The title says “ahead” but in fact I’m going to take you back a few years, well within living memory, to the epoch when you traveled by train and the train traveled by coal. I mean steam.
Venice’s fascinating past isn’t limited to Carnival and Casanova; there are plenty of people (Lino, for example) who still vividly remember when the mighty steam locomotives ruled the rails, and the Santa Lucia terminal was at work, day and night, with the coming and going of these behemoths. (Spoiler alert: Lino’s father was a macchinista, or train driver, so I am relying on Lino for some information.)
My curiosity awoke some time ago, when we were passing through Castelfranco Veneto on the train and Lino casually pointed out this rusty derelict beside the station tracks.
“See that?” he asked. “That was what they used to fill the steam trains’ tanks with water.” A monster faucet, in other words.Compared to Castelfranco, the city of Feltre has a much keener appreciation of its old train relics.Like animals, the locomotives needed food (coal) and water. These were often, though not always, carried in a tender, the vehicle attached to the engine. “Acqua” is water and “carbone” is coal. Excuse me if you figured that out. The water was topped up at important stops along the way by means of the trackside apparatus shown above. One source states that a roundtrip (distance not specified!) locomotive in the Thirties consumed 771 pounds/350 kilos of coal and 528 gallons/2000 liters of water, transporting a maximum of 80 passengers.
Let’s say trains don’t interest you much. But you might be surprised to see how many traces remain around the area of the station, if you know what you’re looking at.
First, a bit of background.
This is the church of Santa Lucia; it stood for centuries on the Grand Canal until it was inconveniently in the way of the structure that was needed by the trains. It was demolished between 1861-1863. The church of the Scalzi is still in place, a few steps further on. (Francesco Guardi, c. 1780).Perhaps not the most memorable facade of the many Venetian churches, but it was fine until it wasn’t. But at least the name “Santa Lucia” was preserved in the name of the station.The train station looked like this from the 1860s to the 1940’s. After the Second World War the project was to build today’s station. When he was a boy Lino knew the area as one big construction site as this station came down and the new one emerged.Now we have this. Although today’s station was designed in the Thirties (this is evident), it was built in 1952.
So much for setting the scene. Back to the trains themselves.
Let’s imagine we’re in the Venice station on any ordinary day back in the first half of the 20th century. It was full of colossi like these. In fact, for several generations there wasn’t anything else.
I am not a train connoisseur, but I know massive when I see it. This locomotive steamed into the Santa Lucia station the night of October 29, 2021, as the “Train of Memory,” retracing the route of the coffin of the Unknown Soldier to Rome a century earlier.This wouldn’t have impressed anybody back in the day. It was normal. And really noisy, too, between blasts of steam and assorted screeching whistles. And let’s not forget the mayhem of the crowds when the families were leaving for their summer holiday in the mountains. The trains were so full that sometimes people were passing their kids into the carriages by the windows. Not made up. My source was one of those kids.Steam trains were still normal in Venice in 1973, here arriving at Santa Lucia (Wikipedia, not credited). The last steam locomotive in Italy was decommissioned in 1976. It operated a daily passenger service and some freight services on the Udine-Cervignano route (in Friuli). Since 2008 some steam locomotives are back in service, but only for historical trains on special occasions.This was the engine that Lino’s father drove (that is him in the photo.) His usual route was up the Valsugana, from Venice to Trento and, obviously, back again. But he could also work the shifts required to reposition the locomotives and/or carriages into the configurations needed for the next day’s trains. That went on all night; his shift went from 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. Note that this train didn’t use a tender for the water and coal, which went into the black box just in front of him. (Do not ask for details; I don’t have them.) The first passenger carriage is clearly right behind him.
So where did all this maneuvering of the rolling stock take place? As close to the station as the water allowed.
The red lines are bridges, yellow are where tracks were or bits still are; green is where the trains were reshuffled. Ignore Tronchetto, for the purposes of this discussion; it wasn’t built until the 1960’s.A military photograph c. 1915 shows the area marked in green above when it was full of trains. The station is on the right side of the frame, and the bridge to the mainland is in the upper right. Those long lines that look like perforations are trains-in-waiting. The central area was used for the locomotives. (Available from Il Cantuccio del Collezionista https://ilcantucciodelcollezionista.it/index.html)A detail of the photograph, just to make those little dots clearer. I repeat: Each of those is a train carriage. Perhaps not as impressive as Milan or Rome, but frankly they made better use of their limited space here in Venice than I’ve ever been able to do at home.This is the deposito, or train-sorting area, today. We discovered this morning that the tracks strewn around for years, if not ages, are being removed. I imagine it will create more parking space.A better view of the tracks on the left (drawn in yellow on the map) leading toward the Marittima.Leftover tracks that were easier to just pave over than remove.This bridge connected the station area to the right with the train yard. Fun fact: Decades ago the rectangular space just to the right of the bridge was used as a pool by the Rari Nantes swimming club. There was a similar setup along the Zattere for swimming in the Giudecca Canal. Not made up.The same bridge seen in real life. The Santa Lucia station (with red train) is just on the other side of the Grand Canal.One of the perks of working for the railway was the allotment of coal you were given for your own use, and it was distributed in the area on the right side of the bridge. The railway workers would come in their (or someone’s) boat — rowed, no motors — and tie up five or six deep parallel to the embankment when they went to collect it. One reason for doing it there may have been because the station where the freight trains were handled was on that side.This was the building where the organizing of the freight train maneuvering was done.Freight trains carrying fruit and vegetables would slide onto the special tracks along the waterfront facing Piazzale Roma.The trains stopped along the edge of the embankment and off-loaded the fruit/veg onto boats (again, not motorboats, but big boats such as caorlinas or battellos that were rowed) that took the produce to the neighborhood vendors. The building served as a warehouse for whatever had not been taken away that day.The railway bridge connecting the station to the deposito seen from the water.That’s a serious underbelly. It would have to look like this if it was going to support countless tons of iron machinery 24 hours a day.
Let’s shift our attention to the tracks that carried the freight trains to and from the waterfront at the Marittima area (Santa Marta and San Basilio).
This bridge enabled the freight trains to cross from the yard down to the Marittima.Here is a look at the bridge indicated on the map just above. We’re heading toward Santa Marta. The top bridge carries the little “People Mover” train that connects Piazzale Roma on the left to the parking area at Tronchetto (and until just a few years ago, to the cruise-ship Venice Passenger Terminal, now empty and useless). The middle bridge is a simple footbridge for the people going from their parked cars to the city. And the third bridge carried the freight trains to San Basilio.A closer look at the ex-railway bridge, as we proceed toward Santa Marta. The flat roofs are part of the Venice Passenger Terminal complex at Tronchetto.The same bridge as seen when going toward Piazzale Roma.A general view of the Santa Marta waterfront, where the tracks used to be. A group of the houses to the left of the University IUAV were built expressly for the families of the train workers. The only catch was that when the worker died, the family had to move out. Logical! And awful!Flanking the Scomenzera canal, the tracks are just behind that transparent wall.That zone behind the wall is something of a railway graveyard.But when the trains were working, the tracks just snaked their way around the church of Santa Marta.This was Santa Marta when the trains and the port were working at full capacity (c. 1930).
The warehouses and offices at San Basilio are now almost entirely dedicated to non-maritime pursuits.Lino’s father’s official train-driver’s watch is still running. The plastic case was crucial protection from the coal dust blowing everywhere.This is the watch in its natural state.The caption says this scene was at the station, but Lino says it was in the deposito area where the trains were assembled. The process of electrification has begun, as the cables show. I’m not romanticizing anything. Just saying that the trains were a huge part of Venetian life.
Yesterday was December 13, as you know, and it was also the feast day of Santa Lucia, as you know now.
Not-so-trivia alert: The inescapable but ever-beautiful Neapolitan song, “Santa Lucia,” which is known everywhere as far as the Tadpole Galaxy, does not refer to the lovely Sicilian martyr. It refers to Borgo Santa Lucia, a waterfront neighborhood of Naples which is named for the lovely Sicilian martyr. Words such as “ship,” “sea,” and “Naples” spangling the song kind of give it away, at least if you understand Italian or Neapolitan.
Words may come and go, but someone hit on a melody which is impossible to forget. It even works in Thai. The Italian founder of Silpakorn University in Bangkok, Prof. Corrado Feroci, loved it so much that he used the tune as the setting for the official song of the university.
What does all this have to do with Venice? St. Lucy’s mortal remains lie in state above the high altar of the church of S. Geremia, having been moved from her very own church in 1861 when it was demolished to make room for the railway station. (Which is why the Venice station is subtitled “Santa Lucia.”)
The church of Santa Lucia in Venice, as seen by Canaletto in the mid 1700’s. Hint: It’s the one on the left — a few doors down is the fancy facade of the church of the Scalzi, which looks the same today. (c) National Galleries of Scotland; Supplied by The Public Catalogue FoundationThe church of Santa Lucia in 1861, shortly before it was demolished to make room for the train station. (photo by Bonaldi)
Saint Lucy is the saint responsible for addressing eye problems. The only time I ever went to services at San Geremia on her feast day I was struck by the huge floral arrangement offered by the Ophthalmologists’ Association of the Veneto, which was extremely gracious, though odd. Wouldn’t she be the one to put them out of business?
In the old days in Venice, people used to link St. Lucy’s day to freezing cold: “DaSanta Lussia, el fredo crussia” (St. Lucy’s Day, the cold is excruciating). Global warming has sent that saying off to follow the dodo. Anyone who utters this phrase nowadays — me, for instance — is indulging in nostalgia.
But St. Lucy maintains her place in another common exchange. Let’s say you run across someone you know, whom you compliment. Example: “Hey, you’re looking good.” Rejoinder: “Thank St. Lucy who’s given you good eyes.” Depending on the tone of voice, the remark allows for plenty of deprecation, implying anything from “Thank St. Lucy, but you should go get your eyes checked” to “Thank St. Lucy, but are you going blind?” Evidently she can control your eyesight at will.
She was blinded before being killed, hence the eyeballs on the plate. In case we were to forget this point.
She was a native of Siracusa, and her body was brought here in 1280. The specific reason was probably the general reason for such events (Venice possessed some A-list relics, such as the remains of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr, and Saint Zachary, father of John the Baptist), to wit, money! Sorry, I meant offerings and gifts from religious pilgrims. Religious tourism was a very big deal in the old days, and everybody wanted to make the most of their saints. Naturally, the people of Siracusa want to have her back. She’s like the Elgin Marbles. But Venice has determined to keep her, though the patriarch did allow her to return home for a while a few years ago. I can’t remember why. Maybe it was her birthday.
Yesterday Lino gave me a startling new bit of Lucy lore. He was geezing about how it used to be one of the biggest feast days celebrated in Venice and now nobody pays the slightest bit of attention to her (except for annual flowers and recurrent badinage). And then he said “And everybody used to eat storti with whipped cream.”
Whipped cream I know, but storti? Literally, it means “crooked,” and I’ve heard an elderly person refer to somebody crafty or cunning as a “storto dal Dolo.” This is a jest, because while “storto” is clearly not high praise (calling someone “crooked” isn’t pretty in English, either), saying that the sneaky person came from Dolo actually refers to a well-known sort of waffle cone made in Dolo, a town on the Brenta river which used to be famous for producing this crunchy little item. Every March Dolo puts on the “Carnival of the Storti.”
Cones and cream, in whatever form, are evidently destined for each other, the Ilsa and Rick of fattening snacks. I didn’t know St. Lucy encouraged people to eat them, but I say any saint’s feast day ought to call for whipped cream.
So I immediately started nagging Lino to take me to somewhere I could eat storti with whipped cream, and although he said you used to be able to get them anywhere in Venice, he remembered a place not far from the church of San Geremia. We went in and asked if they had storti with whipped cream. “Of course,” said the woman behind the bar, in a way that implied that we might have asked if they had electricity.
For any traveler who wants to chance his arm, or palate, I will reveal that this confection was consumed at the Bar Gelateria Da Nini in the Strada Nova a few steps from the Ponte delle Guglie at number 1306. I am not responsible for your arteries, I’m just fulfilling my journalistic responsibilities.
The whipped cream was slobbed out of a large bucket kept in the fridge under the bar. It’s an astonishing amount for a comestible I’d always thought of as garnish.The “storto” cleverly acts as a sort of shovel for the cream. The spoons are because there was no way to eat all the cream in just three little cones and they thought Lino might give me a hand, which he did not. Undaunted, I finished almost all of it, although that’s a heck of a lot of cream. Or maybe you’re supposed to spend 45 minutes savoring it, and not just snarfing it down like I did because you’ve got to be somewhere in ten minutes. Bad planning on my part.
