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Along with some of the members of the Regiment I met my baptism of enemy fire in Tunisia in early February 1943. The more senior members had served in France in 1940. By the end of the campaign I suppose we were all battle experienced to some degree. The campaign finished on the 12th May and initially we assisted the guarding of Italian prisoners in large camps near Medjes El Bab. Thereafter we embarked on a long period of intensive training, including how to make our own entertainment, in ever increasing heat and an ever increasing number of flies (dead bodies of animals and men had boosted their breeding grounds), between Sousse and Sfax on the east coast of Tunisia. Whatever we learned, however, it did not equip us for what was to come when we landed on the Anzio beaches south of Rome on the 22nd January 1944.

A piece of cake? Well, yes it was for the first 24 hours but thereafter it was ‘hell on earth’ so much so that the 8 week period of rest that we were granted west of Rome, commencing on 5th June, was greatly welcomed.

I now come to the highlight of my story.

After the rest period we were detailed to rejoin the battle which had, by this time, reached the south of Florence. With vehicles packed and ourselves perched on them we journeyed in convoy through the Umbrian countryside and soon noticed that in every village of reasonable size a small orchestra was assembled at the side of the road where it widened out sufficiently to accommodate them. The orchestras usually comprised four musicians - a violinist, a trumpeter, a piano-accordionist and a drummer who were accompanied by a baritone singer. Taking into account modern singers (e.g. the three tenors), the singer could have been a tenor: All I can say is that our assessment at the time was baritone and really, unless someone can prove otherwise, I must continue to say baritone. The curious thing was that although each orchestra was made up with different people the tunes they played were exactly the same, namely:-

Come back to Sorrento
O Sole Mio
Roll out the Barrel (The Beer Barrel Polka)
Amapola

This all suggests that an organisation was at work behind the scenes but which? - the Military perhaps or was it an organised gesture by the Italians or a bit of both - I never got to know...

What I do know is that the baritone really came into his own with the first two of these songs, his voice easily overcoming the noise of the convoy. This was the first time we had heard them and to our young ears they sounded magnificent and they were to make a lasting impression.

By the time we had reached Assissi the orchestra accompaniment had long since ceased and it was to be some weeks before I heard the songs again. The occasion was during a day’s leave in Florence when I came across a YMCA canteen. I went in and to my amazement and joy a baritone was singing Come Back to Sorrento to piano accompaniment. Opportunities for hearing popular tunes was limited in those days not like it is today when they are ruined by crazy repetition.

The Germans decided to abandon Florence in favour of occupying the high land to the north which gave them a commanding position of not only the city but more importantly the road leading eastwards from the city to Borgo San Lorenzo. The road was, in fact, no more than a track cut into the sides of the hills and mountains round which it meandered. Much if it was available to one way traffic only, but it was the sole access to this particular part of the Gothic Line. The Military called it Arrow Route though before it could function it was necessary to remove the German mines from the approaches to the several bridges along its route and to erect Bailey bridges to replace the original bridges which had all been blown up.

The Royal Engineers worked incessantly day and night to complete this work but it was highly dangerous and , in consequence, slow and arduous. When eventually it was finished the road tended to resemble a 15 mile succession of Bailey bridges!

A battlefield, devoid as it usually is of metalled roads, presents rough-going at the best of times but when it rains, as was quite often the case, it very quickly becomes a quagmire and makes life for the forward soldiers an entrapment. The capture of one height simply revealed another one and yet another one to be captured, each one more daunting than the last. Many lives were to be lost and many would be injured some seriously impairing their lives forever. Such was the Gothic Line.

Then finally came the snow creating a serene landscape but one with sinister undertones. Everything was bogged down and bitterly cold, just scurrying rats and sheer boredom. The capture of Bolonga would not be attempted until after the Winter. Thankfully, after five months, we were relieved in January 1945. No more, we believed, would we be pushing rear-wheeled-drive-only trucks, the type that preponderated in the British army at that time, through the mud. Indeed we were hopeful enough to believe that, in appreciation of our devoted service over the previous two years, the First British Infantry Division would be going home. This belief was reinforced by the wheels of the train passing over the rail joints, the one that carried us to Taranto. At least that’s how it sounded to us as we sat in our allotted box-wagons - clickity click - you’ve done well - you’re going home - clickity click.

At Taranto we boarded a ship (a French meat- boat) and settled down in the hold. The ship sailed south through the Ionian sea and then, once it had entered the Mediterranean Sea, made a turn through 45 degrees and sailed, not west as we had so confidently expected, but eastwards rolling violently through a very angry sea (everyone was seasick). We finished up in Haifa in Palestine where more and more problems occurred. But then, of course, we were battle experienced troops and obviously to the authorities, whoever they were, we were made for the job! We served in the Middle East for another twenty two months before demob intervened. Then, after three years and nine months, it was home to face the worst winter in living memory.

However, throughout it all, the sounds of those magnificent Italian baritones singing Come Back to Sorrento remained firmly in our minds and kept us free from despair.

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