, all, old. The young men were called long ago), you may find yourself purchasing some regional wine in the alley. It is at a price that would make the most inveterate dipsomaniac think twice, but then, the only type of person who can both afford it and be just that desperate for drink is a group of soldiers on leave.
The wine allows for some flirting with a group of the local mademoiselles which goes nowhere, as not much can be shared of two bottles between three men anyway. Far more excitement is gained from trying to hide the effects of said bottles from the MPs. They are a particularly humorous sort here, being subjected to the revelries of every Tommy that ever got short leave or passed through for a night. We have now joined the proud ranks of those who have passed under their watchful, tired gaze.
Finally, there is Arles:
This is a military city, and not because of its proximity to the front. No, this is a military city because soldiers outnumber civilians, and it is not in any way a close contest. Every major building has been colonised by some command or other. The joint command of Haig and the French in City Hall. Our Corps in the abandoned primary school (one of the reasons we outnumber the inhabitants is that many left in the early days of the war, fearing the advancing Italians, and there was little incentive to come back to a town they had lost; just not to the army they expected). The mayor works from his own house now, along with what little of the city council is left relevant. The British are running the river and the French the trains.
As a result, the place has a faint feeling of the barracks. Everything is just a little too clean and stowed away. Save for the occasional elderly who refused to leave, almost everyone is walking in lockstep. There is no café serving liquor for those in the know here. That does not mean it is completely unavailable. It is just that, as with all barracks, it must be procured from a private or lower-ranking NCO with a shameless trade in all contraband (and similarly shameless disregard for quality).
British troops on leave, trading Sterling for Francs at Marseilles-Saint-Charles Station
This was one of the main differences between the Riviera Campaign and the war further north, though neither moved much. The smaller scale of things (and the distance from Britain) allowed for a sort of intimacy to develop with the surrounding area. In Flanders and Northern France, units would become very familiar with the front, but leave would often be spent at home. If not there, Paris offered a draw that homogenised the experience of many men with France outside the immediate vicinity of their trench.
On the Riviera, the Arles-Marseilles-Toulon trio offered different experiences, and soldiers were able to take advantage of those experiences more consistently. This was not only because the front was quieter, and so leave was not so often halted on news of imminent attacks, but because the lower intensity of the fighting meant that men were less likely to be invalided home before they could take more than a handful of trips out into the country. It is not a coincidence that, unlike novels in which leave at home or a singular trip out into the wider country is a set-piece, Midnight in Marseilles is named after a place well behind the line, and returns there often.
Neither is this to say that the Campaign was not, at times, extremely violent and feature large-scale attempts to break the opposing line. Alpine warfare in particular, further up the Rhône Basin, was a gruelling and bloody affair. As in the Pyrenees to the west, the terrain could just as easily cause casualties as the enemy, with landslides and avalanches not an unknown phenomenon thanks to artillery fire being used, sometimes, to induce them. The battles in the Aix-en-Provence Corridor in the summer of 1913 – when the Italian Army bet that the combination of Entente efforts elsewhere in the Western Theatre would starve their opponents of materiel – were some of the most intense in the entire war, with casualty ratios approaching those of the slaughter in Flanders and Northern France [3].
Despite the lack of attention, it is estimated that some 270,000 men of the British Armed Forces were posted to the Riviera at one point or another between 3 October 1911 and 12 August 1914. 31,934 were killed there. There were more deaths in combat for the British Army in the Riviera over that timespan than for the entire Napoleonic Wars (1804-1815). Only in a cataclysm on the scale of the Great War could the Riviera ever have become a ‘forgotten front’.
[1] – For the Ottomans, their own were obviously more important, while Suez was arguably more vital to Britain. For the war as a whole though, its connection and consequence for the other two fronts in France, and Italy’s position in the Pact relative to Spain, made the Riviera more important by far.
[2] – It also played a small role in bringing the Christmas Truce to the forefront of the narrative of the Great War, as it prompted veterans to reminisce about the event.
[3] – The appalling rate of loss did not receive the commensurate attention because the number of men involved for both sides was simply not on the scale of the titanic clashes happening on the latter front at the same time.