大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Roger Marsh of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Harry Wood, and has been added to the site with the author's permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

MEMOIRS OF A GUNNER
BY
HARRY WOOD

Chapter 7b

We arrived in Liverpool and boarded the troopship ORION a few days before Christmas.

An undisciplined lot of the King's own came aboard, mostly recruits and they deeply resented sailing so close to Christmas. Trouble flared when many dashed down the gangplank and stayed ashore. Redcap police came, fights broke out, reporters arrived, newsreel cameras recorded everything and there was quite a bit of mayhem. Some lifeboats were emptied of their contents before things were brought under control. We sailed on Christmas Eve, and hove to in the Mersey, until a tender pulled up alongside and transferred the remainder of the rioters aboard.

Christmas day in a rough Bay of Biscay, many were lying about being sea-sick, and the dinner was uneatable. Pieces of fat pork, floating on cold greasy gravy with two or three cold spuds to fill the plate, it must have been at rock bottom, even I refused it and went up on deck to avoid the stench below.

The weather was warm when we arrived in Valetta harbour, Malta. Here the King's Own were transferred into lighter vessel alongside. Their CO was last on and he had a megaphone in his hand. I heard him say, 鈥淵ou had your turn in Liverpool, now its my turn. All of you are going to a punishment station in the North African desert, I will make soldiers of you yet.鈥� His words were heard in deathly silence.

Below decks were now cleared to make way for an influx of Italian POWs that we had to pick up at Port Said. They were packed like sardines for the journey to Taranto, still it was home sweet home and that would compensate for any inconvenience.
On disembarking in Taranto we had to board a train to Udine, a distance of 600 miles. The seats were wooden, and the floor concrete. There was no heating and everyone was downright miserable. A lot of the track had been hastily repaired after Allied bombing, and we had to slowly zig-zag across Italy, sometimes across snow covered mountains and passes.

We were in charge of the rations, which were mostly corned beef and hard tack biscuits. This, of course, meant that we had the wooden crates that the corned beef came in. An empty seven pound jam tin with holes punched in by our jack knives, was placed on two bricks, broken bits of wooden boxes, and we had a small fire going. When the engine stopped to take on water or coal, we nipped out with our mugs for steam and hot water from the pipes to enable us to have a shave and look presentable. The journey took four days, before Udine was reached and we could have a shower, a hot meal and a bed for the night. The next day it was off to our final destination near Trieste, a district called Venezia Guila, close to the Austria and Yugoslav borders.
We were now in barracks that had at one time belonged to the Italian army.

They were clean and spacious; we had a few German POWs as servants and life was very pleasant. I was asked if I would sign on for another five years, making twelve in all, but I said no, I had had enough. There was still a bit of trouble here. Tito and his Yugoslav army had fought hard against the Germans and were on the outskirts of Trieste. This was a port they wanted, but part of the deal for Italy packing in was for them to keep all their territory.

One had a certain sympathy with Tito, but we now maintained a force on their border called the Morgan Line to deter the Yugoslavs. As these had been our allies, none of this ever got into the papers back home. The social life was good, we went to other unit messes for evening drinking sessions, and one day, some petty officers from Navy ships at Trieste had a weekend of sport and recreation at our mess. They returned the compliment by inviting us out on an early morning exercise with them. Six of us went down and we sailed down the Adriatic alongside the Yugoslav coastline, photographing all Tito鈥檚 gun positions, just in case. It was a beautiful morning and we all thoroughly enjoyed it.

Skiing holidays were now arranged at Cortina in Italy and Innsbrook in Austria.
I went to the one near Innsbrook via the Brenner Pass. The scenery was breathtaking and the air like wine, restaurants perched on snow-covered mountainsides, cable cars with such magnificent views, it was a holiday I shall never forget. All the equipment was on loan to us, and I managed to win a badge for passing the initial tests, but on the last day I became adventurous, came a cropper and wrenched my ankle. Back at the unit it took me three weeks to be fit for duty again.

The time passed pleasantly enough; sometimes I would take my gun team into the villages on the border, drop into action, give the lads some gun drill, and then hook up and off somewhere else. It was a show of strength really, but we always showed off a bit to those wide-eyed peasants. Time was drawing near for my demob. now and an education officer was now seconded to us, so I asked him for facilities to practice butchering. No chance, but lectures were available on all subjects. The first one gave us information about rationing etc., the Rent Act and your rights as a citizen, which was OK. The second one was music, an old gramophone was produced and we were subjected to a concert of Sibeleus, the Finnish composer - heavy going indeed. I never bothered with any more lectures.

May arrived and I was on my way from Villach in Austria. I had bought a cheap case, and had managed to buy a sleeping bag for the forthcoming youngster, a folding umbrella for Dot, and a bottle of whisky for my dad. I knew he was ill, but the real extent of his illness had been shielded from me, and I was grateful for the few days I was home before he died.

Dot looked the picture of health and God willing we would soon be three in a few weeks time.

Pr-BR

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