The Charterhouse of Padula, in Italian Certosa (di San Lorenzo) di Padula), is a Carthusian monastery, the second largest in Italy after Parma, dating back to the 13th century, now a UNESCO World Heritage site. Here is Michael Canney’s account of his time there during the war and subsequent postwar visit in 1989.

In February 1944, together with a small group of British soldiers from 699 Artisan Works Company, Royal Engineers, stationed at Potenza, I was sent to the Certosa of Padula to make a survey. The intention was to assess the essential work that needed to be done to make the Certosa habitable and secure as a future internment centre for German prisoners of war, and I think, civilian Fascist internees.

699 Artisan Works Company, Royal Engineers, was one of a number of building construction units, formed by the army at the beginning of the Second World War. The personnel consisted largely of the employees of County Councils, Local Authorities, and other public bodies, concerned with general building, road construction, and other maintenance. The Company therefore included plasterers, carpenters, brick-layers and masons, road-menders, quarry-men, architects, surveyors, and so on. I was a first year art student with some small experience in the making of measured drawings and plans, and was appointed as one of the Company’s draughtsmen.

I am not certain how long we were there, possibly a month or more, but we lived and slept in the Prior’s apartment, a large room with a charming loggia, looking out on to a long walled garden on the west side of the building. This is now [November 1984] part of the museum.

In February 1944 the Certosa was completely deserted, with only one custodian in residence. Thanks to his presence and his devotion to the care of the building, the church, the chapels, the library and the stucco reliefs (which were extremely vulnerable) all appeared to have escaped any vandalism by Allied prisoners and their German guards. In fact, I can clearly recall that I was surprised at the relative lack of damage to the building, considering that it had been allowed to decay for over a century.

I would say that frescoes in exposed positions, such as the cloisters and the Loggia of the Cella del Priore, were in a better condition at that time than they are today. The roofs of the Certosa inevitably required fairly extensive repairs, as did windows and doors. The cellars were empty, except for the great wine press, and one occupant, an enormous white dog, disease ridden and extremely fierce and cunning. We eventually had to shoot it after a hectic chase in the gloom of the cellars, somewhere near the wine press. I think this animal had been living in the cellars for some time. Having now become more familiar with the ubiquitous Italian dog, I think it likely that it was a hunting or guard-dog gone wild.

My impression when I first arrived was that the external approach road from Padula was at a lower level, and that there was an attractive flat area, bordered by tall trees, just outside the entrance gateway. However, after 43 years, I could be mistaken about this.

The only plan of the Certosa that I now possess, and the original of which, dated February 9th, 1944, I am donating to the appropriate archives, is a plan of the first floor (primo piano), and does not now appear to me to be very accurate. However, one does have to take into consideration wartime difficulties. The ground floor plan (pianterreno) I seem to have lost, over the years. I do recall making and checking innumerable measurements of the building, but whether this first-floor plan was merely a tracing from an existing Italian plan, I cannot now be sure.

Before joining the army, I had been an art student, with a passionate interest in Italian architecture and the work of Piranesi. The Certosa therefore made a lasting impression on me. The mantra-like repetition of arches in the Chiostro Grande, and the calm induced by the sense of enclosure and detachment from an outside world at war affected all of us who were there. I can recall that we were quieter than usual, more subdued, but not I think depressed.

Whilst at Padula, I made a number of drawings, most of which have now been lost, but I have donated photocopies of the remaining drawings to the archives.

One particular reminder of the Allied presence in the Certosa was the evidence of an attempted escape from one of the five monks’ cells on the west side of the building. There were traces of the floor having been disturbed and tiles lifted, close to the west wall of one of these small rooms. In the garden outside, a small depression still remained in the soil, indicating either the site of the escape tunnel, or of its exit.

Our small detachment from Potenza lived and slept in the Cella del Priore, and it is quite possible that this room was used by larger groups of soldiers from the Royal Engineers at Potenza, who came to carry out the actual repairs to the building, at a later date. Although my memory is now rather vague, I do recall stories of Fascist internees being encouraged to assist in repairs to the roof of the Chiostro Grande, a task that they did not much enjoy, in view of the height!

It may be that more extensive details of the entire operation by 699 Artisan Works Company of the Royal Engineers are recorded in the War Diary of that Company, either at the Imperial War Museum or the Ministry of Defence Army Records Centre.

When [my wife and I] last visited Padula, we found with some surprise that the old monastic retreat had been invaded by cars and motor coaches. Parties of schoolchildren were romping through the cloisters, and up and down the Grand Staircase. It was all very lively, indeed, a large medical conference was in full swing. I encountered Sig. Roberto Cerino there, who is I believe, Administrator of the Beni Culturale in Salerno, and was able to give him photocopies of my few drawings, and the original plan, for the archives.