大象传媒

IN CORPS RESERVE 鈥� URBINO
A month鈥檚 freedom from battle and all its attendant fears, discomforts and miseries can have a remarkably recuperative effect on the guys at the sharp end鈥攖he guys who pull the triggers, the guys who lay their lives on the line every time they go up to the front. So it was with me after we spent a month in Corps reserve in the hilltop town of Urbino, about five miles from the site of the Regiment鈥檚 outstanding victory in the break-in battle of the Gothic Line. It was a rest we well deserved, especially after the physical and mental punishment we鈥檇 taken for two months in that quagmire known as the Po Plains. Like all good troops in need of a rest, there wasn鈥檛 a man that didn鈥檛 look forward with great anticipation to the days ahead and not have to fear the murderous 88s and the equally murderous mortars鈥攖hat there鈥檇 be no patrols to go on, and no two and three hour night watches to spend out in the open in the rain and the cold. The fact that the weeks ahead were only a brief respite from battle, and we knew there were still more mucking and fighting ahead for us, these things didn鈥檛 concern us for the present. It was no time to dwell on what the future might hold for us. We had a month to enjoy ourselves to the full measure of what we each were capable of, some much more so than the others.
All of 11th Infantry Brigade, as well as support units were billeted in the town, birthplace of the renowned Renaissance painter, Raphael. Since the town had scarcely been scarred by the battles that had passed around it, most of its citizens had stayed 鈥榩ut鈥� in their homes. This presented a problem to those responsible for finding billets for the 4000 or so troops that would descend on the town. This was solved by billeting the men in the fair-sized commercial build-ings, of which there were several, and also in the lecture rooms of the town鈥檚 University.
Although Urbino was a centuries old provincial town, several modern office buildings had been built by Mussolini鈥檚 regime as 鈥榤ake-work鈥� projects in the thirties. They made fine billets except for the fact that there wasn鈥檛 a stick of furniture in them to make things halfway comfortable for us, nor were there panes of glass in the windows to keep out the wind and the cold. In this situation along with the cold terrazzo floors on which we made our beds, sleep couldn鈥檛 be called exactly restful. But since we were long used to putting up with discomfort in its many abominable forms, our sleeping accommodations were minor incon-veniences, and the 鈥榦pen to the weather鈥� rooms were as nothing compared to what we had put up with at San Giustina and everywhere else in that water-logged countryside we鈥檇 just come back from.
It鈥檚 usual, when a Regiment comes out of the lines to some rear area well away from reach of enemy guns, we could expect to find ourselves involved in some form or other of training, the intensity of which is dependent upon the whims or sadistic nature of the CO. We were lucky in that Lt Col Maurice Andrews, known good-naturedly by the rank and file as old 鈥榖utterballs鈥�, decided rightly so that the men needed rest and recreation more than they needed training. As far as Dog Company was concerned, about all we did was listen to lectures, did some PT, some arms and marching drill, a couple of short route marches, and that was about 鈥榠t鈥�. Too much rest, like anything else, how-ever, can be as detrimental to an infantryman as too little rest. He tends to get soft unless some hardening type of activity is planned for him, like morning exercises, arms drill, route-marching up and down the nearby hills and sports. As for sports, our company seemed to have been by-passed. Several soccer games were held, which, although I wasn鈥檛 a bonafide soccer player, I would like to have tried for our Regimental team.
As regards to 鈥榬est鈥�, we had plenty of it, and spent a good part of it writing letters home, visiting the YMCA Auxiliary Services reading-room set up in a building just off the City Hall square in the heart of town, take in movies, watch the odd concert party at which time I was able to lust after the pretty and well-endowed young lady dancers. Another popular pastime was to spend an hour or so at the Cozy Canteen to enjoy what seemed like endless cups of tea and cakes. The tea, by the way, was served in tiny cups not much larger than the thimble-size cups the Italians sip their espresso coffee from. I might say here, I tasted the vile stuff once. . .just once and that was enough. About the closest I could come to describing the horrible concoction would be like drinking liquid asphalt, if it was possible to drink the stuff. One day, the 鈥榊鈥� put on a quiz show with money prizes to be won. I had no intention of entering it, until the boys in the platoon submitted my name. It seems they ascribed to me an extent of knowledge I never really had, though it might have looked that way to them. They thought I鈥檇 be a 鈥榮hoo-in鈥� winner, even though most of my adversaries were officers with college degrees. To say I was 鈥榦ut of my depth鈥� was no understatement. It was predictable then that I was eliminated in the first round of questions. I was tripped up, however, not on general knowledge questions, but on a public opinion poll, which I knew beans about. Much to my embarrassment and the acute disappointment of the fellows in my platoon I slunk back to my seat in the audience considerably humbled by the experience. What made the quiz contest even more frustrating for me was when I came up with most of the answers the other competitors had to field and were eliminated on. That would have put me amongst the finalists.
The only incident of note that added a touch of humour to our stay in Urbino happened at one of the daily changing-of-the-guard ceremonies that took place in the one and only square in the city, directly in front of the City Hall. The daily ritual went like so: Every late afternoon, just before six o鈥檆lock, while the outgoing guard of platoon strength stood smartly at attention in the square, the Pipe Band(alternating between the Cape Breton Highlanders and the Irish Regiment of Canada) marched into the square in the van of the incoming guard. Fine and dandy. So there they were, one platoon standing rigidly at attention on one side of the square while the new guard stood likewise off to their right about 10 paces waiting for the high-priced help to inspect both guards.
This was a tremendously interesting and stirring spectacle for the Italians who flooded the borders of the square to avidly watch the proceedings. It also provided something to do for the largely bored troops billeted in town, their interest drawn, I suspected, mainly by the Pipes and Drums. Every ceremony went off exactly the same, but on this one occasion, another element insinuated itself onto the scene, that element being the arrival of the gnomish four foot tall figure of a man with a pronounced hunchback. I鈥檓 sure that every Canadian spectator standing in that square instantly imagined that the little fellow stepped right out of the pages of Victor Hugo鈥檚 , The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
With an agility beyond what I thought would be possible of a man of his malformed body, 鈥榦ld 鈥楬unchy鈥� as I called him, immediately began darting in and out of the three files of the outgoing guard formed up on the square as stiff as ramrods, spearing cigarette butts by means of a two-foot long stick with a sharpened nail at the other end. It was amazing the fluid motions by which he speared his target and transferred it with the smooth movement of a swordsman sheathing his weapon. Again, fine and dandy, but then our boys standing there at attention, rifles taut to their right hip, strove mightily to maintain express-ionless countenance, in other words trying to look as military as possible as this little dynamo of energy hopped in and out and around the platoon on his spear-ing mission. And while this was going on, ten yards away the inspecting party of three Officers, Company Sergeant Major and Platoon Sergeant walked in the usual manner past the incoming guard, looking at each soldier with a critical and all-searching eye to see if his uniform met the criteria they expected of a soldier on parade.
Surely they must have wondered what brought on the ripple of conver-sation and laughter as they did their inspection. For certain they saw nothing amiss in the guard they were inspecting. As the ripple of sound coming from three sides of the square grew louder it must have driven them to distraction, for they knew not what was going on fifteen paces away.
And then came the time when they marched off to inspect the outgoing guard, at which time 鈥榦ld Hunchy鈥� skipped on unseen behind the platoon to do his 鈥榯hing鈥� in and around the incoming guard. And the ripple of laughter grew. Even the Italians seemed to enjoying the scene. The pickings, however, on that side of the square were slim, and so the comedy didn鈥檛 last as long. And so the 鈥榖utt sniper鈥� as he soon became known, undid the burlap sack in which were deposited his butt pickings, slung it over the hump behind his right shoulder and quickly disappeared down an alleyway. It certainly wasn鈥檛 all that much of an incident, but it did provide a half hour or so of amusement for those who witnessed it, something that more than a few must have written about that night in their letters to home. The only other noteworthy event or incident that comes to mind of our Urbino stay was the time my buddy Walter Thomas and I took a short hike to the valley on the west side of town to do some shooting at a some 45 gallon steel drums we鈥檇 seen in a 鈥榗ut鈥� when on a route march that morning. We didn鈥檛 know what was in the drums, but we find what would happen when we put a tracer round into one of the drums. Whatever it was in that drum, it sure did give off a lot of white smoke. And when we saw the voluminous puff of smoke given off with that first shot, we poured it on, emptying a couple of mags each. In no time the valley was wreathed in smoke. I don鈥檛 know what our troops in town were thinking when they heard the shots and then saw all this smoke rising out of the valley, but we soon heard about it. But as it turned out, no one came to investi-gate, and so we didn鈥檛 have to stand in front of old 鈥榖utterballs鈥� and listen to a lecture, or worse, be subjected to some form of punishment, whatever that might be.
Then there was the time the Dental people finally caught up to me. And I might explain here the dread fear I had of dentists, and it goes all the way back to my middle years in grade school. The school dentist pulled one of my teeth, and even though he injected Novocain into the gum I let out a howl of pain that echoed through the hall. I doubt very much that everyone in the school had ever before heard as blood-curdling a scream as the one that I let go. The pain was so extreme I was sure the root was connected right to my asshole. And from that day on a phobia took hold, a phobia about going to the dentist which I carried with me as excess baggage into the army. When I joined the army in November of 鈥�42, every soldier, naturally had to be examined by an army dentist who examined recruits鈥� teeth and marked down future repairs on a tooth chart. Fine and dandy! I could stand that. And from that day on, up until Urbino, those future repairs were never effected. Every time when I expected my turn was coming up I鈥檇 be on the move to another place, always one step ahead of the dentist. But then at Urbino my records and an appointment with the dentist finally caught up to me.
I was lying on my two blanket bed on the cold, terrazzo floor of this former commercial building, reading the day鈥檚 issue of the Maple Leaf, after having read a fistful of letters from home, when this guy, I don鈥檛 remember who he was, entered our room and called out, 鈥淪cislowski, report to Dental at 10 sharp!鈥� My blood froze. I felt week at the knees. 鈥淥h, God, no!鈥� I muttered to myself, and actually said an unspoken prayer in which I begged the Almighty God to have us suddenly rush up to the front. Yeah, I actually prayed, and fervently too, that I鈥檇 get out of going to the dentist by a sudden move back to the front. I preferred against all commonsense, to face the dangers up front rather than have my teeth either pulled or drilled and filled. As the time approached for me to go and face the unthinkable I was actually sick to my stomach. But I went, in the same way I went into battle. . . with a deep fear in my heart, but resolved to face it through.
The Dental truck was parked in a little square right in front of the University of Urbino where the great Painter Raphael had studied Art. Eight others were there ahead of me, lined up just off from the three steps that one climbed on entering. I remember looking at each face and wondering if they were as afraid as I was. There seemed to be no fear there, but were they better at hiding their fear than what I could? The dentist worked fast and within a half hour came my turn. Since I knew I couldn鈥檛 avoid sitting in the much-feared chair, I sat down and resigned myself to what horrible fate awaited me. In the couple minutes while the dentist looked closely at my dental chart to determine what had to be done I scanned the surroundings, especially the instruments laid out on a white cloth close by. I never faced combat with as much fear as I was being overwhelmed by at this very moment. And I wasn鈥檛 ashamed to let the red-headed dentist know the extremity of my fear. And the dentist said, though I knew damn well that he was lying; 鈥淪on, I was a specialist in childhood dentistry in Montreal, and I hadn鈥檛 had so much as a peep from any of my patients in the three years I worked there.鈥� I couldn鈥檛 very well tell him he was a liar. After all, he was an officer and you don鈥檛 go around calling officers liars. So what else could I do but lie back, open my mouth to allow him to probe there with his stainless steel pick. And then, before I hardly knew it, he injected the Novocain and commenced pulling three teeth, one right after the other, and to my great surprise and welcome relief, I felt no pain did. I walked back to my billet feeling like a Victoria cross winner. As November gave way to December, Urbino became a bee-hive of activ-ity, as three infantry battalions, a Recce unit, and a Light Aid detachment all tried to exit the town at the same time. It was plain to see that someone had erred. Someone up in 鈥楧iv.鈥� failed to set up an order of march or departure. The narrow streets of Urbino simply do not provide for easy egress for the many types of vehicles a brigade or division employs, especially when all units, or at least most of them take to the road at the same time. It could only spell chaos. It took some considerable unraveling before some semblance of order had been restored. And shortly after things had been straightened out, the Perth convoy began rolling slowly out of town and down towards Montecchio where it turned left, to pass later through Tomba di Pesaro, thence through San Giovanni di Mignano where the Regiment had spent close to a week after the Coriano battle. Then it was on to Coriano ridge and finally to the coast road at Riccione. There was some fighting yet to do before we reached the Promised Land up around Venice as Lt.Col. Reid had pep talked us before our Gothic Line 鈥榙o鈥�.

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