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BOFORS GUN 6
The Island

One of a series of accounts of incidents, in chronological order, whilst commanding a Bofors Gun detachment (6 of 7) by Cyril Frederick Perkins
From the Port of Brindisi on the South East coast of Italy a man made breakwater sweeps out across the harbour. Between the breakwater and a small island some mile or so off shore a huge deep water lagoon offers safe anchorage to shipping.
Huge buoys had been set down in this sheltered harbour and ships of all Nations moored on them from time to time to replenish stores from the ample supplies stored under the ramparts of the island. The island was vulnerable as a target and attracted the attentions of the Luftwaffe in their attempts to deny the Allies such a useful utility.
Three Bofors Gun Detachments from 'C’ Troop were deployed at the Northern end of the island whilst an Italian garrison were stationed in the South. The deployment area for the Bofors was high on the castle like ramparts offering unrestricted fire arcs whilst some thirty feet below the sea broke upon a rocky unwelcoming shore. With swimming the main recreation for off duty leisure hours a combined effort had resulted in a long knotted rope being hung over the side of the ramparts. It was a challenging climb even for the young and the fit especially the return with bodies chilled and relaxed and energy spent on water pursuits. Even so it was a popular attraction and a moored buoy
some five hundred yards away became the target for the more competent swimmers.

Bob Owen my Number One prided himself on being amongst the best swimmers and was invariably the instigator of impromptu races back and forth. However even the best of swimmers can have their bad days and it was only some twenty four hours after the event that Bob told his story.
It had started off as an evening swim and as usual Bob was first to the buoy he had stretched out and must have dozed off for a while for it was the falling rain that woke him. The sky had clouded over and night had crept up quickly as it is apt to do around the Middle East and Bob found himself alone on the buoy. Undaunted he had plunged into the choppy water and struck out for the ramparts and the rope but the water had chilled with the change of weather and a cramp invaded his left leg. As Bob described his torment one could almost feel the agony he must have endured alone in a darkened sea struggling to force the cramped leg downwards to gain some remission from the pain. He had called out for help but his voice went unheard muffled by the wind and tide and he began to panic. He began to imagine all kinds of demons and monsters rising from the deep to devour him water slapped into his mouth and he struggled to keep his head above water. At that moment Bob was grateful for the hours of discipline and monotonous routine imposed upon him since his enlistment and he shook off his panic and recalled his rules for survival. Keep calm - think - try to push the left leg down with the right - ease that excruciating pain - first things first. He got a heal against the ankle - missed it then tried again and again and eventually was rewarded. The left leg began to straighten and the pain to ease - he trod water with both legs trailing now - but where was he ? In those lost moments orientation had deserted him but again he settled himself to think. He moved around in a circle until the water slapped against the back of his neck as it had done when he first entered the water - he could make out no image there was no horizon just the inky blackness of water. With that sea still slapping the back of his neck he swam using only the arms not daring to chance the legs lest cramp again invaded. On and on he struggled fighting back the panic that swelled up from time to time and after what had seemed an eternity his legs had finally brushed against rock and a sandy shore and he was safe. His call had been picked up by a night guard and helping hands had helped him up the ramparts and there in the sound of familiar voices and the dimmed lights of camp Bob had simply passed out. Bob was subdued for some time after that incident but a few days later on a sunny warm day I looked over the ramparts and spotted Bob sitting alone down on the rocks. Off in the distance that buoy bobbed up and down on a gentle swell and it must have seemed to Bob that it was mocking him daring him to accept another challenge. I was tempted to call out but suddenly knew that at some time before we left that island Bob would have to keep that rendezvous. Bob seemed to know it too for he stood up stretched his tall frame and without a backwards glance walked into the water and struck out for the buoy.

Sergenti Magori Finamore Giuseppa Giulio commanded the Italian garrison at the Southern end of the island and I wandered over to make his acquaintance. He was a slender fellow with dark hair and a tapering moustache his eyes were bright and sharp and his ready smile revealed a row of even white gleaming teeth. Giulio I dubbed him and to him I became Frederico and to the surprise of both of us we became quite good friends. We talked over many subjects and had world affairs been left to us the war would have ended then and there. We shared an interest in chess and played many games together but the highlight was a dinner he put on to celebrate our first month of friendship. He got something of a cultural shock when I reciprocated and invited him back to share a meal with the Detachment. Toddy had excelled himself but unlike his own individual dining arrangements with flunkeys hovering around Giulio queued up with the rest of us and ate in the company of the whole Detachment. Slightly embarrassed at first he soon responded to the banter and laughter that usually accompanied our meals together. Willie had a spot of German in his repertoire, a legacy from his Austrian mother and his party piece was a mock speech of Adolf with appropriate gestures to emphasize the salient points. We had heard most of it many times before but it was always good for a laugh although we had never quite got the ecstatic pleasure from it that Giulio got - he literally rolled up in hysterics.
After nearly three weeks in this relative demi paradise we all began to feel we were on permanent rest and relaxation. Detachment Commanders did their best to maintain vigilance and efficiency although without even a sighting of a hostile bronzed bodies and a relaxed atmosphere belied the purpose of our presence there. When action finally came the Spotter's alarm caught me in the make shift latrine we had erected near the camp site. Two enemy aircraft approached from the sea and made their first sighting run without firing a shot. Our gun sites were well camouflaged and were probably difficult to spot from the air but it was not us they were primarily interested in. Well placed bombs could have done a lot of damage to our island and when they made a second run they got a hot reception — I remember seeing Toff's foot slamming down on the firing pedal the tell tale string of tracers and a crazy sight of an aircraft's tail being severed from the plane. It twisted about like a kite in a strong wind then gave up the struggle and plunged into the sea close to a British Destroyer moored on a near by buoy. All three Bofors Guns were in the fight and the second plane received a direct hit but veered away and in the following lull the tragedy struck. Number Five Gun had stopped firing to remedy a stoppage - it was a separated round - the Detachment Commander always had an option - he could change barrels, get on with the action and deal with the offending missile at some later time.
This was the option the Detachment Commander on Number Five Gun chose but his gamble misfired. It takes four men to fix lifting gear and remove a Bofors barrel - twist and pull - lay the barrel on a rack and insert the waiting replacement. They never got that far - with the twist completed they began the pull - and at that point the projectile exploded. Two and a half hundredweights of rampant tensile steel lashing into soft yielding flesh was a no contest - two men were killed instantly and one other seriously injured. The irony of the whole mishap was that no further attacks took place not then nor later. Even Toddy had no compensating answer to that travesty of events he carried out his inevitable paint job in silence then with a symbolic gesture threw the paint pot over the ramparts into the ever waiting waves below.
A week or two later we moved on following the general line of advance on the Eastern Sector. Sightings of enemy aircraft became fewer and fewer and although none of us could anticipate the drastic conclusive circumstances awaiting us we nevertheless suspected that our Bofors Gun war was almost over.
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