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The following is an eye witness account of the journey to and the landing on Cape Passero, by a sapper in a Field Company in support of the 153 Infantry Brigade,51 (Highland) Division.

On the 10th day of July, in the year 1943, the 8th Army commanded by General Montgomery,landed on the Italian island of Sicily.

Troops taking part in this operation were as follows:

51st (Highland) Division supported by the Malta Independant Bde. and 23rd Armoured Brigade.

50th (Northumberland & Durham) Div.

5th (Yorkshire) Division, supported by 22nd Armoured Brigade.

1st Canadian Division.

2nd United States Army Corps.

The Highland Division and the Canadians formed the spearhead of the attack.

The Royal Navy and Air Force were in strong support throughout the entire operation.

'Bigot Husky'

It is 13.45 hours and the hot African sun is at it's height. We are sweltering and looking forward to the cool shade of our L.C.I. Our platoon is one of many parties on the dockside of Sousse this day. We have just marched eight miles from the concentration area hampered with full kit. I am surprised that I lasted out the journey.

The landing craft are lined up at the quayside and the Navy lads are busy putting the finishing touches to the ship's equipment. Various coloured flags are flying. The Skippers are at a last minute consultation with the Army staff Officers. Stores are being wheeled up the ramps and are stowed away below. Our ship- No. 107- is in front of us ready to take on it's passengers.

At 15.00 hours we move up the steep ramp to the deck and the Army Photographer, who is travelling with us, snaps us as we move on. I push out my chest and try to look as much like a Commando as I am able. Now we climb down No.2 hold. This is a difficult job as one has to step down the narrow iron steps backwards, clutching a rifle in one hand and the rail in the other. Many are the muttered curses of unfortunates at the receiving end of a rifle butt.

At last our party is below and it sorts itself out. We are sharing this hold with a section of the 1/7th Middlesex Regiment. each man has a bunk and we fling off our heavy equipment and make for the fresh water container. The container is empty long before we are satisfied.

The L.C.I's have been moving from the quayside one after the other and are forming into convoy. Ther are 60 ships in our convoy escorted by destroyers and aircraft. We are moving in a N.E. direction.

We go up on deck and feel cheered at the sight of North Africa fast disappearing into the haze. That part of the War is now behind us. It has been long and hard and we have left many good comrades behind in shallow holes scraped in the sand, These crude graves, with toppling wooden crosses, will serve as memorials throughout the generations to the valiant men of the Desert Army who have sweated, fought and died for a country strange to them and for which they had no real sentiment. Some Egyptian soil and some Italian. Part was French.

These thoughts linger in our minds as we pull away from land. The sun is setting and the sky assumes a striking red-orange-yellow tinge behind a few loitering clouds. Farewell North Africa! We have fought hard for you and won you dearly, but we really don't care if we never see you again.

Down below again the lads have got their mess tins ready in anticipation of a meal. The word goes round that we land at Malta tomorrow and we are contended.

Later in the evening we bunk down and the lights are switched off.

Sleep reigns till morning at 5.30 hours when the call to breakfast goes round.

That afternoon we arrive at Malta and sail slowly into the bomb-shattered port of Valetta.

Two glorious days are spent on this delightful island.

Early the following morning we are up packing, shaving, washing and snatching a hasty bite of breakfast. We are ready for battle now having rested for two whole days. General Montgomery addressed us and we are fairly confident in our minds. Little does the enemy know what is in store for him in the coming 24hours. Not much more do we know of what lies ahead of us!

At the docks of Valetta again we sort ourselves out into our serials and swiftly move on board. Rations are loaded and stowed away. Every man has now been issued with a 48 hours' 'Compo Ration' which consists of a small tin container holding a packet of biscuits, four bars of chocolate, a tin of cheese and bully and some sweets. This meagre ration has to sustain us for days 'D' and 'D.1' of the operation.

We are now paraded on deck and the Second- in-Command reveals to us that we are now on our way to invade Sicily. Many of us had already guessed this. He explains that the landing is to be done in the manner of the excercises we carried out at Djidjelli in Algeria. 154 Brigade is to land at first light with our No.3 platoon in support and we are to land shortly after and push right through. If the 154 Brigade meets with trouble we are to make an independant landing on another beach. The role of this Company will be maintenance and minefield gapping.

We are not lone wolves in this operation. A Canadian force is landing on our left with an American Corps. and two Divs. are on our right. The Americans & Canadians will make for the North while we head for the centre of the isle.

Our Captain now reads us a message from General Montgomery and one from the G.O.C. of the Division.

We are happy now that we are in the picture and begin discussing the possibilities of an early defeat of Italy. We hope that our's will not be the only landing in Europe.

The ships are gradually moving out of the harbour amidst tooting,whistling,shouting and frantic signalling. We are heading for the open sea and are joined by our destroyer escort.

Ack Ack and Bren guns are uncovered and cleared for action. Some of us are allocated shifts with the Navy gunners. We don't expect to see any hostile planes as the R.A.F. is increasingly vigilant.

It is getting late and the sky is set in beautiful colours as the sun sinks below the horizon. The old sun will awake on many changes tomorrow.

Supper is served- bully,peas and potatoes- but not many are lined up as the sea is showing signs of becoming choppy and already our L.C.I. is heaving from side to side at alarming angles. Those of us who have decided to brave a meal scramble round the narrow deck balancing dixies of tea and bully.

I am on A.A. duty now for 3 hours and sit up amidships watching the convoy ploughing through the heavy sea gaily lit by the last brilliant colours reflected from the late sky.

Now the sun has disappeared and darkness complete. There is not much of a moon yet. Waves are hurling themselves over the prow of the ship and drenching me in a fine spray as I feel my way along the narrow deck to the hatch. My shift is finished and I look forward to a spot of sleep. I may not get much during the next few days.

Down under I find the hold in a shambles. Kit is lying all over the floor knocked down by the irratic movement of the boat. Men are lying down trying to control nausea while others, apparently immune, are playing cards or reading. The atmosphere is heavy and there is a nasty stench of vomit.

I climb on to my bunk and lie thinking of the morrow. Little do the people at home know what is happening at this moment. They are ignorant of the fact that 2,000 ships of war are rapidly approaching the continent with the intent to invade thus opening the long yearned for Second Front. Mum will be sitting by the fire in the sitting room knitting while Dad will be listening eagerly to the late news or finishing off the Herald crossword. Perhaps one of them is writing to me hoping that I am enjoying my rest in Algeria. Little do they know...........!!!!

Russia will have the badly needed help as we draw troops from the front to combat this new Allied thrust. The enemy has opened a Summer Offensive hoping for a quick decisive victory. Little do they know........!!!!!

The Nipponese are hurling their yellow masses against the Chinese, holding on to their lately won territory in the Pacific and hoping that the British and Americans will gradually destroy themselves battling with their 'allies' in Europe. Little do they know........!!!!!

Sleep slowly consumes my wandering thoughts and all is quiet.

Hours pass unnoticed.

Suddenly I am rudely awakened by a rending, jolting crash on the side of the ship. We are tossed from side to side and the man next to me shoots off his bunk, half awake, on to the floor 6ft below. My head is in a whirl as I concentrate and grasp the situation. Men cry out as we hasten to don lifebelts and scramble for the safety hatch.
All this in pitch darkness! Thoughts of the cold wet sea cause a chill to run down my spine. Panic reigns for a time until a voice bellows out, 'It's O.K. We have collided with another ship but are able to carry on.' Actually, as I learned at a later date, we were badly holed and the Navy had managed to patch the plates up.

We slowly climbed on to our bunks again much relieved that we had not to take to the dark sea. Soon this episode seemed humourous and we laughed and joked. This cleared our systems and we settled down to continue slumber.

At first light we were awake and getting ready for the battle in front of us. The 154 Brigade had made a successful landing and were progressing inland. Last night the Navy and R.A.F. had plastered the defences on the beaches.

As the day dawns we are keyed up to the highest pitch with apprehension and await word to proceed to the shore. The uppermost thought in our minds is, 'Will it be a wet landing? Will I get ashore safely?'

Now a megaphone blares from a destroyer nearby, 'No.107 proceed ashore at full speed!' At last we have reached the crucial moment. Our little craft seems to hunch its back and gather speed as it rushes for the shore half a mile ahead. We are waiting below for the shock of the impact with the beach. Minutes pass like hours as we stand breathlessly at the foot of the ladder.

CRASH!!! The L.C.I. has struck land and we are thrown against one another by the recoil. The buzzer on the inter-com. goes and we are warned to be ready to land. Each man's pulse is beating a wild tattoo as he waits.

'LEAD ON' The word is passed down and the hatch door is thrown wide open. A beautiful sunny morning greets us as we clamber up the iron stairs, along the felt covered deck to the ramp which has been lowered. Word goes back, 'It's a wet one' and I automatically hitch up my trousers and follow the lad in front down the steep ramp as fast as I can slither. My equipment pulls me down.

The chap in front is small and goes in up to his neck as he frantically clutches the guide rope. He stumbles into a hole and a wave passes over his head. He is helped to his feet by the Navy guide.

I follow this unfortunate fellow up to my chest in water. My pack becomes unbearably heavy as it absorbes the sea water. Sharp jagged rocks scratch against my shins as I stumble towards the shore. I stop to help a Middlesex chap who is anchored bt a load of mortar bombs in his pack. We crawl on to the beach and run for cover.

Round about us, the whole length of the beach, L.C.I's are pouring forth men. The shore is alive with seething humanity. Tanks thunder through the foam churning up the water and throwing up a cloud of steam and oily smoke in the early morning sun. The R.A.F.is overhead on it's way to further harass the bomb-happy and fast retreating enemy.

God is in his Heaven looking down, through the early sky, on the re-assertion of Right, Justice and Liberty.

The operation BIGOT HUSKY is satisfactorily on it's way.

GEORGE STEWART BLACK
Sapper R.E.
276 Field Company.

28th July 1943

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