大象传媒

On my return home in 1944, I discovered my parents had divorced so I had no home to go to. I stayed for short while with my step- mother then made contact with a girl with whom I'd exchanged letters during the war. She was a nurse and eldest daughter of a family friendly with my parents at home. Later while lying in the Sanatorium with T.B. I realised our future was doomed to failure. Frankly, I thought I had a very short life expectancy which seemed to be confirmed by the number of patients who had died on other wards. Foolishly, I wrote to my girl friend saying it would be best if we discontinued our relationship. In due course, after discharge from the sanatorium and a long period of recovery and unemployment I obtained work of a clerical nature. I telephoned my ex girl friend to arrange a meeting (thinking she would refuse), but I think she thought I'd come to my senses at last. Eventually we were married, and we had a son and daughter in law who gave us two beautiful granddaughters.
Several years passed until one day my son said he had written to the Italian Embassy in London asking if they could trace the family who had sheltered me during my escape from the P.O.W. Camp. A Tourist Bureau had found the eldest daughter and son, and gave me their address and telephone number, consequently I received two telephone calls from the daughter who I shall call "Maria" and her brother "Tommaso". With great excitement they asked that we visit them without delay. Later I received a long letter from "Tommaso" telling me how each member of the family had fared over the last fifty years.
The mind boggles to realise that each of those small children now had Grandchildren of their own !! One dramatic part of his letter brought back vivid memories when he recalled the day we all moved out of the house to the nearby mountains as the German Army approached the village. He wrote that Italian Partisans had shot two German soldiers. The Germans then took 22 villagers from the houses and immediately executed them in a vicious reprisal. I know what would have happened to those two brave parents and the children of my Italian friends if I'd been discovered on their property. There is no doubt in my mind they too would have been taken in the group for extinction. For many years I have had a guilty conscience in that I did not maintain contact with the family. During the early days of the scramble to get away from the P.O.W. Camp I had a guilty feeling that I should be making more effort to reach our lines which were hundreds of miles away, but due to a bout of malaria during the wet winter months, I thought it best to wait for better weather with the onset of Spring. Yet, I knew my decision to remain in disguise in enemy occupied territory although fraught with daily risks, was the right one. There were many moments of doubt when I questioned my right to expose my Italian family to the brutal behaviour of the German soldiery. We had rumours of a dreadful atrocity (now well documented) committed by German forces in Rome which at the time I dismissed as pure fantasy. Unfortunately it proved to be only too true. More than 300 Italians from all walks of life had been executed in The Ardeatine Tunnels on 24.3.44 following an attack on German troops by Italian Partisans in the City. During the war while serving in North Africa I had a fear of being wounded leading to a lingering death. If I was going to be hit, I thought I wanted a swift ending to it all. During the battle of Tobruk and thereafter as a prisoner and fugitive from the prison camp the same thought was never far from my mind. That I had survived the unpleasant moments of war and even afterwards during my long illness, was no doubt due to a Guiding Hand watching over me. I can think of no other reason for my safe return to England, from where I started my military journey as a young Boy Soldier with so many other lads - a few of whom were not so fortunate -and did not return. For that I shall always be eternally grateful.
My son had another surpise telephone call, this time an invitation for him to accompany me - all travel and hotel expenses paid - to appear in a Television programme which we understood was similar to our "Surprise Surprise" programme here. We suspected that "Maria" had arranged this for her brother, with a dead line of four days we had to decline the kind invitation. However, knowing "Maria" must have been very disappointed, and in spite of a previous heart scare, my son and I arranged to make a short four day visit. We flew from Manchester via Paris to Ciampino Rome on 28th April, with mixed feelings as to what would happen on our arrival. "Maria" was nine years of age when I last saw her !! We arrived at our hotel hot and tired and as we booked in I was surprised to see whom I guessed was "Maria" with her friend waiting for us. I found it difficult to understand her with my limited knowledge of the Italian language, as she was so excited. We managed to understand that her son would be coming the following morning to take us to meet the family at the village. Our trip in his Alfa Romeo through the busy traffic of Rome was quite an experience, with most of the population riding motor scooters without protective headgear weaving their way from side to side without any thought for their own safety or anyone else. We arrived at the old house which although modernised I remembered so well. Again my memory became flooded with the events of fifty five years ago. Here I was (in my memory), in the small holding among the fruit trees disguised as a civilain where I was nearly trapped by the arrival of two German soldiers wishing to exchange their tins of meat for fruit. In my mind I could hear the roar of Allied aircraft which appeared over those hills to bomb the convoy. "Maria's" younger sister was a baby those many years ago whom I used to carry in my arms as camouflage when any Germans were about. Today she proudly showed me around her house built by her two sons. The stairs were of marble leading to light airy rooms with modern conveniences. One such room on the second floor opened out on to a large balcony from which could be seen the panorama of the orchards, overlooked in the distance by a village perched on the top of the hills. The Italian sky was a typical light blue and the sun shone with great intensity - truely a beautiful day for us all. My son John had stayed on the balcony to take photographs when I realised he was overcome with emotion. I gently asked asked him if all was well. He replied "Why is everyone so kind to us" I'm afraid I told him I didn't know. One thing however was certain. The kindness of their mother and father who took so many risks for me, was being repeated over over again on their children. I walked along the road to the track where with the child behind me on the mule, I'd encountered the Germans sitting alongside the hedges eating their rations. On this beautiful hot day I imagined a chill in the air as luckily for me that day the Germans had not realised that the scruffy Italian civilian with the child behind him was in fact British and "on the run". "Maria" told me we were to meet the family at a restaurant where we were to have lunch, but on the way we visited the local cemetery where I bought flowers, which I placed on the graves of Antonio and his wife. Once again the memories of these brave people came flooding back to me as I gazed on their portraits affixed to the stonework. Nearby the ridge of mountains dominated the whole area. As we approached by road from the old house John asked me if I really did walk all that way up with all the family. I suppose it was difficult to comprehend how I had accompanied the whole family including the little ones on foot, to find refuge at the top. I must admit it was a formidable climb but most of it has now been forgotten. We arrived at the restuarant where John and I were placed at the top table as guests of honour. With brothers and sisters and their children we were about 35 in all. The meal was of typical proportions accompanied with bottles of wines and mineral waters. All the conversation was in voluble Italian - not a word of English except that of my translations during the meal for my son John. About half way through the proceedings, "Maria's" grandson - about 12 years of age and football mad like many youngsters in England- came to our table to read a speech of welcome from a scroll which he presented to me. The words on the scroll mentioned among many other glowing terms, that I was now considered to be their eldest brother. A friendship had developed during my stay with their grandparents during the war, although they knew I was only doing my duty (as a soldier) I was never considered to be an enemy. A few moments later a young girl handed me a small wallet in which there was a very fine watch and chain. On the reverse was etched "A Present from the family 25.4.98" It was only later that I realised that this date is the Italian National holiday and Anniversary of the Liberation of Italy in 1945. It was therefore a pleasure to have been with them on this historic date. That was not all. I was then handed a small box in which there was a beautiful braclet for my wife. Their kindness was overwhelming. We were taken back to our hotel, and the next day"Maria's" son came to take us for a quiet lunch "al fresco" at her home in the foothills, where another large meal had been prepared. After a very good meal "Maria's" son in law took us by car to find the site of my old prison camp in which I spent about 14 months during 1942-43. During the trip I was able to show John the terrain through which we made our hasty exit from the camp and how we kept to the cover of the undergrowth and trees during daylight hours as German spotter planes sought out groups of my companions on the run. I explained that we were easily recognised as British in our battle dress uniform so it was necessary to move as fast as conditons would allow at night. We stopped the car on a high vantage point from where we looked down on the valley but the camp had been dismantled many years ago. As we returned back to the village I thought of all those prisoners who had not been as fortunate as I. Their unsuccessful desperate dash for freedom had led them to spend many more months of harsh conditons in the Prison Camps of Germany.
It was with intense feelings of sadness that I knew our short visit, as we exchanged good wishes with handshakes and hugs all round, was drawing to a close. On the morrow, the younger members of the family would be going to work. "Maria's" son in law would leave home early on his six hundred kilometre journey to his factory in Venice where he is the General Manager. His wife would be getting her two children to school. "Maria's" son would be driving his bus on schedule round the streets of Rome, while his wife - a teacher - would be faced by her class of youngsters at the nearby Primary School. All the young children of the family would be in their respective schools in the area. I said goodbye to "Maria" who had gone to great lengths to make our visit so memorable. I could not put into words my feelings at that moment - my knowledge of the Italian language so inadequate - but as we held each other in a long hug with tears in our eyes, I'm sure she understood. I had already said goodbye to her elder brother - now an old man suffering from lapses of memory - a constant source of worry to his wife, who had explained to me earlier, that he often lived in a world of his own, in which it was difficult for her to enter. I could only reflect how harshly life had served him since those days I had known him as a happy youngster of 16 years of age.
As "Maria's" son and his wife took us back to our hotel I wondered if I should ever see all of them again. It was obvious that each member of the family had worked hard during their lives to provide work and shelter for their families. Some had built their own homes, others had gone into business with bars or boutiques, and several owned their own cars. Most of them still lived near to the old family home, which I remembered so well. Before our departure we had arranged an extensive and most interesting conducted tour of the famous sights of the City of Rome. John took a photo of me with the Coliseum in the background as my thoughts went back to that day during the war, when I had last caught a glimpse (through the rear window of an ambulance), of this ancient monument. So long ago !! I was a prisoner accompanying two others to the military hospital, but only there for the ride due to the goodwill of the Italian Medical Officer. This time I was here of my own volition savouring my good fortune that at long last, after more than 55 years I had achieved my ambition to return to Rome. One of the monuments we visited that day was the famous Trevi Fountain. I did not join in the ritual of throwing a coin into the water to ensure that one day I would return to The Eternal City. Perhaps at the time I did not feel it necessary, for I now knew the way to Rome. Who knows - one day I may travel that way again to visit my Italian Family who honour me by being pleased to call me their eldest brother.

The theme of my story is perhaps better explained by a dedication I made to my two Granddaughters when I wrote something about my life in similar terms.

"This is an account of some of the events which took place during a journey through eleven years of my life. A journey which touched three Continents, of some thousands of miles in length, during which I emerged from the uncertainty of boyhood to maturity. You will not find here great personal deeds of valour, those were shown to me by others. Their influence gave me the the strength to keep going through adversity, and to appreciate that kindness and goodwill, can be found in the most unusual circumstances."

"Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been to sea"
Samuel Johnson

ExCameron.

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