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 4

Ramleh Camp at Alexandria, just a place in the sand but we had tents, showers and a tram service only fifteen minutes walk away, that would take us to Alexandria, what more could we want?

We felt like returning conquering heroes, but there was no one to tell us. The Egyptians couldn鈥檛 care one way or the other, no doubt the extra spending power we had might make them smile.

My pay was 3/6d (17陆p) per day plus 6d (2陆) per day extra for serving abroad. I allowed my mother 1/- (one shilling:5p) per day, the remainder, I found sufficient for my needs, in fact for 8 months I hadn鈥檛 drawn any pay at all. Anyhow we had all been granted four days' leave and in a week or so time I found myself with 拢32 back pay, in a nice little hotel with some of the lads. Clean beds, showers, a barber on the landing outside our bedroom door, shoeblacks running round and of course early morning tea. We ate like kings; saw the catacombs of the Ancient Pharaohs and the site of one of the eighth wonders of the world: a lighthouse of fires with reflections behind them to warn of the dangers sailors may encounter when entering Alexandria harbour, over 2000 years ago. The city was alive, no black out here and the shops - well I blew 拢4.10s.Od. on a Swiss watch, the rest of the money must have gone on drink and taxi fares.

Four days soon passed and it was back, for a few weeks, to a steady routine.
Some of our wounded had joined us again from hospital, one of them being Wilky the boxer. He looked more frightening than ever now. With the skin grafts to his face being white and his old skin being brown allied to a baldhead, cauliflower ear and pug nose, he made Quasimodo look handsome. He joined our team again and we were glad to see him. I had been driving the gun tower for a while; in fact most of the team could fit into any of the other鈥檚 jobs. Sergeant Robson, after his shakiness in action, was now back to his old self. Of course rumours about a second front were rife, but we knew that we couldn鈥檛 go home yet.

Orders came through that all vehicles and guns were to be on the move the next morning - drivers only. As I was getting my kit ready, the Sergeant Major ordered me to hand over the gun tower to Driver Spinks who had just arrived from a spell in hospital after being wounded. We packed our kit bags aboard and just kept all our walking packs, rifle etc. and one blanket. We then moved to some foothills on the Red Sea for some gruelling keep fit procedure. Every morning, for two weeks without esception, it was three miles before dawn to the foothills, a climb to the top where our names were ticked off by an officer, and back for breakfast about 10 o鈥檆lock. Recreation every day, swimming, football or PT with little rest. My weight was now about 10st 3lb, I remember being 13 st three years previously, but we were certainly pretty fit. At last, full kit on lads and heading for the ships that initially would take us through the Suez Canal to Port Said and the invasion fleet. We travelled on one ship and the guns, vehicles etc. went on another - with their drivers of course. The short journey up the canal wasn鈥檛 without its problems as one lad died of typhoid, so everyone aboard was put in quarantine. This meant our regiment going to an isolation centre about six miles away and handing all our clothes in. we were only allowed a small hand towel and a pair of plimsolls to wear, until our clothes came back from being fumigated three days later. During this period, Josephine Baker, the star of the Follies Berger turned up to entertain the troops. A member of the resistance in Paris, she had escaped to North Africa and joined General De Gaulle. A floodlit open lorry was her stage, although our regiment clad in towel and slippers was kept well away form the main body of the troops, we still managed to be a noisy and appreciative audience.

Uniforms and equipment arrived back, so very shortly we were on our way back aboard, where our ship was assembling in convoy to destination unknown. It was now June, and as we weighed anchor just before darkness, rumours flew around that Greece was our destination.

The convoy sailed north with barrage balloons attached to many ships as defence against dive bombers, but during the night we altered course to due West, and the next morning we heard over the ship鈥檚 loud speaker that we were to land in Sicily, three days after the invasion had started.

The wind was now very strong, the sea choppy, and most of the balloons had blown away, otherwise pretty uneventful.

Approaching Syracuse Harbour, which was in allied hands, it was obvious that German bombers had been pretty active. A hospital ship lay on its side by the quay, other ships had sunk and the air was alive with planes and ack-ack fire.
We disembarked and were given a very old sea biscuit, about three-inches square, and one bottle of water; food was very short. The biscuit was from some ancient emergency rations and weevils could be seen wriggling inside, but they were so hard we couldn鈥檛 break them at all.

We marched inland for a mile and settled in a field of outdoor tomatoes. I tried making a fire and boiling the biscuits with some tomatoes, but no joy, the hard tack was like iron so I reluctantly left the biscuit and drank the watery tomato residue. The countryside was certainly greener than the desert, rather mountainous, and by the number of crashed gliders around, hardly ideal for an airborne landing. News wasn鈥檛 too good. American Dakotas were towing the gliders and either through inexperience or fear of the flak offshore, Yanks had released the gliders out at sea and many airborne men perished as the gliders plunged into the Med. Only a few paratroops had reached the Primasole Bridge, the seizure of which was vital to the advance at Catania, the main city in Sicily. Our infantry had joined up with the red berets but the bridge was firmly in German hands and was being fiercely held by the Hermaron Goering Divisions, all paratroops fighting as infantry. Worse news was to follow, the ship carrying our guns and vehicles had been dive bombed and sunk with the loss of everyone aboard. How close I had been to being on that number, but Driver Spinks had taken my place, we all felt depressed at such a heavy loss of life. The next day we managed to get some food issued, we were all fed up of the tomatoes, and of course; grapes began to appear on our scrounging expeditions. Major Fawkes had come across two huge nine inch guns in their concrete emplacements nearby, abandoned by the Italians when the invasion started so he took a troop up there (about 90 men) to turn the guns on the rear of the enemy. They fired a shell, 700lb in weight, and one of our spotter planes was going to find some targets. Unfortunately the enemy knew the exact position of the heavy guns and for every round fired, they sent a hundred back, so the position became untenable and had to be abandoned.

At last guns and equipment arrived, so we were on the move through this poverty stricken land. We pulled into a small village for the night. And as we were unloading, I noticed from upstairs in a farm building nearby, two children descending some outside stone steps. They came down on all fours, as they were not strong enough to support themselves. It was the worst case of malnutrition I had seen and my first sight of rickets. Soldiers of all nationalities never let kids go hungry, so we fed them, but it was Wilkie, the hard man who excelled himself. Out of his large pack came the much prized chocolate that he had saved for months. He put this in a kit bag and went around the troop asking for donations of anything that might be edible. An hour later he was in the village square giving goodies to these poor kids, grown ups came clamouring around shouting mun-jari (food) but he just clipped them around the ear-hole and concentrated on the youngsters. He came back with an empty kit bag, but that rare thing for Wilkie, a smile on his face.

Moving forward through lemon groves and picking fresh figs from over hanging trees, we finally arrived on the plains of Cantania, mosquito ridden, fairly flat and the scene of a war of attrition. Three battalions of DLI鈥檚 were in a hand-to-hand fighting situation for the Primasole Bridge. Casualties had been heavy on both sides and the whole place stank of death.

As night fell we put on long K.D trousers, rolled our shirt sleeves down, and covered hands and face with a white anti mosquito cream, but the mozzies still struck and each morning the lumps on our faces bore testimony to this. The Sergeant Major issued Mepacrine tablets every night and stood in front of each man to make sure that they were swallowed. Malaria had to be staved off at any cost.

We were in action every day and night, but this was an infantry situation and their casualties were mounting, ours were not too bad. Word had come through that the Americans on the west side of the island were moving comfortably against Italian opposition, and we grumbled that Monty always gave the hardest tasks to his eighth army. A week or two went past before Jerry started pulling out a few yards at a time. The bridge was taken and a bulldozer was used to clear the dead before we could proceed further. Six hundred Durhams died here, in fact a memorial stands there to this day, and then the way was opened to the Mount Etna dominated town of Catania. This also gave us use of an airfield, which was most important. None of the locals showed any hostility towards us, their life couldn鈥檛 be any worse anyway. Catania saw little fighting, but in the move up the coast road the Germans were fighting yard by yard, laying mines, blowing bridges and the terrain suited the defenders, there being little room for manoeuvre or armour. For a short spell we had the help of the Royal Navy. Near Taovmira, two naval monitors equipped with six inch guns sailed close inshore and banged away at the Germans rear. They had a team up front with our observation officer in an armoured car, but he had a red face when both ships turned around and headed back to port after an air burst from an 88mm Jerry gun landed pretty close. It was only a matter of time now before the island would fall. The 51st Highland Division was alongside on our left flank, the Americans moving pretty quickly so Jerry was now in a tight corner at Messina and eventually he surrendered.
What next? Well we were not part of the plan to invade Italy, our guns were now right on the sea shore facing the Italian mainland across the Straights of Messina. We could shell the mainland and provide cover for any invasion force without much trouble. Most of the ammunition was manhandled about 200 yards, 5 tons of ammo per gun and most of it buried in pits. The night before the invasion of the mainland everything was ready, with a large barrage programme prepared, when mysteriously orders came to stand down.

The news made sense later that next morning, when we heard Italy had signed an armistice and our forces landed with no opposition. A new Eighth army was now in being in Italy under a new commander, Monty had other plans for the 50th Division, 51st Division and the 7th Armoured.

It was a period now of rest, and maintenance. Equipment was cleaned and scrubbed, we turned out smarter and of course there was time for a little leisure. Our troop had taken over an old 2 storey house about two miles from the coast, set in a grape growing area, the fields set in step like formation.

Peasants still worked the land, treading grapes in the old fashioned way. I often wondered in the wine would have been enhanced by their washing their feet first as they came in barefoot from the fields. From what I saw of the Italian people, none of them really had any stomach for fighting, and amongst so much poverty, their lot couldn鈥檛 get any worse no matter which authority was in charge.

For a short spell now I had a cushy little job with some others doing a regimental police job directing traffic at the cross roads nearby. It was mostly Army convoys but there were the occasional mule carts owned by the locals.

Artistically painted they reproduced religious traits that really showed the depth of feeling for the catholic religion.

One particular morning it was rather quiet, and I was sharing the duty with Gunner Brownlow from Mansfield. This lad was a miner who was always laughing, even when in the desert he stepped on a 鈥楽鈥� mine and went into hospital. Anyhow he was back now and would laughingly let you rub your fingers around the ball bearings still in his skull. He stood in the centre of the crossroads when another mule cart came down and the mule decided he had had enough so he just squatted down in the road and refused to budge. The driver pulled at the harness, kicked the poor beast, kept up a tirade of abuse and hail Mary鈥檚 but this only made matters worse as the mule actually laid down, still in the shafts.

鈥淎ny ideas how to shift it before the next convoy?鈥� I said to Brownlow. 鈥淎ye,鈥� he replied with a big grin across his face, 鈥渉e鈥檒l get the pit pony treatment.鈥� He sauntered over, bent down by the mule鈥檚 head and tiddled in its ear-hole.
The beast shook its head, got up at once and went on its way. That鈥檚 what I call initiative.

A couple of trucks were laid on for anyone who wanted to see inside the volcano Mount Etna, so I went along. There is a road that takes you up about 10,000 feet where the observatory is. After that it is a steady climb over lava rocks, over 1,500 feet to the top. The smell of sulphur was very strong as this is a very active volcano, but the view was excellent. We could see planes landing below us on Catania airfield. The majority of the lads needed new boots when we got down, the lava and pumice played hell with the leather.

Rumour was flying around now that we may be going home, as our guns had been handed over, so we all kept our fingers crossed. Meanwhile, Cockney Raynor and myself decided to find a cove on the coast and go for an afternoon swim. We had the small beach to ourselves, but I must say that it looked rather scruffy, but hygiene never was high on priorities for the locals.

We had been in the water about five minutes and the smell was getting worse, then Raynor stood up and pointed about 50 yards out to sea. There floating ashore was a dead horse obviously from a transport ship sunk nearby, and here were the casualties. That did it, no bathing after that incident.

Well the rumours about going home turned out this time to be right, Montgomery sent a message to all troops that he had one more job for us to do - Europe. The 50th, 51st Infantry Division and the 7th Armoured were going home to prepare for the big one, much changed in personnel. Nevertheless the same divisions were spearheading all the initial assaults but there is nothing fair in total war. I looked back on Sicily with its poverty and its contrasts, small run down villages with their wealthy churches, a modern ice cream parlour and usually gent鈥檚 hairdressers that would do justice to Bond Street. There was nothing to buy in the shops, so my total souvenirs to take home were two lemons, 1 pound of almond nuts, a bottle of Marsala wine and about half a pint of my issue of rum that I had saved.

Pr-BR

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