EVERY winter, town squares all over Europe are filled by the hum of Christmas choirs. Towns in northern Italy follow this tradition too, but with a twist. Singers abandon Santa costumes in favour of the distinctive feathered hats of the Alpini, tough soldiers mostly recruited from remote Alpine villages. The Alpini repertoire is different too. Christmas songs are swapped for haunting ballads about the cruelty of war. These canti Alpini—and the soldiers who sing them—have become part of the region’s cultural heritage.

At first glance, this is surprising. After all, to start with, the Alpini were a decidedly military outfit, established in 1872 to protect the new Italian state from its enemies to the north. Their baptism of fire came during the first world war, fighting the Austro-Hungarians high in the Dolomites. Conditions were terrible: avalanches and frostbite were a constant threat. Despite this, the Alpini notched up some impressive wins. They also fought courageously in the second world war, distinguishing themselves in battles from Ethiopia to the Russian steppe.

Up to a point, the continued popularity of the Alpini can be explained by their reputation for courage. Their songs reflect their sacrifices. “Among rocks, wind and snow, we are forced to stay awake all night,” one explains. “We started out as twenty-nine,” begins another. “Now we’re only seven.” This pride transcends the songs themselves. Monte Grappa, a famous Alpini victory in 1917, is still commemorated on street signs across the country. Other songs, meanwhile, juxtapose Alpini bravery with the supposed incompetence of other Italian soldiers. In one, the choir warns Luigi Cadorna, the Italian commander in the first world war, that he’ll need the Alpini “if he wants to advance”. The regular conscripts “are too weak” to do the job, while other troops “are mafiosi”.

But if some Alpini songs stumble towards chauvinism, their enduring reputation is down to their stark anti-war message. “A ‘happy’ death has never existed,” explains Massimo Marchesotti, conductor of the Alpini choir in Milan. “We sing about the truth: of the pointless death…that none of those kids chose for themselves.” The results are intensely moving. In “Oi Cara Mamma”, the Alpini ask what their mothers will do when their sons don’t come back. Elsewhere, the choir tells their lover that they are buried “in a field of edelweiss”. The choir concludes that “when you are alone at home, the edelweiss and I will be with you.”

The presence of edelweiss is not accidental. Alpini songs have a deep link to the mountain culture that bore them; some of the songs are centuries old. And unlike other wings of the Italian military, “Alpini herald from the same valleys” as their songs, says Mr Marchesotti. Indeed, most songs are odes to the mountains themselves. When a soldier is thirsty, “refreshing snow” will be there to soothe them. A dying captain asks his men to give a part of his body to the mountains so that he blossoms into “roses and flowers”.

This thoughtful melancholy is popular: Alpini choirs still release albums and play concerts all over northern Italy, and interest in them extends beyond their music. Several films and documentaries have been made about their story. A book of Alpini exploits by Mario Stern, a sergeant who fought near Stalingrad, has been republished five times, and has been made into a play. While in Russia, Polenta, as well as the cheese of his native valley, and of course the mountains themselves are constantly on Stern’s mind. “Ghe rivarem a baita?” repeats one of his men, in thick Brescian dialect. “When do we get home?" Home, or baita in the dialect, is literally a mountain chalet. Once again, Alpini culture is less about martial swaggering, and more a vehicle for nostalgia for beauty of Italy’s northern frontiers.

This heritage is not as secure as it used to be. Most Alpini regiments were dissolved after the Cold War. The soldiers themselves now come from all over Italy, weakening their cultural link to the Alps. Still, the troops continue to play an active role in Italian life. They fought with NATO in Afghanistan. Their avalanche training has proved useful in earthquake-ravaged corners of the Apennines. Moreover, the national Alpini association, with its 355,000 members, is still important. As well as promoting Alpini culture, local chapters—encompassing both veterans and eager civilians—help their communities in numerous ways. They maintain chapels, and a series of mountain shelters for weary hikers. This dedication has not gone unnoticed, even among civilians. In the Piedmontese town of Biella, 36% of the members of the local association were never soldiers themselves.

With the centenary of the armistice ending the first world war fast approaching, the Alpini look set to return to the forefront of Italian cultural memory. They are in fierce debate with their Austrian counterparts about where to hold joint commemorations of the fighting. (The Austrians do not want to meet in Alto Adige, a region Italy annexed from Austria after 1918, and which is still mostly German-speaking.) The soldiers have even stumbled into controversy over a new videogame. “Battlefield I” features Alpini fighting on Monte Grappa. The head of the national Alpini association said that “delicate themes, like war, need to be dealt with differently.” The beautiful stock of canti Alpini promises to do just that—long after memories of the 2018 commemorations wisp into the mountain air.