大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Bill Ross of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Ralph Corps (deceased), and has been added to the site with his relatives' permission. They fully understand the site's terms and conditions.
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When he was back to normal, that is, his usual moaning mood and always a trifle feverish, he refused to see the humour of it all.

The noise we made, and there was plenty of it, brought our jailers hurriedly onto the scene with our clothing. We dressed, and having done so, we were conducted into a parade room. No meal was offered, but our property was returned to us. They were very careful to see that it was all there too. When this little item had been seen to, the Chief Of Police appeared on the scene. His appearance was a signal for movement on everybody鈥檚 part. Two Italian policemen in the room, who had, prior to this animal, been having some kind of dispute, suddenly became very industrious indeed and began cleaning their equipment. Another policeman, who had been reading a book before the chief鈥檚 arrival, was now industriously writing in a pocket book. Another policeman who, had he retained his former position, should have been asleep on the sofa, suddenly appeared with a broom in his hand.

One moment, all the room was quiet and serene, and the next, a centre of universal activity on the part of every member around. Such was the effect of my 鈥渇riend鈥檚鈥� entry into the room. More policemen appeared and a suitable escort was selected by the chief, and off we went into the town. The town clock, I recall, said 7.10 a.m. The name of the town was NOCI. Arriving at a public square, we stopped and waited.
About half an hour later, a bus appeared on the scene. It was crowded with people; a fact that did not worry our escorts in the least. They told the occupants of the rear seats to move. The passengers in those positions did so quickly. In Italy, the people feared the police. In a little time, we were seated in the positions they had previously occupied. Our presence in the vehicle caused much whispering and nodding amongst the passengers. Only three Italian police accompanied us as escort. The chief, satisfied that we were safely accommodated and after giving some final instructions to the escort, stood on the side of the road to await the bus鈥� departure. As it did so, I could not resist the temptation to grin at him through the rear window. Whether he saw me or not, I cannot say. But I think not; I was disappointed when he didn鈥檛 shake his fist at me. That was the last I ever saw of my unpleasant 鈥渇riend鈥� and today, although I bear him no ill will, I鈥檝e no desire to renew my acquaintance with him.

As I have said, the bus was crowded when we were put on board, but before it had gone a couple of miles, it was simply bursting with passengers. Actually speaking, my friend and I, and the 3 escorts were the only people sitting on seats. The remaining occupants of the vehicle, together with such a varied conglomeration of luggage that I would not even attempt to describe, were just jammed into every available position. I remember one old man who had a goose under each arm and who, having regained his breath after a fight for position, said, 鈥淕ood morning,鈥� to us in very good English. He didn鈥檛 say anything else. A glance from one of the escort was sufficient to control his tongue for the rest of the journey.

An hour or so later, we arrive at a railway station. It was the station at GIOIA; a place I will remember if I live to be 1,000 years old. We were signalled to descend from the bus, and, having done so, were ushered into a waiting room. Inside the room, we sat down to await a train. Several trains came and went. We made several false starts, but eventually, a train did arrive which our escorts deemed suitable.
We all piled on board and after a little more delay, it moved off. It was a slow passenger train. Anyone who has been to Italy will know what I mean by that. It stopped at every station, between every station, on every bridge and in every tunnel, and also, as my friend remarked, whenever the driver saw any of his own friends. But finally, we did arrive at Gravina, the nearest station to our prison camp. That place came into sight much too soon for me. I had a good idea of what would be waiting for us at the camp and wasn鈥檛 looking forward to it. During the train journey, my friend and I had concocted a tale, which would, we hoped, lead the prison authorities 鈥榰p the garden path鈥� regarding our escape. I think it was about 1 p.m. when we arrived at Gravina and a ten-minute walk found us back inside the prison camp. Our escorts handed us over to their counterparts, the Italian Camp Police, who in turn, conducted us to the Camp Colonel鈥檚 office. Here, we were subjected to what might be termed, a preliminary interrogation. The Colonel, through an interpreter, began asking questions. When the usual regulation questions had been answered, more or less truthfully, the Colonel said, 鈥淚 know it鈥檚 your duty to escape, but why did you take three more men with you? This information staggered us; it took us completely by surprise. Three more men? When? How? Where? I took up the roll of interrogator and discovered that three more men had escaped. To use the words of the interpreter, 鈥� They left a gap in the fence, big enough to drive a horse and cart through.鈥�

We were non-plussed. We knew nothing about three more escapees, and we said so. The colonel, a rather decent sort, received this information with a snort and awarded us 30 days rigorous confinement. And so we went, plus escort, around to the Italian Police office. This was where the real interrogation would take place. My friend went in first whilst I was hustled into a cell until required. I spent the interval doing a little recapitulation on the story I was to tell. That piece of information concerning the three escapees had enlightened us as to an important particular. The Italians did not know where we had escaped. It would be quite a simple matter for us to say that we had made our escape along with the other three men, but for several reasons, the principle of which being that the other 3 men did not belong to our sector, we did not wish to do this, so we decided to stick to the story which had been conveyed. Outside the police office, I had to stand for a while, then the door opened and I was pushed inside. In the room were six Italian police plus an interpreter. That particular interpreter was not, let me add, a friend of mine. The head of the police took charge of the proceedings. He ordered me to remove all of my clothing. When this order had been complied with, they commenced a search. This took them some time; when it was concluded, I awaited the return of my clothing, yet, they did not appear to be in any hurry to do this. I asked the interpreter about it. He told me very unpleasantly, to shut up and await their pleasure. Circumstances have separated us since, or I would have shut him up and willingly, at my pleasure. Still, as the camp leader often told the men, 鈥淥ne Britisher is worth 50 Italians.鈥� Remembering this and recalling also stories (probably untrue versions) concerning third degree methods used by the police, and not being at that time, in any state to put forward any argument, I stood there shivering in the cold.

Presently, after an interval, which seemed intolerably long to me, the chief, who had been writing at his desk, looked up and appeared to remember that I was still there. He stood up, removed his spectacles from his nose, and then, and only then, did he signal the interpreter to his side. And so, surrounded by the Italian police, began my interrogation.

When did we escape? How? When? Where? Telling lies is no habit of mine, though obviously, on such an occasion as this, I could not speak the truth. Such a procedure would have brought rigorous confinement to all our helpers. I had to avoid that at any cost. There鈥檚 a code of honour among prisoners of war and I wasn鈥檛 going to be the one to break it. Had I done so, I would never have been able to hold my head up again. I started, as arranged, to lead my interrogators up the garden path. They were not satisfied; that much was evident from their faces. The interpreter kept saying, 鈥淵our friend says this,鈥� or 鈥測our friend says that.鈥� But I knew what he had said, at least on the main points. Any questions brought up that had not been previously decided upon, were always covered by such comments as 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know,鈥� or 鈥淚t was too dark and I couldn鈥檛 see,鈥� or 鈥淧erhaps you鈥檙e right,鈥� etc. Answering questions through an interpreter is the easiest thing in the world and cannot be compared to answering direct questions. I purposely made my answers obscure and frequently (when I had reason to) refused to understand the questions. Even so, I knew that my story could not hold water.

There was a pause; for a number of seconds, the chief aimed a frosty gaze in my direction, then told the interpreter to tell me that I was telling lies. I didn鈥檛 care tuppence what he thought, but I didn鈥檛 say so. It was clear to me that though they disbelieved my story, they were unable to produce any alternatives, except of course that we had made our escape along with three other men from Number 5 sector. This, to them, was very very puzzling, because, had we made our escape from Number 5 sector, it would have meant passing through 3 sets of wire (separating the sectors), before being in a position to tackle the main fence and thus make an escape from the camp. The questions put to me were all on this theme.

I stuck to my own story and at length, much to my relief, they returned my clothing. Having dressed, and believing the interrogation was completed, I made a beeline for the door. But I was a little premature in that intention. The interpreter told me to wait. He then went on to say that my friend had shown them a place in the fence where he had made his escape. . They wished me to do the same. At first, I was inclined to be obstinate and refuse to accompany them. . But then, I glanced around me and saw the 6 policemen standing in various positions, fore and aft, so to speak. I assented; outside, we walked along the sector fences. My mind was singularly active. I had not the foggiest idea as to the actual place in the fence which had been indicated by my colleague, but I did know that it would be somewhere between Nos. 6 and 7. Yet, I knew that my colleague would not have pointed out any definite place in the fences, unless there was some just reason for doing so. He was nobody鈥檚 fool; whatever he had told them as to the place of escape, must have been very vague. Of such things I thought as I strolled away by the side of the interpreter, and in the end, I decided to bluff my way through and bluff my way through and say I wasn鈥檛 quite sure where I鈥檇 made my escape.

But I needn鈥檛 have worried myself at all. Many prisoners were standing outside their barrack rooms (Italian police were inside the sector to prevent the men from coming near the fences), and as I walked along, a loud raucous voice bellowed, but not in my direction, he was shouting to a group of Americans inside the camp. There was no mistaking the voice, I鈥檇 recognise it anywhere. The last time I鈥檇 heard it, the owner was trying to sing, 鈥淎 Lonely Vagabond Am I.鈥� I readjusted my hat in acknowledgement. The interpreter at my side suspected nothing though the chief did cast a suspicious glance towards the Bradford man.

By the fence, I stopped and pointed towards it. 鈥淚mpossible!鈥� said the interpreter, 鈥渁 cat couldn鈥檛 get through the fence there.鈥� I heartily agreed with what he said, but I replied, 鈥淣othing鈥檚 impossible.鈥�

鈥淵ou show us how it was done,鈥� demanded the interpreter. I refused and told the interpreter that it was a military secret. Meanwhile, the officer who had been examining the fence at the place indicated, pushed his hat to the back of his head in a perplexed sort of manner and waved a hand in the direction of the punishment cells.

Some minutes later, I was sitting on a wooden bed with the unhappy prospect of 30 long weary days in front of me. So commenced my rigorous punishment. After 7 days in that cell, I thought I鈥檇 lived there a year and I was just beginning to wonder which would expire first, me or the 30 days, when an Italian sentry appeared on the scene to escort me back to the prisoners鈥� sector. The colonel, it appeared, had reduced my sentence because of good behaviour. I didn鈥檛 expect this and it came as a complete surprise, for, during my confinement, the Italian police had presented me with a number of statements re. my escape. Those statements were all in Italian and I refused to sign. In the end, the police became a little exasperated by my constant refusals and requested me to write a statement myself. They provided me with pen, ink and paper. I got into communication with my friend; we had a really good medium of communication. The statements made (my colleague also made one) were almost identical and needless to say, both did full justice to our imagination. It was a tale which the Italians did not even pretend to believe, however, a day or so later, I was conducted to the Italian police office; my friend was also in attendance. There, I was shown a document in Italian, which, so the interpreter said, was an exact word for word copy of the voluntary statement I had written. He went on to say that a copy had to be sent to Geneva for record purposes. For this reason, they requested my signature. I believe, I鈥檓 not certain, but I believe it was a true translation of the statement made by me. As far as I could see, they鈥檇 have nothing to gain by representing it to be false. But it must be remembered that I was a prisoner of war and as such, I believed, stupidly perhaps, that it was my duty to cause as much trouble to the Italians as possible. At the same time, their request to a signature for a statement I could not read was, in my opinion, idiotic to say the least. I refused to sign and my friend did likewise. He told them to pin a copy of our original statements to their copies and send the lot to Geneva. Back we went at top speed to our cells.

Afterwards, our relationship with the Italians was always a little strained, therefore, as I stated earlier, a remission of sentence was quite unexpected and it came as a complete surprise to find myself being conducted back into the old quarters. My friend was released at the same time. The Warrant Officers of our sector gave us a great reception and they all crowded round to listen to the stories we had to tell.

To complete my story, I must say a few words about what happened in the prison camp after our escape, as told to me by our camp leader. The escape was a complete success; it was unnoticed and no alarm was sounded. Back in our sleeping quarters, two dummies were constructed and made to look as lifelike as possible and then placed into the two vacant beds.

However, at 11.20 the same evening, the escape alarm sounded and a roll call parade was called by the Italians. The Italian officer inspecting the W.O.s quarters was very astonished, on shaking the bed of my friend, to see a pith helmet fall to the floor. We immediately threw the blankets back to reveal a bundle of old clothing. All Warrant Officers denied any knowledge of the affair. But they too were very surprised to hear that more men had escaped from another sector. It was in that sector that the escape had been detected by the men with the mobile arc lamp.

Other parts to this story can be found at:
Pt 1鈥︹��.
A4121605

Pt 2鈥︹�︹��
A4121632

Pt 3鈥︹��..
A4121650

Pt 4鈥︹��..
A4121678

Pt 5鈥︹��..
A4121687

Pt 6鈥︹��..
A4121696

Pt 7鈥︹��..
A4121713

Pt 9鈥︹��.
A4187955

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