大象传媒

In September 1939 I, as a sixth former, was evacuated along with the upper school of North Manchester High School, to Bakewell, where the school shared Lady Manners School on a morning/afternoon basis. By Christmas of the at year the 鈥榩hony鈥� war was making little progress and there began a gentle drift back to our home school. Two years later I started a degree course in Modern languages at Manchester University where as an arts student I was awarded 1 years deferment from military service, provided that I and my colleagues undertook 2 days a week infantry training under the direction of regular army officers and NCO鈥檚. There was one colleague, Archie Simpson, studying German who on exercises was invariably given the Bren gun to carry, a heavy weapon to carry on your shoulders. My constant vision of him was of a profusely sweating and swearing individual who objected to the burden he had.

The deferment year over, I and my colleagues were called up and sent on our various ways to different infantry training establishments and then after a few months dispatched round the globe. I found myself as an infantry officer in the Lebanon learning the skills of a muleteer. It turned out that in Italy where I was soon to be, mules were the means of supply to the infantry units in the mountains. Although thankfully I never had to make hands-on use of my now forgotten skills.

April 1945.
The long drawn out campaign in Italy was obviously drawing to it鈥檚 close as we moved into the Po river valley. Hopefully the casualties of that grinding campaign would soon end. The Germans had offered tough and constant resistance to our slow advance and perhaps they may now realise the futility of further resistance. We were three lieutenants in A coy. 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, all aged 21; Des (dizzy) Snelling, a quiet, gentle youth from Hull who鈥檚 manner belied his brave behaviour under fire 鈥� he had, five months previously, won the MC in the winter battles in the Appenines, Mickey Reagan, a red headed, freckled faced, ever smiling youngster, and me.

There we were, one April day, sitting in a farm house during the nettle of the Argenta Gap, waiting for instructions for our next operation. On the road outside, a party of Royal Engineers was clearing the anti tank mines ready for our next operation. We were, as usual, playing cards 鈥� Sette e Mezzo, an Italian version of Pontoon and cavorting between times, with the two daughters of the household. An almighty explosion outside interrupted proceedings and demolished part of the building we were in. outside we found a 3 ton vehicle wrecked and, scattered around, the remains of the driver, which we collected together. He had apparently driven over the mines stacked at the roadside. We went back inside and waited for our further orders. Meanwhile a very low flying RAF fighter 鈥� bomber, dropped a couple of bombs about half a mile away around some buildings where we learnt we were to assemble our platoons for the next action. We were then told to move to this position and wait for our orders. When we arrived there we could see that the two bombs had landed at the back of the properties and that the Germans had been digging in to defend them. The first slit trench we saw had two bodies slumped in the bottom. The second and third trenches had three torsos stretched over the top of their trenches, but a few yards away were three heads - they had obviously been watching or firing at the plane when it dropped it鈥檚 bombs.

Eventually our company commander arrived with the order for our action. Two platoons, me and Dizzy, would move forward in that direction , he pointing, for about half a mile, until we came to a road which we were to cross, and dig-in on the other side, where we wait for further instructions.

鈥淐ould we see the map please?鈥�
鈥淣o, there isn鈥檛 time. Company headquarters will be here in this farm house. Move!鈥�

Dizzy and I set off with our two platoons side by side 鈥� about thirty men in all. We met a little firing from our right flank but eventually approached our objective, the road. Facing us was a low embankment, about three feet high, but the road which should have been there was in fact a small canal, and on the opposite side was a small embankment, behind which were a couple of German machine guns who鈥檚 job it was to obviously stop us crossing. We dropped into the shelter of the bank and told the men to start digging in. They needed no second order, the ground was very soft and they soon made an impression, whilst dizzy and I decided our next move. Dizzy, the braver of the two, said 鈥淚鈥檓 going across, cover me.鈥� There was a weir a few yards away and he dashed onto it whilst I and a couple of men tried to silence the machine gunners. We succeeded in getting one, but the other caught Dizzy half-way across the weir, throwing him to the ground. Somehow, we managed to drag him back behind the bank and into a slit trench. I decided that our best plan was to dig-in further, as we were now being fired at more from the side where the canal did a broad sweep. I told my batman runner, who carried the 38 set, a two-way wireless, to tell HQ to send a couple of stretchers as quickly as possible. As he could not make contact, I told him to go back and bring them. Darkness was closing in and we spent the night throwing grenades and firing a few rounds across the canal. The runner returned after some time to say that the building we had left were empty and that he could find no-body. Dizzy survived nearly until dawn. When daylight came it appeared that the remaining machine gunners had gone, although we were still being troubled by the machine gun about two hundred yards away on our flank. A short distance away, on the opposite side of the canal was a large farm building and I suggested to my senior corporal that we might move there as it offered some cover. We crossed the weir and made our way cautiously towards it. On the boundary of the building we found a slit trench and in it two Germans who came out with their hands high 鈥淪chiessen nicht!鈥� and so on, around the building until we had 35 men with their company commander happily ready to be led back to captivity. Soon the Italian household came crawling out of the cellars where they had been sheltering, and showered us with kisses and vino.

Back to the men by the canal, leading our captives, we found the body of Dizzy being carried away, along with two other brave souls. We waited now for further instructions. These, when they came, seemed unbelievable. We were to keep our heads down while a company of the Queens regiment passed through our position, crossed the 鈥榬oad鈥� (ie: the canal) and attacked the farm house to our right. I got on the 38 set and told the CO that I had already captured the farmhouse and the only people there were the Italian household. Too late. Our 25 pounders and heavy mortars began a barrage which soon set fire to the place. Then through the smoke and dust came the company of the Queens regiment. Suddenly through the chaos, came a figure, panting and swearing, with a bren gun over his shoulder. Straight over my slit-trench rode Archie Simpson. 鈥淪till carrying the bren gun Archie鈥� was all I could manage before the smoke swallowed him up.

Day two saw a cautious advance against a retreating force that was still reluctant to accept what appeared to be inevitable.

Day three saw us advancing in an unusual fashion. The battalion was told to move towards a village called, I think, Il Quartiere. The advance was being done with one platoon leading and the rest of the companies following. If the platoon met any opposition it was to deal with it and the following platoon would then take over. This leap-frog operation worked ok against the scattered operation we were meeting until we reached the village where we moved into whatever buildings there were. I found myself in a school room, upstairs overlooking the surrounding properties. On one wall was a large framed photo of Il Duce. Whilst we were having potshots at a facing house, two Italians burst into the room where we were, tore down Il Duce and stamped violently on him. Funny, I never met a fascist the whole time I was in Italy. Then came my turn to take my platoon forward. The leading platoon had spotted a tank behind a building at the end of the village and had made way for me to move forward. In such a situation you are constantly on the alert and looking for a bolt-hole in case you are fired on. As we passed the village church I saw that it had a low, solid wall between it and the road. A perfect place to dive for. When I was 50 yards further on the tank opened fire I dived into the roadside. The tank moved away. I heard shouting behind me. The church wall with the bolt hall had taken a direct hit. At the side of it was the leader of the following platoon. It was the body of Micky Reagan. The fighting finished two weeks later.

Further contributions can be found at 5534543.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.