大象传媒

My father-in-law wrote this account and two others (also in the archive) about different events, several years ago, in order to help one of his grandchildren who was then working on a school history project. My father-in-law served in North Africa, Sicily, Southern Italy and was involved in the planning and execution of the Rhine Crossing. He died in 1996 aged 88.

This is his unedited account, typed from his handwritten manuscript:

It was high summer and at mid-day so hot that it was possible to cook an egg in a hollow of one of the stones on the top parapet of the castle or fortress off the coast at Brindisi. The fortress stood on a small island, which at some period had been joined to the mainland by a rough causeway, but it was much quicker and easier to get into Brindisi by the boat across the harbour. The leave boat was operated by the Italian Navy 鈥� it was owned by a villainous-looking Greek skipper, and when the Italian sailors were returning from shore-leave on a moon-lit night, the sound of their voices uplifted in song across the water was quite magnificent.

The correct name of the fortress was the 鈥淐astello Aragonese鈥�, as it had originally been constructed by French crusaders to defend the Italian coast against invasion by the Turkish hordes. Now it was a barracks, with about 300 Italian personnel, 50 or so British Army operating a mixed anti-aircraft and search-light unit, and 30 Royal Navy personnel including myself. If we had ever had the kind of air-raid we had in North Africa we would have been more than uncomfortable as we were sleeping on nearly one thousand tons of ammunition kept there by the Italian Navy.

The lower half of Italy was now separated from the North by the German Army, fighting a stubborn rear-guard action as it retreated slowly up the Italian mainland. The North was still under the control of the Mussolini government, with the support of the Germans under Hitler; the South had a provisional government with the support and control of the British and American forces. The Italian Navy had managed to organise the escape from the North of many of its best men and ships, and 鈥淚taly鈥� (the Southern part) was declared to be 鈥渃o-belligerent with the Allies in fighting Germany and the 鈥淎xis powers鈥�, which meant that it was the job of the Italian forces in the South to co-operate with the British, French and Americans.

When I came to Brindisi it was as Second Lieutenant to the C. O. of 鈥淧osta Defese No. 9鈥� which was the official title of the island fortress. Our job was to prepare underwater defences, radiating from Brindisi, which was in an important position if the Balkans was to be invaded; so we set about gathering our stores and instruments, laying miles of under-sea cable, and so on. Half of our stores never arrived at the right time so during this period the C. O. of our unit was relieved of his command and I was appointed to succeed him. Early one morning the following incident occurred, a small event but to all concerned an exciting episode.
The Italian alarm sirens raised a hell of a din, then loudspeakers bellowing the command 鈥淧osti di Combattimento鈥� (action stations!), the British unit manned their guns, the Italians started up 2 of their super-fast 鈥渧endettas鈥� (like our own RN motor-torpedo boats or ocean-going MLs) and roared off towards the horizon; by radio we learned that an Italian patrol had reported a small vessel approaching from the direction of Albania across the Adriatic. With binoculars I could see the 2 "vedettas" were alongside the suspect, and shortly afterwards they escorted it and tied up at our quayside amidst terrific excitement. I went on board with one of the Italian officers and it was indeed a strange episode; on board the little tug 鈥淎rdita VI鈥� was the skipper, an incredible Albanian wearing a battered straw hat like a Mexican sombrero, with a red scarf round his neck; on the deck was a German marine and an Italian naval sub-lieutenant in a tattered uniform, his right hand covered in blood and with the thumb bandaged with a piece of dirty rag. The young sub-lieutenant was very pale and quite agitated, but he spoke excellent English and quickly told his story, whilst coffee and cigarettes were brought down from our galley.

His story was this: He was in the small Albanian port of Durazzo when the Italian naval forces sided with the Allies, and being too late to escape he was treated as a prisoner of war. Durazzo was protected by a net-boom, with what is called a 鈥済ate鈥� which was opened at dawn and closed at nightfall by the tug 鈥淎rdita VI鈥�, to allow fishermen in small boats and other craft to have access to the sea and the harbour, under the supervision of the Germans. The Germans were very short of personnel and appointed the Italian sub-lieutenant as C. O. with the German marine as deck-hand and engine man, and the Albanian as skipper since he knew the harbour area. But the Germans very wisely (from their point of view) also put on board a fully-armed corporal from an S. S. regiment, in case of trouble. Each day, or as required, the Italian Navy sub-lieutenant would supervise the manoeuvres required to open or close the boom, according to the weather conditions. The previous night, so he explained to me, had every sign of being as black as ink, no stars or moon, and having struck up a friendship with the German deck-hand ( who was at low ebb because his wife and children had been killed in a bombing raid on Germany). He suggested making a run for it by getting the 鈥淎rdita VI鈥� in a position to be on the seaward side of the boom as it was closed. The German deck-hand agreed and the Albanian co-operated; at the last minute the S. S. corporal realised that something was up and drew his revolver 鈥� the sub-lieutenant struggled with him to prevent a shot being fired and the S. S. corporal managed to bite his thumb (down to the bone) whereupon the Albanian hit the S. S. corporal over the head with an iron bar and heaved him over the side. They got clean away on their journey towards Brindisi, until their smoking funnel brought out the Italian 鈥渧edettas鈥�!

Soon the military police came over to the island, from the shore base. I shook hands with the Italian sub-lieutenant, and away they went to be interrogated. End of story! 鈥� except that within a few days the 鈥淎rdita VI鈥� was actively at work in Brindisi harbour.

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