大象传媒

This is an account of my father鈥檚 experiences as an escaped prisoner in Italy, following the sinking of his submarine in the Mediterranean.

His name was Arthur Ross Pinnell and he joined the Royal Navy on 21 November 1938, aged 16. After training at Shotley and following the outbreak of war he served on surface ships but then joined the Submarine Corps.

On Friday 13 August his submarine The Saracen was involved in the Sicilian Campaign as British forces attempted landings in southern Italy. His submarine was depth-charged and then sunk. He and others escaped using the escape tube and he was picked up from the water by the Italians and taken prisoner.

Making the news
The incident is mentioned in the London Evening News (a London evening paper, since folded) of 28 August 1943, which records the loss of The Saracen, the submarine The Parthian, three motor torpedo boats and a motor gunboat. Under the sub-heading 鈥淕erman lies nailed鈥�, the newspaper reports that 鈥渢hese were the only losses during the whole of the Sicilian Campaign鈥�, whereas the Germans had 鈥渁sserted鈥� that several other vessels were lost, including a cruiser and seven destroyers. The paper comments: 鈥淸This] proves once more how little reliance can be placed upon German claims鈥�.

It records that The Saracen was a medium-sized boat of 670-960 tons with a complement of 40. Confusingly, my father鈥檚 war record puts 鈥�14 August - date of capture鈥� alongside the name HMS Maidstone. However, the Maidstone was a surface vessel which is elsewhere named as the parent ship for a submarine, and the newspaper says that The Saracen 鈥渃aused the Italians many headaches but her name was never given in Admiralty communiques - she was always referred to as 鈥榓nother submarine鈥�.鈥�

Told by telegram
On 23 August my grandparents, living in Leyton, east London, received a telegram saying: 鈥淩egret to report your son A.R. Pinnell missing on war service, possible prisoner of war. Letter follows. Commadore, Royal Naval Barracks, Chatham.鈥�

I remember my grandmother describing how distraught the family were on receiving this, as people notified as 鈥減ossible prisoners of war鈥� were frequently found to have been killed when more information emerged.

Released but not safe
Meanwhile my father was sent to an Italian interrogation camp with his fellow sailors, but released about three weeks later following the signing of the Italian armistice on 3 September. The Italians had come to a peace agreement with the Allies but now found themselves on the opposing side to their former German partners, who still had control of much of Italy including the area where my father was released. The Italian camp commander suggested that the freed prisoners should make their own way south to try to get back behind British lines. I recall my father saying that the Italian commander and his men made haste to leave the camp themselves, as the Germans now saw them as targets, too.

In enemy territory
He and another seaman, nicknamed 鈥淗utch鈥� set off together. They were in danger of running into German troops, and although most Italians were glad to see the back of the Mussolini regime and gave help and support to Allied prisoners, they had to be wary of fascist sympathisers among the population who would hand them over to the Germans and possibly inform on those who helped them.

He and Hutch tracked through the mountains for three days before arriving at the Benedictine monastery at Farfa.

In the monastery
The monks hid them in the monastery and fed them. My father shared a room with a Russian professor. Neither could speak the other鈥檚 language but they communicated in French and played chess to pass the time. My father remembered meals taken with the monks, during which one of the brothers would read aloud from the scriptures while the others ate. When German troops were in the village my father was able to watch them from his room overlooking the village square.

On the road again
After a few weeks, he and Hutch, the Russian professor and a Scottish priest they had met there decided to leave the monastery and try to make their way towards Monte Cassino, which was on the line between German-occupied Italy and the area controlled by the Allies.

On their first evening they were met by a young man whose uncle, Fernando Savioli, agreed to take them in. The uncle persuaded them that it would be impossible to get any further and the professor and the priest went back to the monastery. However, a few weeks later my father and Hutch decided to move on. They reached a village where they begged for food and were again given help.

Capture, carnage and a second escape
Despite this, shortly after Christmas 1943 German troops surrounded the village and they were recaptured. Three weeks later he and other prisoners were being taken by train to Germany . As the train was crossing a bridge near Orvieto in Italy the train was bombed by 32 American planes and around 600 people were killed. The Americans obviously had not known that they were bombing Allied prisoners and their objective was the bridge, not the train, but the result was carnage.

I recall him saying that he saw that the man next to him was decapitated and in his dazed state he wasn鈥檛 sure whether or not he was looking at his own decapitated body.

He was slightly injured but managed to escape in the confusion and gradually made his way back to Fernando Savioli, who again sheltered him.

Living with the peasant farmers
I remember him recounting much about his time staying with the Italian peasant families, though which aspects relate to his first and which to his second periods of freedom I am unsure. I know that in his time 鈥渙n the run鈥� he learnt to speak Italian very well. It was a matter of survival and 鈥渋f you didn鈥檛 speak Italian, you starved鈥�, he said.

He had left school at 15 but must have had an aptitude for languages, and his 鈥渟choolboy French鈥� had served him well in the monastery. As a child I remember he was still able to understand Italian when he heard it on the television, though this ability declined somewhat in his later life.

He (and in their first stay, Hutch) had also worked in the fields for the families with whom they lived. This was not only a good 鈥渃over story鈥� if and when unwelcome visitors came by 鈥� they were simply passed off as labourers 鈥� it also made a vital contribution to the livelihood of poor Italian farmers who had been further impoverished by war.

There were virtually no modern facilities in the peasants鈥� houses. I remember him saying that one day he asked for the lavatory and was taken outside by the farmer, who spread his arms wide to indicate the surrounding fields and said : 鈥淎ll of this is the lavatory鈥�!

If strangers came asking questions, my father altered his name slightly to 鈥淎rturo Pinnelli鈥�. When I head these stories as a child, I couldn鈥檛 help wondering if this was merely a joke (he himself found it amusing) until many years later I saw an Italian scientist on television whose surname was Pinnelli, so he or his host family had chosen a real Italian name. Some people didn鈥檛 seem to recognise that he was not Italian and said he had a Neapolitan accent. This does not seem so far-fetched as I understand that Italian regional accents differ hugely and this would have been even more the case 62 years ago.

During one or both of their stays with the Italians, they would live with the families most of the time, but when things got too 鈥渉ot鈥� 鈥� for example soldiers coming to the village 鈥� they would hide out in the hills for a few days and the family would bring them food. My father was extremely grateful to the Italians for all the support they gave them, often at great personal risk, but they had to be wary of the small minority of fascists, and sometimes whole villages would be more dangerous in this respect than others. In one place, he stopped to ask for water from a man. The man gave him some, but told him 鈥測ou must leave, this village is full of fascists鈥�.

The British wonder if he is a spy
He stayed with Fernando Savioli for five or sixth months until the area was finally liberated by the British in June 1944 - by a unit based in Forest Gate, just a mile or two from his home in London.

Though he was relieved, there was a final hurdle to be overcome. Having been found behind German lines, the British had to ensure that he was as he claimed, and not a spy for the enemy. He was interrogated by a British officer, who asked him questions such as 鈥渋f you鈥檙e a Londoner as you say, tell me what number bus I would catch from ... [naming a route in central London]鈥�. He rarely went to central London by bus and did not know the answer. The officer asked him some easier questions and in his exhausted state his mind went blank. Things were not looking good. Finally the officer asked him how he would get to a certain place in Portsmouth from the docks, to which he replied: 鈥淵ou鈥檇 go along such and such a street, then past Aggie Weston鈥檚...鈥�. The officer stopped him.鈥漁K I鈥檓 satisfied that you鈥檙e not a spy,鈥� he said. 鈥淥nly a serviceman in the Royal Navy would refer to Dame Agnes Weston鈥檚 homes for sailors as 鈥楢ggie Weston鈥檚鈥�.鈥� (Agnes Weston was a Victorian philanthropist and temperance campaigner who established hostels to provide respectable lodgings for sailors while they were in port.)

My sister has a typewritten slip which says: 鈥淐ertified that No. C/JX160639AB Pinnell A.R. rank Able Seaman Unit RN has been interrogated by an intelligence officer of British Section C.S.D.I.C. (ADV) CMS on 14 June 1944 signed G. W. Kennedy British Section. Note: this certificate must be carefully retained by the individual to whom it refers and must be produced on request to the appropriate authorities, whether in the Middle East, British North Africa or the United Kingdom.鈥�

A letter home
Attached to this slip is a letter written entirely in pencil with my grandmother鈥檚 name and full postal address also written in pencil in my father鈥檚 handwriting. It was written while he was still on the run. I seem to recall a story that this was smuggled out, or intended to be smuggled out, of Italy by the resistance, but it seems unlikely that they would run such risks to convey only a personal message. At any rate, my understanding is that the family did not receive it until they knew he was safe. Perhaps it was found on him when he was interrogated?

In the top right-hand corner there is just the word 鈥淚taly鈥� for an address, and it reads:

鈥淒ear Mum,

By the above address, you can see where I am. Unfortunately, I am the wrong side of Gerry鈥檚 line. I am, however, quite well and am free. I have learnt to speak the lingo fairly well and please God it will only be a matter of waiting before I shall be home again. Please do not worry about me as I feel sure from past incidents that God is looking after me. That is about all I can say for now. I thought of you on March 6th and would like to wish Dad many happy returns for April 11th.

love,
厂辞苍鈥�

March 6th was my grandmother鈥檚 birthday. He was always known in his family as 鈥湷Т遣遭��, not 鈥淎rthur鈥�, as he was the only boy and had two elder sisters.

A night at the opera
I remember him talking about going to the opera in Italy with a fellow sailor after they were safe behind British lines, and my sister has a programme for La Boheme written in Italian and English. It says the opera is being performed from 15 May to 30 June 1944 at the Teatro di S. Carlo, priced 5 lira, and that it is 鈥淪otto la direzione del Autorata Militare Alleata, Napoli鈥� presumably because it was performed for the military or with their approval.

Back home
When he finally returned to his home in Leyton, the family did not know the exact date and time when he would arrive, but the family dog sensed him when he was a long way down the street and made such a commotion that they knew he was coming.

He stayed on in the navy until 1953, becoming a Leading Torpedoman and a petty officer. He married in 1948 and had three children (my brother Martin born in 1950, my sister Judith in 1952, and me in 1957). His naval trade was in electrical engineering and he continued this in civilian life working as a service engineer on traction batteries. He died suddenly at home from a heart attack in February 1993, aged 70.

Finding the family
He never went back to Italy until the summer of 1991, when he decided to visit the places he had known and try to track down anyone he knew. With his sister and brother-in-law and my mother, Lilian, he visited Farfa and stayed again in the monastery (by then a guesthouse run by nuns).

He went to the village where he had first stayed before recapture, with little hope of finding the family, as all he could remember was that the daughter was called Maria, and every girl in Italy then was called Maria! He got talking to an old man in the square, who reeled off the names of all the local Marias of the right age. 鈥淢aria X, Maria Y, Maria Petrucci...鈥� 鈥淭hat鈥檚 it!鈥� my father said. The man pointed across the square: 鈥淭hat鈥檚 her sitting outside her house,鈥� he said. She remembered Hutch more than my father, but it was undoubtedly her, and he had his photo taken with her. A short article about this holiday and part of my father鈥檚 memories appeared in the Waltham Forest Guardian on 10 January 1992 by Penny Ager, to whom I am indebted for some of the chronology and proper names.

The story
My father had himself written up his story and sent it to a national newspaper which was asking for such accounts shortly after the war, but stories of the war were commonplace then and only the most exceptional were published and it was not accepted. Unfortunately he never kept a copy of his submission.

He was Mentioned in Despatches 鈥淔or Distinguished Services鈥� following his time in Italy, and this is recorded in the London Gazette of 1 September 1944. There is also a certificate for this which my mother had framed and put on the wall. If she felt visitors were getting tired of him telling his story too often she would say 鈥渢hey don鈥檛 want to hear about your war stories鈥� but I know that she was proud of his record and his sense of determination and the endurance which had seen him through his experiences. Like her, I hate war and personally I tend towards pacifism, but I recognise the extraordinary and heroic ordeal he went through. He loathed anything which glorified war or smacked of jingoism 鈥� perhaps those who went through the war are the most likely to have this perspective.

I and my brother and sister were fascinated by his story and between us we have the various records and mementos of the time, but some of them are fading fast and we are glad to be able to record them for posterity.

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