Part 13 (1/2)
”Where are the woods, sir?”
”Ah! That's another question.”
”Get the vehicles off the road and under cover.”
We walk around muttering, ”The woods are full of 'em!”
The lethal voice of Major Jenkins is penetrating the air. We drive up the slope and on to a small muddy plateau with numerous trees. We follow a small trail to the high bank. Under the trees we camouflage G truck.
”Jerry's been sh.e.l.ling the area, better dig in,” says Bombardier Deans.
Dig? One thing I don't dig is digging. I'm not the first to spot the possibilities of sleeping in the church.
I move my kit in that evening. In the aisle is a catafalque mounted on a trestle. The catafalque is all black velvet with a great black cloth to cover the whole thing. What the h.e.l.l! It looks great inside, so I make my bed in it. If I get killed in the night, I'm all ready. Great fun, I am asleep in my catafalque, Bombardier Trew comes in to wake me up for my spell of duty. He is unaware of my macabre resting place. Gradually I arise from my box with the black velvet cover over my head. I let out a terrible howl and Bombardier Trew screams ' 'Ghosts' and runs for his b.l.o.o.d.y life, and I find him gibbering in the Command Post to Lt. Budden.
An OP has been established on Monte Croce. Not again! Rain!!! Where does the stuff come from??? There's to be a big attack on Monte Camino, it's the 201 Guards Brigade to do the dirty work. I can't lie here, I must do something to help the war effort. I do. I go to the cookhouse for dinner. What's this I hear? That hungry b.u.g.g.e.r Kidgell, he's been having one dinner here, then running across to the American Battery next to us and scrounging another. He must have hollow legs.
”The attack goes in tomorrow night,” so speaks Major Jenkins, who for once has deemed to tell us what's happening. I am on Command Post duty up till 11.30. Mr Wright is duty officer. In between firing he reads the Daily Express Daily Express. At 1100 hours the thing called Edgington comes in, it carries a mug ahead of it.
”Good news,” he says, he looks very merry, he should, there's been a rum ration and he's had his and a little more. ”I've got yours here.” He poured a measure into my mug.
”A Merry Christmas to you all,” I said.
He empties a pocket full of chestnuts, soon they are roasting on our fire, and splitting open with a little bang. They taste delicious!!
”Alf Fildes is feeling groggy,” he tells us. ”He's got a sore throat so has gone to bed in the back of his truck.”
There is nothing like a 15-cwt truck for a sore throat. Vic Nash is coming on duty. ”Oh my poor guts,” he says.
”He's got the s.h.i.+ts! Keep away,” we all say and cringe in the corner.
The guns report difficulty with the platforms, mud is making it increasingly difficult; each time they fire, the gun slithers in a circle. We can hear the swearing from the Command Post. But it's imperative they keep going as the attack is about to go in, they need help up there, so the back-breaking work of manhandling the guns back on target continues.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1943.
ALF FILDES' DIARY: ALF FILDES' DIARY: Typical Sunday morning, people going to church opposite. Plenty of firing last night, and church has lost a few windows. After breakfast a dozen ME's came over and made trouble but left us alone, they made for the main road Typical Sunday morning, people going to church opposite. Plenty of firing last night, and church has lost a few windows. After breakfast a dozen ME's came over and made trouble but left us alone, they made for the main road.
Before the first ma.s.s we have to hide our beds-and make ourselves scarce.
I am walking to the cookhouse through a conglomerate of American foxholes and guns. The Yanks sound their air-raid alarm. It's noisier than the raid. Americans start running in all directions. I didn't. It was highly unlikely the planes could spot us in this heavily wooded position. They roar over the top of us, and later we heard machine-gunning and bombing somewhere down the Rocamanfina Road. Along with Edgington we explore the Church Annexe and find a piano in the vestry. Soon Italians in Church can hear distant Cole Porter tunes.
A Priest appears, he is not hostile, and stays to listen, I think think his name was Father Alborghetti. He too took over the piano and then sang arias from his name was Father Alborghetti. He too took over the piano and then sang arias from La Boheme, Tosca La Boheme, Tosca, in a quivery ecclesiastical voice. We're all having fun! ”Aren't you glad we've liberated you?” I said to the priest.
I do an all-night stint in the Command Post in promise of all day off. It's b.l.o.o.d.y cold, and in between Fire orders we all crouch over the brazier. The six o'clock news from the BBC is good. Kiev in Russian hands after a terrific advance. I'm so broke I could do with an advance myself. We are playing pontoon for matchsticks. Rumour that a Gunners' rest camp has been established somewhere on the Sorrento peninsula, is it true? Guns continue to fire through the night. The fight for Monte Camino continues, it's a b.l.o.o.d.y affair. I write some letters home.
Nov. 9, 1943 Nov. 9, 1943 Dear Dad Dear Dad, Nothing much to report except World War 2. Is it still going on where you are? It's winter here, lots of mud, and very cold especially in the mornings, so the balaclava and gloves you sent are very useful. Writing this in a cave, so we haven't come far from Neanderthal man, have we? There's always rumours of 'going home', one look at this mob and you'd realise we're all all going home. Thanks for the three going home. Thanks for the three Life Life magazines, one reads and re-reads them over and over again and they are usually pa.s.sed through gunner in the Battery. I'm desperately trying to think of any news, and there isn't any. Read Beachcomber in the magazines, one reads and re-reads them over and over again and they are usually pa.s.sed through gunner in the Battery. I'm desperately trying to think of any news, and there isn't any. Read Beachcomber in the Express, Express, he explains it all. I'm here and you're there, and every day is much the same as the previous. The conversations are food, s.e.x, and after the war, sometimes its war, food and after the s.e.x. I'll have to close as we're about to start sending deliveries of steel to the gentlemen of the Third Reich he explains it all. I'm here and you're there, and every day is much the same as the previous. The conversations are food, s.e.x, and after the war, sometimes its war, food and after the s.e.x. I'll have to close as we're about to start sending deliveries of steel to the gentlemen of the Third Reich.
Love to all Your Loving Son Terry Your Loving Son Terry PS: The Major tells us we must win the war because we're British.[image]
Capt. Leo Milligan walking home to Orchard Way, Wood-hatch, Reigate, Surrey, 1942-3, while second-in-charge of RAOC depot, Reigate. Now we all know.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1943.
What's this? Edgington has made an incredible find. A free-range harmonium! It's in the Vicarage and the priest says we can use it, so the morning is spent playing jazz; as a mark of respect I play my trumpet muted, Alf plays guitar and the priest and his lady cleaner sit and listen a bit amazed, jazz under Mussolini had been banned as decadent; well, the music wasn't, but we certainly were. It was an unusual morning, the priest giving us an unexpected blessing before we departed.
”What was he doing then?” said Edgington.
I explained. ”It's a blessing.”
”What good does it do?” he said.
”Well, it's supposed to be a solemn occasion on which he, as a minister, fortifies your soul by sprinkling holy water over you.”
”It only made me b.l.o.o.d.y wet,” said Edgington.
Grim news of the fighting on Monte Camino, the Guards are attacking but Jerry has reinforced his position with 1st/104 Panzer Grenadiers, and fighting is raging all over the peak.
[image]
Sgt. J. Wilson, Bdr. Sainsbury and gun-crew filling in football coupons, Monte Santa Maria, apple orchard position, November 17 1943.
NOVEMBER 10, 1943.
MY DIARY: MY DIARY: MUCH THE SAME. BAD WEATHER. WENT INTO THE VILLAGE OF TERRA CORPO, IT'S ALMOST IN RUINS. WE ARE TRYING TO GET A PHOTO TAKEN OF OURSELVES BY AN 'ITI' PHOTOGRAPHER, HE SAYS 'DOMANI' (TOMORROW). HE SAYS THAT EVERY DAY, TOMORROW TAKES A LONG TIME TO ARRIVE IN ITALY. WEATHER RAIN, SLEET, WINDY. MUCH THE SAME. BAD WEATHER. WENT INTO THE VILLAGE OF TERRA CORPO, IT'S ALMOST IN RUINS. WE ARE TRYING TO GET A PHOTO TAKEN OF OURSELVES BY AN 'ITI' PHOTOGRAPHER, HE SAYS 'DOMANI' (TOMORROW). HE SAYS THAT EVERY DAY, TOMORROW TAKES A LONG TIME TO ARRIVE IN ITALY. WEATHER RAIN, SLEET, WINDY.
Just up the road before the village are a few houses, one is occupied by RHQ. It is owned by a Doctor Fabrizzi, who was in the Abyssinian Campaign. We went there to play some music for the RHQ Signallers (who had invited us). It was a cosy large front room, nicely furnished, with a piano. We played some jazz, the Doctor, who looked like Cesar Romero, showed us photographs from the Abyssinian War, and a ghastly collection they were; they showed atrocities committed on Italian soldiers, which mostly meant emasculating them with a knife and letting them bleed to death. A Scandal! the wife of the Iti doctor fancies our MO, Dr Bentley (will he end up with his photo in the alb.u.m?), and somehow they get down to Naples and spend a naughty weekend there. A touch of the Ernest Hemingways!
It has rained now continuously for five days. Sgt. Donaldson tells me that the guns are in a bad state. The carriages are starting to warp so badly that 15 and 18 Batteries are being pulled out of action.
”I wish to G.o.d my carriage would warp,” I said.
”You know what they're going to do to reinforce them, weld railway lines round the front and the two sides.”
”I suppose this means all the b.l.o.o.d.y trains will stop running.” Sgt. Donaldson was up for some kind of vehicles' inspection.
”I don't know how the b.l.o.o.d.y things are still working.” He was going on about the road conditions.
”They've organised a one-way system, half the day it's up traffic, the other half down traffic, if you come up early you have to wait half the b.l.o.o.d.y day before the down system comes in.”
”Don't come up or down,” I said, ”come sideways, like the Chinese.”
He stayed to have lunch with us, a lovely Stew, we sat under the altar of the church eating and telling dirty jokes. It was a bad day for G.o.d.