大象传媒

My unit was the leading survey artillery unit in British Fifth Corps from N. Africa NOV 42 then into Italy at Taranto thence with 8th army until the final battles near the Austrian border. Our job was to survey in advance of our guns of all calibre to ensure accurate fire . We therefore worked close to the front line after the enemy had been cleared by our infantry.

On this September day in 1944 the British army's objective was to continue pushing the stubborn German army units back north to the Bologna-Rimini line and beyond towards Ferrara and the River Po. As always, the enemy's resistance was formidable. Our armoured units and our infantry needed all the help they could get - especially by artillery, and when possible, close AV support from RAF'DESERT AIR FORCE' with their skilled low level bombing.
The little village of PREDAPPIO nestled in the hills north of Florence and south of our immediate objectives, the towns of Forli and Faenza.
Predappio was in the way of our advance, like so many other Italian communities, they had to endure the sufferings of foreigners waging war. But Predappio had another 'claim to fame'. It was the former boyhood home of Mussolini, Il Duce. Before the war, he had acquired the castello on a hill overlooking the village. The tower of the castle was an obvious place for surveying the country to the north;(that day facing our attack) - and by the POLISH infantry- supported on this day by our guns and tanks. The Poles were crack fighting infantry, greatly respected by all British troops who came in contact with them. I was detailed to get up that Castle Tower and carry out a recce for a later survey for the guns in their next move forward in support of our infantry.
The Poles had fought a hand-to-hand battle for Predappio - our guns had done the inevitable damage, but Mussolini's castello was only lightly splintered by our shell fire, it appeared.
Leaving my jeep and all its clobber - not least the valuable Theodolite - guarded by my driver-assistant, I ran up the imposing front steps into the entrance hall to find a few dead Germans. Then I went into an impressive room, part lounge, part library. Exultant Polish troops greeted me waving bottles of wine - the cellars had been raided as soon as they'd secured Il Duce's country retreat!! Some 'higher force' drew me to the enormous desk near the panoramic windows. A very good quality desk. I opened the top left hand drawer(ignoring the need to be aware of nasty enemy explosive devices!)and there, laying amongst a jumble of old letters, papers was the Wedding Album! An impressive leather bound article with Armorial d茅cor. This was really worth looting! Around me our Polish allies were in such a celebratory state of intoxication - they wouldn't notice this lone Britisher purloining Il Duce's family album! So, with it under my jacket, quickly out to my waiting jeep, a quick recce around the castello, and back to our 'hide' near the recently captured town of Rocca San Casciano. My album now got my full inspection while I kept it hidden. This was a bit of Italian history. This was proud father and mother at their daughter Edda's marriage to Count Ciano - Il Duce's Foreign Minister. Benito Mussolini in full English-style morning dress - not entirely flattering! - a statuesque daughter and mother Rachele - and new son-in-law Ciano in full Fascisti rig. Page after page of family - and dozens of foreign diplomats, military men and,evidently, top people from Hitler's Third Reich. What a find for me! Surely a piece of history to be treasured.
There is a dreadful postscript, however. Two months later I was hit by malaria and separated from my unit but in the good care of the Fifth Canadian General Hospital way back behind the forward areas. It took me five or six weeks to recover from the malarial attack. Re-united with my comrades and my kit - to my dismay my album had gone! My looted album had been looted! Mussolini had fallen - Count Ciano had been shot, the bride Edda was a widow, her mother in hiding, and in a few days her father, Il Duce, was hanged by the Communistas. His battered body alongside that of his murdered mistress Clara Pettaci, was ignominiously dangling from a Milan lamppost!

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