大象传媒

In early February 1944 I was in Algeria with Divisional Headquarters, 6th Armoured Division, in Algeria near a small village, St Charles which was not far from Constantine. A few miles away from our camp was a large hangar-like building which had been converted into a cinema and one particular night I was fortunate to get a ticket. We were waiting for a truck which would take us to the cinema when the post lorry arrived. It was always an exciting time and there was a letter from my sister Muriel. Naturally, I tore it open hurriedly. We all liked to hear from home and as I started reading it two words jumped off the page and hit me in the eye. The two words were 鈥淲ilf鈥檚 death鈥�. Wilf was my brother and was in the Seaforth Highlanders, an infantry regiment. It was not unusual for letters to arrive out of rotation. Just at that moment the cinema truck arrived and everyone was naturally in high spirits. I really did not feel like going. I told one or two of my close friends of my bad news and they were very sympathetic.

When we arrived at the cinema we learnt that the film was 鈥淓agle Squadron鈥� which was about American airmen who volunteered before America joined the Allies. One of the scenes was in the bar at the Officers Mess where some of our fighter pilots were having a laugh about something quite trivial, notwithstanding the fact that some of their colleagues had been shot down that morning. The Americans could not understand the 鈥淪tiff Upper Lip鈥� syndrome, so there was a big argument. I suppose those RAF pilots would say that it helped them to behave like that as they knew that every day could be their last. I too felt guilty of the fact that I was sitting in a cinema enjoying myself just after receiving such bad news.

The missing letter soon arrived and I subsequently learned that Wilf had been killed near the village of Minturno, the action was part of the Garigliano river crossing. I approached my tank commander, Captain Cole, and he promised to write to the Seaforth Highlanders to see if there were any details which would be useful.

Worse was to come because in a matter of 3 to 4 weeks we were bound for Italy, leaving from Philipville for Naples. The troopship was the SS Staffordshire, a veteran troopship which had been used in World War I and we were quite dismayed to find that our quarters were once again down below the waterline and indeed some of our chaps preferred to sleep on deck. We had already been on the troopship Strathallan when it was torpedoed in Dec. 1942. It was quite a short trip to Naples. Our tanks were to be shipped separately and on our arrival we were taken to a Transit Camp outside Naples. We stayed there for several days, waiting for the tanks, and one day we were taken into Naples. We were walking down one of the main streets when, coming towards me, I saw a number of Seaforth Highlanders. I could tell them by their Balmoral hats and stag and antler cap badgers. I stopped them and asked if they had any information regarding Wilf. One of them said that he knew Wilf and that his grave was near the church at MINTURNO.

Upon my return to camp I spoke to Capt. Cole to see if I could get permission to go to Minturno. I was a member of his tank crew and he agreed that I could go but said that no transport was available. The next morning I got out early on the main Naples to Rome coast road. There was no problem getting a lift, the roads were full of military vehicles, mainly US. Eventually we came to a Bailey bridge and close to was a signpost saying Minturno so I set off down this road and soon reached a battery of 鈥淟ong Toms鈥�. This was the largest gun being used then and they were all dug in and covered with camouflage nets.

It was very hot and very quite with no one to be seen until one of the American鈥檚 came out and asked if I would like a coffee so I went in. I told them of my mission but they could not help me so when I left I just carried on down this road and eventually came to a T junction. It was a toss up which way to go so I opted left, quite soon coming to where there had been heavy fighting, with yards and yards of signal wire, empty shell cases and ammunition boxes. It was very quiet, almost eerie, but the worst part was the dozens of graves in the verges and up the banks, all wooden crosses giving name, rank and regiment of the dead soldier. They were all British, mainly Royal Artillery. I carried on down the road when, rounding a bend, I was confronted by a large notice board which was almost as wide as the road and it read 鈥淔rom this point onwards you are under enemy observation鈥�. I decided that I was on a wild goose chase so I retraced my steps, passing by the US gun site where I got a cheery wave, and reflected that I was not challenged as to my identity or purpose.

Back on the main road I soon got lifts back towards Naples, one of which was a British Jeep. The driver was very interested in my story and told me he was on his way to the Palace at Caserta, which was General Eisenhower鈥檚 headquarters. We drove round the back and he had a word with cook and I was served with a much needed meal. I made my way back to the Transit Camp 鈥� that was a day to remember.

When our tanks arrived we were soon on our way. It was quite obvious that the 6th Armoured Division was to take part in the breakthrough at Cassino. I won鈥檛 dwell on what happened in the following weeks and months but, at the beginning of June, we heard of D day landings. We were close to Rome but the British Army was not allowed to enter Rome and was only done by the US Army, a fact which was very much resented.

We moved steadily north heading for Perugia when. Captain Cole told me that a letter had been received from the Seaforth Highlanders giving details of Wilf鈥檚 grave, including a map reference which was in fact in Minturno. At this stage I could not see that I would ever be in Minturno again. Indeed, we were moving even further away on a daily basis but my hopes were raised when Capt Cole told me that a leave camp was opening in Rome and that a small number of men would be going, on a rota basis, for 7 days and that he would put me in the first party on compassionate grounds so that I could look for Wilf鈥檚 grave.

The great day arrived and I boarded the truck that was going to take me on that hot, dusty trip to Rome. When we arrived it was very much like a barracks on the Eastern suburb and we learnt that we had 7 days in which we could do absolutely nothing if we so desire 鈥� no duties, no Reveille, just lounge about, but my mind was focused on the job in hand. Early the next day I made my way down to the Rome-Naples road armed with a map reference and a map. I had an assortment of vehicles, passing through Terracina and Formia, when I saw a signpost for Minturno. I think it would be about 70 miles from Rome.

I discovered that the village was at the top of a steep hill. It was very hot and, as I passed an open window and heard several voices, it seemed to be some kind of meeting. An old man left the meeting and came outside. By this time I was able to speak a few words of Italian and I managed to give him some idea of what I was looking for. He offered to accompany me to what I thought would be the right area so, at that time, I was confident that we would quickly find the grave.

By the side of the church was a field and then my friend took me into what was a large wood in which there was a clearing with a whole host of graves all with wooden crosses. The directions in the letter had said 150 yards from the church, and this was it. I eagerly went round looking in an ever widening circle, supremely confident that the next one would be it. We went through this wood to another clearing and another and another. I was starting to flag as it was very hot and time was passing. I decided to give up and return to Rome but the old man insisted that I go to his house for the night, so I decided to go AWOL and take the consequences. His wife was a very nice old lady who prepared a meal for us and they insisted that I would have their bed. I refused but they were adamant so I had to agree as sleeping in that bed was sheer bliss as I had been sleeping on the ground for at least eighteen months.

We got up early the next morning and resumed the search. We must have checked every grave in that area. It was a very morbid business and I was very conscious of the heartbreak it all represented for the families back home. Indeed, as far as my family were concerned I began to feel as if I was letting them down, especially as I was at the exact place according to the map reference and yet had failed to find the grave.

As lunchtime approached we gave up and went back to the house for some lunch then I bade a sad farewell to the old couple who had been so kind. I returned down the hill and had an assortment of lifts back to Rome. As I was going back to the leave camp I wondered what sort of reception I would get after going AWOL but my fears were groundless, no-one cared about it. I managed to see quite a bit of Rome in the next few days but my heart was not in it. My head was still asking me why I had failed in my quest. When I got back to my unit they had moved to the outskirts of Perugia. The front line was static for a while and things were quiet.

It was about this time that our tanks and, we were not a combat unit, got involved in an ambush which cost two lives, the Troop sergeant Sgt. Pryke, and Jock Slimmin, his driver. Before leaving that area we visited the cemetery at Perugia to say goodbye to our two comrades.

We moved north yet again to a village not far from Florence where we would be staying for 4 to 5 months as winter time in the mountains north of Bologna was not at all suitable for any kind of advance. Shortly after arriving in the Florence area a letter was received from the Seaforth Highlanders saying, with regret, that the map reference which they had given was not correct which, in one respect, was extremely annoying. It vindicated me by indicating that my map reading skills were not at fault. The letter did say that all the casualties were being transferred to a Military Cemetery.

We spent Christmas, my third abroad, in the Florence area making the best of it with what we had. It was about this time that I was offered another trip to Rome as the rota had gone all round so I accepted, although I was unsure where to start looking.

The trip down to Rome was much further this time but when we arrived I felt like an old hand. The following morning I started the well-practised routine of hitch hiking. Most of the lifts were in civilian transport as the military, like us, had gone north. As we approached the turn off for Minturno I saw a large sign which said 鈥淢inturno British Military Cemetery鈥� so I got our there and walked down to the site observing that it was only partly finished. One plot was complete with rows of white crosses whilst the other plots were smooth and level without any crosses. As I stood there a lorry appeared and some civilians started to unload what looked like rolls of blankets and I realised that these would be the remains of the casualties brought here from those areas which I had scoured with the old man. I walked round the completed plot eagerly scanning them for Wilf鈥檚 name but to no avail. I began to feel despondent as that was the only completed plot and it looked as if my journey was once again to be in vain.

As I walked down the path alongside the next plot, which had just been levelled, I had to pick my way over all the discarded wooden crosses which had been made by the Regimental carpenters when I stopped dead!! There, under my foot, was a cross which read 鈥淐pl W Shuttleworth, 6th Seaforth Highlanders 28-01-1944鈥�. At first I was in a daze and when I recovered from the shock the tears streamed down my face as I read and re-read the words. Then the awful truth hit me. I had only found the cross. Where, oh where, was my dear brother? I stood there for a few moments when I was aware of a soldier coming down the path. He stopped and asked if he could help me. I told him my story and he advised me to go up to the Nissan Hut nearby to see the Corporal in charge. He warned me that the Corporal could sometimes be difficult as he had suffered from shell shock in the Western Desert, but he thought that on that day he was OK.

I knocked on the door and a voice said 鈥淐ome in鈥�. The Corporal was surrounded by huge ledgers. I explained my problem, he looked in the relevant book and there was Wilf鈥檚 entry 鈥� these were the official records of The War Graves Commission. He then called in one of the Italians, gave him the details on a piece of paper and told him to write it on the cross. Then he said 鈥渓et鈥檚 have a cup of tea鈥�. It was only a short time before the painter had done so the Corporal took a long measuring rod and outsize T square and we went outside. He carefully measured then put a cross in place and solemnly assured me that it was definitely the place. Someone back in the unit had lent me a camera so I took several photographs and stood quiet, thinking of Mother and Dad and the family. Then I said my goodbyes, thanked the Corporal and made my way back to Rome. I have thought since that I wish I had gone up to the village and told my two friends but I don鈥檛 think time would have allowed it.

I saw more of Rome this time and could enjoy it more because of my success, then it was back to the unit. We travelled up to Bologna then across to the Adriatic to Riccione, which is now a holiday resort. These were the last few weeks of the war. The Germans retreated at a rapid rate and the war ended as we arrived in Klagenfurt in Austria. We didn鈥檛 stay there very long. Our tanks went and we had American Armoured cars. We went south, with stays at Trieste, Treviso, Udine and finally Padua where I was to spend a fourth consecutive Christmas away from home and where I stayed until December 1946 when I was demobilised.

One of two pals of Wilf had written to my Mother and Dad. Sgt Jim Laing, who found Wilf on that fateful day, and supervised the burial, wrote me a very nice letter too, which I still possess.

During my time at Padua I went again to Minturno. The leave camp was about to close and no-one else wanted to go so I went alone on the train and it was a very long way. When I got down to Minturno the cemetery had been transformed. There were very nice entry gates, lawns, flower beds and tall trees and it was wonderful. I was very pleased to see that Wilf鈥檚 grave was still in the same place, H22, so the Corporal got it exactly right.

My final word on these journeys is to say that in 1979 my wife booked a holiday to Terracina, which is between Rome and Naples. We were able to go by bus to Minturno and the cemetery was looking beautiful with even more flowers and lawns, and the trees were massive. We should all be grateful that the War Graves Commission keeps these cemeteries in such superb conditions. I was able to take some very good photographs which I passed round the family.

This was to be the last of my sad journeys but at least I had a feeling that the whole effort was now complete and I had done everything possible.

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