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We retraced our steps through the Holy Lands to Quatana, Syria on the Damascus road where we spent some weeks taking part in a series of exercises. After many rumours about invasion and false starts the regiment moved back to Suez in June and July 1943, embarked on various invasion craft and found ourselves sailing on the Mediterranean, bound for the invasion of Sicily where the 5th Division was to be the spearhead.

The Sicilian Campaign was a combined op of American, Canadian and British troops with Commando and Airborne forces in support. The 5th Division landed in and around Syracusa on the east coast with its objective the short northerly route across the Catania Plain to Messina, the port nearest to the Italian mainland. The Americans went on the longer westward route to Messina via Palermo. For most of us it was our first action. After unloading our guns and transport we moved in convoy along the coast road and were strafed by enemy planes. A truck in front of ours was hit and set on fire and a good friend of mine was killed. A line of bullets hit the road just ahead of our truck and more bullets hit the rear of the truck and wounded two of the occupants although my driver and I, who were in the front cab, were unaware of this at the time.

My recollection of the campaign, which lasted about a month, was of the heat, the dust and the smells. The Germans put up a fierce rearguard action and we came across many dead of both sides. In particular I remember finding dead Airborne soldiers still hanging in their parachute harnesses in the trees. Other recollections are of firing from a gun position in the vineyards at the foot of Mount Etna, the huge casks of wine we found in a cellar near Catania and the occasion when unknowingly we drove through a minefield and the vehicle in front of us blew up. At the end of the campaign the regiment came out of action and rested among the olive trees and vineyards of Motta St Anastasia where we enjoyed the occasional trip to the coast to swim in the clear Mediterranean waters. General Montgomery paid us a visit: generally liked by the troops for his friendly and informal ways but the bane and despair of Commanding Officers because of his unconventional habits.

In a matter of days at the beginning of September I found myself crossing the Straits of Messina as part of the spearhead of the invasion of the mainland of Italy. On this occasion I was in the regimental advance party landing with the first wave of infantry at Reggio Di Calabria. Fortunately the opposition was light and in a day or two the regiment was travelling up the toe and then the foot of Italy with demolished bridges and roads blown up the main cause of delays. The local Italians seemed to like us and many bunches of grapes were thrown into our trucks as we moved in convoy.

Further landings were being made by the Allies at Salerno while we were pushing up into the central mountainous Apennines where we encountered heavy rain, mud and the German army.

It was now November 1943 and the Germans had made a stand on the famous Gustav Line which ran along the river Gargliano on the west coast to the river Sangro running down to the Adriatic Sea. We were in the central mountainous area with snow covered peaks of 5- and 6-thousand feet. The 5th Army with the Americans were on the west flank attacking around Cassino and the 8th Army with the Canadians, New Zealanders and Indians on our right. The fighting was heavy. The regiment’s guns were bogged down in feet of mud around the mountain village of Rionero, constantly under observation by the enemy in the mountains above us so that whenever troops or vehicles moved enemy shells would fly down. The rain seemed continuous and later it turned to snow.

In early December the 5th Division was moved across country from the mountain front eastward to the lower hill country north of Lanciano and to help in the crossing of the river Moro. We had the 2nd New Zealand Division on our left around Orsogna and the Indian and Canadian Divisions on our right. We did not see much of these divisions but it was a comfort to know they were there. I can remember very little of Christmas 1943 except that it was uncomfortable and cold.

Soon after, the division was moved to the western end of the front on the flood plain of the river Garigliano. A number of unsuccessful attempts to cross the river had been made and, with the foothills and mountains to the north in the hands of the enemy overlooking the river, it was a miserable and exposed place to be. The 5th Division made another attack to cross the river, some troops being sent by sea in amphibious vehicles, and we established precarious footholds on the north side of the river. For the next two months the regiment was involved in heavy fighting in supporting the infantry in their attempts to dislodge the enemy from the hills and mountains, and losses were heavy.

In March 1944 the division was pulled out of the line and in a few days we had been sent by landing craft to the bridgehead at Anzio a few miles south of Rome. At that time the Anzio position was static with the Allies, mainly American but with some British troops, holding a precarious perimeter not much more than ten miles from Anzio. The initial element of surprise had failed. Everyone lived in holes in the ground including the guns which just had their muzzles showing. We were shelled every day and often bombed. The infantry we supported had a nerve-wracking time fighting in the deep gullies of the area and there were many losses on both sides. I recall one of our Scottish infantry units sending a single piper to the forward position when they were under heavy attack, to bring comfort to their troops. I don’t know what effect the bagpipes had on the enemy!

We were alongside American troops, and on one occasion in a lull in the shelling we were invited to play them at American football. Not knowing the rules, I got very frustrated and bruised whenever play started and two hefty Yanks leapt on me and flattened me into the earth when the ball was nowhere near me. However we got our revenge a few days later when we played them at English football, which they in their turn found pretty rough.

In May 1944 the static position changed. The 5th and 8th Armies we had left behind on the river Garigliano attacked northwards and Monte Cassino fell. Our regiment joined the Americans on an advance to the south end of the Anzio bridgehead and on 25th May the two allied armies met near the Pontine Marshes and Anzio was relieved. The 5th Division moved back to the northern front line and the final battle for the capture of Rome had begun. Amongst the beautiful spring flowers the Allies pushed forward and on 5th June Rome was occupied and our regiment came out of action after 11 months of almost continuous fighting. Events were now happening fast — we heard that the D Day invasion of the Normandy beaches in France had started. The next day some of us visited Rome and with a party of American soldiers visited many places of historic interest — St Peters, the Vatican and the Colosseum. Everywhere we were greeted by the Italians as friends and liberators and it was hard to believe that we had been at war with them.

The regiment was sent south and arrived at the port of Taranto and everyone was hoping for a return home. But it was not to be. We embarked on the Durban Castle and returned to Port Said and the Middle East for more training and regrouping. During the next few months we were on exercises in Palestine, Lebanon and Syria. But we had opportunities for time off. I spent a few days in what was then the beautiful town of Beirut. I recall a trip to Jerusalem where I visited the Via Dolorosa and the Stations of the Cross, the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and then not far away to Bethlehem and the church of the Nativity. Nazareth and Tiberius and the beautiful Sea of Galilee were other places I saw.

It was about this time when driving a jeep alone from the Haifa area back to the regiment, which was stationed near Damascus, that I had an accident near the Syrian border and fractured my skull and jaw. When I regained consciousness I dimly recall that a Syrian border guard bandaged my head and put me on an Arab bus. Luckily I was seen by a passing RAF officer and he took me by car to a hospital in Damascus who in turn sent me by ambulance over the mountains to a hospital overlooking Beirut. For a while I was on the ‘seriously ill’ list. I was not able to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of the hospital which was situated on the cedar slopes overlooking the Mediterranean.

The medical authorities decided to send me by plane to Cairo for an operation to remove the depressed bone in my head. This was a fine, modern, air-conditioned military hospital and my stay in the neuro-surgical ward was a pleasant one. I had now largely recovered and being a ‘walking’ patient was put in charge of issuing the various diets to those in bed. The British nurses lived on houseboats on the Nile and from time to time I was invited to parties on board.

The medicos having finally decided that my brain was not impaired, I was discharged and I had to find my way back to my unit which was still in Syria. I was just in time for their long journey back to Europe. This started by sea from Haifa through Southern Italy and again by sea to Marseille in Southern France. Our journey continued by train northwards into Belgium and eventually we stopped at a village called Herzele. We were welcomed there by the Belgians with a warmth we had not encountered before. I was billeted with a pork butcher and his family. He kept his pigs in his garden and from time to time he would kill a pig and I remember helping him collect the blood to make black pudding and washing out the intestines for sausage skins. He had 4 children, a son of 17 and 3 daughters, the youngest a sweet child of 10 called Jeannine. I became one of the family and although they had suffered severely during the German occupation and food was not plentiful, they insisted on sharing it with me. At Easter 1945 they produced an iced cake and a precious bottle of champagne.

The Easter Fete was the highlight for all. The market square became a funfair crowded with British gunners and Belgian children hand in hand. The inn opposite my billet was open continuously for about 3 days with music, mainly from a piano accordion, for the whole of that time, as I remember. We were very sorry when we were provided with new guns and vehicles and sent back into action in Germany. Our departure was a very emotional one. Although we left before 6am, the whole village was there lining the streets to see us off. The great-hearted people of Herzele are one of my dearest memories of the war.

It was now April 1945 and the Allied Forces were making the final push towards victory. With the 5th Division our regiment crossed the Rhine and went into action building up to an assault to cross the river Elbe. While the bombardment was underway some of us were suddenly given a couple of weeks’ leave in the UK — our first sight of home for 3 years. This was the end of active service for me as Germany surrendered while I was on leave. I celebrated VE Day — Victory in Europe — with thousands of others in and around the market square of Kingston-on-Thames singing and dancing through the night. A giant conga led by a soldier clashing dustbin lids wound its way through the crowded streets and ended up on the steps of the Guildhall calling for the Mayor.

I returned to Germany and spent the next 17 months as part of the army of occupation, first with my regiment in the Hamburg area. Then sadly the regiment was disbanded and I ended my army days at HQ, BAOR at Bad Oeynhausen.

In retrospect I find it very difficult to assess these years. It was a period of continuous travel. I visited 18 countries and travelled over 25,000 miles in the route we followed. I am thankful I came out of it relatively unscathed when so many did not. But the most lasting memory must be of the friendship of the comrades I served with.

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