大象传媒

My late father "Dick" George wrote this account of his wartime experiences just days before he died on 1st January 2003. It takes the form of brief anecdotes rather than a detailed diary. The family is indebted to the 大象传媒 for providing an opportunity to record his memories in a national archive.

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Campo P.G. 59 鈥� Servigliano
Account of Francis Cecil George - PJX 203935 (Royal Navy) 鈥� known as 鈥楧ick鈥�

I was captured outside Tobruk in August 1941 after the trawler towing our landing craft was sunk by a Stuka, while attempting to enter the harbour. We were captured by the Italians after one man was killed and half a dozen or so were wounded. We were taken by lorry across the northern coast of Africa staying at Derna and Benghasi en route. This took a few months and we eventually arrived at Tarhuna, a small village just outside Tripoli. We stayed there for some months under very primitive conditions. I was unable to wash, shave or clean my teeth for six months due to the shortage of fresh water. On Christmas Day 1941, the Italians took advantage of the festive season to rush us across to Italy in one of their fast destroyers. We arrived at Capua, a tented encampment just outside Naples and were subsequently taken by train to Servigliano.

The Camp came as a welcome change We were allocated bunk beds with straw palliasses and given mock coffee made from chestnuts, a ladle of pasta with tomato sauce and a small wholemeal roll with a one inch cube of cheese. The familiar comment from the guards was 鈥渇or you the war is over鈥�. At that time the Adriatic side of Italy was very quiet with no sign of the on-going conflict. We were accommodated in long huts with two-tier wooden bunks, straw palliasses and plenty of fresh water. The camp accommodated a large cross-section of men including actors, labourers, cooks, sportsmen, clerks, journalists and tradesmen of every kind, so it was possible to get advice and help with practically any problem. In 1943 the camp started to receive American POWs who were captured in the North African landings on the eastern side of North Africa.

One Australian prisoner was a skilled tinsmith whose principal forte was to make blowers out of powdered milk cans. These comprised a tin with a spindle on which was an impeller or fan, geared by two can tops pushed together to form wheels and connected by a bootlace. By winding the fan, a draught was produced which directed a forced current of air towards a fuel hopper. It was possible to produce a white hot glow to whatever was being burned. Suitable fuel was found to be tree bark, twigs, peel, acorns and rubbish of all kinds. We were able to get a dixie of water boiling in very quick time and tea or coffee was made depending on availability. In consequence, the camp was spotless with not a scrap of rubbish anywhere!

We received Red Cross parcels from Canada, the USA and the UK which contained valued items such as tea, coffee, magazines, powdered milk and biscuits. Sometimes the biscuits were flat, about four inches square and best described as 鈥渟hips biscuits鈥�. We soaked them to form a thick substance which could be put into tin moulds and tipped out like a blancmange. This was then smeared with jam from the parcel and eaten with gusto. These days, of course, the whole mess would be considered very unpalatable. We spent our time reading whatever was available. I tried to learn Italian with the aid of some primers I had sent from home but found it difficult without someone else to practice conversation with. The only Italian speakers were the guards and they were not able to come into the camp for a chat. We played football and cricket and had boxing tournaments. We also had the benefit of a very good three piece orchestra which consisted of a piano accordion, a trombone and a violin. The accordionist was an ex-professional. The instruments were obtained from the Italians with money from our POW pay. Under the Geneva Convention, the Italians had to give us the same pay as their troops with a deduction for our accommodation. This amounted to only a few lira a day and was paid in camp paper tokens. These could be used to purchase whatever fresh fruit was available - usually black grapes as we were situated in a wine-producing area.

The camp medical facilities were very primitive. I had severe trouble with a couple of wisdom teeth which had to come out. We were looked after by two R.A.M.C. doctors who were not dentists and were POWs themselves. No anaesthetics were available. One doctor sat me down and a big medical orderly held me still while the doctor dug out the offending teeth. The pain was excruciating but when the pain threshold was reached, all went numb. This experience put me off going to the dentist again until I was about 60 years of age.

Most men could endure the confinement but some had mental breakdowns. One poor chap who was captured with me eventually cracked. He was a crofter from the Outer Hebrides in Scotland - a brilliant seaman and used to the open air. He had a habit of leaving his socks on an outside window ledge and then accusing his mates with some annoyance of dipping them in water! He failed to realise that there were heavy dews. I was younger and did not have the worry of a wife and children at home. I was able to be philosophical to a point and take each day as it came. The Italians took the Scotsman away and we never saw him again.

One of the very rare treats was when a barrel of salted anchovies arrived in the cook-house. It was amusing to see a long column of men queuing up and walking away, each carrying a four inch fish by its tail. Put between one of our bread rolls, it was a tasty change!

One amusing incident in the camp hospital was when we were visited by the local padre. The troops taught him an obscene word and claimed that it meant 鈥済ood bye鈥� in English. When leaving, he stopped with his arm in the air, to bless everyone and said my friends 鈥�****!鈥� The whole congregation fell about laughing. He never did understand why and must have thought 鈥渢hese Inglesi are pagans!鈥�

Letters and parcels from home were received irregularly and were heavily censored. Any 鈥済oodies鈥� like chocolates seemed to disappear before reaching us, so messages were sent home saying 鈥渄o not send any more鈥�. Subsequent parcels contained jerseys and other warm clothing. From time to time, we were taken outside for a walk in groups. We looked forward to these trips very much. It was wonderful to get outside the camp walls and stretch ones legs in the beautiful Italian countryside. I have no complaints about the Italian people. We received good treatment within the limits of their own meagre resources and they seemed to favour English people in the camp. Some of them had lived in England before the war. We had an interpreter who spoke with a broad Scottish accent.

Some time in 1942, the crew of the submarine 鈥淐ACHELOT鈥� arrived in the Camp. This boat had been sunk just south of Malta. The Coxswain of the craft was a huge man, tall and as broad as a barn door, who rejoiced under the name of 鈥淭iny鈥�. The hut they were put into was adjacent to the seaward outside perimeter wall and it did not take them long to realise that it might be possible to tunnel out. Although I did not take part in the escape attempt myself, I can only relate what I heard.

A tunnel was dug, starting underneath the stove in the hut, to go under the wall and come up to breakthrough in the outside world. The night came for the attempt and the crew started to wriggle through the tunnel until it came to Tiny鈥檚 turn, when he got well and truly stuck. His mates took so long to free him that, by the time they were able to break out, it was daylight. Needless to say, they were all rounded up quickly.

Escape from Servigliano was difficult. To seawards, one needed a good boat. To the North, the only neutral country was Switzerland. This exit was well covered by Italian mountain troops. (They were the men with a large feather swooping down from their hats). I never did hear of anyone who got clear away.

Towards the end of 1942 we were told one afternoon to pack our belongings and were given back the items taken from us when we arrived (mainly bits of uniform we had been wearing at the time). Some of the non-naval chaps suspected that there was a chance we might be going home, so they plied us with letters to post, if possible, to their loved ones back home. I was entrusted with letters from two Americans. That evening we were interrogated by Italian officers as to whether we had ever been to the Pantelleria Islands which, although we did not know it at the time, were about to be invaded by the British.

If we 鈥減assed muster鈥� we were marched to the railway station adjacent to the camp and packed into enclosed cattle trucks. These were not that very savoury but we took it in turns to peer through a small ventilator and concluded that we were travelling south down the Adriatic coast. Eventually we arrived at the heel of Italy in the night, where we disembarked and were marched southwards. At that stage, we began to realise that perhaps we really were going home. We marched through the quiet villages singing our heads off. We realised that we were being marched at night so that the local population did not see us but I don鈥檛 think they could have avoided hearing us!! We reached Bari on the extreme heel of Italy to find a large hospital ship berthed. Once aboard, we were amazed at the comparative luxury. We were relieved of our infested clothes, given a hot shower, a meal (pasta again of course!), clean nightwear and a bed with a real sheets. The ship set sail and, once outside territorial waters, we were allowed on deck to breathe in the warm Adriatic Sea air. Our next stop was Mersin in southern Turkey where we were exchanged with an equal number of Italian naval personnel.

The Italians went aboard the hospital ship and we were put aboard a decrepit British freighter called the Talmar. The Talmar had a huge Union Jack painted on each side, presumably to warn the Germans not to attack. We set sail for Alexandria and, after a nail-biting journey with German aircraft shadowing us, we arrived safely. In Alexandria, we were feted and entertained by a British concert party drawn from employees at the local cotton industry. We made it! Three cheers! Free at last! What an episode in one鈥檚 life 鈥� never to be forgotten.

In February 1943 we embarked on the French luxury liner 鈥淚sle de France鈥� although all the luxury fittings had been stripped out for troop use. The journey home to the UK took in Durban, Cape Town and Rio. It was not until March 1943 that the submarine menace in the Atlantic was finally beaten. On our arrival at Greenock, we were given railway warrants and the lads made their way to their respective homes. There starts another story for everyone.

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