大象传媒

My father served with the Yorks and Lancs Regiment, firstly on Coastal Defence on the Coast near Filey, then in North Africa, and lastly in Italy. He finished the war in Trieste, although I am unclear why the Fifth Army ended up there- does anyone know?

Several things stuck in his mind about the drive up through Italy, from Salerno. He recalled the waves of Allied bombers pounding Monte Cassino, and being astonished at the resistance put up by 'Gerry' in spite of this High-explosive pasting. He remembered being able to pick fresh Figs off the trees as they were marching, the Olive groves, the dead horses at the side of the road which provided (with the aid of a bayonet) relativley fresh meat (quite delicious, apparently). He recalled the beauty of Florence and the Duomo.

However, one incident stood out, and made him laugh all those years later. It was a beautiful morning, and he woke early (something he did all his life) before the rest of the troops had stirred. Taking his towel and shaving tackle, he found a spot by a tree in a hedgerow. He hung his mirror from a branch of the tree, and laid his towel on the hedge. After finishing his shave, he turned to pick up his towel- nothing there! Puzzled, he looked around- he was quite alone. A noise on the other side of the hedge caught his attention, and, looking over, to his dismay, he discovered a Goat calmly chewing on the remains of his towel (army issue, wiping the face, for the use of)

At kit inspection, the deficit of a towel was noted by the Officer inspecting, and Dad was asked to provide an explanation. Dad always believed in telling the truth, but on this occasion, it was met with ridicule and even disbelief. He was put on a charge for his dereliction of the Kings Regulations in regard to Towels. For the rest of his life, he had little time or regard for Goats, thinking them a malicious waste of space in Creation.

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