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“Sometimes in the small hours they must have been afraid, with the fear that comes from experience often repeated and the knowledge that the pitcher can go too often to the well. But there were men commanding battalions or companies in 1918 who had been in the ranks at Gallipoli and in 1945 who had been riflemen in Greece. Their nerves were still good, at the least under firm control; they bore the burden of command, in the presence of death, until the very end.”
I am grateful for the advice, assistance and encouragement I have received from the late
This book is dedicated to those intrepid rank and file fighting men of the Second New Zealand Division who risked or lost their lives in the confusion of numerous night attacks where brave decisions had to be made with little guidance.
Their actions helped to ensure that for a long period their families and fellow countrymen could live a life without fear in their home country of New Zealand.
Lt. Colonel
As his second in command, I found that he was a brave, strong and effective leader who led from the front, giving great confidence to the 900 men under his command.
He expected a high standard from his men but at the same time he was fair and would never ask them to do anything he was not prepared to do himself. He had the respect of the battalion, was an inspiration to his men, and was concerned for them all both in and out of battle.
Now in retirement at Lake Taupo with good health and fitness and still the same fun-loving character, he enjoys life with his wife,
I feel this book will be read with great interest by many people, especially the generations which have grown up since the war in which their fathers and grandfathers fought.
It is curious, but natural I expect, that we should want to trace our origins back to the distant past, leading sometimes to the discovery of most rewarding relationships and some which are more open to question. It is extraordinary to consider the make-up of the blood which flows through the veins of our family, including that from the Highland clans whose endurance and stubbornness ensured they never recognised defeat and who lived mainly on the rape and pillage of their fellow country men and women. Our family tree lists suspected pirates and border thieves, clerics and colonial governors and leads me to speculate about the makeup of a human being. Do we control ourselves or are our actions pre-determined by those who went before? Perhaps we could blame the latter for our misdemeanours and claim our righteous actions as our own.
The legendary tale of how our branch of the Donald family acquired the title ‘Lord of the Isles’ is fascinating. The story goes that, on the death of the previous ruler, there were two claimants, both with equal rights, so it was decided the two
The family coat of arms is surmounted by a mailed fist holding a red cross above a shield which is divided into four quarters. The top left quarter depicts a red lion rampant on a white background; below this is a galleon with oars and sails on a gold background. To its right is a fish on a green background and above this the mailed fist is repeated on a gold background. The scroll below is inscribed with the Latin ‘Pace Belloque’ which can be read as ‘Steadfast in Peace and War’, (and gave rise to the title of this book). A close study of our family tree reveals the same fate for many of my ancestors: “killed in battle”.
My great-great-grandfather —
Who is to say what the influence of ancestry was when, in 1937, some 18 months before the beginning of the Second World War, my younger brother Graeme and I decided to
I have often been asked why I was so quick to join up to fight in a war on the other side of the world. There were certainly those ties back to Scotland and, more recently, England.
My great-great-grandfather,
W H Donald, my great-grandfather, qualified as a veterinarian at Edinburgh University and was Master of the Cumberland Hounds before setting sail for New Zealand at 27 years of age on the sailing ship George Fyfe which left London on June 23 1842, arriving in Wellington in October. He was accompanied by his wife, Hannah (née Little) of Cummersdale, Cummerdale and their seven month old daughter, Marianne. Five days later their son Ushant Fife was born prematurely but miraculously survived, only to be drowned at the age of 16 in the Waiohine River near Greytown.
It was one of those extraordinary co-incidences, which seem to happen quite regularly, that my younger brother Graeme, who left for the UK before the outbreak of war to take up a short service commission in the Royal Air Force, received most of his flying training at a north England aerodrome called Silloth, the name of a neighbouring small town. It transpired
It has always puzzled me why my ancestors made the break from family ties to come to New Zealand, and it remains a tantalising mystery. When he left Solway House, his mother's home, William had been running the home farm and supervising five tenanted farms. He left behind his widowed mother and his sister Maria who married the same year and brought up her five children at Solway House. Brother John was practising as a lawyer in Carlisle while younger brother George went to sea and became a captain in the Mercantile Marine, eventually dying in China unmarried. Presumably, as a sailor, he was a non-practising bachelor.
My great grandfather and his wife brought with them to New Zealand a small flock of Romney sheep and some thoroughbred horses with a shepherd to look after them. On the journey out, William made friends with W B (Barney) Rhodes for whom, apparently, money was not a problem. Rhodes purchased land at Pencarrow and Okiwi on the coast towards the Wairarapa. He stocked both properties with cattle and installed
My grandfather,
My father,
I was born on March 20 1917, when much of the world was still enmeshed in the mud and blood of war. At secondary school, mainly at Nelson College, I enjoyed rifle shooting more than anything else. The school had a cadet unit and I achieved the rank of sergeant in 1932. Leaving school in 1934, at the height of the Depression, it was not possible to begin a planned law degree so I worked in the family business. I joined
Shooting was a particular passion and I spent every summer Saturday afternoon at the Masterton-Opaki Rifle Range, competing at the national championships for the first time in 1935. I loved duck shooting, hare drives and fishing, and my father taught me all he knew. A great many ducks and hares paid the ultimate price as I honed my sharp shooting skills.
In early 1939, my brother Graeme was accepted for a short service commission in the Royal Air Force and I applied to join the New Zealand Air Force.
At my first interview in Wellington, I was unsuccessful because my hearing was defective. I explained to the authorities that the previous day, on a hare drive, another shooter had let off a shot within three feet of my head and, as a result, my ears were still ringing. “Come back in six months’ time,” I was told but, in the meantime, I was offered a chance to sit for an infantry commission in the Territorials which I passed on August 25 1939, just before the start of the Second World War.
There was no sense of adventure in my mind when I joined up; there was certainly a dread and a loathing of war. But there was also a growing antipathy towards Hitler and his thugs. Who was this upstart who thought he could rule the world? Had I been living in Austria, he could have been born in the next street to me and, as a boy, I might have known him. To hell with him — he must be stopped. I did not want him with his goosestepping henchmen to rule roughshod over my family and my country. No, he must be stopped and Britain had set an example which we had to support. I was 22 years old and with my Territorial training and rifle practice I had done my best to prepare for war.
The ancient Scottish air The Pibroch of Donuil Dhu was chosen as our signature tune by Lieutenant Colonel L W Andrew VC, the original commander of the 22nd NZ Infantry Battalion I served in during the Second World War. Many a weary mile was made bearable by that rousing music played by our pipe band, itself unique in the Second New Zealand Division. The band instruments were presented to the Battalion by
The song refers to an expedition in 1431 when some of my forebears of the Clan Donald put to flight the Earls of Mair and Caithness. The words show the spirit of the Highlanders in those days:
“Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, wake thy wild voice anew, Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky, Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar, Come every steel blade and strong hand that bears one, Leave the deer, leave the steer, come with your fighting gear.”
What a compelling sense of urgency! Similar, in fact, to the urgency which made me report to the Masterton drill hall, ready to join up, at 7.30 am on the morning after war was declared on September 3, 1939. However, after waiting for an hour and a half for someone to appear, I rode my bicycle disconsolately to work at my father's factory where I was busy making wool presses.
My younger brother Graeme had already left. My last remark to him, when we parted on the Wellington wharf as he was heading for England, was: “Well, I'll see you in a year's time”, and one year to the day later we met by chance in the New Zealand Forces Club in London. In the meantime he had been commissioned as a pilot in the Royal Air Force aged 20 years and I was a 2nd Lieutenant in the New Zealand Division at the age of 22.
My call-up came when the 22nd Infantry Battalion officers gathered at Trentham Camp for a preliminary course in December 1939 to prepare for the arrival of the troops early in January 1940. Our commanding officer, the adjutant and the senior non-commissioned officer were regular soldiers while the remaining officers and some NCOs were drawn from territorial and school cadet units. Several early volunteers from the First Echelon, who had been recommended for commissions, passed out in time to join our course as junior officers.
Donald homes in the Wairarapa.
Preparing for war.
The entire battalion of some 800 men, with the exception of the three regular soldiers, had volunteered direct from civilian jobs, showing how pitifully short New Zealand was of regular, trained soldiers. We were issued with left over First World War equipment of dubious quality and we lived in lines of bell tents which leaked badly. Expenditure on the armed forces had been criminally neglected for two decades previously by successive governments, the politicians aware they would buy very few votes with spending on defence. Shooting practice was severely restricted as there was little ammunition. The country boys, used to shooting rabbits and deer, and those of us who had been trained in civilian rifle clubs, were able to lift the standard a little by example, but it was not very high. We could not rely on the Army to teach us much. However, plenty of discipline, route marching and physical training gradually moulded us into a workable infantry battalion.
Our four fighting companies of about 120 men each were formed on a regional basis: A company from Wellington; B Company from Wanganui south to Wellington; C Company from Gisborne down to Wairarapa; and D Company from Taranaki. C Company, known as the Hawke's Bay Company, consisted of 13 Platoon drawn from the Gisborne area, 14 Platoon from Hawke's Bay and 15 Platoon from Wairarapa. Each platoon had three sections and approximately 36 men.
As the junior of two platoon commanders from the Wairarapa, I was given 14 Platoon, 36 raw recruits from Hawke's Bay. The Wairarapa Platoon went to Lieutenant Irvine Hart whose uncle, Sir Herbert Hart KBE CB CMG DSO, also from the Wairarapa, had been a dashing young brigadier in France during the First World War. On our first parade I introduced myself to the boys from Hawke's Bay, saying how pleased I was to be appointed to 14 Platoon. I say ‘boys’ a little ironically because really I was the boy and younger than
They were a fine body of men and I had the privilege of nominating six of them for commissions before we left for overseas. They included Eddie Norman who became commanding officer of the 25th Battalion, and was later Bishop of Wellington and knighted for services to church and community.
In the months of training at Trentham, there was a competition to determine the most efficient company in the battalion and then the most efficient platoon in that company. As reward for my platoon winning the competition, I was proud to lead 14 Platoon at the head of the 22nd Battalion in the final march through Wellington prior to embarkation. There was never another platoon like it — though some may dispute that — and I stayed with them till promotion required me to move on.
Travelling in style aboard the Empress of Britain, the 22nd Battalion, as part of the 2nd Echelon, set sail for the Middle East on May 2 1940 to join the 1st Echelon. Half way across the Indian Ocean, we were diverted, via Cape Town, to Scotland. Plans had changed because of the disaster at Dunkirk, with Britain itself threatened with invasion by the victorious Nazi troops. On arrival in the United Kingdom, we were hailed as saviours by the British press which was looking for every opportunity to boost morale. “Australian and New Zealand troops, fully trained and equipped, coming to help the Mother Country in her hour of need” read the headlines. Fortunately we were never called upon to repel the expected invasion but, instead, had a marvelous time in a friendly country where we were treated like blood brothers and generally thoroughly spoilt.
Soon after we were settled in a strategic location south of London in Kent I was granted overnight leave with one or two other officers to explore the city sights. We went up to London by train with our first call the New Zealand Forces Club. On walking into the foyer I noticed a familiar looking figure walking towards me dressed in RAF blue. I took a second look and, yes, it was my brother Graeme. “Doctor Livingstone, I presume,” I said as we shook hands warmly. In the bar later we worked out that it was exactly a year to the day since we had parted on Wellington wharf.
After a few drinks, Graeme insisted on taking me to his favourite restaurant and on the way out of the club we watched a bizarre incident. Drawn up alongside the kerb outside was a highly polished Rolls Royce with what appeared to be a dowager duchess sitting alone in the back seat. The chauffeur had gone into the club on some mission or other. A somewhat inebriated New Zealand soldier who, in civilian life, could well have been a cat burglar was lovingly stroking the Ecstasy symbol on the radiator when, suddenly on impulse, he leapt up onto the bonnet and walked over the roof of the car as nimbly as if he was climbing over the roof top of a building he was about to burgle. He came down over the boot and circled round to the open driver's window, poked his head through and said “Your Majesty, I bet that is the first time you have been run over by a pedestrian.” Perhaps flattered by having been mistaken for the Queen, she smiled as the tipsy rascal was led off by his mates. We had a good night out and arranged that on my next leave I should visit him at his base at Bircham Newton, north of London.
About two weeks later when I was able to get leave again, Graeme had arranged for his rear gunner to go on sick leave so I could take his place on a mission over the North Sea to escort a convoy of ships from the United States. By arrangement, his crew failed to tell me that it was normal to
As my brother later reminded me, at the end of an aircraft convoy escort it was customary to signal recognition with an Aldis lamp to the joining aircraft, radio silence being necessary, and to bid ‘farewell’ (good luck) to the leading naval vessel by ‘shooting it up’. This involved a mock diving attack to give the ship's gunners some non-shooting practice. Unaccustomed as I was to the turbulence of these actions, my gills turned green and I was glad to regain the warmth of the squadron mess and refurbish my emptied stomach.
I had been advised to register my name with the Victoria League in London, a group of friendly ladies who put themselves out to provide entertainment for overseas officers far from home. When an invitation arrived to attend a dinner dance at Grosvenor House in London I went up from Hollingbourne in Kent and presented myself to the imposing looking major domo at the door of the hotel in Park Lane. He ushered me into a glittering hall where a dining table was set for 100 guests and a dance band presided over a polished dance floor. I was shown to a seat at the dinner table and had been sitting there for some time with an empty seat on my right when in came a charming looking lady escorting her daughter who was, without doubt, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, dressed in a most elegant ball gown. My subconscious mind willed her mother to seat her beside me and, bless her heart, she did. I leapt to my feet to hold her
On another occasion, when I was granted a week's leave, the Victoria League took me in hand again. When they asked what I would like to do, I told them that in New Zealand I enjoyed deer stalking and duck shooting. A five minute phone call to Mrs Stansfeld of Dunninald Castle near Montrose in Scotland and the venue was arranged. You will need some guns if you want to shoot grouse up there, I was told. Another phone call and arrangements were made for me to pick up a pair of Purdy shotguns (the world's best) on my way up to Scotland later in the week.
Was I spoilt when I got there! My bag was emptied and everything in it was freshly ironed and put away in drawers. Anything the slightest bit soiled was washed and ironed. I was asked what food I liked and everything was done to perfection. My visit downstairs to the kitchen and laundry staff to thank them was the first, I believe, by any guest at the castle — they seemed embarrassed but delighted.
Shooting parties were arranged and I joined Lord Dalhousie and his party on his property ‘Invermark’ for a deer stalking expedition. There were six of us shooting and we were accompanied by several gillies and a small train of ponies to bring home the spoils. As I was new to the country, I was allotted a gillie to act as my guide and mentor with instructions to shoot only stags. The deer were very wary, having been shot at many times before, and the country was open but covered by low heather. We stalked a herd wriggling upwind on our bellies. Take that one, said my gillie, pointing at a nice young stag about 200 yards away. Luckily I had zeroed my rifle before setting out so I took careful aim and fired. He
We also shot some grouse but there were not enough beaters available to organize a proper driven shoot over butts so I was not able to use my pair of Purdys to advantage. Instead we did what they termed ‘arse-plugging’ which consisted of walking the birds up and shooting as they flew away. Our circuit took us over the boundary of Balmoral, an adjacent property, and I had the pleasure of shooting a royal grouse. It was a wonderful holiday and especially made so by my charming hostess
In case it should be thought that life in England was all fun and games, I will quote from a letter I sent home to my mother early in September 1940:
“So far nothing much of military importance has happened to us since we have been in England but it looks as if something might be brewing as we were
called back hurriedly from manoeuvres yesterday because of reports of Jerry concentrations on the other side of the Channel. He will get a hot reception if he does come. Lately we have been living out in the open for four or five days at a time. One night we had to sleep out with no blankets or extra clothing as we had to do a mock attack at dawn next morning. It is remarkable how you can make yourself warm and comfortable. There was no chance of choosing a warm or dry spot to sleep in as we were given a platoon area which we had to stay in and make the best of. We were put on an open hillside but there was plenty of fern about and, by piling it thick on top of us with a ground sheet underneath, the whole platoon, except the sentries, were able to sleep soundly. We took up these positions in the dark at half past ten and got up next morning at half past three to take part in the attack. We are now getting quite used to finding our gear in the dark without lights and no one in our platoon mislaid anything.”
Certainly this was all very basic training but it was essential if we were to become efficient. One orchard which my platoon stayed in overnight was full of ripe fruit and vegetables, but the owner, checking up apprehensively next morning, found nothing taken and the area spotlessly clean. He was so pleased he made a special trip to visit us at our next stop and gave us 10 gallons of milk and two boxes of freshly baked cakes.
On one overnight anti-parachute exercise, after we bedded down for the night under a copse of trees alongside a deep drain. I was woken by something moving under the small pillow attached to my sleeping bag which I had purchased in preference to the army issue blanket. Thinking it was a frog from the ditch, I brushed it away and went to sleep again. Once more my head
My next assignment was to do an intelligence cum snipers course at Bisley, the first of many visits to that ‘Mecca’ of Commonwealth rifle shooting. After this course I trained a group of snipers in the battalion who were issued special rifles with telescopic sights. Later, they all bagged a good tally of Jerries in the fighting on Crete.
For most of our time in England, we were stationed at a small village in Kent called Hollingbourne where we were adopted by the local people. The Vernon family kept open house for our battalion officers and we all coveted the attention of their daughter Avril, who was a charmer. She later married Edwin Bramall who subsequently became Chief of Staff in Great Britain and was elevated to the peerage as a reward for his excellent service.
We were centrally situated in Hollingbourne and transported in old London buses ready to be thrown into the fray at any point along the south coast should Jerry attempt an invasion. The Cockney drivers became very popular with our troops. We were sad to leave the good people of Hollingbourne and, when the time eventually came, we held a moving last service in the local church at which our commanding officer presented a New Zealand flag to the vicar. (It has now, with the ravages of time, been replaced twice.)
The Royal Air Force, with my brother Graeme and many other New Zealand pilots had, in the meantime, won the ‘Battle of Britain’ in the air. The threat of invasion appeared to be over as
Duchess of Bedford. With us came ‘Beet’ Chapman (née Lowry), a member of a prominent Hawke's Bay family, and a great favourite with the troops. Her father, T H Lowry, donated the Lowry Hut at Maadi Camp, a popular gathering place where tea and cakes, chocolate and many other personal requirements were available. He also supplied Beet with a van which she drove round southern England supplying the troops, especially the 22nd Battalion, with comforts and the necessities of everyday life. She was so cheerful and helpful that everybody knew and loved her. With her van, she travelled with us to Egypt, where she would appear in the most remote places in the desert and she was so welcome. Apart from furlough in New Zealand, she was with us until the war ended, becoming one of the longest serving members of the division.
Life on board ship was fairly monotonous but Duchess of Bedford.
Shipboard conditions were certainly not comfortable and the food was poor, but we had a pleasant break at Cape Town, where we were given a rousing reception. On March 3 1941 we disembarked at Suez and were soon welcomed into the ranks of the division. Initially, there was some jealousy and resentment about our globe-trotting, but it soon evaporated.
Egypt was full of surprises. Compared with the lush greens of the Nile region, the train journey from Suez to Cairo gave us our first glimpse of the starkness of the desert with its bare hills and rocky plains. We met up, too, with a variety of those likeable rascals who had earned the title of WOG or ‘Wily Oriental Gentleman’. Having learned to live off their wits in a poor environment, they were as sharp as razors. Able to tell by the colour of our skin that we were newcomers, the newspaper boys arrived on the platform by arrangement with the train driver, crying “Read all about it — good news — ship sunk — British ship”, just as we were pulling out very slowly. The smiling rogues would snatch the 5 piastres proffered by our gullible troops through the train windows. Then, still clutching the papers, they would run off down the train to find another victim before melting away into the crowd. We soon learned their tricks and appreciated their sense of humour. They were all called “George” and we routinely accused them of being Klefti Wallahs or petty thieves.
We scarcely had time to settle in to our desert camp at Maadi. Within three weeks, we were whisked away on an ill-conceived expedition to Greece to counter an expected German invasion. The Greeks had told our High Command they did not want us there unless we were sure we could beat the Germans and our decision-makers were well aware we were not strong enough to do this. We did not have the tanks, the aircraft or the expertise to be anywhere near a match for the victorious German army and, in my opinion, the Allies should never have gone to Greece. However, we were pawns in a larger game, so we had little choice. Perhaps Churchill was trying to convince the Americans we deserved their support; while President Roosevelt was co-operative, the bulk of his nation was not.
For some months, the Greek Army had been confronting Mussolini's forces which had invaded their country through Albania. Although seriously outnumbered, the Greeks had been gradually pushing the Italians back over the border. While fully extended, they were able to cope with the Italians, but were in no position to withstand a German onslaught. When our senior command met the Greek prime minister, General Metaxas, in Athens early in January 1941, they were told that, unless at least 10 British Divisions with equivalent supporting troops could be sent, it would be better not to send anyone and it would be best for the Allies to secure North
With serious misgivings, it was agreed by the New Zealand Government, and by General Freyberg, that the New Zealand Division would take part in the campaign. So we set sail for Greece, but it is a moot point whether General Freyberg would have been so anxious to co-operate had he had all the facts. By April 1 1941 the complete division was assembled for the first time. Instead of being a training run, our first combined exercise was to become a battle.
As Greece was committed to resisting a German invasion, the new Greek prime minister was faced with a dilemma. He went along with the Allied plans which involved sending the New Zealand Division, an Australian division and a brigade of British tanks, some few aircraft, supporting artillery and a large administrative staff. Half way through the ensuing battle, the Allied forces were shown to be totally inadequate and the Greek prime minister, when attending a conference, was faced with making a crucial decision. He asked to be excused temporarily and his answer — a pistol shot — could be heard from the next room.
The 22nd Battalion traveled north from Piraeus, the port of Athens, by train and soon found itself astride one of the main lines of the German advance at the foot of Mount Olympus. Much history had been made on this ancient battleground and we were to add an uncomfortable footnote. As a division we were reasonably well supplied with personal weapons and artillery, but there was a woeful shortage of supporting tanks and aircraft. We had never been in battle and were facing superbly trained and equipped forces which had swept everything before them during the past two years. As a nation, the Germans had been preparing for war for nearly a decade and they had won every battle so far. As
From our vantage point, we watched the Germans approaching in an endless column down the main road towards us, preceded by motor cycles with machine gun equipped side-cars. Troop vehicles, tanks and artillery could be seen in close packed formation, but there was not a plane of our own in sight. They had mostly been taken by surprise and shot up on the ground. A reconnaissance plane hovered overhead, so we did not give our positions away until the last moment. Then, as the Germans approached, our engineers fired a demolition charge in the road ahead of them and the column came to a halt. Our artillery — mortars and machine guns — then opened up and created havoc. The Germans knew then that they had run into something solid.
We held them at bay at Mount Olympus and my good friend
The following night the inevitable happened, and we had to withdraw as the Germans had overrun the Greeks on our left flank. For 14 Platoon this entailed a three hour trek in the dark across rough, unfamiliar country in the foothills of Mount Olympus. The track was marked on the map but was difficult to follow. Several times I temporarily lost my way in the dark and progress was slow when out of the gloom behind me came a voice, “Stick to the mud, Boss”.
“Is that you, Alex?” I asked, recognising the voice.
“Yes, stick to the mud,” he said.
“Come on, you take over,” I replied, realizing that mud on the boots was second nature to a dairy farmer from Eketahuna where it always seemed to be raining.
Our next defensive position was at the Thermopylae Pass some 200 miles further south. We were all given detailed instructions about the route to be taken as our convoy was likely to be disrupted by air attack. Sure enough, 14 Platoon's truck was soon on its own as frequent air attacks created confusion on the road crowded with transport. At Pharsala we came to a crossroads where someone in uniform, possibly a fifth columnist, was directing traffic. He tried to direct us to the left but I knew our route was straight on so I told my driver to ignore him. Unfortunately, the rest of the battalion all took the wrong road which petered out some miles short of Thermopylae, and they had to abandon their trucks and vehicles and march the remaining miles to the rendezvous at the Thermopylae Line.
As luck would have it, on our way south, we spotted an abandoned Australian supply depot so we called in to replenish our rations. What a goldmine it was with cases of
At Thermopylae, history records that in 480 BC, during the third invasion of Greece by the Persians, Leonidas and his 300 Spartans had delivered a temporary but crushing defeat on Xerxes and his invading hordes. In fierce hand to hand fighting, the Spartans held the narrow pass with little loss to themselves while inflicting hundreds of casualties on the Persians. Ours was to be a vastly different encounter fought at long range with high explosives rather than hand to hand with swords and daggers.
We manned the Thermopylae Line for about a week, long enough to check the German advance and, apart from heavy bombing and strafing from the air and some shellfire, our battalion was not attacked in strength. It was a rare sight to see any of our own aircraft and we became heartily sick of cowering in slit trenches under the olive trees all day, so we welcomed the order that came through on April 22 to move to the embarkation beach at Porto Rafti near Athens. Instructions to throw away our gear were partly obeyed, but we retained our weapons and, especially, our toilet kits. It was my belief that no man was any good until he had shaved in the morning and I was strict about this.
What should we do with the Boyes rifle issued to the platoon as a protection against tanks and armoured cars? It had not been used, was cumbersome and awkward to carry and the
Our transport officer,
During the night of April 24 we waded out to the lighters and were taken aboard the HMS Calcutta, feeling safe and secure in the hands of the navy. A mug of steaming hot cocoa and a slice of bread and jam made us feel a great deal better. Our battalion casualties had amounted to 52, with 12 killed, 23 wounded and 17 taken prisoner. We were frustrated and angry we had been defeated and were unable to strike back as we would have wished. We had no doubt that we would ultimately win the war but had little to ensure that would happen except faith. Utterly exhausted, we stretched out on deck wherever a space could be found and slept heavily, only to be woken soon after by the strident shriek of an air raid siren. Bombs were dropping but our ship was not directly attacked and the convoy pushed on, a magnificent spectacle as the ships zig-zagged through the blue Mediterranean, sending showers of bow spray sparkling in the bright sunlight.
Four thousand men were taken off by several naval vessels in the nick of time that night. Our 5th Brigade was evacuated successfully from the eastern beaches, followed later by the
Ajax. Unfortunately, 2,000 New Zealand reinforcements, who had just arrived and had not been posted to the division, were taken prisoner at Kalamata. Of the 62,000 Allied troops sent to Greece, 46,000 were evacuated. Approximately 1,000 were killed and over 1,000 were wounded and some 14,000 were taken prisoner. We had lost much valuable equipment, all in short supply and, in the meantime, Rommel had landed in Tripoli with his Afrika Korps and was menacing the Allies from the West. Churchill had ruled out further Allied advances in the Western Desert in favour of the Greek campaign. If only he had listened to General Metaxes, Rommel might never have been able to land. This proved to be one of the war's most serious blunders.
Where to next? Shipboard conversations revealed we were heading for Crete, 100 miles south east of Greece, to bolster the garrison there and defend the island against attack.
The idea had little appeal. Our morale was low and we envied the 6th Brigade which was on its way to Alexandria. It had been decided, it seemed, that if the rest of the division was wiped out, there would be a nucleus left from which its strength could be built up again. Subconsciously, we questioned the wisdom of the decision to defend Crete, but who were we to wonder why?
We stepped ashore at Suda Bay lucky to be alive and determined to do our share come what may. The sun was shining, the surroundings looked interesting, the locals were friendly, the olive trees provided welcome shade, the oranges were ripe and juicy and the wine was good — perhaps we should count our blessings.
After some delay, while a battle plan was being decided, we marched with the 5th Brigade west along the northern coastline to prepare defensive positions around the Maleme aerodrome against both airborne and sea attack. The 22nd Battalion was given the prestigious task of defending the aerodrome itself. C Company was chosen to guard the perimeter of the aerodrome with our three platoons thinly spread around it. Our company was quite seriously under strength with three instead of five officers and each section depleted by about a third. Besides looking after 14 Platoon, I had to act as second in command of the company, ready to take over if Captain Stan Johnson was a casualty.
Company headquarters was sited with 14 Platoon on the south side of the road alongside the aerodrome. To the west of us was a tented camp with a large number of Royal Air Force and supporting personnel who retained control of the aerodrome but were not under our command, which was a serious weakness as they were within our defensive area. The rest of the battalion, with all companies well under strength, was deployed round Point 107 which overlooked the aerodrome from the south. Colonel Andrew had to locate his companies to defend a perimeter of over four miles — an impossible task. No troops were available to defend the wide expanse of the Tavronitis River bed to the west of the aerodrome and the only troops west of that were a weak Greek regiment guarding a beach 10 miles away.
General Freyberg had been put in command of the island's defences and the extent of the German casualties later inflicted by the defenders showed his judgment was correct on almost every count. It was a large island to defend both from the air and the sea and a shortage of troops and equipment dictated that, although the problem was recognised, the area west of Maleme aerodrome was left undefended. The 22nd Battalion had 600 men which was
The time taken by the enemy to get ready for the assault on Crete allowed us to prepare reasonable defences. We were kept well informed about what to expect and when to expect it as, unknown to the front line troops, the Allies had broken the German code. We were greatly relieved when the main attack was delayed for several days. However, the frequency of air attacks increased and it was with a mixture of pride and despair that we watched the few Hurricanes based at Maleme gradually being shot out of the air. Those pilots were gallant beyond description. In spite of being outnumbered 50 to one, they still answered the call. I think there were originally six planes and they were whittled down to two. I was watching when the second to last one, coming in to land, on fire and with a Messerschmitt 110 on his tail, was inadvertently blown out of the sky by Australian ack-ack gunners trying to hit the German plane. The sole remaining plane was sent back to Egypt that evening and the pilot left with our blessing. They had accounted for many times their own number of planes against overwhelming odds.
There was no air cover from then on but we hoped the ever reliable navy would help to repel a seaborne invasion and leave us to cope with the gliders and paratroops. We were lying in wait, well camouflaged and reasonably well dug in.
We had been warned the assault might start on May 17, but the morning came and went with only the usual dive bombing and strafing which started soon after daylight and continued during the day until dusk. Every man stood to his post from 5.30 am to 7.00 am and from 8.15pm to 9.00 pm while
One of my section leaders came to me on May 18 to tell me one of his men could stand no more, so I went to have a chat with him. His nerves were obviously gone so his section commander and I took him some distance up a creek bed where I had previously discovered a cave. We gave him some rations, water and bedding and said we would visit him daily to see how he was getting on. Next morning, after the blitz had abated, I went to see him. He was dead without a mark on him. He had died of fright or despair, which was a sad ending for a brave man. He had volunteered to do his bit for his country and he had done it to the best of his ability.
Our slit trenches were dug in the form of a V about five feet deep and with just two men in each, a direct hit was needed before serious damage was done. Dawn broke on May 20 and over came the expected Stukas. We curled up in the bottom of our slit trenches and braced ourselves for the ordeal. After about an hour the onslaught eased off and my runner, Jimmy Christian, who occupied one side of our two man slit trench, went off to collect our breakfast. While he was away I heard a dull roar and looked out to sea to see an armada of heavy bombers coming straight at us, wave after wave of menacing monsters all heading for our position. Now we are for it, I thought; this is where it all begins and, perhaps, ends.
These were big bombers and as each bomb screeched down, I curled up into the smallest possible space, knees under chin, tin hat protecting my head and body. As each bomb zoomed in, tension built up to a crescendo of sheer terror and uncontrollable trembling for the few seconds before impact. There was no time for relief before the next bomb with my name apparently on it followed closely behind. The same process over and over again — would it never stop? Finally, my personal bomb landed five feet away on my runner's side of our slit trench and I passed out with concussion.
I came round to find Jimmy Christian shaking my shoulder. “Wake up, boss, there are paratroopers and gliders all around us”. I stood up groggily and, looked out but could not see a thing. A heavy pall of dust and smoke obliterated everything. As it slowly dispersed during the next quarter of an hour two smashed gliders and a few abandoned parachutes were revealed. My platoon position and company headquarters were carpeted with bomb craters practically touching one another. Five of my platoon had been killed and several wounded in this attack.
Suddenly, a German Spandau machine gun opened up in 13 Platoon's area on the other side of the aerodrome near the beach, followed by a burst from a Bren — one of ours. Rifle shots followed; 15 Platoon at the western end of the aerodrome seemed to be heavily engaged, as indeed they were. Their platoon commander — Lieutenant Robin Sinclair — was shot thorough the throat. Later taken prisoner, he recovered sufficiently in prison camp in Athens to escape by caique to Alexandria and, after a spell at home in New Zealand, rejoined the 22nd Battalion in Italy in 1944.
A singular act of heroism occurred in 15 Platoon at this time (May 20) when a German hand grenade was thrown into Lance-Corporal J T Mehaffy's slit trench where several of his section were sheltering. He whipped off his helmet,
When most of 15 Platoon were killed or wounded and taken prisoner, the fighting at the western end of the aerodrome ceased. We could count at least 200 Germans milling around in the area and hundreds more had landed safely by parachute in the undefended ground further west. By about midday on May 20 the Germans had captured the RAF tented camp and had taken many prisoners. A good deal of small arms fire was whistling round and it became evident the Germans were mounting an attack on our position from the west. We could hear them talking and giving orders. Suddenly we saw some of them about 100 yards away driving a screen of unarmed RAF personnel in front of them through the olive trees. I quickly summed up the situation and, deciding we would have to let them come in really close if we were going to be able to save the Brits, I gave instructions that the men were not to fire until I opened up. The tension mounted as they got closer and when the Brits were about 30 yards away, I shouted to them, “Drop! We're going to fire”. They dropped with alacrity and we opened up a withering fire on the Germans who were quite exposed close behind them. We shot all we could see and the rest pulled back, giving us no more trouble that afternoon.
Our depleted ranks were now reinforced with about eight new British recruits, including one officer. They were keen to join us so we gave them rifles and ammunition collected from our previous casualties and they joined us in our slit trenches. It was quiet in our immediate area for a while as, although German aircraft were circling round overhead most
I had heard about the two ‘I’ tanks the colonel had under his command but had not seen them as they had been hidden away as a trump card. They were big and slow, heavily armoured with only a fiddling two pounder gun in the turret but with quite an effective machine gun, and were manned by British crews. “There are a hell of a lot of Germans down there,” I said, not relishing the idea at all.
“Yes, but they are not expecting the tanks,” said Johnny, “and will probably surrender.” What a pipe dream I thought. “There the tanks are,” said Johnny, “off you go and, if you want to communicate with them, there is a bell at the back of the turret”. Hell, I thought — broad daylight too!
I quickly called my section commanders together and gave
We were being shot at from all directions and a light anti-tank gun was firing at the tanks.
We could see the shells ricocheting off. We had gone about 200 yards using whatever cover we could find when my right hand section commander crossed the road to me, followed by a hail of bullets. “It's no good,” he said, “we're too exposed. I've had two men killed and two wounded”.
“OK, I'll come across and see,” I said. “Lead on”. Over we went and were met by another hail of bullets, one of which went through my thigh and on its way out should have collected my particulars but, by some miracle, did not. “Pity,” remarked my brother when told of this incident later. “Stay where you are under cover,” I told my corporal. “Give us covering fire if you can, and we'll try to press on up the left side of the road”.
There was a little more cover on that side but, when I contacted my left section, I found they were down to half strength. The English officer lay dead in the watercourse alongside the road and my reserve section had had several casualties. The frustrating thing was that we could not see any Germans to shoot at but they could see every movement we made. The second tank had stopped on the road about 75
Just ahead of me in the watercourse lay a dead Cretan alongside an equally dead donkey which had a pigskin full of wine slung on either side of it. While contemplating my predicament with bullets spitting over my back, I suddenly saw a jet of red wine spout out from one of the pigskins. A bullet had gone through it and this lovely red wine started trickling down the watercourse towards me. It gradually collected in pools which were overflowing and trickling on in my direction. A pool formed about a yard ahead of me but didn't overflow, and I was thirsty. Dare I move forward on my belly? Could I resist it? They had stopped shooting at me so I wriggled forward. Nectar of the Gods! It was the sweetest drink I've had to this day, and it was taken from a roadside puddle.
By this time, the first tank had shed a track and we saw the crew surrendering to the Germans. The second tank turned on the road and started lumbering back towards us, fortuitously stopping right beside me. I climbed up on the sheltered side of the tank and pressed the bell — no response; again, no response so I waved my hand across the small glass porthole which the driver looks through and the turret top was raised a few inches very warily. I spoke to the commander. He reported the other tank's surrender and that he was pulling out. He was no longer effective because he could not rotate his turret. I could see that an anti-tank shell had hit the steel cowling at the base of the turret, causing it to jam. “OK,” I said, “let me load some of my wounded men onto the lee side of the tank and the rest of us will shelter alongside as you go out.” This we did under a hail of bullets and mortar
We licked our wounds for a while but there was more excitement before long. We had taken a Browning machine gun from one of the wrecked Hurricanes, and rigged it up onto a rather rickety tripod to use against low flying aircraft. It was my turn to man this gun when a determined looking flight of transporters circled the aerodrome like a mob of ducks about to come in to the decoys. It was getting near dusk and obviously they wanted to know if it was safe to land. The leader peeled off and began to approach the runway so I waited until he had almost touched down and then let him have it up the rear. The plane wavered from side to side and cartwheeled into a pile of wrecked planes at the far end of the runway. The remainder of the flight took warning and headed back to Greece, and I felt somewhat better.
As dusk approached, Stan Johnson and I tried to assess our position. We knew that 15 Platoon had been wiped out and suspected that the western section of 13 Platoon, on the beach near 15 Platoon, had also been overrun. We hoped that some of 13 Platoon, under Sergeant Crawford, were still holding out as sporadic shooting was going on in the area, but all telephone lines were cut by the bombing and attempts to contact 13 Platoon by runner had failed. My platoon had been reduced effectively to one section of about eight men and company headquarters only had five or six orderlies, runners, cooks, stretcher bearers and so on who were capable of fighting. There were also a few Brits, but we were not very strong and some of us were wounded. As darkness closed in, we had heard the Germans advancing from three directions to within about 50 yards of us. The last orders we had received
Jimmy knew the way in the dark so he removed his boots to reduce noise, slung them round his neck, and crept between German section posts, hearing loud snoring from some. He reached battalion headquarters about 500 yards away and, finding it abandoned, reported back promptly with the news. This was very disturbing — had they been captured or had they pulled out? Unwilling to accept this evidence, Stan asked Jimmy if he was prepared to have another look to make certain he had gone to the correct location. A further search might disclose something. Back Jimmy went, very courageously, and he soon returned after checking there was no one there and no sign of any skirmish, no wounded men or dead bodies. He heard Germans close by, however, and assumed the position had been overrun.
A last attempt to contact 13 Platoon failed to penetrate the German positions and, this time, well after midnight, Stan Johnson asked me what I thought we should do. “Well,” I said, “our last orders were to hold on at all costs, but it seems pretty dicey”. Thank goodness, Stan then made the right decision to pull out as we were certainly not capable of withstanding the inevitable dawn attack on our isolated position. The full weight of the air and ground forces, Stukas, mortars and machine guns would have centred on our weak position which was overlooked by Point 107, now in German hands.
By the time we were ready to withdraw, it was about 4.30 am and we were concerned about the approaching daylight. With Jimmy Christian leading again, and our boots removed and slung around necks to prevent the noise they made in
The boots went on again when we were through the encircling German lines. Inevitably our group had strung out — the wounded were slow and the leaders had moved at a fair clip and somehow, three members of 14 platoon were caught by the Germans. (However, Lance-corporal Len Earnshaw, H M S Torbay and returned safely to Alexandria.) As for the rest of us, dawn found the last of us just emerging from the German lines. Suddenly I heard a noise on the terrace just above me about 10 yards away. Then I saw a German helmet emerge above the long grass on the edge of the terrace. I raised my Tommy gun to my shoulder and, as I took aim, the helmet wobbled unnaturally but I could not stop myself from firing even though I now realised this was a German ruse to try to draw fire from any enemy.
As I heard the metallic twang of the bullets hitting the helmet and the bayonet propping it up, I whipped out a hand grenade, pulled the pin, waited two seconds and lobbed it onto the terrace above. The loud explosion followed by squeals and raucous orders indicated that the grenade had done its job. However, instead of throwing another one, I got the hell out of it, showing I had a strong instinct for survival, or was it fright?
By this time I was well behind the others and it was fast becoming daylight. The ground was broken and fairly open with olive trees dotted about and grape vines growing on the few flat terraces. A series of ridges led up to Point 107 where
Suddenly, a loud roar came from behind me and, looking over my shoulder I saw, to my consternation, a huge German plane skimming the top of the ridge I was crossing. I had just replaced my Tommy gun magazine with a full 50 round drum and had time, as this Junkers 52 troop carrier lumbered towards me about 30 yards away, to aim first at one of the motors, then at the cockpit with a burst into each. I then kept my finger on the trigger and watched the bullet holes appear evenly spaced along the fuselage at about the chest height of the helmeted troops whose heads I could see peering anxiously out of each porthole. The last bullet landed on the tail and the plane flew on and disappeared over the next ridge.
It was months before I heard this episode had been witnessed by a number of our troops who had watched the plane crash on the other side of the ridge and had covered it with a Bren gun. No Germans emerged so, presumably, they were all killed — about 20 soldiers and crew. This was the second aircraft I had shot down from the ground within 12 hours and the first time I had heard of a plane being shot down with a short range Tommy gun.
Moving on towards the 21st Battalion lines, I had to cross another ridge and, approaching the top, I surprised a party of six Jerries laying out a red swastika flag to show their planes where to drop supplies. At 25 yards I shot their leader with a burst from the Tommy gun and got two more before they disappeared. I picked up the flag and started jogging towards the 21st Battalion lines. I must have looked like a German because the 21st and some 23rd boys opened fire on me. I
After a meal and an exchange of information, Stan Johnson sent me off to the 21st regimental aid post (RAP) in a nearby village, to have my wound dressed. The field dressing previously applied had slipped and the wound looked a bit angry, so off I went and found an old mate — Lieutenant Barney Clapham — getting running repairs for a similar wound.
As there were a lot of casualties to be attended to, we sat around waiting and compared notes. Barney was our battalion transport officer and had been heavily engaged in Pigros village east of the aerodrome, where our headquarters company had been acting as infantry. They had given a good account of themselves but had pulled out, as we had, in the early hours of the morning. By late afternoon, our wounds had been dressed and we were told by the doctor that he wanted to renew the dressings in the morning but we would have to fend for ourselves that night as he had no spare beds.
To ensure we had a good night's sleep, we found a likely looking house in the village with a couple of beds in it As usual we woke early and, being inquisitive, I looked around the house and eventually emerged on to the flat roof of this two-storeyed building. To my surprise, I saw a line of about 30 Germans spread out across the hillside above us about 500 yards away and coming in our direction. My Tommy gun was no good at that distance but Barney had a German Mauser rifle and some ammunition. German ammunition was more plentiful than our own so it was commonplace to use their weapons.
It was time to see whether the sniper's course at Bisley six months before had sharpened my eye. Another New Zealander — Sergeant Boag of Invercargill — and I had passed out first and second in the shooting events at that course, so now I borrowed Barney's rifle and he acted as spotter with his field glasses. I was used to shooting bullseyes at 900 and 1,000 yards so this distance was quite good.
“Got that one!” cried Barney excitedly. “There's another one five yards to the left — got him! They've gone to ground.” He located a few more for me over the next 10 minutes or so and I had more success. It was quite exhilarating and I found myself enjoying it with no thought whatsoever about the lives I was taking. I do not think I am normally callous but am sure my war experience reduced my regard for human life very considerably. Today nothing would make me press that trigger.
When things quietened down Barney saw a medical orderly walking up the middle of the road with half a white sheet hoisted on the end of a pole. “What's the score?” called out Barney. Apparently, the village was surrounded, the regimental aid post had surrendered and we were to stop firing. We had a quick conference. Were we to be taken prisoner with the others or should we try to break out?
Previously I had noticed a sunken cart track leading off the road heading towards the hills to the south. Barney and I hurried downstairs and made for the track without being spotted. Then we doubled along it for about half a mile until it emerged into the open. From some low cover we looked around and to the west could see about 30 Germans in extended order some 300 yards away coming directly towards us. To the north and the south we could see similar formations slowly probing down the ridges. We were in a three sided box with no chance of moving without being spotted. The area where we were was made up of rock terraces covered in unruly clumps of vines and small shrubs about five feet high and
A German slid down over my head from the terrace above followed by another and another. The whole platoon must have slid over me about two feet away — I could have touched each one. We watched with apprehension as they fired bursts into thickets like ours but they passed on without discovering us. Phew! That was close! We waited without moving for about half an hour until we gradually plucked up enough courage to call quietly to one another. “Are you all right, Haddon?” asked Barney. “Yes, how about you?” I replied quietly.
We decided to stay put and move during the night because, although we were behind the German lines, it appeared we were safe enough. We spent several hours in that confined space waiting for darkness before heading south and then east to rejoin the battalion after outflanking the Jerries. We could hear shooting through the day to the east and the German aircraft movements gave us a fair indication of where the front line was. The going was so rough that our progress was slow in the dark and, after tumbling 30 feet down a rock face almost into a turbulent stream, I decided enough was enough so we tried to sleep on a rocky outcrop without much success. Our wounds were giving both of us trouble. While not being dangerous, my wound would ache and throb for the first quarter of an hour after a rest period but, once we were warmed up, both of us could walk fairly normally.
Shortly after daybreak, to our great surprise, we ran into two Maori lads from the 28th Battalion who were lost. We told them our plans so they decided to join us and they roped in three more who were hiding nearby. I had a Tommy gun and some grenades, Barney had the German Mauser and
As I had the only Tommy gun, I took the lead when we set off at daybreak, keeping to the trees and watercourses for cover. As we approached a Cretan village, I went forward on my own to see if the coast was clear. A Cretan woman appeared and ran up the track towards me waving her arms about, so I took cover. She joined me 10 minutes later, coming through the olive trees, and explained, with broken English and sign language, that there were 150 Germans in the village. They had slept there the night, eaten all her eggs and bread and spilt all her wine — and she with four children to keep. She told us to wait and returned to the village. We watched as the Germans moved out onto the plains below, moving eastward, and soon our Cretan friend returned to tell us they had left two men behind to police the village which we would now have to bypass.
Our party had become too large for the rather open country we had to cross, so we decided to split into two and rendezvous at a church we could see about five miles away. This manoeuvre was completed successfully and we were pushing on towards the next valley when we were met by 20 or 30 Cretan villagers laden with eggs, milk, cheese, cooked beans, bread and wine. Word had been passed on that we were coming and they had laid on a wonderful reception for us.
Several Cretan lads were posted as lookouts as we set to, enjoying a very satisfying meal. Then our haversacks were filled with bread, eggs and cheese and we were provided with a guide for the next part of our journey. They could not understand why I would not drink their wine and were so persistent that I put my Tommy gun to my shoulder and rocked around as if I was drunk and then violently shook my head. They burst into peels of laughter and patted me on the
In a letter to my family written two weeks later in our No 2 Hospital in Helwan, Egypt I described these Cretans as “the kindest people I have ever struck or am likely to strike and we went away with their blessing and a guide to show us the way”. Is it any wonder that the strong feeling of kinship built up between the Cretans and New Zealand soldiers has lasted to this day.
Our guide took us on to the next village in the foothills of the White Mountains where we rested up for a couple of hours and Barney had his wound attended to by a local doctor. The Cretans were kept well informed about enemy movements and seemed to know when it was safe to move and which areas were free of Germans. There was a network of runners — superbly fit young men — who carried messages throughout the mountains in spite of the constant threat of capture and torture. When my wife Ana and I visited Crete some 40 years later, we met up with one of them — The Cretan Runner.
Our guide stayed with us until we reached the next village and I will never forget the grove full of ripe juicy oranges he led us through as we approached the houses. He waited until we had eaten our fill and replenished our supplies of that most delicious fruit. By now we were due south of Canea where our troops were making a stand at 42nd Street, a mile west of Suda village. It was time to head north to rejoin our units.
We were about eight miles from the coast and uncertain who we would meet up with next when we discovered a Cretan soldier in what appeared to be a deserted village. He spoke English and took me to his commanding officer who said they were expecting a German attack in the morning. We
A naval hospital was still operating with a skeleton staff so Barney and I had our now infected wounds dressed. We said goodbye to our intrepid band of fellow wanderers who went off to locate their respective units and headed east along the road until darkness and tiredness overtook us once again. When we found an empty house with two made up beds we dossed down, but after only an hour's sleep the owner turned up. He was very affable, however, and gave us four eggs and a bottle of wine but said he had to lock up the place as he was leaving before the Germans arrived next morning. We packed up and moved on to a hay barn further down the road where we slept soundly in the hay.
Before dawn we were off again trudging eastward. By now we had learned we were to evacuate Crete from the small fishing village of Sfakia on the south coast. We met up with two 22nd Battalion lads left behind the night before and trying to catch up again. With our wounds, Barney and I were slow and those White Mountains to the south, over which we had to climb, looked dauntingly high. When we came across an abandoned ordinance depot, which was very much in Barney's line, he suggested we have a look around. A lot of wrecked vehicles and some supplies did not look very encouraging,
We sailed along the road passing a few troops but, with very few army vehicles on Crete, the road itself was fairly clear, as most surviving units had taken up defensive positions off the main road. Eventually we stopped and I re-mounted facing backwards so that I could spot enemy aircraft approaching from the rear. Several times we had to hide under olive trees but we escaped detection and were not shot at. There was no sign of the 22nd and no one seemed to know where they were. In fact, they had occupied a defensive position some distance off the left of the road and, unknowingly, we passed them by.
After what seemed like ages, we finally reached the top of the pass leading over the White Mountains down to Sfakia where the motor faltered, sputtered and conked out — we had used all our petrol. Reluctantly Barney removed some parts and pushed the motorcycle over a cliff where it lay in a mangled heap. The parts he threw away. We were now on our feet again but, luckily, it was all downhill. It was a long way down, but eventually we arrived at the approaches to the beach just on dusk.
A beach marshal, who was checking everyone, took our credentials and put us with quite a large group of walking wounded with whom we stayed that night and the following day. The next night we were directed down to the beach and
HMS Napier, a fairly new destroyer. It was all very orderly and there were no mishaps. We had done the same thing a month before so we were used to the drill. Once again mugs of hot cocoa and slices of bread and jam were served to the grateful troops and once again we felt safe in the hands of the navy.
The ships wanted to be underway before sunrise to be well clear of the island and hopefully out of range of marauding aircraft. But the desire to take off as many troops as possible delayed our departure so that, soon after daybreak, we were attacked from the air. Fortunately, the planes were at extreme range and their bombing erratic. The threat of submarines aside, we were heading for Egypt and safety. The day was beautiful, the sea was calm and once again the convoy presented a magnificent sight as we zigzagged through the waters of the blue Mediterranean.
When we sailed into Alexandria that evening, bloodied but unbowed, there on the wharf to greet us was Beet Chapman with her traveling canteen. She immediately arranged for a cable to be sent to my parents and organised with the chief postmaster to have all my mail sorted and delivered to the hospital at Helwan where it arrived soon after I did. And there in the bed next to me was my old sergeant, now second lieutenant,
While I had no doubt we should never have been sent to
The Battle of Crete was an epic encounter, unique as an airborne invasion, and never to be repeated by the Germans because of their horrendous loss of elite troops. It became controversial in later years as our armchair historians tried to lay the blame for its loss on individuals. These included General Freyberg and our 22nd Battalion commanding officer Lt Colonel L W Andrew VC who was responsible for the defence of the vital Maleme aerodrome. Published records indicate a considerably greater number of Allied than German forces but with no recognition that the invading troops were almost all front line fighting men while the majority of ours were support personnel in charge of supply, aerodromes, parts, etc. The crucial matter, to my mind, was the complete domination of the air by the Germans and the fact that, until that time, Hitler had won every battle and was unlikely to accept a defeat.
On April 11 2001 I wrote to The Dominion newspaper in Wellington in defence of Lt Colonel Andrew's actions on Crete. The man was a hero, had won a VC in the First World War, and chose to face it all again in the Second World War. His personal courage was without question and his judgment was sound in the face of tremendous pressure and a realisation of the inevitable result of this unequal battle.
Why were we so tragically ill-equipped? Churchill had for years tried to persuade the British parliament of the danger Hitler posed, but his fellow politicians took scant notice of his warnings. There were even those amongst them who
At the end of the First World War, radio was being used at battalion headquarters level and this vital communications device had been finally accepted. However, 20 years later, the British Expeditionary Force still relied on field telephones and runners. A brigade of tanks was sent over to the Continent but General Montgomery, who commanded the 3rd British Division, said he never saw one. And Britain had invented the tank! Our anti-tank gunners were equipped with insignificant 2 pounder guns while the Germans had the magnificent 88 millimetre anti-tank and anti-aircraft gun which had been offered to Britain by the inventors before the war and turned down by the War Office. The infantry was equipped with a very few ‘Boyes’ anti-tank rifles — and that really says it all. Rifles against tanks!
I fail to understand why, after the war, those guilty politicians were not tried for criminal neglect. They were responsible for sending troops equipped with ‘Boyes’ rifles against tanks. They were not tried in the courts of law, but they should have died of shame. Had they experienced the dread of being crushed beneath the tracks of a tank, they might have done something. Our New Zealand politicians during that period were equally to blame, but England should have given a lead to the Commonwealth.
Back in Egypt, it was approaching mid-summer with all the sights, sounds and smells we had briefly experienced before embarking for Greece. Summer kit was issued with pith helmets, shorts and puttees and the battalion settled in at Garawi Camp, an uninspiring place in the desert south of Cairo. A welcome group of 365 reinforcements was soon absorbed within the battalion, bringing the all ranks strength up to 782. We had come through our baptism of fire defeated, but with the knowledge that on even terms, we could more than hold our own against Jerry. And particularly, we had noticed his dislike for close quarter fighting and night attacks.
Col. Andrew — ‘Old February’ as he was nicknamed and called himself — reverted to his hard disciplinary tactics and was even harder on his officers than on his men. He also had a grudge against ‘Bludger's Hill’, our base headquarters, and especially against the Military Secretary who had turned down nearly all of the recommendations for decorations put forward
The colonel himself had put forward a number of recommendations both for officers and other ranks but most of his recommendations had been rejected completely.
However, I was blissfully unaware of this, idling my time away in hospital for two weeks waiting for my wound to heal. Then there was 10 days' sick leave which
After Jerusalem, Barney and I travelled together to
Weekly News. By the time Barney and I returned to the battalion, it was stationed at Kabrit some 16 miles south of Port Suez. From there the battalion moved to a new camp at Ismailia, a gruelling all day march with full packs up, but I was pleased to be back with 14 Platoon, one of only three platoons from the whole battalion to complete the march without anyone dropping out. As a punishment for what Col. Andrew regarded as a poor performance, all the platoon commanders, without exception, were sent on another march the next day when temperatures were between 100° and 118° and tempers rose similarly. There was no reward for the three platoon commanders who had successfully coaxed their platoons to the finish line on the previous day.
It was refreshing to meet up with a number of old friends from home who had joined us with the reinforcements: Gough Smith, who lived in the same street, the Bunny twins — Dick and Joe —
Our next move — 280 miles west out into the desert — was welcomed. After the steamy heat of the Delta, with the constant threat from malaria mosquitoes and the never ending flies, it was good to get out into the open again. The flies seemed to follow us but, by keeping our lines scrupulously clean, I found that the little tormentors mostly went next door where the troops were possibly not quite so fussy. The Kaponga Box, in which we found ourselves, was an ill-conceived concept, being an isolated strongpoint which could be easily
We had small two-man bivvy tents to sleep in. Each tent was erected over a hole measuring six feet by four feet dug about two feet deep into the rocky ground. The idea was that, if the enemy launched a general attack, we could sally forth and attack his flanks and then pull back into a secure position. The fatal flaw of this strategy, which persisted until Alamein, was that the Allied divisions were broken up into brigade units or smaller, each of which could be easily overrun by Rommel's tanks.
The really useful training carried out here consisted of map reading and compass work, navigating across the desert at speed during daylight and darkness. First we practised on a company basis, then by battalion and brigade and later again as a complete division. The troops learned to embus and debus quickly into and from our three ton trucks, heave or tow the trucks out of soft sand if they became stuck, and regain their places in the convoy. Our role as a hard hitting mobile force quickly evolved and we became skilled at moving from place to place in a relatively featureless environment using compasses, watches and the vehicles' speedometers. Some officers never did master the art, but most could move about with relative confidence.
Similar training was being undertaken by other divisions within the 8th Army, now under the command of General Auchinleck. Word filtered through that the second Libyan or ‘Crusader’ campaign was about to start, the objective being to drive the enemy out of North Africa. The plan envisaged penetration of the frontier wire by mobile forces, including
However, unfortunately, our armour was inferior to the Germans in every respect except the courage of the crews. The ‘Panzer Division’ had well trained crews, gunners, recovery units, engineers and supporting infantry, superior tanks and anti-tank guns and more experienced commanders. In the first few days, the British lost 530 tanks to the Germans' 100. One Allied unit, the 7th Armoured Division, started with 500 tanks and ended up with 90; the Germans began with 356 better tanks and 250 survived. The battle raged back and forth for four days while we waited the outcome and, with the unexpected capture of Afrika Korp Headquarters, we thought we might be winning. The infantry poured through to exploit the so-called success and we were given scattered objectives. The brigade group was regarded by army headquarters as the most satisfactory fighting unit and initially we were sufficiently gullible to accept this theory.
Our 5th Brigade was told to occupy Sidi Azeiz, a cross road in the open desert some 12 miles inland from the port of Bardia. It was our good fortune that the 22nd was given a strategic defensive position on top of the Menastir escarpment some eight miles north of the 5th Brigade HQ. Our B Company had the bad luck to be chosen to give infantry support to an otherwise almost defenceless brigade headquarters stuck out on its own in the middle of the desert. I well remember talking to Lofty Hunt about this time; he was an original 14 Platoon private, a country man from Hawke's Bay, prepared to speak his mind without too much regard for authority. “Why,” he asked me, “do we split ourselves
The 22nd dug in furiously on top of the rocky escarpment with C Company on the eastern flank nearest to Bardia and we were in position by 2.00 pm on November 23. Word came through that the 23rd Battalion was pressing up the road north from Capuzzo to Bardia driving the Italians ahead of them, so D Company of the 22nd was directed to cut them off before they reached the Bardia defences. Major Tom Campbell, in charge of D Company, was given some mortars and seven Bren carriers to support the endeavour, but unfortunately he was given as his objective a cross road five miles south west of Bardia, and this turned out to be just inside the enemy defence perimeter.
Unwittingly, with his carriers under Lieutenant Bob Knox acting as a screen in front of his company trucks, Tom ran slap bang into the Bardia defences. Without realising where they were, Bob led his carriers through a gap in the wire and approached a large group of soldiers lounging around whom he mistakenly believed to be members of the 23nd Battalion. “Watch up!” yelled one of his men, “They're Italians.” They opened fire and suddenly all hell was let loose. Tom Campbell's trucks came under fire so he debussed and pressed on determined to reach the cross road. The carriers withdrew through the wire and, after a spirited exchange of fire, Tom was ordered to withdraw. Several of his men were wounded but had to be left behind as they were too exposed and too close to the defences to be rescued in daylight.
Later I was briefed about what had happened and ordered to take my platoon and pick up the four wounded men left behind. This entailed a compass approach in the dark to a location eight miles away right up against the Bardia defences. Sgt. Gerry Fowler from D Company came with us to help identify the exact position of the wounded men. I can do no better than quote from our
“In two three-tonners just after dark, Donald and his Platoon (14) from C Company went back for wounded who could not be found or who were isolated by particularly heavy fire during the withdrawal. Near the spot the Platoon left the trucks and walked forward cautiously. ‘It was pitch black’ writes Donald. ‘We had to comb the ground close to the defences. We left one section at the trucks: too many men would have been difficult to control. We spread out in a long line about five yards between men, almost the limit of visibility, and started to comb the ground systematically. It was very eerie with the searchers calling out in hushed voices the names of the missing men, with flares meantime going up intermittently from the Italian lines. Everyone froze when the flares went up and we felt as if we had been stripped to the skin but not a man moved, although every moment we were expecting to hear the dread clatter of a machine gun.
“Then Donald received a shock. A grinning face under a shock of curly hair poked over his shoulder and a Scotch voice said ‘Hullo”. It was Jock (“Haggis”) Lowe, flatly disobeying orders to stay with the trucks. Donald reprimanded him, ‘But you are bloody pleased to see me aren't you?” said Jock. ‘Yes, said Donald emphatically. With Jerry Fowler and Jock playing a notable part, they collected every man.”
This was a very satisfying outcome as the wounded would not have had much chance of surviving the following day in
Meanwhile, anticipating an attack on our position, Col. Andrew had recalled B Company from 5th Brigade HQ and, sure enough, an attack was launched at about 8.00 am along the top of the escarpment from the east directly on to C Company's position. They came at us with shells and mortars, machine guns and rifle fire but our reaction was so fierce they withdrew after about half an hour. During their advance both my sergeant, Viv Hill from Fernhill near Hastings, and I suffered similar wounds. Out slit trenches were shallow in the rocky formation and we were being heavily shelled as the Germans approached. While waiting for the attackers to come within closer range, Viv and I were lying on our backs in our shallow slit trenches about 10 yards apart watching a dog fight between fighter planes going on above us when a barrage of shells landed alongside and we were both knocked unconscious. After I woke up I saw that a shell had landed on the edge of my slit trench, had missed my nose by about six inches and had blown a hole in the broken rock alongside me about the same depth as my trench. Luckily the debris had all carried beyond me.
Exactly the same thing happened to Viv and, when we looked at one another later, we would have burst out laughing had it not been so painful. My eardrums were burst and both our faces turned a greenish blue and swelled up till our eyes were reduced to slits. We revived quickly enough to take part in the counter attack which C Company mounted immediately afterwards, but I admit I was not over enthusiastic.
Here my good friend and mentor Sgt. Bob Baylis distinguished himself. With his section, he pursued the Germans for a mile past our counter attack objective, being fired at and returning fire when the opportunity occurred. Eventually they forced five Jerries to ground and, with covering fire from both flanks, Bob went in with his Tommy
Bob, a 30 year old shepherd when he joined up in Hastings, was an original member of the 22nd Battalion. As a private soldier on Crete he showed he was a natural leader, but accepted promotion rather reluctantly. He quickly rose through the ranks to later become a sergeant major in charge of an anti-tank troop of 6 pounder guns, having turned down my offer to recommend him for a commission.
Five of our men were wounded during this unsuccessful German attack on C Company's position and we took nine prisoners in our counter attack and killed a number more.
With 14 Platoon, I was sent out on patrol later that afternoon to search for any German stragglers, with instructions to keep out of the machine gun or mortar range of the Bardia defences. We combed the ground and didn't find any Germans alive, but drawing fire from their defence line, I could, by observing their flashes, pin point gun positions on the map using bearings from my compass. We also located several strong points within the wire to give our artillery something to fire at. We returned without suffering any casualties; we were, temporarily at least, in charge of no-man's land.
Soon after dusk, as we were having our evening meal, the sound of tracked vehicles moving close by disturbed our tranquillity. As there were no Allied tanks in the area, they had to be German. We had been issued with sticky bombs, hand-held contraptions like large toffee apples, with the explosive knobs covered with a gluey, treacle-like substance.
Next day was fairly quiet with both sides holding off. We had effectively blocked the coast road between Tobruk and Bardia so, except for a few stragglers whom we shot up, enemy traffic was restricted to the open desert south of the escarpment. However, the following day alarming reports of enemy activity came in from all directions. Huge motorized enemy columns were roaming the desert, south, east and west of 5th Brigade headquarters, so Brigadier Hargest decided to send his soft-skinned vehicles to the 22nd area where they would be protected by the escarpment. He considered moving his whole headquarters to our area also, but left the decision too late. Early on the morning of November 27, 5th Brigade HQ was attacked by 40 of Rommel's tanks, infantry and supporting arms. With the sun rising behind the Germans, the defenders were partially blinded. It was an unequal struggle although our artillery and a few 2 pounder anti-tank guns put up a spirited defence until they were knocked out one by one. Five Brigade had no tanks in support and a request for air cover drew a blank.
In the end, 47 officers and 650 of our men, including B Company of the 22nd, were marched off to Bardia as prisoners of war, victim of the faulty tactics of splitting up our forces. A number of others were killed and some of the wounded left behind did not survive.
With no headquarters, 5th Brigade had to be reconstructed. We were all widely dispersed. The 28th Maori Battalion was near Sollum, the 23rd was at Capuzzo, we were at Menastir, and the 21st was acting as a reserve at divisional headquarters. Meanwhile, 4th and 6th Brigades were being badly mauled outside Tobruk with little or no tank support. The 22nd was isolated and short of ammunition, food and water so Colonel Andrew wisely decided to withdraw to the Sollum area to be in touch with the 28th and 23rd Battalions. The 220 vehicles involved were assembled and our intelligence officer Sam McLernon, who was later best man at my wedding, had the formidable task of navigating us in the pitch dark through no-man's land to our destination four hours' drive away. Twice we ran into enemy columns and had to deviate, but Sam succeeded brilliantly and every blacked out vehicle and all personnel arrived at our new location — Musaid — intact and before daybreak. Colonel Andrew then left us to form a new brigade headquarters under the command of the 4th Indian Division which was also in the area.
The battalion's only brush with the enemy came during our three day sojourn at Musaid when I was given orders to ambush a party of Germans, observed by a Bren carrier patrol to be occupying a well, named Bir el Silqiya, at dawn each morning. I was given a map reference of the Bir which was several miles away and told to take my platoon in three Bren carriers on a fighting patrol to ambush this German party
We set out after midnight and located the spot using compass, watch and the speedo on the Bren carrier and arrived in plenty of time to disperse the three sections strategically before dawn. We were well within artillery range of the main German positions so could expect a hot reception when the firing started. I told Sgt. Bill McKenzie, who was in charge of the Bren carrier troop, to hide his carriers behind some high rocks about 100 yards away and not move until I sent for him in the morning. I gave instructions that no one was to shoot until I opened fire and, using what cover we could find, we settled down to wait for daylight
As expected, a staff car followed by two trucks came out of the early morning haze from the German lines. Their approach was cautious and to our dismay they came to a halt about 500 yards away. We watched as they debussed and set up a mortar pointing ominously in our direction. Then the occupants of the staff car, which had been captured from the British, and of one of the trucks climbed aboard their vehicles and came slowly in our direction leaving the mortar crew behind. My men knew not to show themselves. I had pulled up a short scrubby bush growing nearby, holding it in front of my face so I could watch without being seen — an old deerstalking trick.
They came right into the rocks which partially surrounded the well and when they were only about 30 yards away, I opened fire with my Tommy gun, aiming first at the driver of the staff car. When the whole platoon joined in, firing at the occupants of the truck and the car, those not hit came out of the vehicles with their hands up and we stopped firing. The officer in charge was not wounded and we quickly collected
However, the German officer had managed to fire a flare to warn his headquarters of our ambush and soon we were being plastered with shell and mortar fire. We quickly took cover in the rocks and engaged the mortar crew with a Bren which silenced them. However, the shells continued to come over thick and fast, alarming Bill McKenzie who thought we were being annihilated so, ignoring instructions, he came in with his carrier to offer what help he could. With rotten luck, a shell splinter went through the narrow carrier visor and killed him. He was a fine soldier and a very popular man, coming from a prominent family in Hawke's Bay where he was well known on the polo fields.
The carrier remained with us until the shelling ceased and then the other two came to pick us up and away we went with our five prisoners in the staff car followed by a few parting shells from the Germans. Bill was our only casualty but, while we did a lot of damage to Jerry and obtained a great deal of information from the German officer's papers and marked maps, I felt we were the losers.
While the 5th Brigade was acting as 13 Corps reserve back in the Sollum-Bardia area, the New Zealand Division headquarters, with 4th and 6th Brigades, was being cut to pieces by Rommel's tanks near Tobruk 100 miles further west. Casualties were so high that divisional headquarters and the two brigades were pulled out, returning to Baggush on the coast, well back into Egypt, where they hoped to recuperate. Five Brigade, now under Brigadier Wilder, was to continue the advance westward from Tobruk under command of 13 Corps. General Freyberg was convinced that had 5th Brigade not been taken from the division as Corps Reserve, the battle at Sidi Rezegh near Tobruk would have been won. He was adamant throughout, as were his senior commanders, that
On December 11 1941, 5th Brigade was moved to Acroma some 17 miles west of Tobruk to prepare for an attack on the enemy positions at Gazala. Moving forward on the morning of the 13th we came under heavy shellfire so we debussed and continued the advance on foot. We had been given objectives which we had marked on the map. My platoon was to finish up on the extreme left of the battalion's forward positions. While the line looked good on the map, I noticed the contours showed I must take my platoon over the ridge in daylight with the enemy's main positions well within range. A red light flashed in my mind and I resolved to assess the danger when the time came. I never did like daylight attacks and was apprehensive.
On the way forward we collected 120 Italian prisoners who had been given outposts to defend but had little stomach for fighting. There were two instances of treachery when the Italians opened fire after showing a white flag, the shooting coming from the area of the flags. As we drew close to our objective, we were being heavily shelled but, keeping well dispersed, managed to avoid casualties.
As I had expected, the last 100 yards of our advance would take us over the ridge so I stopped my platoon short of it and crawled forward to take a look. Sure enough, there were the enemy forward defence posts in full view behind barbed wire and the ground was open with no scrub more than two feet high and only a few folds in the ground to give us cover. To try to dig in on the objective in the hard rock under direct fire was sheer madness so I decided to wait a couple of hours until it was reasonably dark. When Major Irvine Hart, our company commander, a friend from my home town and a
There was now only about an hour of daylight left so I made the start time in 60 minutes which gave them ample time to explain the move in detail to their men. Everything went without a hitch and no shots were fired by either side in the darkness. Orders had been obeyed, it was just the timing that was a bit delayed. We dug in as deeply as we could, camouflaging our positions effectively with the low desert bushes growing nearby and prepared to spend the following daylight hours without moving as we were so exposed.
It was a long day but half way through the afternoon there was a diversion when a lone dispatch rider on a motorcycle, one of ours, sailed across our front, midway between our lines and the enemy. Hell, he must be lost I thought as I watched from my position on top of the low ridge. Inevitably the enemy opened fire and the motorcycle and rider did a flip. A few more shots from the enemy lines and then silence. He won't know we are here, I thought, and he may be wounded — perhaps I can help. Acting on impulse rather than good judgment, I crawled forward where there was a little cover and some folds in the ground. Passing through my forward sections, I told them what I was doing.
The dispatch rider had gone down about 100 yards away
We drew plenty of fire and a bullet from one burst grazed my forehead while another creased my helmet deeply, spun me round and threw me dazed onto the ground. However, I soon recovered and we made our way back over the ridge to safety with the mission successfully accomplished. I treasured that helmet until it got lost in the fog of war. It had undoubtedly saved my life.
I never found out who the dispatch rider was or what unit he came from but at least he survived that incident. Later, when the opportunity occurred, I took my section leaders mildly to task for not giving us covering fire, but they said they were so absorbed by the pantomime out front it had not occurred to them. Just as well really, because they would have given away their positions.
That night the Poles were to mount an attack through our lines and, on their way forward, a Polish platoon commander joined me in my shallow slit trench. He spoke good English and asked me if there were any Germans ahead. I said that so far we had seen only Italians. He was disappointed — he wanted
The Poles moved through our lines after dark for their attack on the enemy positions; we were to follow up next day if they were successful. All was quiet in the morning and, as there had been no news about the outcome of the battle, I was instructed to find out whether there were Poles or Italians in the enemy lines in front of us. Sgt. Baylis and I went forward to have a look. We could see movement in the nearest trenches but not tell, using our binoculars, whether they were friend or foe. We moved cautiously forward until we were within 200 yards and had just decided to turn back because, if they were Poles, they would have shown themselves by then. When a hail of bullets kicked up the dust around us we beat a hasty retreat, zigzagging and crawling back to our lines.
While the Poles had not taken those positions on that occasion, they carried out a successful attack on the following night. Sometime before dawn, we were startled to hear the most terrified screams imaginable floating back over no man's land from the enemy lines. My Polish friend had found his Germans who, without doubt, would now be impotent.
The Gazala battle of mid-December 1941 was a complete success with the New Zealand 5th Brigade, the Polish Brigade and the 5th Indian Brigade all taking part, and the artillery, tanks and infantry operating to great effect. Our attacks all reached their objectives and enemy counter attacks were mostly broken up by well directed artillery, mortar fire and machine guns. The enemy's withdrawal to the west signaled the end of the second Libyan campaign for 5th Brigade and we joined the rest of the division at Baggush — across the Egyptian border and half way back to Alexandria. It was a long journey by truck to the railhead and then by rail to
The division was united again and the lid came off when New Year's Eve was celebrated in earnest. The fun started when someone let off some German flares. Every unit made its contribution with star shells from the artillery, smoke bombs from the mortars, tracers from the machine guns, search lights from the ack-ack, Verey pistol flares from the infantry and a cacophony of bursting Italian hand grenades going off in all directions. The commanding officer, Colonel Andrew, took part too, firing his Verey pistol into the night sky.
It had been a spontaneous reaction; the division had suffered 4,594 casualties, a large proportion of the fighting force and one officer in every three and one man in every four had become a casualty in the three weeks of heavy fighting. We were in the mood to let off steam. However, a neighbouring British unit stood to, ready to repel a suspected seaborne invasion.
Since November 27 when my eardrums had burst, I had been having trouble with infection. My ears had been suppurating constantly for over a month and the RAP was unable to help much as we always seemed to be on the move. As we were now out of the line, I applied to go back to base to have my ears attended to properly under sanitary conditions and I was admitted to our No. 3 General Hospital on January 6 1942. After a week of tender loving care from our own nurses and doctors, I was discharged with the infection cured but holes remaining in each eardrum. The following day my home town next door neighbour —
It was announced that I had been awarded a Military Cross for the Libyan campaign and my captaincy was also gazetted. Clearly cause for celebration. We gathered at Sheppards Hotel with the three Wairarapa girls,
From hospital, I was sent back to base at Maadi and two days later was told by the Military Secretary to report to the 25th Battalion. “No Sir,” I said, “I belong to the 22nd Battalion and that is where I want to go.”
“The 25th are short of experienced officers,” he replied, “So you've been posted there.” I could not refuse outright but made it clear I would have to be dragged there by wild horses. He demurred but finally gave in, and off I happily went to rejoin the 22nd, now based at Kabrit near the Suez Canal. I was in time to take part in the farewell parade for our commanding officer Lt. Col. Andrew VC, who had been posted back to New Zealand.
After Les Andrew had won his VC in the First World War he had been a regular soldier. Although his strict discipline did not suit everyone he had certainly knocked us civilians into shape and left an indelible influence. He was a very brave man who served his country well and we respected and admired him while, at the same time, being privately incensed at some of his orders. We were sorry to see him go. He had filled his position with distinction and thoroughly earned his DSO. We gave him a good send off and welcomed our new commanding officer — Lt. Col. John Russell — son of
Early in the new year, a scare up in the desert had 5th Brigade moving smartly back into Libya where we furiously dug holes preparing for a German breakthrough which, thankfully, did not eventuate. So in March it was back to Maadi Camp near Cairo, where we were pleasantly surprised to find that the New Zealand Club in the city had recruited a number of New Zealand girls — ‘The Tuis’ — to help the staff, and how welcome they were. We blessed Lady Freyberg for her inspired idea!
News came that the division was being sent to Syria to guard the Turkish border against a possible German attack through that country. Prior to leaving, I managed a few days leave in Ismalia — a resort on the Suez Canal where
Meanwhile, the divisional anti-tank set up had come in for scrutiny and it had been decided to establish an anti-tank company within each battalion. I was appointed to command this company so off I was sent on a month long course to learn all about it. The new 6-pounders were issued in limited supply and were mounted on portées so the guns could fire on the move or they could be dismounted and fired from a defensive position on the ground. We trained hard in Syria and later in the desert and became very good at mounting and dismounting up and down the ramps onto and off the portées.
For shooting practice in the desert we used as a target an old tank turret with a can of petrol inside and a cheer would go up every time we scored a hit which ignited the fuel. No one seemed overly concerned how much ammunition we used so we quickly gained experience. Unfortunately, when we next went into action, the company was split up with a troop of guns going to each infantry company and I resumed my role as an infantry company commander.
Syria brought great balm to our souls. Far away from any danger, so long as the Germans did not invade Turkey, it was mostly green countryside with mountains and forests enhancing the landscape. There was desert too where we could carry out manoeuvres under realistic conditions for our eventual return to North Africa. At times we were sent on guard duty to the Turkish border north of Afrine where we could see the occasional Turkish sentry across the river which marked the border. We were friendly without making actual contact. One night while doing the rounds of my forward
During a break on manoeuvres one day, I sat down on a large boulder to eat my lunch when suddenly I felt an acute pain in my backside. I leapt into the air — some said it was the quickest they had ever seen me move — and there on top of the flat stone I had been sitting on was an enormous scorpion brandishing his tail menacingly at me. It was his stone and he clearly resented my presence, but it was his final act as my boot quickly reduced him to pulp.
Rather disconcerted, I thought I should report to the RAP to see if the doctor had any antidote to the poison. But as I proceeded there, I felt another sharp pain, this time on the opposite groin. My pants were down in a flash as I expected to find his mate had crawled up my trouser leg and I had been attacked again. It felt like another scorpion sting but there was no culprit there; it seems the poison had simply moved from my backside to the nearest gland, with a very painful outcome. I thought the doctor was most offhand as he simply told me to lie on a stretcher where he could keep an eye on me to see whether or not I survived. As I did survive, perhaps he knew what he was doing.
We had quite friendly relations with the locals who made good use of our doctor for prescriptions and some minor operations. They reciprocated with gifts of fresh vegetables and eggs and on one occasion the local ‘Mukta’ or head man invited six officers to dine with him. There were 12 of us at the dinner table — all males — and the women, wearing veils,
The main course was an enormous bowl of mutton stew, the final decoration the six eyes from the three sheep killed for the feast. The bowl was passed round and offered to the guests first, with the suggestion that we should help ourselves to an eye if we so wished. The ‘Mukta’ watched closely and to his obvious delight no one took an eye from the bowl which was then handed to him. He scooped out each eye with his fingers and ate them all with obvious relish. The meal went off very well, everyone was very polite and there was lots of camaraderie afterwards. However, when I tried to introduce a similar system of dining to my own family in later years, the idea was received very coolly indeed!
While we made every attempt to keep onside with the locals, we soon found that, like the rest of their Middle Eastern counterparts, they could not be trusted. Their natural tendency for intrigue was bred in the bone. Their avarice and mistrust of their own kind was normal for them and, unfortunately, the leopard does not change its spots. Food was in short supply so the Syrian merchants cornered the market for flour which they then sold at exorbitant prices and the Allied army had to take over the distribution of flour to keep them honest.
After four months of training and guard duty in Syria away from the tension of battle, the morale and health of the division had been restored and we were looking forward to more action. Then, on June 14 1942, the 5th Brigade, now under Brigadier Kippenberger, received the news that Rommel had broken through in the Western Desert and there appeared to be no way of stopping him. Manoeuvres were off and motor transport was provided to move the New Zealand Division to Egypt post haste to help stem the German onslaught. Because of the speed that was necessary, the trucks
At Mersa Matruh, the division consolidated with the 6th Brigade going into reserve. The chaos subsided and the wholesale rout of the 8th Army gradually came to a halt. The destruction of papers and preparations to evacuate from Cairo and Alexandria were stopped and the panic which had taken hold at middle east headquarters slowly died away. Order was restored but, in the meantime, the Afrika Korps had driven the 8th Army clear across Cyrenaica to the gates of Cairo. Massive dumps of supplies were captured and all the positions won previously with so much sacrifice had been lost.
The stand made by the 8th Army at Gazala-Bir Hacheim, south of Tobruk, had been gallant and bloody. The British, Indian, French and South African troops considerably outnumbered the Axis forces but the impetus and direction of the battle was dominated by Rommel's superior generalship against a weak and indecisive Allied command. The ‘Brigade Group’ theory still influenced British tactics and switches in command of infantry and artillery resulted in confusion which Rommel capitalised on. The troops did their job but the higher command failed.
The New Zealand Division's first task on our return from Syria was to occupy and restore the Matruh Box west of Alamein. The defences had filled with sand and the mine fields were of questionable value. A move to reduce the size
“You are to go back to Maadi, LOB (left out of battle),” said John. Thinking I was being victimised, I whipped off my hat and said, “I can't go back like this, Sir.” He grinned and explained the situation to me. The LOB scheme would allow a unit which had suffered a major setback to be quickly reformed with additional reinforcements. So back went a lot of us, about 100 men from the battalion, little knowing that before very long we would be practically the sole survivors of the 22 nd.
The reduced division, now completely mobile, moved out of the Mersa Matruh Box into the open desert and formed up on an escarpment at Minqar Qaim, about 20 miles south of Matruh, where they dug in as best they could. Meanwhile, the Axis forces were pressing on into Egypt, hampered only by an extreme shortage of fuel and by harassing raids on their supply columns by the RAF and the Long Range Desert
The first attack on Minqar Qaim came in the form of artillery fire from the north which our troops countered by moving some of our own artillery to within range. These guns soon returned after encountering German tanks which inflicted several casualties on the New Zealand gunners. A heavy exchange of artillery fire ensued, one shell killing five and wounding seven divisional HQ staff. The Germans then by-passed the New Zealand Division to the north and east.
While the NZ Division was expecting support from No 1 Armoured Division, no tanks were directly under command and contact with them was lost. During the day, tank and infantry attacks were launched at the New Zealanders from the north, east and south, all of which were repulsed. Eventually contact was made with No 1 Armoured, by now stationed some 10 miles west of the NZ Division. Completely unaware there had been fighting all day, they agreed to send some tanks to help, but unfortunately they ran into New Zealand positions first, were mistaken for the enemy and were shelled by ‘friendly fire’. However, when recognised, their presence gave a boost to the division which counter attacked and forced the enemy to withdraw.
General Freyberg quickly decided that, if he was to retain his mobility, he would have to break-out and a divisional rendezvous was set 90 miles to the east. In the late afternoon he went to a forward lookout to watch the progress of an enemy attack from the south and was wounded in the neck by a shell splinter. With the general out of action, command
Most of the enemy fire on fixed lines was too high to be effective while our Tommy guns and bayonets were used with deadly effect. In the smoke and dust and noise of the battle, there seemed to be terrible confusion, but out of chaos came order and the division came through reasonably intact and ready to fight again. Meanwhile, Captain Charles Upham had earned a bar to his Victoria Cross with his legendry leadership of C Company of 20th Battalion during the break-out. Our night attack techniques were proving to be most effective.
The New Zealanders were later criticised by General Rommel for killing wounded German troops in their beds during this break-out, but this would not have been done intentionally. In the dark, in the heat of battle, and in a desperate situation, the New Zealanders would have hurled grenades and fired Tommy guns into every truck or tent in their way. It was a life or death struggle. Publicity seeking English journalists have recently raised this subject again, but showed no understanding at all of the circumstances prevailing at the time.
By midnight on June 28 1942 nearly all the scattered elements of the division had reported in on the Alamein Line and we were once more a cohesive force, with the General safely installed in No 2 NZ Hospital at Helwan. However, for the men of the 22nd, and for all the fighting units of the division, the orders during the next two weeks were most frustrating. In the words of the troops, “We were buggered about by experts”, and the term ‘puttees on - puttees off’ was coined. Puttees, which were wound round our boot tops, would be taken off as orders were changed. Orders would come through to move when the troops were half way dug in, toiling away in the blazing sunshine. This happened three times in one day; one soldier complained he had been moved 17 times in 14 days. In between moves, cancellations of orders were frequent.
Water was extremely short and flies were in plague proportions. To add to the worries, the CO, Lieut. Col. Russell, who was very popular, developed trouble with his feet and was sent back to hospital just prior to the battalion's next
At a higher level, Major General Inglis was summoned to see the Eighth Army commander in chief, Field Marshal Auchinleck, at his advanced headquarters. He was told to reform the New Zealand Division into ‘battle groups’, an order he declined to accept, reminding the field marshal that his primary allegiance was to the New Zealand Government which would surely back him up. Inglis was amazed to discover Auchinleck still persisted with such tactics, with more emphasis given to the defence of the Delta and the evacuation of Egypt than on a determined stand at Alamein, the only effective defensive position left. The staff appeared to be in hopeless disarray and a negative feeling permeated the entire Eighth Army which had now lost six battles in a row and appeared resigned to a seventh defeat.
While our high command was defeatist, Rommel's obsession with speed led to faulty judgment on his part and his intended all out assault on and break through of the Alamein defences petered out within two days. It was a stalemate. Rommel had outrun his supplies and was unable to overcome the stiffened Allied resistance. Although a considerable increase in Luftwaffe bombing caused a great many casualties, particularly on headquarters groups where vehicle dispersal was slack, the arrival of the 9th Australian Division in reserve, added to the presence of the 1st South African Division and the 2nd News Zealand Division, gave Auchinleck a strong infantry and artillery boost to his depleted forces.
On July 10 the South Africans and the Australians launched a successful attack against the Italians guarding the coast road west of Alamein. They took the Tel el Eisa mounds some 10 miles north west of Alamein which, while only about 100 feet high, gave a good observation of the low lying ground to the south. The New Zealand Division was given orders for an
In the event, the Allied 13th Corps and No 1 Armoured Division had made their own arrangements which were not passed on to the NZ Division. The silent attack started at 11.00 pm on the night of July 14 with 4th Brigade on the left and 5th Brigade on the right. The 5th Indian Division was also brought in to the attack on the right flank. With over six miles to go to the objective, the troops faced a long night.
The 22nd Battalion, from which I had been ‘left out of battle’ to languish at Maadi Camp, was given a mopping up role behind the 21st and 23rd Battalions in 5 Brigade. They reached their objective on time and intact, having collected a number of mostly Italian prisoners on the way. Orders were to dig in on a 1,200 yard front facing north and at 5.00 am this commenced.
Brigadier Kippenberger had just delivered a troop of four 6 pounder anti-tank guns to the battalion and, as he was leaving, the German tanks were seen looming out of the early morning gloom. He made a hasty retreat in his Bren carrier and was lucky to get away unscathed, slipping between two
Kippenberger found their commander — Brigadier Briggs — and, having explained the situation, asked for his support. The rather cool response was to offer to send a reconnaissance tank to investigate, while Kippenberger was urging the whole brigade move immediately. General Lumsden, the commander of 1 Armoured, arrived and, having been briefed, looked at his brigadier and said, “I told you to be at Point 63 at daylight.” Point 63 was the final objective on top of the ridge where our troops were established. Who was covering for whom can only be surmised.
In the meantime, 22nd Battalion, less one platoon under
With good communications, this situation could have been
After Rueweisat Ridge, the depleted remnants of the 22nd Battalion returned to Maadi Camp to re-organise and, with reinforcements and those of us who had been left out of battle, our strength was soon built up to a little over 600. Only about half this number would be in front line companies, the remainder in headquarters company, medical personnel, cooks, drivers, signallers and the host of others needed to support attacking troops. Lieut. Colonel Tom Campbell took over the battalion and we soon joined the division to take part in divisional exercises.
On Sunday, August 23, we had a visit from the new 8th Army commander, General Montgomery, whose promising reputation had preceded him. In stature and dress he was the least impressive of those in the inspecting group. However, he spoke to every officer and left the impression of a man in whom we could have confidence. We also left our impression on him. When speaking to our Bren carrier officer — Bob Knox — a rough diamond, he asked: “What do you think of the carriers?” Bob's reply: “They're no bloody good, sir. They're too slow and too thin skinned” was true enough but hardly the reply the general expected. He continued on, looking thoughtful.
‘Monty’ took control of the 8th Army and from then on his influence could be felt right down to the front line troops. We knew when we were told to put on our puttees, they would stay on and we would complete the task given us. He was a
What was left of 4th Brigade was sent to Maadi and took no further part in the Desert War. The decision had been taken to equip New Zealand Division with our own brigade of tanks and our 4th Infantry Brigade had been selected for this role. Their numbers were built up with reinforcements and they were gradually fully equipped with the new, very effective American Sherman tanks.
Our exercises completed in late August, we were slotted into the New Zealand Box near Ruweisat Ridge to prepare for the impending attack. Wisely, Montgomery would not move until he was completely ready and, in the interim, he lured Rommel into a trap by inviting him to attack round our southern flank through a fairly narrow defile after which he was expected to turn north to meet the British tanks waiting for him, hull down and ready. The New Zealand Division was poised to attack Rommel's flank and Air Force bombers were ready to pound his columns.
Looking south, the almost featureless desert, broken only by the low lying Miteiriya and Ruweisat Ridges, stretched for 30 miles to reach the impassable Qattara Depression. This, then, was the final defensive position where Rommel's all conquering Axis forces would be held up and eventually defeated by the Eighth Army. In fact, there were two Alamein battles — the first had been at the end of June 1942 when the New Zealand Division, fresh from Syria, had beaten off five attacks at Minqar Qaim before breaking out and consolidating with the rest of the Eighth Army at Alamein. This was followed by the abortive attack by the Eighth in July. These actions had resulted in the destruction of two New Zealand battalions, including the 22nd at Ruweisat Ridge, and a total of over 4,000 casualties from the division, almost entirely because of lack of British tank support after our troops had reached their objectives.
The second and main attack, led by General Montgomery, showed the effect one man can have on an entire army. From previously pitiful leadership, we now had someone who knew his business and was prepared to listen and to take advice. Everything went according to Monty's plan and Rommel pulled back after heavy losses and with a very bloody nose. From then on all the focus was on the Alamein battle which was to turn the fortunes of war in the Allies' favour.
Preparations for the coming battle were thorough; the best news of all was that General Freyberg was to have a brigade of British tanks under his command. Numbers in our battalion had now built up to 663 with 310 all ranks actually taking part in the Alamein attack. A full scale battle on the entire front was planned — the division was to attack 200 yards behind a creeping barrage with 1,000 guns to support us. The start line was marked with shaded lights and tapes and, to keep us on course, our Bofors guns fired tracer shells overhead on the battalion boundary lines. There was bright moonlight which helped us to keep contact until the dust and confusion obliterated most things.
On our front, the attack was led by the 23d Battalion; their objective became our start line about half way to our final objective. I had been given command of C Company with the task of consolidating on the final objective just beyond Miteiriya Ridge by attacking in a south westerly direction. The 22nd had three companies forward with my company in the centre. No sooner had we crossed the start line when one of my platoon commanders — Lieutenant O G Wood — was killed and his sergeant took command. Lieutenant Dick Wardell from Masterton, another of my platoon commanders, was wounded and had to be evacuated when we were half way to the objective. A shell splinter lodged in my right arm, leaving it numb for some time, but it soon loosened up.
There was so much shell and mortar fire landing all round
Having sited my own company headquarters, I asked my runner to dig a hole big enough for both of us, a well nigh impossible task in the rocky ground. Sergeant Major Bob Bayliss, an original 13 Platoon man, had been instructed to site his anti-tank gun forward of the battalion's advanced infantry sections. He had passed through our lines about an hour before dawn so I went forward to see how he was getting on. He was in position, busy digging in as best he could with his gunners, and seemed happy enough. I was concerned there was little cover and he was on a forward slope, so I told him to pull back if things got too hot.
In the grey light of approaching dawn, I was making my way back towards company headquarters when a machine gun opened up, spattering bullets in the dust all round me. A troop of three German tanks had emerged in the dim light about half a mile away and I expect I had shown up on the skyline. I hit the ground in a flash and the gunner gave me another burst for good measure. One bullet hit my pack and I felt a stinging sensation in my back. After lying motionless for 10 minutes, as I was very exposed, I got up and ran for the cover of the ridge, passing close to a burnt out British tank. Wham, wham — I was startled to see red hot 88 millimetre missiles passing within inches of me. I ran faster to the protection of the ridge, realising later
On reaching company headquarters I removed my pack to find out what damage had been done. A machine gun bullet had passed through a magazine full of Tommy gun ammunition without exploding them and had lodged in my back. I could hear a grating noise when I wriggled my back as a projection of bone on my vertebrae had been broken off. A visit from Tom Campbell spelled the end of my Alamein battle as he sent me back to have my wounds attended to. In the process of being evacuated, after I was put on a Bren carrier with several other wounded, the driver backed onto a mine which exploded right beneath me. The concussion knocked me out cold. It had been a brief battle for me but an eventful one and I was taken to a British hospital in Alexandria where the bullet, which had lodged behind my spine, was cut out. I can remember when I came round gradually from the anaesthetic I looked up to see a gorgeous, red-headed Scottish nurse looking anxiously at me and exclaimed involuntarily, “You are an angel!” — I really thought I was in heaven. We became good friends during my recuperation.
Later I heard that Bob Bayliss had been killed on that first morning, October 24, his gun being put out of action after he had knocked out one of the three tanks I had seen. I was saddened, as he had been a good friend and a brave soldier.
News also came through that Major Irvine Hart, the original leader of 13 Wairarapa Platoon in the 22nd Battalion. had died of wounds caused by a stray shell, on November 2. Marked out for promotion, he had been appointed second-in command of the Maori Battalion and had just taken over full command the day before disaster hit. We had been in the Territorials together and, as a barrister and solicitor, aged 35 when he first came into camp, was a senior officer, liked and respected by us all. He was one of this world's finest gentlemen
It took 11 days to break the Alamein Line. After seizing Miteiriya Ridge, the New Zealanders remained in the line for four nights and were then withdrawn to prepare for ‘Operation Supercharge’ which was to be controlled by NZ Division. After 10 days of hard slog, on November 2 ‘Supercharge’ succeeded in punching a hole in the German lines, with the British tanks performing magnificently, and a breakthrough was achieved with the Axis forces retreating in disarray.
The 22nd Battalion was withdrawn on November 17 1942, soon after crossing the Egyptian border, returning to Maadi to join 4th Armoured Brigade as a motorized infantry battalion. The 22nd took no further part in the North African Campaign, becoming part of 4th Brigade which was being equipped with the new American Sherman tanks.
As Monty later wrote: “Easily my best Divisional Commander was Freyberg and next came Morshead of the 9th Australian Division.” Rommel had also written about the New Zealanders. After our break out at Minqar Qaim he noted:
“Our men had once again fought with extraordinary courage. Unfortunately, the New Zealanders under Freyberg had escaped. This Division, with which we had become acquainted back in 1941/2, was amongst the elite of the British Army and I should have been much happier if it had been safely tucked away in our prison camp instead of still facing us.”
After withdrawing from Libya, the 22nd Battalion trained as a motorized unit as part of the 4th Armoured Brigade at base camp in Maadi for almost 12 months. In a letter to my mother dated December 29 1942 I wrote: “My latest job is training men in our base camp, as the Doctor said I would not be fit to go up the line for two months after I left the rest home, though my back seems to be quite all right now. Somehow I think I would rather be up having a go at Tripoli than sitting back here with not enough to do.” Then on February 20 1943 I wrote: “For the last three weeks I have been hard at it at a tactical armoured course in Palestine …. we are all rather disappointed at not being up in Tripoli with the rest of the boys as it was a goal we all had our eyes on.” Then on March 21 I wrote about a visit from my brother Graeme, now a squadron leader in the Royal Air Force at the age of 24, and of the parties we had together in Cairo.
My letter home on June 20 refers to my appointment to command the anti-tank company in the battalion with the temporary rank of major. We were enthusiastic about the new
An amusing incident that occurred during training was described in our war history by author Jim Henderson.
“Part of the Battalion, together with some tanks, went on a manoeuvre into the desert. Anti-Tank Company, less one troop, was in an infantry role. That one troop, except for the NCOs, was composed of reinforcements whose anti-tank training was far from complete. What little experience they had was with six-pounders, but the powers that be decreed that, ‘for the purpose of the exercise’, two-pounders would be used.
“The portées raced into the field. ‘Action!’ Ramps - handspike - wheels - winch - and, by the grace of God, the guns were on the ground and soon dug in. The No. 4s put the Benghazi burners on for tea. Whistles blew, flags waved and the manoeuvre ended. The signal to form convoy was given — easy enough for the infantry but not quite so simple for a gun commander with a green crew and a two-pounder on the ground. A first attempt resulted in a jammed hand. Just then the water boiled and the gun commander naturally called for a mug of tea.
“This lack of activity seemed to displease some of the higher-ups and a Jeep was despatched toenquire into the matter. The enquiring sergeant, satisfied that all would be well in a few minutes, rejoined the convoy. The tea was disposed of and the crew went back to the loading just as a second Jeep, this time with an officer, called to enquire after the well being of the troops. The loading went on apace and eventually the last portée joined the convoy amid glowering glances from certain officers. Whistles blew, flags waved again and, in column of route, the convoy cleared the battle ground.
“Next day, on Company Parade, Captain Donald ‘discussed’ the events of the previous day. ‘One gun crew took a long time to rejoin the convoy. Is the Gun Commander here?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘What was the cause of the delay?’
“Now, I could have told him about the jammed hand and the green crew but I knew that officers liked to observe events through binoculars. I knew that the binoculars — several pairs of them — would have picked out the tea making and tea drinking and I pictured myself making excuses, floundering through explanations — on Company Parade too — so I took a deep breath and said, ‘We were just ready to load the gun when the billy boiled so we had a mug of tea.’
“Never before, nor since, have I seen Haddon Donald at a loss for words. I strongly suspected that I had stolen his thunder. ‘My God! My God! The Brigadier, the Colonel, tanks, trucks, guns all waiting and you — you made a mug of tea.
‘Don't ever do it again. Don't ever do it again!’
“The quiet chuckle that stirred the ranks didn'thelp the good captain either and, if he ever sees this story, I hope he forgives me but, secretly, I think he enjoyed these little events which indicated to me what I believe to be the way Haddon would have his NCOs act. I don't think he liked commanding ‘Yes men’ and, when I reflect on the NCOs who served under him, I feel that was how he had ‘brought them up’ — independent thinkers, yes, but great NCOs. On the surface, ‘Maaleesh’ experts but always on the job.
“A few minutes' reflection must engender a great respect for the man who selected many of them and who trained many of them — and above all, the man who controlled them.”
In our spare time, we made good use of the Maadi Club where the squash courts and the swimming pool were in great demand. The occasional weekend was spent in Cairo but life in the Officer's Mess was pleasant under Lieut. Colonel Tom Campbell who, as one of our original officers, was tolerant of our escapades. Some of us formed a poker school and, while the stakes were not high, we played so often IOUs had to be used by some of the more rash players whose pay books were constantly empty. I had accumulated quite a pocketful of these flimsy pieces of paper and most of the school owed me money until one night I returned from a party in Cairo and the school was still in action in the Mess. It was well after midnight and I was ready for bed but they demanded that I should join them and, being so much in credit, I could hardly refuse. They were playing ‘Slippery Sam’ — a lethal game which was new to me — and, not being very alert at that late hour, I became their victim. In very quick time, they recovered all their IOUs which gave me an excuse to retire. Later my credit started to grow again. When time for action came, debts were forgotten, but the good times
There was little social life with the local Egyptians and we seemed to be content with our own company. In the six years I spent in the Army, I did not hear of one case of homosexuality and I do not believe it would have been condoned among the troops. The Officer's Mess, with nearly 40 members, was a very happy club.
After the enemy was finally and decisively beaten in North Africa, the division, having covered itself with glory in Tunisia, returned to Maadi to join up with the 4th Armoured Brigade. At last we were together again, completely mobile and with our own tanks we could rely on. After a period of consolidation and our numbers, having been built up with reinforcements, we had become a very formidable fighting force, well equipped and prepared for desert warfare. But we were heading for Italy and conditions would be different there.
Ironically, our fully motorized division started out for Italy with a 100 mile route march from Cairo to the Mediterranean coast. The march was carried out at night because the heat was too severe during the day. In normal style, we marched for 50 minutes followed by a 10 minute break with a short stopover at the half way mark each night for a very welcome mug of hot cocoa. After each 10 minute break, our muscles would be sore and our feet ache, but then someone would burst into song and we would all join in. Our pipe band gave us a wonderful boost playing almost continuously for the seven nights of monotonous marching.
It was a gruelling time. Only the 22nd Battalion completed the march fully and with far fewer casualties than any other unit, and 4th Anti-Tank Company put up the best performance in the battalion. My practice was to start the march at the head of the company and then to fall back to the rear where I could keep on eye on anyone who needed help. If anyone was really suffering, I would carry his pack for a spell and the effect was almost immediate — the spring would come back into the soldier's
We embarked from Alexandria on October 20 1943 and, as temporary second in command of the battalion, I was put in charge of one third of our troops aboard the troopship Niew Holland. We were split up because of possible submarine attack but we landed at Taranto in the heel of Italy without incident. Italy was a new experience and, from now on, my map case and the battle orders it contained became more important to me than my Tommy gun.
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,
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
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.
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
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
On February 3 the New Zealand Corps was formed within the US 5th Army, then commanded by
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 Freyberg was given the task with the New Zealand
“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
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
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,
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,
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.
Just recently I had the pleasure of meeting up with the brother of
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
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.
“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.
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
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.
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
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
“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
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
The fall of Rome on June 5 1944 had been closely followed by the opening of the second front, the D Day landings in Normandy, the fighting there and the subsequent break-out in France taking centre stage. Just as the Allied forces in Italy were preparing for an assault on the Paula Line, south of Florence, to be followed by a difficult encounter on the Gothic Line in the rugged Apennines north of Florence, a controversial decision was made to open a new front on the south coast of France. The sorely needed French Corps consisting of four mountain divisions, and a similar number of American divisions, were taken from the Italian Front for this new campaign. They struck little opposition as the south of France was only lightly held by the Germans who would have capitulated, anyway, with the fall of Paris. This put a greater burden on those of us remaining in Italy and, while Churchill did pay a visit at this time, we would have preferred to have kept the troops he pilfered from us, rather than hear his words of praise.
Towards the end of July, we were to become involved in an all-out assault on the Paula Line with the 8th Indian Division on our left and the 6th South African Division on our right. The New Zealand Division in the centre, deployed the 6th Brigade on the left, 4th Armoured Brigade in the centre and the 5th Brigade on the right. To my consternation, I found that the 4th Brigade was allotted a front almost as wide as each of the brigades on our flanks. With only one infantry battalion, the 22nd had to do the same job as three and four battalions next door to us. The tanks of the 4th Brigade were to be spread amongst all three infantry brigades, so we could not count on more than our share of their support. Moreover, as a motor battalion, we had fewer front line troops than a normal infantry battalion.
Brigadier Inglis, in charge of the 4th Armoured Brigade, called a conference at brigade headquarters to plan the coming night attack with representatives from the artillery, engineers, tanks, machine gunners and ancillary troops in attendance. It soon became apparent the brigadier expected me to conduct the conference, being the only infantry man there. This was a surprise to me as brigade had called the conference and several of those present were senior to me. Moreover, this was my first set piece battle since taking command of the battalion and I was right out of my depth. Concealing my panic, I struggled on.
I had previously decided that, if the battalion was to endure the successive battles ahead, I would only attack on a two company front with one company in reserve and my fourth company back with B Echelon well behind the lines completely out of battle where they could sleep all night without being on standby. Each company was to take its turn right out of the line for a complete rest. I had studied the ground ahead carefully and knew where my two companies would attack and had a good idea where the tanks could
Prior to our next encounter, I paid a visit to Brigadier Jim Burrows who had recently taken over 6th Brigade which was to attack on our left flank. We discussed our various roles and plans of attack. I pointed out to him we would be thin on the ground as the 22nd had to cope with a front almost as wide as his and we had to attack with only two companies forward compared with his two battalions. He understood my predicament and agreed to keep a watchful eye on his right flank. Here I was pleased to meet up with Lt. Colonel Eddie Norman in command of 25th Battalion. He had been one of my NCOs in the original 14 Platoon in Trentham in January 1940 and I had recommended him for a commission. He had never looked back and was now highly regarded as a battalion commander.
We had two more objectives, to take the villages of La Romola and La Poggiona, which involved set piece night attacks. We could plainly see La Romola perched on a ridge about a mile ahead but the ground was very broken and there was an almost vertical cliff on our immediate front dropping down into a creek bed. This constricted our start line which we were to cross at 1.00 am, both the time and line having been decided by division. Every inch of the ground ahead seemed to be covered by enemy artillery and mortar fire so we knew we were in for a tough night. We were facing two of our most formidable adversaries — 4 Parachute Division and 29 Panzer Grenadier Division, whose tenacious fighting
The large Orders Group had been easier for me to handle this time as we were familiar with one another's problems. I had returned from brigade headquarters and given out orders to my company commanders and support troops, when I had an unexpected call from the general. He laid his map out on the table and pointed to our positions and said: “Now the Maori are going to attack there on your right and the 26th Battalion is going there on your left and I want you to go there,” pointing straight at the impassable cliff I had reconnoitred that afternoon. When the situation was explained to him, he seemed quite happy and went on his way. He must have just been reassuring himself we were on the job.
The ensuing battle was, in my belief, the most horrific encounter the 22nd ever experienced. The opening of our barrage, at 1.00 am on July 31, was the signal for Jerry to open up with everything he had and our casualties quickly mounted. The shellfire, mortar fire and the staccato rattle of his Spandaus filled the air. Major O'Reilly, in charge of one of the assault companies, was wounded in the head near the start line but refused to be evacuated. However, he was unable to carry on with the advance so Lieutenant Len Turner assumed command. Lieutenant Johnny McNeil was killed and his sergeant, Mick Eades, took over the platoon. Mick did such an outstanding job that night that I recommended him for a Distinguished Conduct Medal, and an immediate commission in the field, both of which were granted — a rare honour indeed.
In the darkness, noise, smoke and confusion, Lieutenant Ian Thomas was separated from half of his platoon which had rallied under Sergeant Bill Windsor and they met up again
Doug Froggatt was severely wounded and his radio put out of action so, by now, we had lost all communication with the two attacking companies. There were many instances of individuals taking charge of groups of three or four men and pressing on in the dark towards their objective.
Besides the wounded, a steady stream of prisoners was being escorted back, but there was considerable confusion about how the battle was progressing — and most of the news was bad. No 5 Platoon, under 2nd
Lieutenant Len Turner, having taken over Major O'Reilly's company in the height of battle, called a hurried conference
When No 5 Platoon carried out a search of the houses in their area, one squad burst open the front door of a house and raced inside while half their men doubled round the side to cover the back entrance. There they stopped dead in their tracks, the hair on the backs of their necks stiffening. They had hurtled straight into the front of an enormous Tiger tank, all 60 tons of it, with its 88 mm gun and two machines guns pointing directly at them. However, they circled slowly round and after they plucked up enough courage to climb onto it over the brutal looking tracks which, to our minds, were designed for crushing people, the hatch lifted slowly and out came the crew with their hands up, saving our chaps the indignity of raising theirs.
Excitement grew when the tank was inspected and found to be intact. This was Hitler's prize weapon, his ultimate tank and lo and behold we had captured one almost new and in good running order. The news soon got back and a tank recovery squad was sent to collect it. The sight of this enemy tank trundling down the road almost caused an evacuation back at B Echelon, and word went round that the Germans had broken through. All was well though and the secrets of Hitler's latest tanks were revealed to our side. On his way up
We spent August 1 consolidating our position and planning a further attack on the following night involving the Indians on our far left, 6th NZ Brigade on our immediate left and 5th NZ Brigade on our right. The Germans were fighting a rearguard action and had been badly mauled, so no concerted counter attack was mounted against us, but every movement of ours the Germans saw immediately drew heavy artillery and mortar fire.
I had liaised again with Jim Burrows at 6th Brigade headquarters, who was to attack on our left flank, and was concerned to see the effect on him of his command responsibilities. His hair had literally turned white since I had seen him two days before. His plans had been completely successful, but the strain had been punishing. Inevitably in such circumstances, the early news received by a commander about a battle is bad. Casualty numbers and names are the first information to come back, followed by reports of setbacks and hold-ups with frantic calls for the artillery to lift their barrage as only too often, in such broken terrain, their shells landed among our own troops. Jim's face was lined and drawn and I think it was welcome news to him when, some two months later, he received advice of his appointment as rector of Waitaki Boys' High School. He had enlisted as a captain at the age of 35 and sailed with the 1st Echelon. He saw action in Greece, Crete, North Africa and Italy and was to return home with a wonderful record.
I visited as many of the forward troops as possible during the day, being careful not to attract enemy fire, and that night determined to visit the troops manning the outposts. All was quiet and at 9.00 pm I set out on my own to visit the various
The track was well marked and, having travelled about half way, I came to a well with a circular, two feet high concrete wall round it, set in the middle of a small clearing. Suddenly I heard a swish followed by a loud explosion and, in a flash, I was on the ground. Further explosions followed in quick succession and I realised I was in the middle of a mortar stonk which seemed to go on forever. I was frantically searching for any sort of hollow in the ground but it was all flat so I slithered to get what protection I could from the wall of the well. I can recall thinking to myself over and over, “I want to live, I want to live” and then the stonk stopped as quickly as it had begun. By some miracle, I was unscathed in spite of at least 50 bombs landing all round me, some within six feet.
It was obvious the Germans had previously registered the well as a likely bivouac area for our troops and had hoped to inflict a lot of casualties. It was my bad luck they had opened up just as I was passing. I carried on with my rounds without further incident and then, back at my headquarters, ruminating about what the happened and studying the map, I noticed that the well with tracks converging on it was clearly marked. As our maps were adaptations of Italian ones, it followed that the Germans would be using similar ones and that the well was an obvious target. I warned all my troops that, from then on, they should avoid locations marked on the map when we were within firing range of the enemy. I had learned a useful lesson.
Another maxim of successful warfare was to become painfully evident on the eve of our next attack towards Poggiona, some two miles further towards Florence. We were
We should have been able to use fresh troops to follow up quickly, but our reserves had been taken away by Churchill to open the new front on the south coast of France. To the men on the receiving end of the enemy's hate mail, the result of our delays was painfully obvious and we wondered at the strategy of our senior commanders. Perhaps it could not have been avoided but, in the meantime, it cost us lives. Once again the heroism of the troops came to the fore and men like Corporal Tsukigawa inspired the hard pressed forward troops into almost superhuman effort. For his heroic action this night, he won a well deserved Military Medal. Our troop of tanks under Bill de Lautour was wonderfully supportive with their 75 mm guns proving to be most effective. After hard fighting we reached our objectives on time and in the right place with the enemy in full retreat. From the ridge at Poggiona we could see the lights of Florence twinkling tantalizingly below us.
Back at battalion headquarters, we soon had a visit from Brigadier Inglis who congratulated us on a successful week of heavy fighting during which the 22nd had continually been the most advanced troops on the whole front. He said the way ahead was wide open and, if we wished, he would bring up tanks and transport to enable us to be first into Florence.
Until the end of August the division manned the line of the Arno River west of Florence, some 30 miles south of the next German defended position — the Gothic Line — which stretched right across northern Italy from Pesaro on the Adriatic coast to La Spezia on the west coast. After a static week on the Arno River, punctuated by exchanges of gun fire, the 22nd was given a week's rest back in our old stamping ground on the Fagnano Estate east of Sienna, where the Terrosi-Vagnoli family received us back with open arms. Kitty was sure her good luck charm had saved my life and she might have been right.
With time to reflect, I wrote a message to the troops which was read out informally at platoon level. The following is the text of that message:
“You have just passed through a period during which every one of you has been put to the test in a way that some have never experienced before. You have stood the test in a manner which has upheld the best traditions of the 22nd Battalion and I am proud of you. We have had our casualties, 116 in all since 2 Company started its successful advance along Route 2 and some of the best and bravest are no longer with us. This is one of the regrettable hazards of war but we shall not forget them.
“There have been many instances of personalbravery that have come to my notice and many, I'm afraid, which must inevitably pass unnoticed because of the darkness and the fog of war. Some of these men will receive the honour due to them and we thank them for bringing distinction to the Battalion.
“During the battles for Casciano, La Romola and Poggiona, you did, singularly well, the same job as the other two New Zealand Brigades did with three battalions. The strain was severe but you succeeded.
“The 22nd Battalion has fought many engagements through Greece and Crete to the Western Desert and Cassino. Its face has changed from time to time but always there has endured the spirit of its first commander — Colonel Andrew VC. He asked for and obtained the highest qualities of courage and fighting spirit. I should like to tell you that the successes you have achieved in the last three weeks have been as great as any in the Battalion's history and that our old motto‘Twenty Second to None’is still as deserved as ever. “You have done this. I am grateful to you.”
In all we had captured over 200 Germans and had accounted for a great many killed and wounded, probably well in excess of the number taken prisoner, so we had given a good account of ourselves.
As we relaxed in wonderful surroundings during that week at Fagnano, we were busy polishing our weapons, washing clothes, writing citations, writing letters home, censoring letters and writing difficult condolences to next of kin. Mail from home was very welcome and the lucky ones also received parcels of special food and clothing.
The Eighth Army was now turning its focus to the Adriatic Coast and in early September off we went to assemble in the Iesi area, some 15 miles from the east coast, with several pleasant beaches not too far away. I managed to get the troops over for a swim as often as possible and, remembering Les Andrew's insistence that we march to and from the beaches in North Africa with the result that we arrived back in camp in a sweaty, bitchy, dusty mess, I ensured transport was used in both directions.
About this time, an unfortunate accident befell General Freyberg when the light Auster plane, which he used to commute to 8th Army headquarters, crashed on landing and he was transferred to No 1 NZ General Hospital at Senegallia, undergoing a serious abdominal operation. With the prospect of up to two months out of action, it was necessary to appoint a new divisional commander and the general recommended Brigadier Weir. This put the cat amongst the pigeons as
Major General Weir commanded the division for six weeks during the General's absence and was involved in the heavy fighting up the Adriatic coastline. He proved to be most competent and on the General's return was given command of the 46th (Brit) Division which he led in a most capable manner.
The Eighth Army had been making good progress, having broken through the so-called Gothic Line of minefields and heavy guns on the east coast plains. The Canadians and the Poles played prominent parts. The Greek Brigade was also part of the campaign and had specially requested they come under the wing of the New Zealand Division as they had a particular affinity with us. The coastal defence north of the Gothic Line had been well prepared against a possible seaborne attack so the going was tough and our forces had come to a halt south of Rimini, where the coastal defences of the Gothic Line ended. The Canadian Corps, of which we were part, was on the coast, 5th British Corps in the centre
On September 13 I was delighted to see my old friend Major Colin Armstrong when he reported back to the battalion. We had been two of the original subalterns who assembled in Trentham in December 1939 when the 22nd was first formed and, until now, I had been the only original officer left. Colin had been captured at Sidi Assis in Libya in 1941. His escapes became legendary prior to a final get away in a coal boat from Europe to Sweden and thence to England. He returned to New Zealand on furlough after which he volunteered to return to his old battalion. For his many escapes, he was awarded a bar to the Military Cross which he had won in the Greek campaign. He was temporarily appointed to our Support Company and it was nice to have him back with us.
The 22nd were the first New Zealand infantry to take part in the attack on the Gothic Line on September 13. The Greek Brigade had run into difficulties in its first action, so Canadian Corps headquarters requested a Kiwi battalion to provide a task force to assist the Greeks, who were held up. With a troop of tanks under command, Major O'Reilly took No 1 Company forward and made contact with the Greeks who showed lots of spirit but not a great deal of tactical ability. Then our men located the enemy and directed tank fire at their well constructed defences, enabling the Greeks to progress. Major O'Reilly allotted a platoon to each Greek battalion and, by co-operating closely with them, managed to keep the advance moving. One of our tanks was knocked out by a Panther tank turret mounted in a concrete emplacement. Heavily armoured and equipped with machine guns and a vicious 88 millimetre anti-tank gun, they could easily knock out our
Under Major O'Reilly's competent direction, his troops, with skill and determination, had ably assited the Greek Brigade to take Rimini — using all available weapons, including tanks, artillery and the Air Force ‘cab rank’. In fact our No 8 Platoon under 2nd Lieutenant Avery, followed by the three tanks of Number 11 Troop of the 19th Armoured Regiment, were the first to enter the main square where the town hall stood. The Greeks had fought well while sustaining 314 casualties and it was with great jubilation that they fanned out and took over the city. They had beaten the Italians when Mussolini had invaded Greece and now they had conquered an Italian city which had been under German control. Their cup overflowed.
With Rimini taken, a hard slog to roll up the coastal
No 2 Company, under Major Hutcheson on the right, struck a bad crossing and got a wetting where bomb craters had deepened the water, while No 1 Company under Major O'Reilly made a detour upstream, crossed safely and kept reasonably dry The two companies, now side by side, made good progress for over a mile with little opposition, two machine gun posts being quickly subdued just over the stop bank. Most of the so-called rivers from now on were more like canals with steep sloping sides 12 to 20 feet high and the countryside was fairly open except for a number of houses, vineyards and scattered olive trees. One prisoner was taken in a wrestling match which our man won and a party of Germans moving openly along the road towards us was shot up and one prisoner taken while the rest got away in the dark. Clearly we were not expected so soon. The tanks had crossed at midnight and were now up with us in close support. Our quick follow-up had paid off.
The defences on our right flank near the sea were manned by an infantry division of Turcomen, soldiers of Russian extraction who had decided to fight with the Germans. They were strengthened by members of the 303rd German Grenadier Regiment. The defences further inland were garrisoned by the German No 1 Parachute Division. These positions were strongly fortified with several Panther tank
Soon after the crossing of the river a machine gun opened up at short range, killing one and wounding three of Bert O'Reilly's men. Corporal Jock Cockburn immediately shouted “Follow me!” and charged the strong point, killing two Germans and wounding another and was surprised to find he was all on his own. A Panther turret, sited to cover the Celle road junction which was heavily defended by German paratroopers, was charged by Corporal Reeve with his section giving covering fire. An exchange of hand grenades ended with the surviving Germans beating a hasty retreat with the section pressing on in hot pursuit. Lieutenant Wally Hart was killed leading a charge against a machine gun post and Lance Sergeant Joe Coppell, on his own, almost re-took the Celle junction strong point which had been re-occupied by the Germans. When Corporal Reeve and his section had to be recalled to storm the position again he and his section killed several Germans and took six prisoners. For these gallant actions, Corporal Reeve was awarded an immediate Military Medal. No 1 Company reached its objective at 1.00 am at a cost of one officer and one soldier killed and eight others wounded. They had taken 30 paratroopers prisoner, captured at least as many Spandau machine guns and had killed a great number of paratroopers.
No 2 Company on the right overcame one post after another but had the misfortune of running into a minefield where both 2nd Lieutenant Keith Cope and
Rather than risk further casualties, the company commander — Keith Hutcheson — decided to consolidate in this area which, while he was short of his objective, he could cover with small arms fire.
During this time, we were particularly well served by our medical officer, Captain Cliff Baird and by Padre Sergel, both of whom did sterling work for the battalion. Both also caused me a good deal of worry, but I would not have exchanged either of them under any circumstances. Cliff Baird had lost a brother to the Germans and this made him very aggressive. Instead of siting his Regimental Aid Post behind the battalion headquarters, he would insist on being ahead and was often on the prowl himself if not occupied at the RAP. He would cruise around close behind the attacking companies in his Jeep ready to give immediate attention to our wounded men. Typically, he rounded up five Turcomen and brought them back in his Jeep as prisoners. Although he harboured a hatred of Germans, he would treat all wounded whether Germans, New Zealanders or civilians strictly according to the urgency of the patient's needs. Padre Sergel was a similar type and the two worked in well together with the padre often substituting as a stretcher bearer.
I had instilled in my men the need to remain invisible during daylight when in a static position so not to draw enemy
On September 23, a set piece attack was scheduled to go in at midnight under a heavy barrage with searchlights used to create artificial moonlight. I pulled out No 1 Company to go into reserve and substituted No 3 Company, who were fresh, to lead the attack with No 2 Company. There were some spirited skirmishes but the Germans seemed disorganised and, although we lost two tanks in an encounter with a Tiger tank, we reached our objective without many casualties. When we heard the Tiger tank withdrawing I asked permission to carry on in pursuit and this was granted. No 2 Company forged ahead on the coastal section but No 3 Company met with a good deal of opposition after initially making good progress. A message came through from Brigadier Burrows, commanding 5th Brigade on our left, that we were outstripping the rest of 5th Brigade too much and a limit was set to our advance. No 2 Company was well ahead on the right flank so I instructed No 3 Company to try to push forward to catch up with them. A message came back that they were held up so, as daylight was approaching, I went forward and Major Sainsbury at company headquarters pointed out the group of houses the opposition was coming from.
I left my Jeep and went forward with my wireless operator to visit the right hand forward platoon where I could get a good look at the enemy strongpoint some 200 yards away. I had a hunch that the Germans had withdrawn so I studied
We had the misfortune during this night's encounter of losing three of our men as prisoners. One of them, Corporal Kain, reported after the war about his interrogation at the German divisional headquarters where he was determined to give only his name, rank and number in answer to questions. The German officer, who spoke English well, eventually gave up and said to Corporal Kain, “Your company commander is Major Sainsbury and your commanding officer is Lt. Colonel Donald”. He then added that the 22nd Battalion was about to join a new formation in the 9th Brigade under Brigadier Gentry. At this stage we knew nothing of this impending change, so the Germans knew more than we did, especially about arrangements made by our divisional headquarters. This confirmed my suspicion that the Germans were privy to some of our plans before they were executed.
Another misfortune during the night was the serious injury to Major Keith Hutcheson, commanding No 2 Company on the right, when his headquarters was subjected to a heavy mortar stonk. Hearing about this, Dr. Cliff Baird took his Jeep forward and collected the stricken major, tearing back under heavy shellfire to his RAP, at times protecting Keith with his own body. Keith was in a bad way and, on his way out, one of my drivers —
With Keith Hutcheson out of action,
General Weir, now in command of the division, suggested using the 26th Battalion, which was in reserve, to break through and Brigadier Pleasants came forward with me to have a look. By now it was almost daylight and when we heard demolitions behind the German lines, indicating a withdrawal, we pressed on, following up fast with overhead cover from our fighter bombers and we were soon up level with the 24th and 25th Battalions on our left. On the afternoon of September 25, we were relieved by the 26th Battalion and sent back to Viserba for a rest. For four days and nights, we had been constantly on the go, driving the Germans out of their heavily defended coastal positions. General Weir paid us a visit and was high with his praise of the battalion's achievements. There were many, many acts of individual heroism during these four days, most of which passed without formal recognition.
While we were enjoying five days' recuperation in Viserba, the advance bogged down, and, when we took over from 23rd Battalion at midnight on September 30, both sides were actively patrolling the front with angry exchanges of shell and mortar fire. The enemy occupied both banks of the Fiumicino River which had high stop banks. This made the gathering of information about possible crossing places difficult but, leading one night patrol, Lance-Sergeant Sid Tsukigawa crossed over the river on his own and made his way up to the top of the opposite stop bank where he lay quietly observing enemy activities. He got back safely with invaluable information. This outstanding young man from Balclutha, in the course of his cool but aggressive actions, was awarded the Military Medal and was Mentioned in Dispatches for bravery, and during these actions was wounded twice.
Just after dusk, I sent Lieutenant Frank Twigg out with his platoon to, hopefully, ambush an enemy patrol and, if
After five days in the line, we were relieved and once again returned to Viserba for another five day break. Then, on October 16, we relieved the 21st Battalion on the right flank of the division. For the next two days and nights we were involved in constant minor attacks and counter attacks where the skills and initiative of front line troops once more came to the fore. We were successful in all our engagements, during which Lieutenant Graham Bassett was awarded a Military Cross and Sergeant George Palmer earned a Distinguished Conduct Medal.
A change in tactics, no doubt instigated by
Clive, being originally an infantryman, had been with the Armoured Regiment since its formation and, being an able and aggressive commander, was no doubt anxious to conduct an attack with his tanks under his own rather than infantry command. So with a complete reversal of form, I found my companies were taken away from me and allotted to the various tank squadrons. I felt the tactics were wrong because of the nature of the countryside, but I had to obey orders.
With the tanks in command, the attack had to be conducted in daylight so the tank commanders could see their objectives. At 9.30 am off they went, with my men straddled all over the tanks feeling very exposed. The going across country looked reasonably good but proved otherwise. Several tanks bogged down in open country and my men were expected to protect them, leading to a number of unnecessary casualties when the tanks drew enemy fire. The tanks would shoot up a group of houses occupied by the Germans and our men in extended order would go in and finish them off. However, being completely exposed in daylight, the infantry drew withering fire from the defenders and it took great courage on their part to press on. A tribute came from Private Watt when he described the actions of platoon commanders and NCOs in such circumstances. His platoon commander, Lieutenant Jim McLean was sheltering with his men in a house in broad daylight after reaching the first objective. A deluge of fire was directed at them but when the time came to move on to the second objective, McLean said, “Well, chaps, we've got to go on,” and led the way out. When interviewed later, Private Watt said, “I don't honestly think I would have had the courage to go out that door but, if a man like that was willing to lead, we were all willing to follow. I take my hat off to men like that.”
During the day the tanks, with our 22nd men under
During this two day advance, the tank commanders had inherited our now legendary Doctor Baird and Padre Sergel who acted as a team, generally well ahead of where they were expected to be. Inspired by the leadership of the doctor, the medical staff were always there when required. Stretcher bearers seemed to be on hand to catch our wounded men as they fell! Private Hawley, in charge of an ambulance carrier, was constantly roving round no man's land looking for casualties. He picked up a wounded corporal within 50 yards of an enemy strongpoint and, for this and other gallant deeds, was awarded a Military Medal. The day had cost No 3 Company 10 casualties but the infantry had occupied three villages on their own and contributed very greatly to the success of the whole operation. This was the one and only time the tanks took command of an operation, tactics which had worked well for the Germans in the desert but were not practical in close country, where much of the ground was too soft to support them.
In Italy, generally, the protecting buildings, olive trees and vineyards gave good cover to the German tanks which, throughout the campaign, were mainly used in a defensive role.
In the final stages of this two day attack, the infantry led the way. Throughout the Florence and Adriatic campaigns, the 22nd had been used as attacking troops and we shouldered more than our share of the divisional burden. We worked in closely with the tank crews who valued our support as much as we valued theirs. We were never used as a motor battalion within a tank brigade, a concept which was ideal for desert conditions but hopeless in Italy. The popular misconception of the tanks dashing ahead was a romantic myth as nearly always the infantry led the way.
The Canadian Armoured Division took over from the New Zealand Division and, on the way back, we passed several heart-warming notices including one from the Canadians which read, “Cheerioh Kiwis All — nice having worked with you.”
Back in reserve, my long overdue furlough was granted and Bert O'Reilly took command of the battalion. At that time, Tom Campbell — our ex-commanding officer — took over the 4th Armoured Brigade and Bert O'Reilly organised a battalion march past as a welcome to Tom and farewell to me. Because my brother was serving in the RAF, I had elected to take my furlough in England. I also thought that, as it was now late November 1944, if I returned to New Zealand, I would never get back to the battalion for the final victory. In addition, I wanted to revisit some of those wonderful people who had treated me so warmly in England back in 1940. In the back of my mind, I also wanted to renew my friendship with Anne Chambers. The war had interrupted our relationship and we had lost
After I made my way down to Rome I was lucky enough to pick up a flight in a York from my brother's squadron and he was on the runway to meet me at RAF Lyneham, Wiltshire — west of London — when we touched down. These enormous transport planes were flying regularly between the Middle East, Italy and Lyneham so it was almost a family affair as all the crews knew Graeme as their squadron leader. He guided me straight through Customs and travelled up to London to spend three days with me. We went to see Strike It Again with Sid Fields, a great comedian who gave us a good laugh. There was accommodation at the RAF Club in Picadilly where Graeme had arranged temporary membership for me. After he left, I met up with Anne Chambers again to find she was engaged to a British officer who had been a prisoner of war in German hands for two years. We renewed our friendship in the course of which we went to see the hilariously funny Is your Honeymoon Really Necessary? starring Ralph Lynn, and to La Bohème, which was a little disappointing after seeing opera in Italy.
From London I went to stay with the Eardley-Wilmotts at Gerrards Cross 20 miles outside London, where I once again met up with their daughter,
“I am being absolutely spoilt here, can get up when I like in the morning, go down to breakfast in my dressing gown, use any of the family clothes, books, guns, etc. I have been taken to lunch at Arlington Castle, have taken their two big Golden Retriever dogs for walks round the grounds of Leeds Castle. Yesterday I was asked to join a shoot where pheasants were driven over the shooters standing behind hedgerows and managed to bring home seven cock birds to augment the larder. On a previous shoot walking up partridges, we had not been so lucky and all I had brought home was a hare. My army rations, which were better than the civilian rations, help in the kitchen.”
Some months before, Aunt Bundy had been surprised and delighted to meet
I had arranged to be in London for Christmas and to meet up with Graeme but, unfortunately, he was called away to take some VIPs to India. I was ‘ordered’ to come back to the Vernon's home for New Year as Avril had managed to get leave and Aunt Bundy had saved her Christmas fare for the occasion. We had a merry time together and, even though it was mid-winter, I really enjoyed the atmosphere and indulged in many walks in the attractive wooded countryside.
Realising I needed a base, I took a flat in Sloane Square in London for the remainder of my stay. It was a service flat consisting of a bed sitter, bathroom and kitchenette with an electric stove, refrigerator, telephone and central heating. With
Every week I collected my rations from the local butcher — three chops and three slices of bacon — and every fortnight from the grocer two ounces of butter, four ounces of margarine, two ounces of cooking fat, two pints of milk, a cup full of sugar and four ounces of tea. Once a month I was able to buy a small pot of jam. This was more than the civilian ration but, of course, it was possible to eat out at restaurants if you could afford it. Bread, vegetables and fish were not rationed but were in very short supply.
I lived in a dream world for the rest of my stay in London exploring the city, the pubs and, of course, the night clubs. When news came through that I had been awarded the Distinguished Service Order and there was to be an investiture at Buckingham Palace late in February, I was lucky enough to be included. Each recipient was allowed two guests to accompany him. I had hoped Graeme would be able to join me, but he became involved in the Yalta Conference and was required to fly some of Churchill's group to the meeting with Stalin and Roosevelt where the leaders planned the aftermath of the war.
Anne went with me and it was fascinating to meet the Royal Family in their home environment, having time to look around and chat with them after the formal ceremony. King George VI presented me with both the DSO and the MC and was very complimentary about New Zealand's war effort. Anne and I celebrated afterwards at the Mirabelle, perhaps London's most famous wartime night club, and so ended a perfect day. The citation for my DSO was as follows:
‘On 22nd June 1944 during the advance to the Arno, Lt. Col. Donald took over, in addition to his own
Battalion, a small composite column which had been advancing towards San Casciano. From this time until Poggiona was taken, Lt. Col. Donald's Battalion did the whole of the infantry work in the 4th NZ Armoured Brigade Sector, carrying out several consecutive attacks, all of which were successful. As the Brigade held a one battalion front, the units in support and under command raised his orders group for each operation to seventeen. Among the localities taken in the course of this fighting were the villages of Cigliano, Pisignano, Casa Vecchia, La Romola, Tavernacot and the Poggiona Feature in addition to intermediate features which were all strongly held. The complete success of these operations was mainly due to Lt. Col. Donald's skilful command of his own unit and of the supporting arms. His personal courage, energy and resourcefulness were all of the highest order. At every difficult time when personal reconnaissance was necessary to gain first hand information of the most forward troops, his cheerful presence was such that the momentum of a series of continuous attacks was maintained over a period of a week. His personal presence, his optimism and his leadership were an inspiration to all those under his command, contributing in a large measure to the unflagging momentum of the advance.’ Dso ImmediateLin Inglis , Brig
Comd 4 the NZ Armoured Bde
1 Sept 44
(Sgd)B C Freyberg
Lt. Gen.
Cmdr. 2 NZ Div
The actual Order was signed by King George VI and by the Hon F Jones, Minister of Defence for New Zealand.
Shortly before I was due to return to Italy, I received a request to appear before a Defence sub-committee of MPs at Westminster. They questioned me about the make-up of the New Zealand Division which had evolved during the course of the war to become the most formidable fighting division in the Italian Campaign. I explained what a tremendous difference it had made to our morale having our own tank force, how our divisional artillery worked as a single unit which enabled concentrated fire power and how our engineers had reached such a peak of efficiency. I described how the use of artificial moonlight using our anti-aircraft searchlights had assisted the engineers with their bridge building at night and had helped the infantry to find the tracks through mine fields.
As the division now had three brigades of infantry, with the recent formation of the 9th Brigade, and our own tank brigade, we were more balanced, two brigades taking part in an attack and one in reserve. We discussed our techniques of conducting night attacks. I recommended that we should have our own formation of New Zealand fighter bombers under divisional command. Direct air communication with the forward infantry was necessary, the bombers to be there in the air above us at daylight, after a night attack, to spot and prevent enemy movement of guns, tanks and troops. This would prevent Jerry from moving back and registering his guns which would save our side a great many casualties. The meeting ended on a friendly note but whether it did any good I will never know.
My three months in England nearly up, I had half hoped I might be able to do a course before returning to the battle zone. I was enjoying myself in London and it would not be much fun being shot at in Italy. However, this was wishful thinking as word came through from the general that I was to return promptly to my unit. Obviously something was brewing after a winter pause and on March 24 1945 I was back in command of the 22nd.
During a rest period at Fabriano, while I was away on furlough, the 22nd Battalion had lost its status as a motor battalion, was stripped of most of its transport and posted back to the 5th Brigade. With the loss of our transport went many of the home comforts associated with having platoon trucks, but we were allowed to keep our exclusive and distinctive fawn-coloured berets, which were of better quality than those worn by the rest of the infantry. We were the only unit in the division allowed to use these berets and this gave us quite a boost.
On November 24 divisional transport moved the battalion with Bert O'Reilly in command, to take over a position on the Lamone river from a British unit. Three nights later Lieutenant Forbes McHardy led a patrol to explore the river bank. Hearing some noise on the other side, he crossed over on his own to investigate, but was spotted by a machine gun
The battalion was relieved on December 8 in time to see our boys win the Freyberg Cup in the Divisional rugby final after a very close contest with No 2 Ammunition Company. The only points were scored by our captain — Lin Thomas — who put over a perfect drop kick from a scrum in front of the goal posts just before half time. When the match was over the General very nearly presented his cup to the losing side but was quickly corrected by our boys.
Back into the line again six days later the battalion was involved in a testing encounter where, once again, the fog of war brought out the best in the individual on the spot. No 5 Brigade, with the 22nd on the left, the 23rd in the centre and the Maori Battalion on the right, were to attack over difficult broken ground mostly unsuitable for tanks and known to be heavily mined and strongly defended. This night attack went in under a shattering barrage which drew an immediate response and, to add to the attackers' problems, heavy rain soon turned to sleet. C Company, led by Major Lloyd Cross, had Casa Elta, sitting on a promontory about half a mile ahead, as its first objective. Casa Elta was a substantial stone farmhouse surrounded by outbuildings, isolated trees and several haystacks. Here was to unfold one of the epic encounters in the battalion's history.
15 Platoon, led by Lieutenant Brian Edinger, was on C Company's left. As he rose to yell, “Come on” to his platoon, he was wounded and Sergeant Doc Fowke took over. Soon both he and Sergeant Johnny Hughes were killed in a minefield and later, the last remaining NCO, Lance-Corporal
Lance-Sergeant Len Seaman and about 10 men from 15 Platoon fought their way forward towards the left of Casa Elta, taking prisoners on the way until he was hit in the chest. His gallant actions during the night won him a Distinguished Conduct Medal. Private Harry McIvor, acting as section leader, stalked a machine gun post on his own and wiped it out with a Tommy gun, carried on and blew up another post with a grenade and then led his section on to the final assault on Casa Elta. For this he was awarded the Military Medal. Corporal Tony Clark of A Company distinguished himself when, under fire from two enemy machine gun posts, he crept forward and eliminated them both. He was also awarded the Military Medal. Doug Ellis, the signaller, was wounded in the hand and later in the side but refused to go back. It was not until he received his third wound in the thigh, which eventually cost him his leg, that he finally agreed to be taken out. Captain Johnny Johnston, a regular officer well known in the field of athletics, lost his leg in a mine field and was blown up twice more on the way back. Sergeant Mick Kenny, later a Maori All Black, received multiple wounds and was awarded a Mention in Dispatches.
Such actions were typical of what happened in the front line of an infantry night attack. Wireless sets were blown up
At times their decisions were made instinctively according to the demands of the immediate situation. At others, when the question arose, “What do we do next?” the answer could mean the difference between life and death. For example,
The battalion's casualties amounted to 40, with five killed, and they took 124 prisoners, all from 36 Regiment of 90 Panzer Grenadier Division, a tough nut to crack. Engineers going over the ground later reported they had never encountered before such a quantity of mines and booby traps on any battlefield. The 22nd under Lieut. Colonel Bert O'Reilly had acquitted itself well but it had been a nasty encounter.
Christmas Day 1944 was spent in the line with little activity from either side. Padre Sergel visited every company and Christmas carols were sung in cellars and in stables. The troops messed in with local families, often in stables with their donkeys, cattle and poultry in a truly Christmas atmosphere. Five days later, the battalion was pulled out to rest at Forli, a
A period of training for 9th Brigade followed, ironing out all the problems of a new command, and on March 24 I arrived back and took over from Bert O'Reilly, with Major Colin Armstrong my second in command.
When war broke out, Bert had been a 33 year old school teacher. He joined us as a lieutenant before the battalion left for Syria early in 1942 and served with distinction as a platoon, company and battalion commander. He was awarded a Military Cross and Mentioned in Dispatches, and wounded twice in the process. The troops held him in high regard as he had proved himself to be an outstanding soldier. With the Tongariro draft of 113 long serving troops from the battalion, he was now due for furlough and a battalion parade gave them all a rousing send off. During my absence, and soon after taking command, he had to conduct the very difficult set piece night attack at Casa Elta which, after several set backs, proved completely successful. He had served his country and his battalion well and the war was over before he had finished his furlough.
R and R in Egypt.
Cassino.
Trieste.
War and peace.
It was back into the fray once more with
The awful feeling of apprehension about the fighting which lay ahead had to be firmly suppressed and, as the days of preparation passed by, anxiety was replaced by an eagerness to get on with the job and get it over.
The attack on the Senio River went in on the night of April
Meanwhile, our aircraft were busy overhead and our artillery kept up a steady bombardment. This was answered by heavy mortar and small arms fire from well positioned German paratroopers. An anti-tank gun and five Tiger tanks were knocked out and our troops made good progress with tanks of the 19th Armoured Regiment doing sterling work. A number of prisoners were taken when our troops debussed and attacked strong points which had resisted stubbornly. The way to the Sillaro River was now open and an attack was planned for after midnight that night. At 2.30 am on April 14 the assault went in under an artillery barrage and, while our men managed to cross both stop banks, the fire beyond the northern bank was so intense they had to pull back.
The Divisional Cavalry and two battalions of 6th Brigade had crossed and held the far bank. We were pinned down by withering fire all that day but soon after dark, in a silent attack, we crossed over and drew level with the other battalions. In the early morning our men pressed on to make contact with the 26th Battalion, taking several prisoners on the way. A flame thrower was called up to dispose of one troublesome Spandau post still holding out near the north bank. In all we had taken 116 prisoners at a cost of two officers killed and 16 other ranks
We pressed on as fast as the Kangaroos and tanks could move over ditches and canals. The fighter bombers were called in to flatten a strong point at Villa Fontana and by 4.00 pm on April 17, after advancing four miles, our forward troops were established on the near bank of the Gaiana River. The near stop bank had been firmly held by paratroopers and one of our Kangaroos was upended in a ditch about 30 yards short. The troops leapt out and rushed the bank under heavy fire. The men in the other vehicles followed suit and, under covering fire from the Kangaroos and some of our tanks, they started to dig in furiously. German helmets lined the top of the bank and there was a brisk exchange of hand grenades. One Kangaroo was set on fire by a German bazooka and the exploding ammunition added to the confusion. However, by nightfall we were firmly established on and close to the bank with plenty of support close by.
The next assault, which was to be a decisive battle, was planned for the following night of April 18. The stubborn resistance on the Gaiana River, not a formidable obstacle in itself, had taken the division by surprise. It was a straight sided canal with banks about 20 feet high and water no more than knee deep. Certainly it was a tank obstacle, but nothing compared with the Idice, a sizeable river further on which had well prepared defences. A similar dilemma had faced the General earlier when preparing for the attack on the Senio River, which was strongly held, but not as easy to defend as the Santerno, the next river. The General had persuaded Corps headquarters to give him all the ammunition, artillery and air support he asked for. He had been apprehensive the Germans might have pulled out early on the night of the attack to man the stronger line back on the Santerno. This would have been the prudent thing to do, but Hitler came to our
Intelligence reports indicated there were six Panther tanks in the area and 1,000 paratroops manning the line in front of the division, which had been spearheading the 8th Army advance. They were the remainder of the 4th Parachute Division, the elite of Hitler's youth; young and arrogant, they were perhaps the worst product of the Nazi regime. We had met them before in Crete under vastly different circumstances and now we would give them a taste of what they had given us. We felt no sympathy.
At 2130 hours the guns opened up — and the effect was spectacular. The General had organised sufficient field guns to fire 100 rounds at each paratrooper opposite us — 100,000 rounds in all — and, in addition, there were our own mortars and supporting artillery. Besides giving maximum assistance to his own troops, he had a personal score to settle with the paratroopers, as did those of us who had been in Greece and Crete. While this battle did not loom large in the history books, it was probably the most successful single attack organised by the New Zealand Division during the whole of the Second World War. During the course of the opening barrage the Crocodiles, with their flailing chains, set off mines and the Wasps with their venomous jets of flame were doing their stuff on the south bank.
In my battle plan, I had put A Company on the left, C Company on the right and D Company spread out behind to mop up any bypassed resistance. B Company was held in reserve. Good progress was made, with few casualties and a number of prisoners taken, and by dawn we were three
The battlefield next morning revealed the absolute carnage created by our attack. Dead paratroopers lay everywhere in grotesque and ghastly forms — groups of four or five surrounding a shell crater, mangled bodies in weapon pits and dugouts. Soon we had seen enough and were pleased to get away from this depressing place. Only 200 prisoners had come in on the first day and a further 100 on the second; the bulk of the defending paratroopers lay dead on the battlefield.
In 10 days from the initial Senio battle, the New Zealand Division had smashed three German divisions — the old German 98th Division, the 26th Panzer Division and the 4th Parachute Division — and had advanced over 25 miles. Casualties were high and the going had been tough. Without the 5th Gurkha Brigade, which had come under command, it is doubtful if the division could have carried on. However, we had reached an extremely high state of efficiency and, with the bulk of the German fighting troops annihilated, we were the obvious division to lead the chase in the Eighth Army sector. With the last set piece battle of our war out of the way, the General was in his element and the whips were soon cracking. While lots of obstacles lay ahead in terms of rivers and the German ‘Venetian’ Line, it was obvious to all that a final Allied victory lay close ahead.
While divisional headquarters prepared for another set piece attack over the Idice River, the infantry, probing in front, reached the banks and crossed with little opposition. The Reno River was then crossed in similar fashion and a dash for
By now the division had been joined by the 12th Lancers — a famous British regiment with a long and proud history. Equipped with the latest armoured cars, they were a welcome acquisition for the General who used them as they had been in the desert, long range patrolling ahead of the division. The crossing of the Po River had acted as a signal for an uprising of the Italian partisans in northern Italy and this was to have serious consequences for the Germans. From now on we could rely completely on the information passed on to us by the local Italians who were anxious to help. The partisans rounded up a great many German prisoners and handed them over to the 12th Lancers and to us until their numbers became an embarrassment.
The 22nd was hard on the heels of the 12th Lancers and was able to consolidate the ground won. We worked in well together; sometimes they saved a bridge for us to speed across and sometimes we built bridges to enable them to cross. Their history pays a remarkable tribute to the New Zealand Division:
“Then on 12 April (1945) came orders to move to Cotignola to join the 2nd New Zealand Division, then advancing with Polcorps on its left and the 8th Indian Division on its right up on the Sillaro. With this there opened a remarkable partnership. The 2nd New Zealand Division, under its famous commander Lt. General Freyberg, was perhaps the finest fighting division in any theatre in the war; certainly it was the finest in Italy. Tough, self-reliant, disciplined and tenacious, the men who composed it had their own standards of courage and efficiency, their own private pattern of loyalty and affection. To live up to one and to be accepted by the other were not easily achieved. But within a month the Regiment wearing the Fern Leaf sign of the Division, had accomplished both.”
We were delighted to have them with us. Our Bren carriers, practically unchanged since the beginning of the war, were not a patch on their fast, mobile, rubber-tyred armoured fighting vehicles carrying a gun which meant something. Like us at this late stage of the war, they had reached a high degree of efficiency, they were aggressive and reliable and never let us down. Like the 22nd Battalion, their motto was ‘Second to None’. We saluted them.
Our approach toward the Venetian Line was cautious as it was known to be strongly fortified and there were sufficient German troops to man it. While division was mulling over the need for a set piece attack, news came through at one o'clock on April 28 that the Americans had broken through the Venetian Line in their sector and had advanced as far north as Vicenza. Off went the General in his Jeep with his tin hat in place and a revolver on his hip, and off went the
With a troop of the 12th Lancers' armoured cars scouting ahead, followed closely by our 22nd Battalion Bren carriers escorting B Company in their three ton trucks, and then a troop of tanks from 20th Armoured Regiment, we sped along the autostrada towards Mestre. Our battalion headquarters was immediately behind the leading company, followed by the remaining tanks of the squadron under my command.
I personally travelled in a Jeep with my driver and a wireless operator so I could move freely up and down our column while still being in close contact with my battalion headquarters. When a skirmish erupted ahead I went forward to investigate and found Major Spicer in complete control, his carriers and his three tanks and a platoon of infantry coping with an enemy post ahead which yielded 40 prisoners. With scarcely a pause, we were off again through Mestre, but now without B Company which was about to receive its just reward by being detached to join Thodey Force, whose job it was to take the prize city of Venice.
On we swept, cheered and fêted by the locals who kept us informed about German movements. To highlight the fluidity of the situation, after passing through Mestre, 9th Brigade headquarters, following behind the 22nd, drove over a bridge on the autostrada while a German column in flight passed beneath them on a secondary road heading north. Both columns proceeded merrily on their way without being aware of each another.
The next major obstacle was the Piave River, some 20 miles beyond Mestre. All the bridges in our area of advance had been blown so with C Company, under Major Lloyd Cross, in
However, when I reported back by radio to 9th Brigade headquarters that we had crossed the Piave, had a company installed without casualties and were about to cross with the rest of the battalion, the disturbing message came back from Brigadier Gentry that we were getting too far ahead too fast and I should withdraw C Company to our side of the river and await orders. Unknown to us, the 27th Battalion, which was advancing behind us on the right of 9th Brigade, had run into stiff opposition which culminated in a pitched battle against a sizeable German force trying to escape to the north from the coastal defence area. What was I to do? We were pleased with ourselves to have crossed over under difficult circumstances and were loathe to give up ground.
I checked with Major Cross who was completely confident his troops were safe where they were as there was no enemy in evidence, so I decided to leave them there but not to press on with the rest of the battalion until morning. As a civilian soldier, I felt my interpretation of orders could be a little more liberal than if I had been a career officer. Also, I had over me a very competent and understanding brigadier who did not insist that his orders must be carried out to the letter.
In the early hours of the morning of April 30, the 22nd Battalion sped on while the bridge over the Piave was being built so the rest of the division could follow. We had our tanks with us and the 12th Lancers, ever reliable, were scouting out
“It was an interruption only; it could do nothing to stem the tide of advance which next morning, 1 May, flowed steadily eastwards. The River Tagliamento was soon reached and as soon crossed, Partisans and an Air OP directing the leading troops from the blown bridge to a well-made diversion a little way up stream. Driving hard ‘D’ Squadron reached the River Isonso shortly after midday to find the long bridge intact but, as a quick inspection showed, prepared for demolition and with a time fuse steadily ticking away the moments of its existence. The sappers were hastily sent for but it was no time for delay. L/Cpl Mason of the Support Troop was let down over the parapet on a rope and removed the detonator, 3 Troop passed over the bridge immediately, and the advance went on.”
This was typical of the deeds performed by the 12th Lancers.
Our spirits were high that day — we had advanced in triumph a total of 76 miles, over the Isonzo River and, about five miles further on, to the outskirts of Monfalcone, a shipping city on the northern-most shores of the Adriatic. Cheering crowds and pretty girls with flowers lined the route. We could not stop to join them but we looked forward with glorious anticipation to the grand victory so close to us now. Through almost six years we had gone through varying emotions,
Meanwhile, B Company was celebrating victory in advance in Venice, one of the glamour cities of the world. Thodey Force, with our B Company as its infantry component, had been detached from 9th Brigade by the General to take over the city, reportedly cleared by the partisans. Our division had earlier been allotted the Excelsior Hotel in Rome as a Forces Club but, when we went to take it over, we were told by the Americans to buzz off. So the General, with affectionate memories of the Danielli Hotel, was determined to secure for his troops the best hotel in Venice. As with the Americans in Rome, it was first come, first served.
Major Spicer, with his company headquarters and one platoon, took up residence in the Danielli and immediately clapped a guard on the entrance, claiming it as New Zealand territory. A staff officer of 56 London Division, who came to claim the Danielli for his division, was escorted by a private soldier with fixed bayonet to Major Spicer's office. He tried to explain we were trespassing on their territory, only to be politely told that, under orders from “Our General” that absolutely no-one other than New Zealanders would be allowed to use the hotel.
Quoting 8th Army Regulations that no civilian food was to be eaten by servicemen, a guard was placed on the restaurant and our good major offered a little bread and butter to those senior British and American officers wishing to dine there. When our rations were delivered to the kitchen, our troops were welcomed in the restaurant and entertained lavishly by the staff and prominent Venetian citizens, many of whom had private apartments there. For B Company the war was virtually
Meanwhile, great numbers of German prisoners were being rounded up and delivered back to the prison compounds. Major Spicer learned that a number of Germans were still at large on several of the outer islands including the Lido, with its world famous beaches, and that their headquarters was at the Albergo Warner. With remarkable aplomb, he spoke to the English-speaking German commander on the telephone and suggested politely that they may like to surrender. With a small party, he visited the island, where he was welcomed by the Germans and civilians alike, returning to the city with six German officers and 350 other ranks, the telephone having been a truly novel method of taking prisoners of war.
On the night before their departure to rejoin the battalion, the company was entertained at a spectacular ball in the hotel ballroom hosted by the staff and the local civilian high society. For them, it seemed like a fitting climax to the war, but such thoughts were rudely dashed by the serious situation which had developed in Trieste. Their quandary, on leaving Venice, was whether to give priority to bottles of cognac or ammunition in their platoon trucks. I am sure a satisfactory compromise was reached!
Meanwhile I waited until General Freyberg and Brigadier Gentry came forward to meet the first two senior Yugoslav officers we had encountered. The Red Star had been in evidence and pro-Tito slogans were plastered on walls. The atmosphere was tense and we felt we were not welcome among the scattered Tito forces parading the streets. The local populace was obviously cowed and uncertain about their fate and we were still 20 miles from our objective, Trieste, where we expected our war to end.
Passing through Monfalcone, the first fighting broke out at the crossroads near San Giovanni, where the Germans held a strong position involving anti-aircraft and coastal defences with a road block covered by several machine guns. A determined show of force by A Company and the Bren carriers backed up by the tanks soon produced a white flag and 150 prisoners were taken. This had become the pattern — the Germans would not surrender without resistance but it did not last long when they had identified who we were. By resisting they also kept alive some semblance of pride. In this engagement we had no casualties.
An interesting account of this incident was given by
“The advance became a rout. First went three tanks then the CO in his Jeep, then mine, then the first company of infantry and we were jubilantly hoping for Trieste that night. About four o'clock we ran into a small body of Tito's Partisans in Monfalcone and it looked all over. The advance was then three tanks, CO, Brigadier Gentry, General Freyberg, a bunch of correspondents and myself with the Div. Provost on motor cycles surging in front of the trucks to sign the way. It was a rout with the bludgers up in front — and how they were shown up! About two miles past Monfalcone, the leading trucks were fired on. The column halted, the bludgers and the correspondents, as the odd shot cracked overhead, seemed to melt away as snow before the sun and within five minutes all that was left was the 22nd Bn. — the picnic was over, the war was on, so leave it to the poor bloody infantry. It was typical, it was ironical, and very amusing. In an hour we had the situation under control withsome 500 prisoners who had little fight left in them.”
Colin's total of the number of prisoners taken differs from mine, possibly explained by the numbers swelling after the initial surrender.
A meeting was promised with the Yugoslav Fourth Army commander at 7.30 pm but he did not turn up and the General rightly judged that the Slavs were stalling for time. They assured us their commander would be there at 8.30 next morning but, when he did not show up, General Freyberg gave the order to carry on with the advance.
The Yugoslavs had fought hard and well against the Germans and had been subjected to many atrocities. However, although they had previously agreed with the Allies not to take Trieste, they had entered the city before us forcing the Germans to consolidate on various strong points. Obviously they had hoped to subdue the city before we arrived, but the speed of our advance had upset their calculations. Instead of presenting us with a fait accompli, which they would have exploited to the utmost, we arrived too soon for their liking and they regarded us as intruders. Under these uncomfortable circumstances, we pushed on to cover the last 20 miles of our advance.
At 8.30 am, the 22nd Battalion at the head of the New Zealand Division, with a troop of 12th Lancers scouting ahead, pressed on along the coast road towards the city. There was a fork in the road at Sistiana, giving the brigade a two-pronged approach to Trieste, and the Divisional Cavalry had been brought forward immediately behind the 22nd to exploit the top road. We encountered a road block at Sistiana so I sent forward some carriers, a platoon of infantry and a troop of tanks to deal with them, when much to our amazement, a Jeep came hurtling along the road from behind us. Passing
The Jeep contained a British naval captain and an American naval officer, both of whom were sent back by ambulance in a serious condition. It is hard to imagine what they were doing; perhaps it was sheer bravado but it turned out to be total stupidity involving, as it did, casualties on both sides. During our attack, we killed a number of Germans and took eight prisoners; two of our men were wounded.
With that obstruction dealt with, the Divisional Cavalry came up and took over the advance on the upper road while we pressed on along the main coastal route. The race was on and we were determined to be first into the city centre, now some 12 miles away. There was a short hold up when our aerial reconnaissance located a strong enemy position around Miramare Castle, some five miles north of the city. A large number of troops protected by 88 mm guns were detected guarding the castle, and it was decided to call up the fighter bombers to deal with them. Immediately the bombing ceased, I detailed Captain Jock Wells with A Company and supporting tanks to occupy the castle. This they did successfully, taking 600 men and 15 officers prisoner — almost the equivalent of our battalion.
While we were waiting for the ‘Cab Rank’ (fighter bombers available to divisional commanders at all times) to do its job, I noticed a flotilla of three German motor torpedo boats moving along the coast below us in the direction of Trieste. There was a troop of 20th tanks close by so I suggested they have some target practice as the boats were well within range. Their shooting was good and they sank one and damaged another; sinking ships was an unusual task for tanks!
We were chafing at the bit, thinking that the Divisional Cavalry were going to get ahead of us and, with Miramare
A furious but short-lived exchange of fire took place but was cut short by the appearance of a small group of Germans, led by a lieutenant colonel carrying a white flag, marching up the road towards us. I dismounted from my Jeep, which was tucked behind a tank for protection, and went forward to meet the German commander who luckily, was fluent in English. Although he was obviously anxious to co-operate, I nevertheless asked him to hand over his pistol. He was easy to talk to and, being in close radio contact with the five German strong points throughout the city, was anxious to inform me about all that was going on. In fact, he advised me how to go about taking control of the situation. “Right,” I said, “Will you come with me in my Jeep, bring your wireless operator and guide me in?” We were still then about three miles from the city centre.
A few minutes later we had clambered aboard my Jeep, with my wireless operator and the two Germans. Major Colin Armstrong, my second in command, had come forward in his Jeep and, on his own initiative, tagged on behind, and I radioed
On the way into Trieste, my German guide gave me all the details of the enemy defences. The Tribunale Building, as the Law Courts were called, was the closest and most difficult situation to deal with, and he advised that we should go there first. The next most strategic position was the Castello San Guisto, which dominated from a knoll in the heart of the city. The overall German Area headquarters was situated in the northern suburbs of the city and there was a strong garrison at Opicina, about four miles to the north. They were anxious to surrender to us but were besieged by the Yugoslavs. There was one major problem. The defenders of the Tribunale Building were truculent Hitlerites who vowed they would surrender to no one. I was told they were SS troops. They had defied the German area commander who had sent a staff officer and party to order them to surrender to us. They refused and shots had been exchanged — German against German.
My mentor, the German lieutenant colonel, recommended we set up our headquarters in a building on a side street adjacent to the Square in front of the Tribunale. This we did, but he was unable to make radio contact with the garrison inside the building. Something had to be done so I talked over the situation with
I stopped at the foot of the broad steps leading up to the front door and called out. Looking up, I could see several windows partly open with machine gun barrels protruding from them, all pointing in my direction. This explained the series of clicks I had heard as I was nearing the fortress — the release of safety catches. There was a shuffling behind the door and I could hear muffled voices. The door opened a crack and slowly the crack became wider and wider until two German officers were exposed within. One came forward carrying a submachine gun and spoke to me in German which I could not understand. The other one, who stood just inside the door in the shadows, appeared to be waving a half empty brandy bottle in one hand and a Luger pistol in the other.
I knew enough Italian and sufficient German to be able to explain who I was, that the Allies were entering Trieste in force and that, if he would surrender with his garrison, we would give them safe conduct back to a British prisoner of war camp. I was not impressed with their appearance — they were unshaven, their tunics were unbuttoned and they looked bleary eyed. After conferring for a moment, they stepped back inside and slammed the door.
The walk back across that 50 yard square seemed to have grown to rugby field proportions and I held my white handkerchief aloft, very conscious of all those machine guns pointing at my back.
My German adviser then suggested we should take over the Castello San Guisto as its commander, a German vice admiral who had served in the First World War, was anxious to surrender. Major Lloyd Cross had arrived with C Company by this time, so I pointed out the 700 year old fortress to him, plainly visible and sitting impressively on its hill about half a mile away. Major Cross went off with his company and a troop of three tanks and two 12th Lancer scout cars.
At this stage, Trieste was in turmoil with at least five different factions fighting one another — Italian fascists versus Italian partisans, Tito's men and Chetniks, Slavs versus Slavs, Germans versus Germans, Slavs versus Germans — with us trying to keep the peace. We regarded this local infighting as a sideshow, but it was real enough and there were a large number of Italian casualties. Major Cross and his company were sniped at by the Yugoslavs on the way up to the castle and he eventually radioed back that he was close to the objective, but there was too much shooting going on to risk proceeding further. The Yugoslavs had shot at one of his tanks with a Bazooka but, fortunately, had missed. I had given instructions that we were not to shoot except in self defence, so Lloyd was rightly hesitant about moving closer.
This time, instead of going in my open Jeep, I borrowed a 12th Lancer armoured car and went to Lloyd's headquarters to assess the situation. Lloyd pointed out the Yugoslav positions to me and I decided that, if the tanks led the way with the troops on foot sheltering alongside, the Slavs, with whom we had by now made some contact, would be unlikely to blow up equipment belonging to their allies, and that we could bluff our way in. I left him to it and, with some variations, this plan worked. As the tanks drew close, down came the drawbridge over the moat and over they went into the
A fascinating scene then unfolded, with two professional soldiers — Major Lloyd Cross and the German commander — conducting a military surrender according to the book as laid down in Standing Orders. Both the Germans and our C Company paraded in the courtyard of the castle and, after the ceremony, with much saluting the Germans stacked their arms and our troops took over sentry duty. The tense situation with the Yugoslavs outside settled down and the Germans were escorted to our prisoner of war camp the following morning.
Back at battalion headquarters, a message came through from General Freyberg and Brigadier Gentry, waiting impatiently in the suburbs for things to settle down, enquiring whether it was now appropriate for them to make a triumphal entry into the city. I had to report to them that we had taken the Castello San Guisto, but the Germans were still holding out in the Tribunale Building, and there was a good deal of indiscriminate shooting going on in the streets as the Slavs rounded up everyone who might or might not be a fascist. As a result of this information, they came in cautiously, with 9th Brigade headquarters setting up in the Grande Albergo della Citta near the waterfront and divisional headquarters settling in at Miramare Castle five miles north of the city.
I was fast losing my patience with the SS types in the Tribunale. but decided to have one more go at offering them safe conduct. We did not think much of their chances of survival if they were taken prisoner by the Yugoslavs, but neither did we want to suffer any casualties in our final attempts to end the conflict. Terry McLean, my adjutant, could speak some German and by this time an Austrian civilian had joined us to act as an interpreter. The three of us, under a better constructed white flag this time, marched once more across the Square to parley with the Germans. It was almost a repeat of the previous performance but this time we told them
A Yugoslav liaison officer had attached himself to us and I told him that, when we had finished our bombardment, they were welcome to go in and collect the prisoners, which seemed to please him. I gave the order to fire and to keep firing until we had blown several entries into the building. A number of civilians had been sheltering in the safety of the upstairs rooms of our headquarters and a wild flurry of skirts and trousers came tumbling down the stairway when the guns opened up. “Mama Mia, Mama Mia” was the cry as they sought refuge in the cellar, holding their hands over their ears as they dived below.
It was soon obvious that the tanks were not making much impression on the three feet thick stone walls, so I told them to concentrate on the downstairs doors and windows. The tank boys were having a wonderful time. Never had they had such an easy target and nobody was shooting back at them. As dusk approached their gun barrels became red hot and started to glow and then they ran out of ammunition. It was now up to the Yugoslavs to finish off the job. From his vantage point in the castle, Lloyd Cross reported a huge pall of black smoke hanging over the area.
After about an hour, the Yugoslav officer came to me and reported his men were in the building, but the Germans had all retreated into the basement and were refusing to surrender. He asked if I could give him a large supply of petrol so they could be
By this time
After some discussion, back went Lieutenant Currie, this time with Lieutenant Jim Sherratt and his platoon with eight trucks to bring in the Germans, past Yugoslav outposts in the pitch dark and, of course, with no lights showing. The trucks were filled and still there were more. Finally, 300 had to march on foot, bringing the total number of prisoners to 800.
General Linkenbach insisted that he wished to surrender personally to General Freyberg so, in the early hours of the morning — about 3.00 am — I took him off in my staff car to report to the General. He was asleep in his caravan alongside the castle and his aide rather hesitantly woke him up. I overheard
So ended perhaps the most action packed 24 hours of my life. The 22nd Battalion had taken Trieste and, with the help of the German colonel, we had subdued four of the five enemy strong points and Trieste was now safely in Allied hands.
Orders came through in the morning that the German stronghold at Opicina, which was really in the Div Cav area, was still holding out and I was to deal with the situation. Captain Jock Wells, with A Company, and a troop of tanks from A Squadron 20th Armoured Regiment were sent to investigate. Captain Wells had a German interpreter with him and, as they approached, they found the garrison was besieged by Yugoslavs. Wells and the German interpreter went forward on foot to make contact with the Germans, but the Yugoslavs, who were firing indiscriminately at anything that moved, wounded two of our A Company soldiers. One of them, Lance Corporal Russell, subsequently died, a sad outcome from such an unproductive venture. As one of our signalers had been wounded on the way into the city, Tito's troops were now responsible for three battalion casualties. Captain Wells made contact with the Yugoslav commander, accompanied by a British liaison officer who had been fighting with them, but there appeared to be stalemate so I made my way up to Villa Opicina to sort matters out. There I discovered that Captain Wells and the Slav and British officers had left to return to 22nd Battalion headquarters. They then reported to 9th Brigade headquarters and Brigadier Gentry directed us to withdraw and leave the Germans to their fate.
For the last three weeks in April 1945, the New Zealand Division had led the 8th Army with a superb show of skill and capability which could not have been matched by any other division. To my knowledge, there has not been another division in history as strong as the Second New Zealand Infantry Division was at this stage. Hannibal may have had his elephants to create terror in the ranks of the Roman legions, but they would have been no match for Freyberg's tanks.
We were, in fact, an army in miniature, cleverly built up by General Freyberg over the years. He held a unique position within the Allied forces. As commander of the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force as well as the Second New Zealand Division, he was answerable only to the New Zealand government, which he knew would back him in any dispute with senior Allied commanders. He had to use this clout on several occasions.
With the formation of the 9th Infantry Brigade, which included the former 22nd Motorised Battalion, the 27th Machine Gun Battalion, and the Divisional Cavalry, the General had within his command three infantry brigades with one extra battalion, the 28th Maori, three regiments of tanks, three regiments of artillery with anti-aircraft and anti-tank support, his own engineers, transport, supply and recovery units, three hospitals with dental units, his own leave centres and a fully comprehensive base unit for handling reinforcements and supply. We even baked our own bread. The division then consisted of nearly 30,000 personnel, twice the size of a normal British division, with the firepower to go with it.
Had the Maori Battalion been incorporated in the new 9th Brigade, leaving the Divisional Cavalry to revert to its old role as a reconnaissance unit, equipped with modern scout cars, we would have been better balanced. Instead, the British 12th Lancers were placed under command of the New Zealand Division and more than adequately filled this gap in our
The one missing link was our own New Zealand squadron of fighter bombers directly under the General's command. This presence in the air above us at dawn after a successful infantry night attack would have harried the retreating Germans, preventing them from establishing fresh gun lines. With direct communications between our attacking battalions and our own New Zealand fighter bombers, we would have been even more effective at eliminating German Tiger tanks and other strong points. A compromise was made with the introduction of a ‘cab rank’ of fighter bombers, and this proved effective.
With such organisational strength, led by such a seasoned commander as General Freyberg, supported by highly skilled subordinate commanders and backed up by the most courageous front line soldiers, (the whole combination specialising in and excelling at night attacks), even the most determined German troops could not have stopped us. The final battles in northern Italy, followed by the speedy advance to Venice and Trieste, where we took the last German surrender of the war in Italy, were a fitting finale to five and a half years of conflict.
From the time we had entered Trieste until we left two months later, no member of the 22nd fired a shot. We had organised the tank attack on the Tribunale but that was all. We were shot at many times by the Yugoslavs who seemed to be obsessed with wreaking their vengeance on as many Germans as they could round up and as many fascists and Italians as they could find and, if we were in the way, on us too. Many lives could have been saved had they co-operated when we first entered the city. All we wanted was for the war to end as quickly as possible, but they wanted Trieste. We had landed up in a hotbed of intrigue.
The following is an extract from a letter written to my father on May 6 1945.
“Well it looks as though the whole show is drawing to a close over here though we have found ourselves mixed up in one of these eternalBalkan squabbles which always seem to be cropping up in this part of the world. As you probably know, we are in Trieste and it appears as if Tito and his brigands are trying to annex this part of the world from Italy, and are very much resenting our intrusion. However, the whole thing is now being thrashed out at a high political level but, in the meantime, the Slav rabble is controlling the city — imposing all sorts of stupid restrictions and shooting people up in the streets. It is Hitler's methods all over again and, if we allow it to happen, I think we will be failing in our duty. However, it is over to the Heads now to fix up so we will see how they get on — it is really quite a test of the principles for which we have been fighting.”
On the night of May 2 General Freyberg had appointed Brigadier Gentry senior commander of all the British forces in Trieste and his headquarters set up in the Albergo Grande on the waterfront. And just around the corner in the Piazza del Unita, the Yugoslavs had installed their administration headquarters. They had already posted orders imposing a curfew, putting clocks back an hour to correspond with Yugoslav time and making numerous other demands. Many local arrests were being made and, in no time, delegation after delegation of fearful Italians were clamouring in the lobby of the Albergo Grande trying to get protection for their lives and possessions. Brigadier Gentry visited the Slav headquarters and it was agreed that, in the meantime, they should carry on with local administration, with the proviso that no one should be arrested and moved from the city without trial.
Previously, Marshal Tito had agreed at a conference with
As events transpired, the necessity to invade southern Austria passed and Tito, greatly assisted by his Western allies with armaments, supplies and military liaison, made such good progress against the Germans that his troops reached Trieste two days before us. In that time, though, they had made little impression against the five German strong points which were well fortified, and had shown no sign of yielding until we arrived.
General Freyberg made indirect contact with the Yugoslav 4th Army commander in his mountain retreat and arranged for him to meet with General Harding of 13th Corps in Trieste. At this time a communique was issued from the headquarters of the Yugoslav Army stating that “The New Zealand Division could not occupy Trieste and Gorizia, and that there was no question of any German garrison being found in these two towns as they had been completely cleared of the enemy by Yugoslav forces by April. 30. Also Allied forces had entered these towns without permission, a fact which might have undesirable consequences.” A message also came from the Yugoslav 4th Army that they would not be responsible for anything which might happen, so, to counter this nonsense, there was nothing for it but to draw up a defence plan and be prepared for anything. From then on our troops were to be armed at all times, whether on duty or on leave. It was galling; this should have been a time for glorious celebration and we were angry at the way everything was developing.
While our endeavours to finish the war in Italy did not lead the world headlines because of so many other momentous happenings at that time, we of the 22nd were proud we had led the New Zealand Division which had led the 8th Army in the final act of the war in Italy. The following article, written by an eye witness journalist, appeared in the British Daily Express on May 4 1945.
Col. Donald's TanksWind up a War
Too-drunk-to-give-in
Nazis shelled outFrom: James Cooper: Trieste, Thursday“Lieut. Colonel Haddon Donald, a New Zealander, fired the last shot in the Italian war that ended in Trieste today, long after the official capitulation of the Germans. The war ended when the colonel's tanks ringed the Palace of Justice in Trieste and blew holes in the last stronghold of 200 German SS troops who were too drunk to accept the chance of surrender. The Germans had retreated to the cellars and there — as I found today — they had broached case after case of looted Italian brandy to fortify them for a siege. The siege lasted four days. The Yugoslavs fighting in the city were not strong enough to oust them. Nor could they subdue other strongholds in the Castle and the coastal base at Miramare but these citadels surrendered as the New Zealand forces, spearheaded by the 12th Lancers' cars, under Lieut. Colonel Saville, entered the town last night.”
By coincidence, we had wound up the war in Italy on May 2
Empress of Britain on May 2 1940 — five long years previously. The hanging of Mussolini by the partisans on April 29, the suicides of Hitler and Eva Braun on April 30, the fall of Berlin on May 2, the unconditional surrender by Admiral Donitz on May 7 and the proclamation of VE Day on May 8 all obscured our victory and the fact that another Balkan eruption could break out at any time in Trieste.
With a little time to think now, I wondered what had happened to my German friend, the lieutenant colonel, who had helped me so much on the first day in Trieste. He had melted away and I hope he found his way back safely to his family in Germany. Time now to take stock of our surroundings. Our stay at the Hotel Regina was brought to an abrupt end when we were asked by Brigadier Gentry to make way for the Yugoslav headquarters. This did not please us at first but it proved to be a blessing. Our ever resourceful second in command —
The families with whom we were billeted, mostly Italian, were delighted to have us because we represented security for them and their property. If we dined with them, as we did mostly, our food was a much appreciated addition to their meagre supplies. Everything was scarce and, inevitably, a black market soon emerged. At this stage I was introduced to
Another unusual character, an artist named Guido Fulignot,
Our journey south had not been obstructed but, on the way back, we were stopped and taken in by an armed guard to be questioned by a Yugoslav major. While Guido did the interpreting, I assessed the situation and could see that the major was hostile and we were not getting very far. There was an armed guard with a machine pistol at the door and the major, in spite of our harmless intentions, was being very difficult. Enough, I decided, and looking the major square in the eye, I pounded my fist on his desk, told him in English that I was not putting up with any more of this nonsense and stormed out past the guard before they could recover. I climbed into the Jeep with Guido and told my driver to head for home. Looking back, I saw a cluster of Slav troops with the major in the middle with his mouth still open — I do not think it had closed since my outburst. They did not shoot and away we went with our mission accomplished.
Guido was very grateful and, in return, offered to paint my portrait which I found to be an unnerving experience. When mine was done, he did one for Colin too, and we took them home as reminders of those memorable days.
We had some interesting conversations with our Italian hosts and could not find one who had been a ‘fascist’. “No, no! Mussolini had been good for Italy until he started to go to war, and to have joined with Germany had been a great mistake.” We were there to make friends not enemies, so we
On the side of the hill in an adjacent suburb I had noticed a very prominent mansion with a view out over the city so I suggested to Colin we might establish a club there for our battalion officers. We needed a place where we could all meet together because, in our present circumstances, we were rather scattered. Colin went up to investigate and was given a rapturous welcome. Villa Valerio was owned by the Sevastopolou family of Greek descent and Madam Sevastopolou — the matriarch — was living there with her son Mani and two daughters. Every night the unruly Slavs would roam through their grounds taking pot shots at their peacocks and staring through the windows. The family was living in a constant state of fear. We were the first Allied troops they had seen and the idea of an Officers' Club appealed to them greatly. We moved in a section of infantry to act as guards, and established a cookhouse for the club, and soon began to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of a lovely home and a friendly family.
A large foyer led into a magnificent ballroom which opened on to a terrace with wide steps leading down to spacious lawns and gardens. The view from the terrace was glorious, taking in the whole city and the bay beyond. What a place for a ball and, when the thought was mentioned, it was taken up enthusiastically by the family. Their friend, the count, a local socialite, would organise the girls to be chosen from Trieste's high society. This would be the first ball in Trieste since before the war — “What a wonderful idea,” they said.
The date was set with the count relishing the thought of interviewing the 60 prettiest girls in Trieste, who would partner our battalion officers, plus a few others with whom we were
Madam Sevastopolou and some of her friends would act as chaperones, and staff cars, Jeeps and trucks were arranged to pick up the girls and deliver them home safely after the ball. The night before the big event the count reported that his life would no longer be worth living in Trieste if he had to restrict the number of girls to 60. The clamour was so great he could not possibly invite less than 90 and even at that figure his life would be in jeopardy. We had to agree but where were we to find extra officers? Someone suggested the navy and, once again, they came to our rescue, but this time in more pleasant circumstances.
Our hostess stipulated that all the officers should assemble in the ballroom before the girls arrived and I was asked, as host, to join her and her family to receive the guests who were introduced to us by the count. In they came, bubbling with excitement, one beauty followed by another even more beautiful. I had never seen such an array of smashing looking girls and, by the time I had shaken hands with them all, I was exhausted. The ballroom was full of gaily dancing couples and I must have looked disconsolate as the girls had all been snapped up keenly by our enterprising officers with no thought for their CO. “Don't worry, colonel,” said our hostess, “I have saved the nicest one of them all for you” and, true to her word, Maria, a charming Greek girl appeared and my
I discovered that Trieste society had a definite pecking order based on the historical importance of the family concerned and Maria was treated with deference by the other girls. She was a lovely and charming person, who spoke English and about four other languages well, and we met up at various social functions later during our tour of duty in Trieste. The ball was to culminate with supper after which the girls were to be transported home in our army vehicles before the curfew started. When the band announced supper was served, to my amazement there was close to a stampede. For them this was the most important part of the evening and it was as well we had a plentiful supply of food. The girls deserted their escorts and made for the laden tables, using plates rather as an afterthought. They were hungry — for the past several years their thoughts had been dominated by a constant struggle to find enough food to stay alive. At the sight of such a banquet, good manners went out of the window until they realised there was more than enough for all. I was saddened by the sight and next day asked Madam Sevastopolou what life had been like in Trieste during the latter years of the war. She told me of the hardships they had suffered. Family treasures lost their value when there was no food on the table and many had to be sold at ridiculously low prices. It was only the accumulated wealth of generations which had kept some families going and their future was most uncertain.
The ball had been a great success and we were invited out to meet many of the families whose daughters we had entertained. On several occasions I met up with Noretta Cosulich, whose family had shipping interests in Monfalcone. She was a most attractive young lady whose favourite drink, Campari, was new to me. Fifteen years later, while making a nostalgic return trip round Italy, my wife and I met her at a
To those of us in the 22nd who were there at the time, the period we spent in Trieste was probably the highlight of the war. We were elated to be the first of the Western Allied forces to enter the city and proud of the part we had played in bringing the turmoil reigning there to a speedy conclusion. Three of the city's five German strongholds were taken by the 22nd Battalion together with about 1,500 prisoners. We shot up the S.S. stronghold in the Tribunale building and arranged for the Yugoslavs to take the Germans prisoner. Then, after a confrontation with the Germans at Vila Opicina, we withdrew to let the Slavs take that garrison's surrender.
The 22nd had served in the Eighth Army as a hard hitting, aggressive force and was gratified to be leading such a famous army in its final assault. Recent reports from the contingent of veterans who visited Cassino on the 60th anniversary of that campaign, suggest many Italians remember with gratitude the part we New Zealanders played in saving Trieste from being annexed by Yugoslavia. Undoubtedly, Tito attempted to take over Trieste. He falsely claimed the Germans had all surrendered before our arrival and had tried to bluff the Allies into accepting he had a prior claim to occupying the city. Happily, diplomacy intervened and after a few tense weeks he withdrew and a serious flare-up was avoided.
As tension was easing in Trieste, Brigadier Gentry took leave to explore southern Austria and for five days, as senior officer, I took his place as brigade commander. Thankfully, there were no incidents which required attention and, apart from making daily contact at brigade headquarters, I was not called on to take any action.
Reading an official history written by
I now applied for leave to visit my brother in England. I was allowed two weeks away, so made my way down to Rome again and hitchhiked a ride in a York from my brother's squadron, which was still doing a regular run to Britain. Graeme was away so I made my headquarters at the New Zealand Forces Club in London.
I contacted Anne Chambers and we arranged to have dinner together. Her fiancé had been liberated from a German prisoner of war camp and was expected home soon, so they had arranged to be married on Saturday June 7, which was in about 10 days' time, a few days after my scheduled return to Italy. Her mind was obviously made up so this I had to accept.
With time to kill, I wandered down the Strand one day, idly window shopping, and came across a gun shop with the name C B Vaughan engraved above the window. This rang a bell as the pair of Purdy shotguns loaned to me on my trip to Scotland in 1940 had been sold to the owner by C B Vaughan of London. My appreciation of fine workmanship had been stimulated by
The gun was assembled and handed to me. I tried the action and all the joints were as tight as a drum; I looked down the bore and both barrels shone like diamonds. I snapped the action closed and quickly raised it to my shoulder with my eye on a mounted pheasant on the wall at the far end of the shop. That bird would not have survived as the gun lined up perfectly and I knew it had to be mine. At 100 guineas the price was reasonable and I was assured that Holland & Holland were second only to Purdy as the best gun makers in the world. I walked out of that shop feeling very satisfied but without realising how much pleasure that gun would give me throughout the rest of my life. It is now 100 years old and still in perfect condition. The money I had put aside to possibly buy an engagement ring had been put to good use.
When Graeme returned, I was surprised to discover he had recently been married, so off I went to meet the new bride. While they appeared to be happy enough the partnership did not last long. It had been a rather impulsive wartime relationship and, within a few months, they broke up and by mutual agreement they divorced. When the war was over Graeme, with his wartime flying experience, joined the Dutch airline KLM where he met and later married a Dutch air hostess —
On returning to Trieste, I found the battalion had been issued its marching orders and was to leave the city almost immediately.
To the Liberators of the 22nd NZ Battalion In memory of unforgettable May June 1945 days at Villa Valerio Trieste
It was a gesture which had come from the heart and there were tears on both sides at our final parting. The rose bowl is now one of my treasured possessions.
Before leaving Trieste, I was informed I had been awarded the American Legion of Merit for the battalion's actions during the final weeks of the war when the 22nd had played such a prominent part within the new 9th Brigade. Brigadier Gentry had proved to be a very able commander and we had all reached such a high pitch of efficiency we felt nothing could stop us. The citation reads as follows:
‘The White House
WashingtonCitatation for Legion of Merit Degree of Officer Lieutenant Colonel
Haddon Vivian Donald DSO, MC 9th New Zealand Infantry Brigade distinguished himself in combat while serving in Italy during April and May 1945. Colonel Donald commanded the 22nd New Zealand Battalion during the advancefrom the River Senio to Trieste. The battalion was in action continuously from the River Santerno to the River Gaiana, taking part in a night attack which forced the crossing of the strongly held Sillaro Line and inflicting heavy losses on the German Paratroopers. From the River Piave till it entered Trieste, the 22nd Battalion was the leading infantry unit in the 2nd New Zealand Division. Throughout these operations Colonel Donald led his battalion with outstanding gallantry and skill, generally with the leading company during the pursuit and showing complete disregard for his own safety. His example was an inspiration to all ranks. ’Harry Truman
The citation was signed in the White House by President Harry S Truman and was presented to me by the American ambassador at his ‘Fernside’ residence in the Wairarapa in 1946.
During my absence in England, all preparations and appointments for the return home to New Zealand had been made and I found to my delight there was no job for me so I could travel home as a freelance. My BMW was still there in the battalion workshop and had been carefully looked after in my absence. Remembering my friend
When I took possession a couple of days later, I decided my chances of getting it aboard another boat in Bari were slim but Taranto was only a 100 miles south and it was a bigger port with a lot more shipping, which presented more opportunities. I drove straight to the waterfront in Taranto where I soon got into conversation with the captain of a small Dutch cattle boat which was going to Tripoli in North Africa that night and yes, sure, he would take me and the car there with him. I asked about payment but he waved the thought aside. “Come aboard and be my guest,” he said.
We had a calm trip across the Mediterranean and he was delighted to be given some New Zealand honey and cans of Bluff oysters. A big, burly man, he gave me a bear hug when he sent me on my way; a most agreeable fellow. The 1,200 mile journey from Tripoli to Cairo was going to be interesting. I had flown over that part of the country before but had not been much beyond Tobruk on the ground. The division had fought over it all but we, in the 22nd, had been back in Egypt training with our newly formed tank brigade during the final phases of the Desert War.
Everyone I met en route was most co-operative and I was supplied with food and petrol at the various depots along the way. If there was a checkpoint on the main road ahead, I would be warned to detour south into the desert and come back onto the main road further east. It was an exhilarating feeling to be a freelance operator in the desert and I could imagine what it would have been like to be on a lone patrol in the Long Range Desert Group. All check points were successfully avoided and I arrived at Maadi Camp within three days to
We were all of the same mood — impatient to get home, and the delay in Cairo was irksome. When we finally embarked, I was pleased to find I was still a freelance; the 22nd had been sent to Japan so I had no troops to look after. It was a most enjoyable voyage and, as we were approaching Melbourne, it appeared we might just get an opportunity to see the 1945 Melbourne Cup race for which my brother-in-law —
Our welcome home in November 1945 was terrific. What a wonderful sight it was to see my parents, my older brother and my three sisters on the Wellington wharf to meet me. Formalities were soon over and they drove me across the Rimutakas into the Wairarapa and back to the longed-for familiar places I had left nearly six long years before. Home at last!
I relaxed and partied until the Christmas break was over and, when my final discharge came through in February 1946, I was free to pursue my career. Now 68 years old, my father was anxious to retire and I had decided to re-join the family firm. Arriving at the factory on the first morning, he sat for a moment on his chair in his office and then stood up, walked round from behind his desk and said, “Now you sit there — you're the Boss”. I was nonplussed, but did what I was told. The hand-over was brief, complete and quite unexpected, but I had a lot to learn.
On the boat coming home, we had been fed with a lot of
By my 30th birthday in March 1947, I was still living at home and while it was very pleasant it was also time to move on. Most of the girls I knew had been snapped up and I was lagging behind. Three of the Beetham girls living next door had been married but there was one left — Ana — the prettiest of them all, who was soon to have her 22nd birthday. Was she too young? Of course not, but maybe I was too old. We started going out together and we clicked. Bingo, the girl next door was the best of them all so, one moonlit night, sitting out on our verandah, I proposed and to my delight was accepted.
We were married on August 30 1947 and we planned she should come with me to Harvard for a second honeymoon. Not long after we were married Ana passed the remark that I was “old and spent and 31″. Thirty-one, yes, but I proved her wrong on the other count as we had four lovely children. My father provided a home for us in the cottage next door, which he had built as a dower house for his mother. We added on some rooms as the family grew and were very happy there with a swimming pool next door and a tennis court of our own.
Business was booming with over 1,000 wool presses on back order. There were problems with the supply of parts, our production processes, and other companies copying our products, yet we solved the problems and survived the setbacks — and began expanding. There was even time for community involvements: the Masterton Trust Lands Trust, chairing General Finance Wairarapa and the board of WFCA Ltd before Wright Stephenson's made an offer the shareholders could not refuse.
Then there were the six years, beginning in 1963, representing Wairarapa for National in the House of Representatives. Very much a back bench member of parliament, I nevertheless chided Major Jack Marshall, Major Duncan McIntyre and The Rise and Fall of a Young Turk about my particular exploits. In part, he wrote:
“Haddon Donald, who had come into the House as member for Wairarapa in 1963 was one of our most hardworking backbenchers. He was conscientious, honourable and played his politics straight down the middle. He disliked the rough-and-tumble and was never involved in incidents in the House and, by many people's standards, was an ideal member. He would make no concessions to popularity however, and would not kiss a baby for a thousand votes, let alone one.”
Both Rob and Jack became prime ministers and Duncan was a very successful minister of agriculture, while my tenure in politics lasted a mere two terms.
During my first term I sat next to another new member of parliament,
I had given 12 years of my life to my country — six years in the army risking my life and six years in politics risking my reputation and I felt that was enough.
In Masterton, I bought back Mahunga Farm, which had been my grandmother's home for many years, complete with the Mahunga Golf Course, which was soon subdivided from the property. They made me their patron, so I had to learn to play golf. With politics out of my system and the business going well, I enjoyed the challenge of learning about farming and developing the remaining 120 acres. From over 100 white pines that had come down during the Wahine storm in 1967, we also built a new home, with views over the golf course and with the Tararuas as a backdrop.
Donald Presses, which had been operating at three different locations, consolidated in the large, now vacant, Phillip Morris factory. It thrived under the direction of our son Andrew, with staff numbers climbing to 80. Rapid expansion meant
Ana and I retired to Taupo in 1988 where we have a pleasant home with a stunning view over the lake towards Mount Tauhara. The ever changing scene with its different lights and colours is very therapeutic. Andrew has taken over our house at Mahunga and is running the farm. So life goes on.
During the post-war years we have kept in touch with ‘Scotch’ Paterson, now living on Waiheke Island where he spends some of his time busking on the street with his guitar, collecting for various charities.
Looking back over the years, I have always been happiest when there was a project to work on and probably my most satisfying individual achievement was the assembly of woolpresses with such expertise that it made our factory hum with activity. The transformation of Mahunga farm from a derelict wilderness into a bountiful operation was also very rewarding.
The subduing of the fighting in Trieste within 24 hours of entering the city at the end of the Second World War was also extremely satisfying. And the writing of a book at the age of 88 has been a formidable challenge, but
Little of the happiness of my post-war life would have been possible without the love and harmony of an understanding partnership and, for this, I give Ana and our family my heartfelt thanks.
In writing this book I have, necessarily, and with differing degrees of pleasure and discomfort, relived those wartime years. It was not, of course, the first time I had done so.
On the long journey home from Suez in 1945, we had plenty of time to reflect and talk about the various campaigns we had fought in. What struck me most forcibly was the vast difference between our efficiency at the beginning of the war in Greece compared with the end of the war in Italy. In Greece we were sent like sheep to the slaughter, ill equipped and only partly trained and, thanks to the navy, we were saved from both Greece and Crete. The Germans had been preparing for war for seven or eight years while our side dithered. Their troops were highly trained and superbly equipped and, while we cowered beneath the olive trees, they flaunted their superiority in the air above us — it was particularly galling. Their aircraft, guns, tanks, radio and training were all vastly superior to ours and we felt we had been badly let down by our political leaders. In spite of all
Gradually, as the war ground on, we were given better equipment and we learned from the Germans how to conduct a war. The one thing the Germans hated, and we increasingly excelled at, was night attack and I do not think historians and military planners have taken sufficient notice of this fact. For most of the first three years of the Second World War, the Allies lost every battle fought against the Germans. At Minqar Qaim in June 1942, the New Zealand Division staged a wholly successful breakout at night through the encircling Afrika Corp, the initiative of the New Zealanders proving to be more effective than the rigid discipline of the Germans. Our men proved they could cope with the unexpected.
Was night fighting the catalyst which finally turned regular defeats into a stunning string of victories? The night attack launched at Ruweisat in July 1942, under General Auchinleck, was a step in the right direction, but it was marred by troop movements in daylight during the build up, which were observed by Rommel, and by the inexcusable lack of co-operation from the Allied tanks during the attack. The infantry were successful, but the lack of tank support proved disastrous.
Learning from this, Montgomery planned the finally successful night attacks at Alamein, which proved to be the turning point in the war.
In Italy we were involved in many night attacks which, while successful, too often followed exactly the same pattern. Usually our opening barrage would co-incide with, or precede the start time and be followed by a creeping barrage as our troops advanced. The German mortars and artillery would retaliate
The Germans did not like night attacks and, when their chain of command broke down, they surrendered more readily. More than anything else, this highlighted the difference between Rommel's troops and ours. If our chain of command broke down, there was always someone prepared to take charge, carry on and eventually take the objective as planned. The kiwi is, after all, a night bird.
Time and time again, New Zealand Division conducted successful night attacks which were well prepared and superbly carried out by the troops. On many occasions I can recall our night attacks starting off badly with considerable confusion and reports of casualties and setbacks coming in early but, gradually, the tide would turn as the natural ability and sheer courage of our front line men turned chaos into success. On two occasions after successful night attacks on the Adriatic Coast, I sought permission to follow up fast without artillery support, catching the Germans by surprise before they could establish new gun lines. This saved us a great many casualties and resulted in good bags of prisoners.
When the History Channel recently broadcast a series of programmes on the history of warfare from the earliest times to the present day, it appalled me that no reference was made to night fighting. The final scene showed modern infantry in a daylight attack over open ground laden like donkeys with gear which would hamper their ability to fight.
They were so hopelessly overburdened and exposed that none of them would have reached the objective. Had they
Close study of the evolution of the 2nd New Zealand Infantry Division under General Freyberg should be very rewarding for historians and for our military. Over a period of nearly six years of war many weaknesses were overcome and mistakes were rectified. We emerged as a very effective fighting machine with, as always in the history of warfare, the infantry being the final prevailing force. The politicians, the navy, the air force, the intelligence service, the artillery, the engineers, the tanks and all the other support personnel are there to assist the infantry to occupy territory. It is the infantry who should be in charge of the battle with all other ancillary personnel under their command.
The Germans used the technique of dropping supplies to their forward troops by parachute on to dropping zones marked by swastika flaps, which enabled the infantry to go into battle lightly laden. Armoured supply vehicles and helicopters could do this job more effectively. Our infantry should be regarded as elite troops and not as cannon fodder which has been the case in so many battles in history.
The natural leadership characteristic of New Zealanders was evident in many fields when our troops worked or fought alongside men of other nations. Whether it was unloading a ship, laying a railway line, building bridges, completing military courses, or fighting on the battlefield, our men excelled. We should all have great faith in our people, and all we need to make New Zealand the best place in the world to live is good political leadership combined with the natural ability of mainstream New Zealanders.
How could we not feel bitter about our pre-war politicians,
Lord Baden Powell's Scout motto is as valid today as it was over a century ago: ‘Be Prepared’. As citizens and as politicians, we should all recognise the security of our country is paramount and should be protected. Had we been prepared, the Second World War would not have occurred because no nation will begin a war unless it believes it can win it quickly. The cost of a war far outweighs the cost of prevention and, had the Allies countered Hitler's military build-up, he would never have dared to wage war against us.
I shall always remember that, when the 22nd Battalion was formed in 1939, the regular army was able to spare only three trained soldiers to bolster our ranks of nearly 900 men. And our equipment consisted of leftovers from the First World fought 20 years previously.
Expenditure on security and defence should have the overall purpose of helping to prevent war or terrorism; in the case of a small nation like ours this can only be done in close collaboration with our allies. The ending of our involvement in the ANZUS alliance has had regrettable consequences and it is time to repair the damage.
Not very long ago, our senior politicians, in response to requests for more funding for defence, were asking, “Where is the enemy?” One might just as well ask a fire insurance salesman agent trying to sell a policy, “Where is the fire?” Military spending is insurance against war. Switzerland has always been well-prepared for war and no country has dared attack it.
Today, New Zealand has troops serving in Afghanistan, Iraq, Bosnia, the border of Israel, the Solomon Islands, Sierra Leone, Angola, Cambodia and East Timor — nine different countries. Our enemies are international — can our politicians not see the wood for the trees? On April 16 2004, in The Dominion Post, the Chief of Defence did not mince words, his “We're too stretched” comments making banner headlines. In the past, military officials have been sacked for making such statements publicly, so the defence forces in New Zealand must surely be in a grim state.
Of course, the amount of money a small nation such as ours can spend on defence is limited. But the answer is not difficult. If all political parties would agree to spend an acceptable portion of the Gross Domestic Product, say 2% annually, on security and defence, their consciences would be clear and we would be a respected ally within the free world.
New Zealand's strength is in its people, not its exchequer, and this is where most of our defence funds should be spent. Young people should be attracted into the armed forces where they can be taught an appropriate trade as well as military skills. A four year term, with an obligation for future service, would produce well-trained personnel who could then be released into the workforce to help fill many of the gaps for skilled people New Zealand is experiencing today.
In company with naval or air force friends, we have often discussed who had the most dangerous job in war. I certainly would not have liked to be torpedoed in the middle of the
Why did I survive when so many of my contemporaries died — many of them alongside me? I had been wounded four times and could have just as easily been killed. On at least five other occasions, I was knocked unconscious but managed to hang on to life. The evidence would indicate it was sheer luck, but I do believe that a hunter's instinct and a sixth sense of impending danger may have contributed.
As a platoon commander, I had thought this the most dangerous job of all. Leading patrols at night was a scary business and, in a set piece attack, a platoon commander had to set a good example under the close observation of his men. As a company commander, I had thought my exposure to danger might be reduced, but I soon found out I had three platoons to look after instead of one. One's presence in a sticky situation helped to bolster morale. Would it be safer as a battalion commander? I had fondly hoped so, but I soon found that, with more troops to look after, more sticky situations occurred and, believing the only way to be sure was to see for yourself, I found the job was no sinecure. In a battalion attack, the commander is on the job all the time — not for him the luxury of a night off in reserve, but time off for cat naps had to be taken or efficiency suffered.
The war in Italy was a most cosmopolitan affair. The New Zealand Division fought alongside Poles and Greeks, Indians
The New Zealand Division was very highly regarded by those under whose command we fought — the British, the Americans and the Canadians — and also by those against whom we fought, particularly the Germans. I also believe we left each country we fought in as lasting friends rather than as erstwhile enemies.
I have had several opportunities over recent years to revisit places I had been during the wartime campaigns and, of course, the memories came flooding back ….
Fourteen years after the war's end Ana and I visited Italy in the course of a trip to Britain and Europe. Our first stop was at Villa d'Este on the shores of Lake Como in the north where I had spent a relaxing few days at the end of the war. This magnificent hotel, which had catered almost exclusively for English visitors before the war, had regained its reputation for luxury and elegance, with extensive gardens and breathtaking views. For dinner that night an enormous baron of beef was wheeled in on a heated trolley so guests could choose the slices they preferred. The service was excellent and the surroundings delightful so we relaxed and enjoyed it.
From there we had booked two nights at the Danielli in Venice where some of the staff remembered us as their 1945
It was intriguing to re-visit Salarola, the small village my company had occupied when it had become our front line during the winter of 1944. To improve our fortifications, there had been some damage done to some of the houses we were in, but this was minor compared to the destruction caused by German shellfire. The residents had treated us well with daily gifts of wine and food and I had been asked to settle minor disputes as judge and jury. The wartime damage had been repaired but there was little evidence of real progress in this remote community. No one seemed to be fluent in English so I did the best I could with my limited Italian. There were still a few of the original villagers living there and gradually their memories were jogged and there was a flurry of interest.
We had planned to stay the night in the village and explore its surrounds the next day, attempting to recognise the various buildings we had used and to pinpoint the enemy positions on the hillsides above. Disappointingly, I found this impossible: the rubble had been replaced with new buildings and the bare and broken trees had grown again or there were new plantings. But as we were exploring, along the street came a group of locals, talking excitedly, led by an elderly Italian
The mayor was approached as only he in the village had a bath and hot and cold running water. He agreed to take us in as he had a spare room and we shared an evening meal of spaghetti bolognese with his family, washed down with a supply of excellent wine. We felt very welcome and the evening passed quickly with numerous visits from inquisitive neighbours who wanted to look over this strange couple from New Zealand. When it was time to retire, our host asked what we would like for breakfast and I indicated that toast with butter and marmalade, and coffee would be ample. There were some anxious glances and a quick discussion I couldn't understand, so with repeated “buona note” we went upstairs to bed. A hot bath would have been excellent but, as there was no plug in the bath or basin and the former showed no sign of recent use, we had to be content with a sponging down.
A magnificent rooster, with black, shiny plumage and a rich red comb, woke us in the morning with his imperious crowing, strutting amongst his harem in the backyard. Soon, up came our breakfast complete in every detail except that jam had been substituted for marmalade. Our host had scoured the village for butter after we had gone to bed and found the only small portion to be had. We packed up the car and prepared to leave for Naples, but our attempt to pay for our food and accommodation was firmly refused. “You saved many of our lives,” they said, “when you occupied and took control of our village during the war, and we are grateful.” They had
Our car was booked to be shipped home from Naples so, having delivered it, we travelled to Rome to fly home. We had thoroughly enjoyed our sojourn in Italy, but I had found it almost impossible to recognise the actual ground we had fought over 14 years previously. We had won the war but the cost had been high in human suffering and sacrifice. The many graves we saw with familiar names on the headstones bore mute testimony to this.
Out of the blue, late in October 1980, I received a telephone call from New Zealand's TV 2 channel asking if I would take part in a documentary to mark the 40th anniversary of the battle for Crete to be screened in May 1981. They would bring a film crew to my home in Masterton to record the interview. A British TV producer,
Others to take part were Major General Sandy Thomas, who had been a subaltern in the 20th Battalion on Crete;
I relished the idea of a return visit to Crete, so we booked to travel from Athens to Canea by boat and paid a deposit for
Our new hotel was picturesque and delightful, right on the waterfront with fishing boats, nets spread out on the wharf, caiques constantly plying to and fro, and shops and interesting tavernas close by to visit. As the film crew was occupied elsewhere for a few days, we had time to explore. My first destination was the Suda Bay cemetery where most of the 62 men of the 22nd Battalion killed on Crete were buried. The cemetery was well kept and orderly and it was not long before we found familiar names on the crosses in the New Zealand section. I took several photographs and, in the course of my wanderings, came across a number of eucalyptus trees which were common in the Mediterranean. The Aussie boys buried there would appreciate that, I thought, as would their compatriots visiting the cemetery. But why not some New Zealand trees? I made enquiries and was assured they would be well looked after if I sent some over. So, on my return to Auckland, I arranged with Winstones Nursery to send over two kowhai and two pohutukawa shrubs to be planted at Suda Bay cemetery. Their arrival was reported to Winstones, but
Wandering along the main street that evening we went into a lively looking taverna and when it became known we were New Zealanders most of the patrons wanted to buy us a drink. As we ate — and we tried octopus for the first time — there was a constant exchange of conversation and drinks with a large family party next to us. Angelo and Crisula Markoulis were entertaining their friends as they did every year during a pilgrimage back to Crete from San Francisco, their adopted home. “Tomorrow,” they said, “we are having a naming day — a christening party — here at 2.30pm, so will you come?” We accepted, not quite knowing what to expect. Next day Angelo was at the door to greet us and we were ushered to seats alongside him and his wife where he was presiding over a large table with about 30 people. As more came in off the street, Angelo, who seemed to know everyone, asked them to join us and the party grew larger and more boisterous as the afternoon progressed. The baby, having been toasted several times, seemed to drift into the background. By the evening there was no sign of the party ending, the whole taverna had joined in and everyone wanted to make a speech — in Greek unfortunately. A cryptic entry in my wife's diary for that day reads, “Back at 2.30 am; phew!”
Angelo and Crisula asked us to join them for lunch at the same taverna the next day and we duly went. There were only eight of us and the atmosphere was a bit more subdued.
“I noticed yesterday that you liked fish,” said Angelo,” so I sent out a fishing boat early this morning to catch a large one.” There are not many large fish in the Mediterranean, but the fisherman had been successful and it came in on a huge platter looking something like a seven kilo snapper. I had been attracted by a large glass container with half a dozen live crayfish crawling round in the water on the bottom, so Angelo asked it we liked langouste. “They're the same as our crayfish in New Zealand,” I said. “Then we shall have one”, and out he went to the kitchen,
“I went to the library this morning,” said Angelo,” and found a copy of your 22nd Battalion history. You're mentioned in it more often than General Freyberg.” “Maybe so,” I said,” but I probably didn't rate a mention in the divisional history.” He looked thoughtful, but not entirely convinced.
Angelo's story was a fascinating one. Fifteen years old, he was sent by his poor Cretan family to Athens to learn the shoe trade just before the war started. When it was over he married Crisula. There was no work for him on Crete so he raised enough money for their passage to the United States where they worked their way across to San Francisco. There Angelo set himself up in a garage and started to make ladies' shoes in the Greek fashion. He took a pair to an emporium in the city and the owner, who happened to be Greek, ordered two gross pairs of the shoes in a variety of sizes. Thinking he meant two dozen pairs, Angelo settled down in his garage to make them by hand. When the shoes had not been delivered a week later, the Greek merchant paid Angelo a visit and found him working away laboriously. Realising he was on to a good thing, he said to Angelo, “Now, if you'll make these shoes exclusively for me, I'll set you up in a factory of your own to make them.” The deal was done and the shoes proved to be so popular it was not long before a second factory was required to cope with the demand. Angelo made his fortune, his children all graduated from Berkeley University, and he and Crisula made a trip home to Crete every year, travelling with one of their Rolls Royces.
On our way back to New Zealand, Ana and I visited the Markoulis's at their home in San Francisco. Their mansion was set back in the middle of five acres of what had been the orchard district supplying the city with apples. A high wire fence surrounded the grounds and two enormous wrought iron gates were controlled from the house. After intercom identification,
My wife's diary for Tuesday May 27 1989 carried an enigmatic note, “H to Maleme to be shot”. Doubtless she meant by the film crew and not by firing squad. Forty years earlier the latter might have been a possibility! The cameras were set up where my platoon headquarters had been and I was duly placed in position and told that, when answering questions, I could make gestures with my arms, but I was not to move my feet. The result must have been satisfactory as most of that part of the filming made the finished documentary and I heard reports from as far away as Scotland from people who had seen it. The producer had agreed to pay some minor expenses, incurred at their request, so I was asked to sign an expense account when the filming had ended. I noticed that the total charge, which was in drachma, had three too many noughts on the end of it, so I asked for a revised account before I signed. TV2 would never know that I had saved them quite a lot of money.
After the filming, I visited the German cemetery close by. Here I met The Cretan Runner had been recommended to me. I was able to purchase a copy which he kindly signed for me. During the occupation of Crete by the Germans, George had learned to hate them as arrogant oppressors and he had joined a courageous band of messengers, who daily risked torture and their lives delivering letters, stores and information to the various Allied depots left behind after the evacuation, or built up later. Crete is a very mountainous island and George's work, much of it at night, involved difficult journeys over country even more dangerous
Life was tough in Crete and George had married and had a family whom he wanted to educate properly in Athens. Jobs were hard to find and the Germans found it equally difficult to employ any Cretans to take care of their cemetery, well set out near the Maleme aerodrome. George's needs were great and the salary offered good so, in spite of his prejudices, he took the job and was doing it well.
To re-trace our journey during the evacuation, we were able to travel by car over the White Mountains to the little fishing port of Sfakia where we had been rescued by the navy nearly 40 years before and I was amazed to see how small a beach we had embarked from. I think I identified the spot where
In recognition of the 50th anniversary of the Battle for Crete, in 1991 the New Zealand government decided to send a contingent of veterans to Crete to commemorate the sacrifices made by them and their contemporaries who had been killed or died as a result of that epic encounter.
After the Crete party returned, I heard reports from some of our men that a number of those successful in the ballot had little justification for being there compared with others who had applied. Length of service, involvement in actual fighting, decorations awarded, previous ballots and other criteria were not considered. Crete was very different from most battles in that many of the rear echelon troops were caught up in the actual fighting. Even so, the statistics show that three-quarters of those killed and wounded on Crete came from the seven infantry battalions and they each lost nearly half their fighting strength. There is a big difference between the infantry soldier going into a night attack with his rifle, bayonet and a pouch full of grenades, and the clerk in the pay office or the postal section. Yet, in the ballot systems, soldiers in the pay office had equal chances of being selected with a veteran of several years' service who had been heavily involved in hand to hand life or death struggles.
When the decision was taken to send a contingent to Alamein, I wrote to the RSA suggesting that a merit system be used rather than a ballot but, with their egalitarian outlook, the RSA replied that, in their view, the ballot system was fairest. A merit system had obviously been put in the ‘too hard’ basket and, as a result, it was possible to be drawn in all the ballots of similar pilgrimages and, indeed, I am told this did happen
When applications were called for the Alamein visit in 1992, my friend Lloyd Cross and I decided to apply. We were both successful in the ballot and it was interesting to be taken through the process. There were 100 veterans, but to our surprise we found that 58 others tagged along with us,
We were to travel in two air force 727 planes which were quite suitable, but we also learnt that, far from getting a free ride, each of the veterans had to pay $1,000 for the air fare plus medical expenses, travel insurance, meals, passports, tour costs, etc. When we so-called lucky ones were told we were expected to contribute over $3,500 towards our expenses, some could not afford it and had to pull out with others taking their places. The total cost of the 10 day trip for the veterans came to about $4,000 or $400 per day. We were each provided with a free straw hat which soon disintegrated. I do not believe that the 58 hangers-on had to pay anything.
Without doubt, our New Zealand government is the most parsimonious of all Commonwealth governments when it comes to the treatment of its veterans and of its defence forces.
Why are our members of parliament so niggardly in their treatment of our veterans who have contributed so much to their country, and to our armed forces who are the guardians of our future? No one likes war but to transfer that attitude into government policy is extreme folly. Perhaps sometime in the future, a statesman will promote a more sensible and realistic defence policy for our country.
When we compared our treatment on the Alamein trip with the Australian contingent we found that all their expenses had been paid and they were to have an extra two weeks touring in Libya with visits to all the battlegrounds fought over after Alamein.
A stopover in Singapore on the way to Egypt enabled three
Lloyd and I were shown to our twin share suite, the centrepiece of which was an immense bed at least four metres square, with 24 cushions scattered over it. I had the feeling that, had I rung the reception desk with a request to find another room for Lloyd and to send me up a harem, this could have been arranged!
In the morning, we were whisked away to Alexandria — our destination. At the airport I was taken off by
On one of the first graves I looked at I saw the name ‘Sergeant Major Bob Baylis MM’, someone I had been very closely associated with both in my platoon and when I was in command of the anti-tank company, He had been killed
As dusk was approaching, we hurried back to Alexandria to discover a state of chaos at the Landmark Hotel — dubbed the ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ by one of our reporters — where we had been booked in for two nights. Whoever put us in that hotel should have been court martialled. By the time I got there, most of the worst problems had been sorted out and I had been given a small single room on the 13th floor. Neither of the two lifts was working but some kind soul had delivered my luggage to the room. There was a camp stretcher for a bed and a folding chair to sit on and that was all. In the communal bathroom, the lavatory had inadequate water. The shower — cold water only — would run for 30 seconds and stop for 30 seconds during which time you were supposed to soap yourself and be ready to wash off the soap when the water came on again automatically. The air conditioning gushed forth hot air only — the opposite to our requirements — and the food was so poor that some of us dined elsewhere. The canniest of the troops located the hotel where the VIPs were staying and reported the food and surroundings to be excellent there.
The following morning we were bussed out to the battleground where the 50th anniversary commemoration was to take place at the Alamein cemetery. We joined the Germans first, their imposing memorial a huge octagonal stone building to the west of Alamein, with all their dead buried within its walls.
There was little to be seen at Alamein except the cemetery building consisting of a forecourt leading in to the cloisters which contained the cemetery register. This then led to a memorial
Looking south the almost featureless desert, broken only by the low lying Miteiriya and Ruweisat Ridges, stretched for 30 miles to the impassable Qattara Depression. This had been the final defensive position where Rommel's all conquering Axis forces had been held up and eventually defeated by the Eighth Army.
Memories of that time crowded our minds during the service, at which wreaths were laid by the Duke of Kent, the prime ministers of Great Britain and France, representative ministers of Australia, New Zealand and Greece, together with a number of Allied veterans' association representatives.
We had been given a boxed lunch by our ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ which later gave most of us a serious bout of Gippy tummy or diarrhoea. I found myself with a bunch of Aussies while having lunch and we had a friendly discussion about the merits of our two divisions. The Aussies had built up a great reputation in their stubborn defence of Tobruk and had succeeded fully in their attack on the first night of the Alamein battle.
There was no other unit I would have rather had alongside me and I believe there was mutual respect amongst the group with whom I found myself having lunch. But they were not prepared to concede much in favour of the New Zealanders. Having had enough of this, I put the question to them: did they know why
From Alexandria we were taken to Cairo and a bus trip to the Pyramids which all of us had seen several times before. However, it was interesting to meet up again with the Egyptian ‘Wily Oriental Gentlemen’. Things had not changed much except the overpopulated city we had known had more than doubled its size. The taxi drivers were as mad as ever, driving with one hand while the other was continually blowing the horn. The driver would get you to your destination and overcharge exorbitantly, if he could get away with it. Meters were compulsory in the taxis but, if he could, the driver would charge each passenger the full amount. They had not changed, but were as good humoured as ever. It would have been fascinating to spend a few more days in Cairo but, even though we were paying for most of the trip ourselves, costs were being kept to a bare minimum, and it was time for the homeward journey. Most of us thought the pilgrimage had been worthwhile, but the organisation had been wanting and the government's contribution had been a disgrace.
My friend Lloyd Cross and I joined the ballot for the 60th anniversary of the Cassino battle in Italy in May 2004. The initial government decision was to take 25 veterans only and to fill the air force plane with hangers-on. After a public outcry against this blatant injustice, the numbers were doubled and Lloyd was successful in the ballot. Further public dissatisfaction resulted in the formation of two public-spirited organisations which contributed money and collected sufficient funds to send another 50 veterans privately. They managed to squeeze $2,000 per person from the government to help with the expenses of this second group.
The assistance given by ‘Our Heroes’, the Christchurch
We landed in Milan and were driven in three buses to Trieste. At the formal reception held at the Teatro Verdi I was asked to address the gathering, after which I presented a New Zealand flag and a 22nd Battalion wall plaque to the president of the council, with a request that it be installed in the Tribunale building. Having described the entry into their city by the 22nd Battalion, with accompanying tanks from the 20th Armoured Regiment, I apologised for having disfigured their beautiful law courts with tank shellfire. After its restoration, the few remaining scars on the walls and pillars could well be regarded as a symbol of the liberation of the city from the Germans and the threatening Yugoslav army by the New Zealand soldiers.
I pointed out that before the New Zealand Division had reached Italy, their country had withdrawn from the war, so we had come as friends. As we were from a small country on the other side of the world we had no ulterior motives. Our object was to help stop Hitler's mad delusion of grandeur, get the job done, and return home to our families as soon as we could. We had come as friends and had left as friends, with much nostalgic feeling of goodwill towards them.
The welcome given us by Italians in the city was
After Trieste we travelled on buses to visit several cemeteries where old comrades had been buried and battlefields where we had fought. This included Udine War Cemetery, north of Trieste, where our 22nd Battalion recipient of the George Cross,
We were very well treated by all the Italians we came into contact with, the hotels were excellent and our tour group organiser
Blaithwaite House 3
Boag, Sergeant 40
Briggs, Brigadier 80
Clemas, Cliff 51
Cretan Runner, The
43
Dalhousie, Lord 13
Donald and Sons Ltd 5
Duchess of Bedford
17
General Finance Wairarapa 198
George Fyfe
3
Grant, Major W 163
Harbour House 3
HMS Calcutta
24
HMS Napier
45
Masterton Trusts Lands Trust 198
Rifle shooting 6
‘Rotopeko’ 5
Sinclair, Robin 30
WFCA Ltd 198
In In Peace & War,
The book's closing chapters outline his successful post-war career as a manufacturer, his two terms as a member of parliament, and recent visits to battlefields he fought over.