大象传媒

It was on 4 June 1944 that Rome was liberated by a commando group from the Combined British 8th (Desert Rats) Army. The 8th Army had marched from the sands of El Alamein in Egypt, through Cyrenaica, Libya, Tripolitania and Tunisia, across the Mediterranean Sea and through Sicily to the mountains of Italy. The American 5th Army had joined us at Salerno.

I was a member of the 21st British Tank Brigade supporting the Canadian 1st Infantry Division. We had come to a halt for rest and recuperation near the Alban Hills after the grim battles of Monte Cassino, the Gustav Line and the Liri Valley.

Mass at St Peter's, Rome

It might have been around 8 June when our padre, Father 'Pop' Higgins of the Newcastle and Hexham Diocese, arrived in his jeep in a cloud of dust and screeched to a halt at my tank. He shouted at me to be at HQ at 06:00 hours as we were going to Rome. Another cloud of dust sent him on his rounds.

All the Catholics in the brigade were present, and we set off in high spirits for the two-hour drive to Rome. By 9am, we were assembled in the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, St Peter's, ready for the celebration of Holy Mass.

Father Higgins had borrowed vestments from a resident priest. He and his altar boy - both six feet tall - were incongruously vested in too small cottas and soutanes with their army boots sticking out below. This didn't matter as the mass was magnificently celebrated in one of the most beautiful chapels in the world.

First papal audience

After mass, Father Higgins announced that we were to take part in the first papal audience for Allied troops.

By 11am we were gathered in the old audience chamber near the Sistine Chapel. As we were first into the chamber, we closed up to the railing with a full view of the papal throne. This was too much of a good thing as the it slowly filled with officers, each more senior than the last, until General Harold Alexander was ushered into the best spot in the hall.

All of a sudden there was an awesome silence, broken only by a barely audible shuffling sound in the distance. The shuffling grew nearer and nearer until finally, when they entered the hall, we got to see that it was made by the slippered feet of the carriers of the Gestatoria Sedia. They carried into our midst His Holiness, who blessed us as he progressed to his throne.

Pope Pius XII spoke to us in seven languages and finally came down to a point in front of us. Surrounded by all sorts of generals, full and half colonels, and other staff brass, we could no longer see him.

A clear path to the papal throne

After a few minutes, he moved to the other side of the hall. Magically, the brass went with him, leaving a clear path to his throne, to which of course he must return.

I was over the rail in a flash and standing so closely to the throne that he nearly had to push me aside in order to sit down. He offered me his papal ring, and as I knelt down to kiss it he asked me, 'Are you English or American?'

After kissing the ring I drew myself up to my full height of 1.75m and replied, 'Your Holiness, I am Scottish!' He gave me a very wan smile as if to say, here I am teaching humility to the whole world, but Scotland is not listening.

An unforgettable ambience

Long afterwards and to this day, I can still sense the aura, ambience, atmosphere. Call it what you will, but it was different. It started long before he entered the audience chamber and lasted long after he had gone.

Many souvenirs were bought that day - rosaries, postcards and trinkets for the family - but, unhappily, they were all lost shortly afterwards when my tank was knocked out by a German 88mm anti-tank gun. I lost two of my crew in the process. I also lost a great deal of interest in the war, spending the next six months in various hospitals.

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