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9
Cassino and Other Battles

What a welcome change from the desert — green fields and mountains, forests and distant snow-capped peaks, poor but friendly people. Initially the Italians seemed uncertain about how they should react to their former enemies but, when we were friendly, they responded and were co-operative. Later, we would rely completely on the information they gave us about German positions and strengths.

When it came to trading, they were a match for the sharpest of our wheeler-dealers and, as time went by, we became suspicious of Jimmy, our local Italian procurer. He seemed to have access to a good supply of turkeys which he sold to us at a very high price, so our new padre, Rev. Martin Sullivan, a most popular down-to-earth Kiwi, decided to interrogate him. After several questions, during which Martin pointed out he was a priest and Jimmy must know how serious it was to lie to one, the poor fellow broke down and confessed “Honest to God, Mr Priest, my friend, I think he pinch them.”

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Martin Sullivan was a remarkable person, completely relaxed and at home in any company. The troops responded to his forthright approach, attending his voluntary services and offering their help — even acquiring an organ for him on one occasion. After the war, as Dean of Christchurch, he came to Masterton in late 1947 to conduct Ana's and my marriage, introducing several much appreciated refinements to the service. Later, when he was Dean of St Paul's Cathedral, he travelled from London to Oxford to conduct the marriage service for our daughter Robyn to David Williams, who had won a Rhodes Scholarship. The wedding took place in the chapel at Balliol College. Martin's contribution to the restoration of St Paul's in London after the war was very considerable.

Once more back with the Eighth Army, we travelled north by truck some 150 miles from Taranto to San Severo near the Adriatic coast. There we spent 10 days consolidating and training in our new environment which was very like our home ground in New Zealand. One year after Alamein, our most recent battle, we were about to endure 18 months of heavy fighting, with the 22nd Battalion under fire for twice as long and suffering more casualties, killed and wounded, than in all the rest of our wartime engagements.

My temporary job as second in command of the battalion came to an end and I once again took charge of 3 Company. Major Don Steele rejoined us as second in command. Don had been appointed second in command of the 22nd before Alamein, having commanded the New Zealand Squadron in the Long Range Desert Group. Later, when he returned from furlough and when our commanding officer Tom Campbell was given his, he took command of the battalion for three weeks before taking charge of the 27th Battalion.

Our divisional advance was to take us up to the east coast of southern Italy, mountainous country up to 9,000 feet in page 95 places with a short run off to the sea over narrow coastal plains. There were eight rivers to cross in a little over 100 miles, narrow, steep second class roads, muddy fields and rivers often swollen with heavy rain. Certainly not ideal country for the highly mobile, hard hitting division we had become, but we were adaptable with our fully integrated support units, which included a cab rank of fighter bombers attached to the NZ Division. Our artillery, engineers, signallers, tank crews, intelligence staff, recovery and supply units, all supporting the infantry, rose to the occasion and proved their worth.

The Eighth Army had pushed well up the coast before we arrived on the scene so the stage was well set. The only possibility of advancing quickly up Italy's east coast was to take the enemy by surprise or if he had insufficient forces to defend the ground. Neither circumstance applied in this case. We progressed slowly, biting bits out of him relentlessly but, when the winter eventually took over we had done little more than split his forces between the east and the west coasts divided by the mountainous ‘spine’ of Italy. The enemy defence was conducted very expertly with numerous demolitions ready to blow in front of our approach, booby traps and mines all over the place and strategic locations registered beforehand by their mortars and artillery. His two weaknesses were lack of air cover — we seldom saw an enemy aircraft — and an intense dislike of night fighting at which we excelled.

The 22nd Battalion was on the extreme left flank of the division and, being the only infantry unit in the 4th Armoured Brigade, we had plenty to do. On one occasion, when we were out of the line for a short period, I arranged with the 20th Armoured Regiment for my entire company, including the cook house, to move into their area to live, sleep and eat with them. This way, we learned one another's problems and how we could co-operate to our mutual advantage.

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Much of our time was spent in a static role with night patrols, the men wearing white shrouds with hoods which blended with the snow and looked very ghostly. With the enemy in close proximity, engaged in similar activities, there were many anxious moments, particularly on sentry duty at outposts. Whenever possible I would visit these outposts during the night to reassure the sentries they were not being neglected. I would stay with them for a while and could appreciate their anxiety at seeing trees appearing to move or hearing strange noises in the night.

Soon after New Year's Day in 1944, 3 Company was sent up, after a rest period, to occupy the small village of Salarola close in behind the forward outposts. It was not a popular place to go to. Casualties had been high among the previous occupants as the village was under observation from the surrounding heights. We all occupied houses which provided the best observation but this meant, of course, our movements outside the houses could be seen by the Germans. During the first night of our occupation, I visited every platoon and section position and gave strict orders that, to keep casualties down, no one was to move outside during the day. Part of the village was out of enemy sight and I established my headquarters there, close to several houses still occupied by Italian families.

I talked to their head man and explained to him that, if the village appeared deserted during the day, we would not be shelled. They co-operated admirably. Every house occupied by our troops and under enemy observation was streamlined for action. Manholes were cut through walls to give instant communication between rooms; holes in upstairs floors with ropes attached gave quick descent. Where access was necessary between houses during daylight, brick connecting walls were built overnight and were made inconspicuous. Buckets were used for latrines and these were emptied and the contents buried overnight. Booby traps and warning devices were page 97 placed in strategic positions. Sentries did not expose themselves at windows and, during the day, they watched through slits we made in the outside walls.

It became routine to expect a stonk on the village every morning at breakfast time and every evening about six o'clock so we altered our meal times. Our casualties dropped to nil except on night patrol and, even then, they were few. Confidence was restored among the Italian families left in the village and I was surprised when one of my sentries informed me at about ten o'clock one morning, always a quiet time, that several of the local villagers were outside and wanted me to appear on the balcony. Puzzled, I went out to see what they wanted and they simply lifted their hats, bowed slightly and returned to their houses. This became a daily routine and soon presents of eggs, dressed chickens, lambs, pigs and bottles of good wine were delivered to augment our supplies. As our casualties had dropped away so too had theirs and they were showing their appreciation.

When disputes arose between some of the Italian families they brought their differences to me to resolve. This was most embarrassing until I realized that a simple decision on my part would be accepted and prevent acrimonious disputes amongst them.

In spite of the exposed nature of our position, we became quite attached to Salarola and we were almost sorry to leave when the decision was taken to pull out and to concentrate on the western side of the Apennines where there was more room to manoeuvre. Two new natural leaders had emerged in 3 Company during this period. Sgt. Major — later 2nd Lieutenant — Ernie Scott from Masterton and 2nd Lieutenant Ian Thomas — later to live in Greytown — both distinguished themselves. They were wounded in later fighting and Scott was awarded a Mention in Dispatches while Thomas received a Military Cross in northern Italy.

On the night of January 18 1944 we were relieved by a battalion page 98 from the 4th Indian Division and transferred to the Cassino front where the strong enemy defence line and winter conditions had held up the Allied advance. A stalemate had been reached on both fronts with the Americans failing in their last, final assault. Approaching from the north, they penetrated to within a few hundred yards of the monastery which dominated Cassino town, but the Germans held fast.

On February 3 the New Zealand Corps was formed within the US 5th Army, then commanded by General Mark Clark. The 4th Indian Division joined the New Zealand Corps and General Freyberg improvised a corps staff with appointments from his divisional staff. Command of the NZ Division passed to Major General Kippenberger, a popular choice. We were very pleased to have the 4th Indian Division with us. Our 5th Brigade had come under their command for a short time during the Libyan campaign in 1941 and they had relieved us at Salarola before moving to Cassino. They were a veteran fighting force with a first class reputation.

Meanwhile, the seaborne Anzio landing south of Rome had taken place on January 22 with scarcely any initial opposition. Two Allied divisions, one British and one American, under US General John Lucas were involved in the landing. However, instead of exploiting this success with a quick break-out toward Rome, only 40 miles away, too much time was spent consolidating which gave the Germans the opportunity to move enough troops into the area to contain the assault and then threaten the landing with disaster. Had the New Zealand Division, so strong and so well prepared for a mobile break-out, been used to exploit this successful landing, Rome would almost certainly have fallen quickly. Instead, we were used as assault troops within a confined area at Cassino which had been thoroughly well prepared by the Germans and was recognised militarily as a classic defensive position.

General Freyberg was given the task with the New Zealand page 99 Corps of breaking the Gustav Line at Cassino in mid-winter, made more urgent now to help relieve the threat of disaster at Anzio. The two advantages held by Freyberg were an ample supply of artillery of all kinds and complete mastery of the air. However, use of air power was restrained by bad weather conditions and by inaccurate American bombing. In the period late January to mid February, the New Zealand Division consolidated in the Piedmonte d'Alife area about 25 miles south of Cassino and, in a letter home dated February 5 1944, I described the lighter side of my activities to my mother.

“Alife was a country retreat for many of the top families from Naples, and most of them were in residence there. I was living with the local doctor, dining with a duke and duchess, taking coffee with a beautiful countess and was taken shooting into the mountains by the duke's son. We climbed to 4,000 feet before daylight one morning. The birds were scarce and we only saw two; I managed to shoot one mountain partridge, a plump bird which was delicious to eat. It was a perfect day on the mountain tops with an unbroken bank of clouds below us and lots of friendly aircraft flying overhead.”

It was as well we had such lighter moments to counter that awful feeling of apprehension which inevitably invaded our private thoughts prior to going into battle. Personally, I found my apprehension diminished the closer I got to the battle zone and then all feelings of fear disappeared.

The original plan, before forming the New Zealand Corps, was to use the New Zealand Division, the 4th Indian Division and another British division as a pursuit force to be released after the Americans had broken the Gustav Line. We were to link up with the Anzio forces and drive on to Rome. The 22nd page 100 Battalion would have played a key role supporting our tank brigade, but we were kept in readiness for a month hoping for an American breakthrough which never happened.

General Freyberg was next commissioned to mount an attack in early February with the 4th Indian Division assaulting Monastery Hill from the east and north while the New Zealand Division attacked within Cassino township. As Jim Henderson has written in 22 Battalion (Official History of New Zealand in the Second World War 1939–45):

“Devastated Cassino lay at the foot of Montecassino (about 1,700 ft high), topped by the famous monastery, soon to be bombed. Cassino blocked the way into the Liri valley. Here, on the western side of the Apennines, British, American and French troops of Fifth Army had hoped for a quick break-through from Cassino to the great prize of Rome, less than 70 miles away. These soldiers had fought their way into the Volturno valley, which led into the Liri valley near Cassino. But the mountains drew in, the evil winter weather descended, and the enemy, firmly entrenched in his rugged Gustav line, fought back with defiant courage and skill. Here, into the Volturno valley came the New Zealand Division in the first week of February.”

The decision to bomb the monastery met with our wholehearted approval, as undoubtedly the Germans went in and out of the building. There does not appear to be any evidence they used weapons from within but they certainly had defensive positions outside, close to the monastery walls, and possibly had observation posts inside. The first bombing took place at 9.30 am on February 15 1944. In spite of the terrific pounding the German defenders were subjected to, both from page 101 artillery and from the air, they were able, because of the strength of their defences, to emerge almost unscathed. On the other hand, our tanks were unable to move forward with the infantry because all access was blocked by bomb craters or rubble and our casualties started to mount to an unacceptable level.

About two weeks later we were all shocked to hear that, when observing the progress of the battle from the top of Monte Trocchio — a prominent vantage point south of the town — our ‘Kip’, Major General Kippenberger, had strayed off the track on the way down and activated a mine which blew off both of his feet. Miraculously he survived, which was a great relief to us all as he was a most competent and popular senior commander. As next in line, Brigadier Parkinson took over the division. To add to General Freyberg's worries, news came through that his son Paul had been posted missing while serving with the Grenadier Guards at Anzio. Paul had been commissioned after serving with the New Zealand Division in Greece, and was then posted to the Long Range Desert Group, before transferring to his father's old regiment — the Grenadiers. He later won an MC in northern Italy. News that he was safely installed in the Vatican in Rome, having been smuggled from the Pope's summer residence in a vegetable truck, must have come as a great relief to his father!

Now closely involved with Americans for the first time, we had to learn how to work in with them. Logistically they were top rate and were generous with their supplies, friendly and open. However, it was not easy to convince them anyone else was fighting the war and they seemed to like to learn in their own way. One day on a street corner in Alife while we were resting behind the line, a friendly but rather inebriated Yankee sergeant sidled up to me and said, “D'you know, Bud, I've just done 36 days of straight combat and I guess that's a world record.” They had just been through some heavy fighting and had done well but I felt that, if I told him I had just completed four years of intermittent fighting with the prospect of another year more, page 102 it would have made little impression. They were in a world of their own and could not see beyond it.

On a later occasion, when being relieved by an American battalion from front line duty south of Florence, we did a changeover which was an eye opener to them. Their liaison officers were very efficient and plans were made for a detailed transfer to take place in the middle of the night. As the time approached, I heard they had debussed five miles back and were marching up into position so I called in my transport officer and gave instructions for the company trucks to pick up their opposite numbers and deliver them right up into the forward section posts. My driver was instructed to deliver their commanding officer to my headquarters and, when he arrived, we sat and enjoyed a whisky together while the changeover took place without fuss or confusion. They were amazed we could use our transport without lights so close to the enemy and get away with it. What was routine to us was a revelation to them as it was their standard practice to march the last five miles carrying full equipment, generally arriving in a state of exhaustion.

Their CO was so grateful he gave me his personal combat semi-automatic rifle which later accounted for quite a number of deer in the Wairarapa hills and bushland. He gave me his home address and insisted I should visit him and his family after the war but the note was lost along the way. Had the Americans been left to march all the way in, they would have been late but, as it turned out, we had time to give their forward section posts detailed instructions about the layout of the land and the location and habits of the enemy.

The ground attack by the New Zealand Corps on Montecassino failed to achieve a breakthrough which was not unexpected and the division settled down to consolidate its gains and to a period of acrimonious exchanges of sniping, page 103 gunfire and night patrols. Up to this point the 22nd had not been involved, being held in readiness for a pursuit role, but our turn now came to relieve one of the exhausted battalions in the township. Battalion headquarters and two companies only, including mine, were to move in.

This was a very dangerous operation. We approached the town during the night along Route 6 which was slightly elevated with a ditch on either side. Every inch of this long straight road was registered by the German artillery, mortars and machine guns. We passed an enormous crater in the middle of the road and read the notice, “American Precision Bombing, Cassino 2 Miles”. So much for their much boasted ability to land a bomb on a dime.

In single file, well spaced out, we trudged along in the dark past shell holes half filled with mud and water and with the all pervading stench of death ever present. Machine gun bursts and mortar bombs were routine and a Bailey bridge en route was frequently subjected to salvos of artillery fire. When there was an unexpected hold up in front, in the pitch dark, the men telescoped, running into and tripping over those in front. Just at that moment a mortar bomb landed in the middle of a group, killing two and wounding 15 others, all good mates, with one of those killed coming from my home town. Eventually we entered the town, and battalion headquarters and No 4 Company headquarters took over ‘The Crypt’, which was in the underground cellars of a ruined church. I took 3 Company a further 200 yards into the town where we set up our headquarters in the ruins of another bombed out church.

Having positioned the platoons and sections satisfactorily in the vicinity, we settled in for a week of cloak and dagger work with the enemy close by. ‘The Crypt’ has been preserved as an historic place by the Italian government and my wife Ana and I visited the site during a trip round Italy in 1960. page 104 My memories, which came back in a flood, were mostly unpleasant. Survival was our principal concern during this period, our main satisfaction coming from calling for artillery stonks on any enemy movement we saw or heard. Some of these passed through our own windows to explode, we hoped, amongst the enemy only 50 yards away.

Just recently I had the pleasure of meeting up with the brother of Jeannie Lilburn, a Taupo friend. Bernard Holloway had been one of the British gunners operating field artillery from behind Mt. Trocchio, and supporting the New Zealanders in Cassino. He was highly amused at my description of how his shells had passed through our partly demolished upstairs windows to explode among the Jerries just in front of us. Needless to say, we had retreated into the cellars as we had no faith in any artillery, ours or the enemy's, when it was landing so close to us.

By the end of March we had been relieved by our No 1 and 2 Companies, pleased to be out of the place where we had been under observation all day from the high ground on Monastery Hill. After No 1 and 2 Companies had done their stint in Cassino, we pulled out. On April 18 our commanding officer Tom Campbell left for furlough in New Zealand and our battalion second in command — Lt. Colonel Don Steele — took over command; I was re-appointed his deputy. We then took up defensive positions on the east bank of the Garigliano River about four miles south of Cassino. This was fairly open pasture and crop land, sloping gently down towards the river. The Germans had dug in on the other side so we moved into prepared positions near the river each night and pulled back before daylight to rest up in houses during the day. Any movement in that open country during daylight would have been seen immediately by the enemy as they dominated the high ground. However, we left some well hidden listening posts with telephones near the river during the day to monitor page 105 any enemy movement.

A small creek about four feet deep and only about three feet wide, probably an irrigation ditch, ran through the middle of our area for about 1,000 yards before it emptied into the river. Everything was so quiet and peaceful in this new area I had joked about “going fishing in the river at the bottom of our garden”. In the end, this creek proved irresistible to me and one balmy afternoon I lowered myself into it with just my head protruding and worked my way down towards the river, quite confident I was not exposing myself to any enemy observers. As I got closer it became more exciting and I gradually realised I would be able to get right to the river and observe the other bank in detail in daylight. The enemy bank was only 20 yards away across the water but the current was quite fast and the river was deep.

There was little sign of enemy occupation but I could sense he was not far away. Lying on the bank close by was a trout, no doubt killed by a recent blast of some kind, so I stuffed it into my battle dress jacket and worked my way carefully back to where I had started. When I got back to battalion headquarters in a rather bedraggled state, the adjutant, Rusty Carson, took one look at me and said: “Where in hell have you been?” “Why, fishing in the Garigliano,” I replied, producing the trout from my jacket as proof.

The dead trout reminded me of an orderly room I had conducted back in Maadi in Egypt when the company wag was put on charge for discharging a rifle in a tent he shared with five others. Hicko Broughton, who claimed to be the champion drain digger of the Wairarapa and who eventually rose to be our sanitary corporal, had been on charge before me several times:

“What is it this time, Broughton?” I asked, keeping as stern a face as possible.

“There was a snake, sir,” he said, looking straight ahead.

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“What do you mean — a snake?” I questioned.

“There was a snake, sir,” he repeated, “and it was about to strike one of my mates, sir, so I shot it.”

“How could you see it in the middle of the night in the dark?” I enquired.

He looked abashed then said, rather indignantly, “You don't believe me do you, sir?”

“No, frankly I don't,” I replied and was about to pronounce a minor punishment when suddenly from behind his back he produced the skeleton of a snake which had obviously been run over by a truck some weeks before.

“Here's the proof,” he said.

“March out!” I ordered, keeping, I hope, a straight face. How could I punish such an incorrigible rogue?

Back in Masterton, after the war, and soon after our engagement had been announced in the local paper, Ana and I were walking down the crowded main street on a Friday night when ‘Hicko’ saw us from across the street. “Aha, Donald” he shouted out loudly, “that's not the girl I saw you with last Friday!” He remained a likeable vagabond to the end when cancer caught up with him.

A rather different episode occurred about this time, resulting from a casual conversation with an old school mate from Masterton — Sergeant Major ‘Scotty’ Scott. He remarked he had never had a chance to go to Naples although everyone else in the battalion seemed to have been there. “You're quite right, Scotty,” I said. “I haven't been there either, so let's go.” My duties as second in command were not very onerous so off we went with the added purpose of visiting some of our wounded troops in the No 2 NZ General Hospital at Caserta, just 20 miles north of Naples. We set off in the Jeep with my driver — Mick Sheehan — at the wheel and two passengers wanting to visit relations in the hospital. We would easily accomplish the two missions in one day.

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About halfway to Caserta, as we approached an American convoy of troop trucks moving up the road towards us, nicely spaced about 100 yards apart, we came over the brow of a hill and started on the downward slope to find the road covered in mud and wet grass. In addition, ahead, part of the convoy was emerging from a very muddy staging area on our left, depositing more masses of mud onto the road. Mick braked carefully but lost control of the Jeep; it was like driving on ice and we slid gently across the road between two oncoming trucks and then back onto our side again. Next time, crossing neatly between the next two trucks, the Jeep headed straight for a 44 gallon drum marking the edge of a deep ditch alongside the road. “Holy Smoke,” I thought, “we're for it.” We hit the drum which hurtled over the Jeep, taking the windscreen with it and spraining my thumb, holding its edge, in the process. The Jeep catapulted into the ditch, turning upside down and landing neatly, straddled across the gap, about two feet from the bottom. The ditch had recently been cleaned out, was flat on the bottom and its evenly tapered sides held the Jeep poised above the ground — but with us beneath it.

Before we could collect our wits, a team of American soldiers had lifted the Jeep bodily back onto the side of the road. No bones were broken, but we were dazed and concussed. There was an American hospital right alongside and we were put on to stretchers and carried inside to be cleaned up and put to bed. The American nurses intrigued us with their lipstick, nail polish and a little discreet perfume, all quite different from the austerity of our own hospitals. We were given lunch and were beginning to enjoy being made a fuss of when news came through that we were to be transferred to our own hospital at Caserta. Off we went by ambulance, with Mick Sheehan fit enough to drive the Jeep, now patched up by the Americans. A night in No 2 General Hospital, and the tender page 108 care of our own nurses, including Masterton neighbour Isabel Barton, had us fit enough to return to the 22nd.

We did not see Naples on this trip but we managed to get to our hospital in Caserta — as patients rather than visitors! Soon after this, Scotty, who had proved himself to be a fine soldier when the pressure was on, was sent to Sandhurst in England, along with several others, to gain their commissions. On his return to the battalion he distinguished himself in the heavy fighting in northern Italy before wounds to both feet put him out of action. Until his recent death he was an enthusiastic member of the 22nd Battalion Association and attended all the reunions.

Our new commander — Don Steele — was an aggressive soldier and ordered fighting patrols to cross the river at night to harass the enemy. Some useful information was obtained, but at a cost of four dead and 11 wounded. We withdrew from the river to re-organise and, at a 4th Brigade parade, General Freyberg presented to Major Bob Knox the Military Cross he had won during the Sangro battles.

Bob was an interesting character, well liked by his men and popular with everyone. He was being invalided home for health reasons and we were sorry to lose him. He was known principally for his daring as a Bren carrier officer. Always an opportunist, earlier in the war, while an orderly room clerk, he had been given an unsealed envelope for the Military Secretary. Inquisitive, he looked inside and found a list of names of men recommended to train for commissions — and added his name to the bottom of the list. He was sent to the officer cadet training course, earned his commission and became one of our most successful officers, also being mentioned in dispatches.

There was never any shortage of officer material in the division. In fact, the British Army came to us wanting to recruit as many of our NCOs as possible for training as officers in British units. A few were willing to make the change, but not many.

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On May 11 1944 General Freyberg paid us a visit at battalion headquarters with the news that Lieut. Colonel Steele was to move on to command the 27th Battalion and I was to take over the 22nd. In a letter to my mother dated May 17 I wrote:

“As you can see from my address, I have gone up one in rank and am now commanding the battalion, temporarily at any rate, and am very proud of the honour bestowed on me to lead such a magnificent body of men as they are, without doubt, the best infantry battalion in the Div. today. However, as a result of this appointment, I see the chances of furlough receding farther away than ever — but maybe it is all for the good. The General said he thought that I was the youngest CO in the Div and perhaps in the 8th Army, but I'm not too sure about that.”

As it was only seven weeks since my 26th birthday, no doubt I was rather young but, after a long apprenticeship, I felt confident enough. It was customary for appointments to be made temporary initially, but it later became substantive.

Soon afterwards, when we moved from the Garigliano River position into the mountains about four miles north east of Cassino, we had to rely on mules for transport while all our vehicles lay idle in the nearby valleys. We were manning the Line on the extreme right flank with rocky mountains above us, and made little contact with the enemy.

Meanwhile, pressure was being stepped up along the whole front as the weather was showing signs of improvement. The Poles, with the backing of New Zealand artillery, attacked the monastery while British troops, with New Zealand tanks in support, cut Route 6 leading north behind the town. Eighth Army headquarters had moved from the Adriatic front to the Cassino area while the US Fifth Army concentrated on our page 110 left flank between Cassino and the sea. Four French and three American divisions concentrated on the left flank while, in all, 13 Allied divisions faced only four German divisions on this part of the Line. As the ground had dried sufficiently to manoeuvre with tanks, the Rapido River was crossed and the final break through was made by the French Goums recruited from North Africa. The Liri valley was wide open and the stubborn German troops who had fought so well for so long around Cassino had to withdraw to avoid being cut off. On May 18 the Polish and British flags were hoisted proudly on top of the ruins of the monastery above Cassino to end one of the most historic and hard fought campaigns involving the New Zealand Division.

Around the beginning of June we moved a few miles north to Alvito, a small picturesque mountain retreat frequented by many aristocratic Roman families on their summer holidays. Starting at the foot of a prominent knoll the houses, rising to the top, all blended in perfectly with the landscape. It was typical of so many small Italian towns. Whether they have been designed that way or whether Italians have a natural instinct for building in complete harmony with the surroundings, I really do not know. The sight of Alvito township perched so attractively on its little hill brought peace and tranquillity to our troubled souls. We would have been quite content to spend the rest of the war there and let the worries of the world pass us by.

The town had been used by the German 5th Mountain Division as their headquarters and showed little sign of war damage. The residents were mostly well dressed and the women fashionable and elegant. They quickly changed their allegiance from one side to the other, as this was the expedient thing to do, and also because they were hungry. No doubt the Germans had treated them well but they, too, were short of food while we had plenty. Billets were offered to us and I found myself in a luxurious villa owned by an attractive, and most attentive Roman socialite. It was sheer bliss to sleep in a comfortable bed with clean sheets page 111 and a private bathroom with ample hot water. I described the scene in a letter home written on June 18 1944:

“Everything has been very peaceful. The valley below us is an absolute picture covered with brilliant red poppies, with all the trees and vines a light Spring green. There are lots and lots of cherries and mulberries which are delicious and, at night, we sit out on the balcony of the house we are in and watch the myriads of fireflies flashing through the olive trees and lighting up the valley. The moon is up and the weather is perfect.”

It was remarkable what my hostess's cook could do with army rations, supplemented with stores from our parcels from home. My hostess could not get over the fact that I was a Lieut. Colonel as she had never met an Italian of the same rank who was under 45. I spent some time studying the many pictures which adorned the walls of every room. She was an artist herself and gave me a very attractive oil painting of an Italian home in a rustic setting which I sent home and still have. When she could return to her home in Rome, she promised to give me my pick of all her paintings there but, alas, the war interfered with our plans and I was never able to take up her offer.

On June 3 Mark Clark had led the American troops into Rome, taken with little fighting as the Germans were in full retreat. The New Zealand Division was to spend over a month in the general area of Acre and Sora some 20 miles north west of Cassino and, during this time, we managed to acquire the Quirinale Hotel as a Forces Club in Rome.

Soon after the fall of Rome, and with little prospect of further action for at least a month, I devised a plan to set up a camp near the sea to give the troops a break. The map showed a long coastline between Anzio and Naples which should offer a page 112 suitable location so I set off to explore in my Jeep, taking with me a member of the intelligence section — a tall fair haired fellow named Osmond — who could speak Italian fluently. We explored south of Anzio but, for 200 miles, could find nothing suitable. We eventually arrived at the end of a peninsula about 10 miles west of Naples and were about to return to the battalion in despair when I noticed an Italian about to set off in a small boat tied up at a wharf below us. I sent Osmond down to ask where he was going and he said to an island called Ischia about five miles out so we asked if we could go with him. “Yes, yes,” he said, obviously keen to co-operate. So off we went, leaving the driver in charge of the Jeep.

The boatman told us Ischia was a holiday resort with many cheap, empty pensions available and we would be very welcome. The Germans had commandeered all the accommodation when they were in occupation of the island. I said we were prepared to pay and he assured us we would have no problems. We were the first Allied troops to visit the island as the Americans and the British had all flocked to Capri and overlooked Ischia which was not so famous.

We immediately fell in love with the island and its people and arranged to rent enough accommodation for 100 troops per week for the next four weeks, planning to put the whole battalion through a company at a time. The locals were short of food so I said we would bring our own rations which they could cook for us. They then fell in love with us too and gave each contingent a rousing reception. We decided to keep our arrangements secret as we wanted Ischia to ourselves, so the first company to go there did not know their destination. They were told they were going on leave but did not know where and were sceptical of the outcome. Osmond acted as liaison officer and seemed to have a good rapport with the locals and our boys had such a wonderful time it was difficult to round them up to bring them home. Scepticism had turned to delight.

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The other companies followed and we managed to get everybody through, but not before the word had got out and others started to follow our example. There was plenty of room, however, and all of our troops had an excellent time. We were in good heart when we were sent north to prepare for our next engagement. The accommodation had been only the equivalent of two shillings a day and this was paid from battalion funds. Division became interested and Brigadier Crump, the commander of our Army Service Corps, took over and made the arrangements for future visits by New Zealand personnel.

Division had been advised there were a few seats available in the Army commanders' plane off to Cairo for two weeks so, as I had not been given the normal three months furlough, I was granted two week's leave which I thankfully took. The first week was spent in Cairo and the second in Alexandria where I relaxed on the beach and on the golf course. When our plane returned to Rome I received a message that my brother — Graeme — who had flown out an hour before to Naples had been enquiring about me. An urgent message was despatched to Naples and a reply came that he would fly back to Rome next day to meet me. He was on his way back to England after having flown the Maharajah of Cashmere home to India in an enormous transport plane called a York. When he touched down on the runway next morning I was taken out to meet him and we had a great reunion followed by a night out in Rome. The following day he returned to England and I resumed my duties with the battalion.

I heard later that his crew had thoroughly enjoyed their unexpected sojourn in Rome. Graeme had paid a two day visit to 22nd Battalion looking for me before leaving for Naples. According to reports, he had pestered my people to take him forward, where he could see a bit of infantry action. page 114 Although we were not in the line at that time, at his insistence, they took him up close enough to see a few shells exploding but they could not go closer in someone else's territory which seemed to disappoint him. He was very cheerful and looking remarkably well.

We were next to move north some 270 miles to a staging point east of Sienna and about 50 miles due south of Florence. There the 22nd Battalion was allotted an area including the estate of Fagnano, owned by the Terrosi-Vagnoli family. When I discussed the disposition of the troops with Signor Terrosi-Vagnoli, he invited me to move in to live with him and his family and I gratefully accepted. His wife was English which helped with communications, his son Georgio spoke only Italian but his daughter Kitty spoke English perfectly. Kitty had married Baron Moro and they lived at Skopeto, the neighbouring estate. At that time she was living with her parents at Fagnano because her husband was in northern Italy fighting with the partisans. They had not had news from him for some months. I became very friendly with the family and visited them on several occasions whenever I could get leave. They lived in the heart of Chianti country in Tuscany and had a rare assortment of wines which I learned to appreciate. I had my first dish of truffles there which was delicious, and they taught me to eat a tasty, fairly dry cheese combined with fresh pear.

Kitty took me in hand and introduced me to many of her local friends including one special girl friend who lived on a neighbouring estate. This young lady — Pepita — was a renowned local beauty. Her father had kept her in virtual seclusion during the German occupation and for two years she had rarely seen the light of day. However, her father seemed to trust us and one day she rode over on a spirited thoroughbred to see Kitty, dressed in riding habit and sitting side saddle. She was the most delicately beautiful girl I had page 115 ever seen, but I met her only on that one occasion.

As I had shown an interest in art, my host took me into Sienna to the local art galleries where I purchased two oils painted by Salvatore Fantasia and an appealing portrait of a well known sitter named Francesco Michetti painted by an unknown artist. According to my host, the sitter was famous and would only pose for top class artists, so the painting was certain to become valuable. I became curious about it some years later and sent a photograph to Sothebys in London who valued it at £5,000. They could not identify the artist from a photograph but knew of the sitter. I also purchased several miniatures very delicately painted on ivory. Looking at these paintings today brings back a host of pleasant memories.

On a later visit to Fagnano my host took me down into his cellars where he had just unbricked two rooms where he had hidden his most valuable paintings during the German occupation. He had been studying his two Botticellis with a magnifying glass to see if there was any deterioration from their long incarceration. The walls of this cellar were covered with priceless paintings, some so large they could only be hung in a mansion like Fagnano. He took me into a neighbouring cellar with his next most valuable paintings, those of still lesser value having been left hanging on view in the rooms and hallways of his home. He said: “Now I would like you to take one of these paintings as a gift, we have felt secure against the communists while you have been here with us. Take your choice.” I was very embarrassed but could see that he was adamant and sincere. Some of the paintings would almost have covered the entire wall of a room in a normal house, they were so large, and were mostly mounted in ornate frames. I chose a small one of a lake scene with some ducks coming in to settle amongst the raupo-like rushes on the water's edge. He was disappointed at my choice, but I had been reminded of home so I assured him that I was delighted.

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He took me aside later that evening and we became confidential over a bottle of his special after dinner golden wine produced only from vines on one side of a special ridge on the estate. It was delicious and, after a while, he became expansive. He talked of his anxiety about the final outcome of the war — he was fearful that the communists would take over and that they would plunder his estates. Would I consider marrying his niece Marinella, who was an eligible young lady aged 18, and then come to manage his estates for him after the war was over. He was getting too old to fight the communists and he thought that his son Georgio would not be able to cope. I was startled to say the least, but had my wits about me sufficiently to say that I would have to survive the war first before I could consider such a proposition. He said he would bring Marinella to meet me the next day and assured me she would be agreeable. He had obviously talked it over with her and, probably being unwilling to thwart the family patriarch, she had agreed. She was a charming and attractive young lady, but how could I be party to an arranged marriage? Time was on my side as there were still nine months of war ahead of us.

Shortly afterwards this utopian interlude ended and it was back to war. We were all sad to be parting; Kitty, Baronessa Moro, was particularly upset. At the last moment she gave me a small gold shield she had worn on a gold chain round her neck. On the front there are three figures depicting the birth of an infant with the two parents, and on the back her name and birth date. She had had it from the day she was born and was giving it to me to wear as a good luck charm during the coming battles. I still treasure it today.