AS HE prepared to take control of Italy with plans already under way for the march on Rome, Mussolini warned the British government that he would unleash “maximum-degree” retaliations against British ships in Italian ports if an anti-fascist protest by the British unions was allowed to go ahead which threatened to embarrass him in front of the whole world. 

The protest, led among others by the British National Union of Railwaymen and the National Federation of Transport Workers, was the first major anti-fascist event outside Italian borders and was called at a time when Mussolini was sending out warnings that he was ready to advance, with up to 300,000 Blackshirts at his command. 

The march on Rome eventually took place on October 28 1922 and the Italian king appointed Mussolini prime minister. 

The protest by the British unions was announced during the national conference of dock and waterside workers held in London on August 25 when Robert Williams, a well-known trade unionist at the time who represented the National Federation of Transport Workers, declared that an Italian steamer heading for Cardiff with a crew made up entirely of fascists should be boycotted and sent back to Italy. 

The decision came as a shock to the Italian fascist party that had been created the previous year and was seeking to make a good impression abroad, with Mussolini giving reassuring interviews to foreign newspapers, including some in Britain. 

The steamer, the 10,000-ton Emanuele Accame, had been taken over by fascists in Naples on August 20 after violent clashes in which several people had been wounded, forcing the authorities to declare the complete military occupation of the port. 

The 44 crew and the captain were all members of the newly formed Corporation of Seamen, set up by the fascist party with the aim of supplanting the Italian Federation of Seamen, whose secretary was the socialist trade unionist Giuseppe Giulietti. 

In Britain the news of the Emanuele Accame departure became known on August 23 when the Daily Herald published an article under the headline “Fascisti sail for Cardiff! Pirates’ voyage.”

Fascism was a relatively new phenomenon at the time but even outside Italy the methods used for its advance were well-known. There had been plenty of reports in the British press about the violent attacks by the Blackshirts against trade unions and socialist centres in Italy, leaving behind a trail of destruction and many dead.

It was the concern over such attacks that prompted Williams and other British trade unionists to conclude that the ship taken over by fascists constituted “an act of piracy contrary to the wishes of the Italian government, the Italian employers and the Italian people.” 

The statement they issued to the press ended: “Any attempt to load, discharge or bunker this ship will probably precipitate widespread strike action and it would be well therefore if she is ordered back to Italy and thus prevent grave and far reaching trouble.” 

As soon as this news reached Cardiff, JT Clatworthy for the Coal Trimmers Union announced that “in accordance with instructions received from London notices were being issued to all members to the union and the general body of transport workers attached to the Bristol channel ports that if the Emanuele Accame arrived at any port in the Bristol Channel she would be immediately held up.”

Documents found at the British National Archives show that, as the protest against the fascist crew made headlines in both the Italian and British press, Mussolini sent his right-hand man and secretary-general of the fascist party, Michele Bianchi, to knock at the British embassy in Rome with a warning that “any method of reprisal” would be deployed against British ships in Italian ports unless the issue was resolved with the steamer Emanuele Accame allowed to dock. 

Bianchi had previously sent out press statements referring to the fascist party being prepared to order squads of Blackshirts to take action to block British ships in Italian ports unless the protest against the Italian ship was stopped immediately.

As editor of the newspaper Il Popolo d’Italia, Mussolini thundered his threat as if he were already head of government: “Let it be known to the leaders of the English trade unions and the responsible leaders of the British government and public opinion that every affront made against the steamer would jeopardise the relations between the English people and the Italian people to the maximum degree.”

Bianchi was received by the charge d’affaires, William Kennard, who immediately informed the Foreign Office that the protest by the British unions might provoke undesirable incidents and affect Anglo-Italian relations. 

In a dispatch to the Marquess Curzon of Kedleston, who was the secretary of state for foreign affairs, he suggested that step be taken to resolve the dispute as soon as possible, giving way to Mussolini’s demands: “It is possible, that, should labour organisations in England take a hostile attitude to this ship, local fascista bodies might adopt an attitude which would provoke undesirable incidents and be injurious to British shipping interests,” he wrote. “I have therefore ventured to telegraph Your Lordship on the subject with a view to ascertaining whether there is any likelihood of the Emanuele Accame being subjected to a boycott at Cardiff.”

There is no evidence that pressure was brought to bear on the trade unions to climb down. But on the eve of the arrival of the steamer, Tuesday 29, the news reached Cardiff’s newspapers that at the London headquarters of the National Railway Union it was thought that the boycott was “unofficial.”

In Cardiff, however, the trade union representatives, JT Clatworthy, AJ Williams and WR Rooney, refused to accept that anything had changed in the instructions they had received four days earlier and declared that as far as they were concerned the boycott would go ahead as planned.

When the steamer arrived with the captain choosing to enter the port under cover of darkness, all assistance was denied. As the Daily Herald put it: “True to their instructions, the tug boatmen and the dock boatmen would not render assistance to berth the vessel, and she passed through the docks straight from the Channel under her own steam, entirely unassisted.” 

Soon, however, further instructions from London did arrive, advising the three trade unionists to interview the captain and ascertain in person how things stood with the aim of resolving the “misunderstanding.”

The Italian consul also appeared on the scene, apparently urged by the Italian government to seek a solution to resolve the impasse. The local press was also invited on board. 

The steamer’s captain, Umberto Mortola, unleashed a charm offensive pretending to be amused by the boycott and reassured everyone that everything on board was in perfect order. 

He spoke excellent English and revealed that he had even been awarded a medal of valour by Captain Alexander Grant of the Royal Navy. He joked with reporters: “Do we look like pirates?” 

He readily admitted that the ship had left without the proper documentation, but only because he had felt impelled to fulfil an agreement requesting that he should load coal at Cardiff by a certain date. 

He blamed the “reds” in Italy for causing delays at ports. He was happy to confirm that the crew was indeed made up entirely of fascists. But reiterated that his men were all belonging to a new trade union that gave its members the same rights as other unions.

The British press had mixed views. For the Daily Herald, the performance of the “tender-hearted captain” was “pathetic,” but for the majority it worked. 

The reporter for the South Wales Echo wrote that Captain Mortola was the “personification of geniality” and even bore a resemblance to “President [Warren] Harding of the United States.” 

After reporting to their headquarters in London, the three trade unionists were instructed to accept a compromise to deflate the crisis. 

The boycott could be suspended, but only on condition that the captain and crew were willing to swear on a document that contained a number of promises including 1) “to refrain from any action in Italy likely to impair the prestige of the trade union movement; 2) “to forgo any acts of violence towards trade union organisers or officials pursuing their ordinary duties” as well as 3) “not to take part in the wanton destruction of trade union offices or trade union property”; and 4) “not to take part in any efforts to destroy by force printing premises used for the publication of trade union and Labour journals.”  

On Thursday 31 another meeting was held on board the ship and a swearing ceremony was held on the written document. In Italy the end of the impasse was greeted with jubilation by the fascist party claiming a great victory. 

On September 7 Giulietti was hunted down by a group of fascists and narrowly escaped an assassination attempt. Now Mussolini could feel he had a clear path ahead of him. 

The first protest against fascism outside of Italy, which might have ignited similar reactions at other international ports and put into question Mussolini’s suitability in conducting affairs of state at the helm of a party shunned abroad, had ended — with an oath on promises taken for granted by the British trade unions, none of which would ever be kept.

Alfio Bernabei has put the episode at the centre of his latest book, The Summer Before Tomorrow, published by Castelvecchi Editore, Rome 2022.