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George Daily鈥檚 war Part 3

The invasion of Italy was now well under way, and that was our next move. We landed at Naples [6th March 1944], but were issued with long johns which made us wonder where we were going, as we thought of Italy as a warm country.We soon changed our minds when we ended up in the snow bound mountains further north, and the long drawers were a Godsend.
It was the coldest winter we had ever experienced, sleeping in slit trenches in snow drifts. From sand to snow!
The terrain was so rough and rugged, the only means of supply for rations and ammo was by mule train. The ground was so hard it was hopeless trying to dig slit trenches, so we had to construct what was called a sanger for protection from shell fire. This consisted of a layer of large rocks, about two feet high, to form a circular shelter. Mind you it was worse for the partisan groups that we were supplying, they had been in the mountains for years. They were very hard men, communists who hated Mussolini ... they killed him in the end. The fighting moved on, and we came to a halt at a town called Cassino, which was occupied by the Germans, who were well dug in. The town was overshadowed by a mountain and perched right on the top was a very old monastery. The Germans had control of the monastery and had a clear field of fire all around. They could see every move made by the Allied armies. The mountain was called Monte Cassino and the battle fought there was one of the hardest, cruelest battles of a hard, cruel war.
We watched from outside the town, we were in trench positions, as British and American bombers plastered the town and monastery with a hail of bombs 鈥� over and over again, until the place was in ruins. The Polish soldiers volunteered to go into the ruins first but were beaten back with very heavy losses. They were the bravest soldiers I had ever seen, death meant nothing to them, they hated the Germans so much. They had seen the terrible crimes committed in Poland before they managed to escape to England, and they wanted revenge. Sadly most of them were killed and the men remaining, never did go back home. Poland was well and truly under the heel of Russia, so they either returned to live in England after the war, or emigrated to America.
We were ready to go in next, but as often happens in battle, there was a sudden lull in the fighting. Never one to miss an opportunity I suggested tea. There is nothing like a mug of tea before getting shot at, so we proceeded to light a fire. Unfortunately the petrol thrown on the ground to start our fire accidentally splashed all over me! I went up in flames, I quickly rolled on the ground to put out the fire and was rushed to a field medical station for treatment. I quickly returned to my platoon where I discovered to my horror, that the three mates that shared the slit trench with me had all been killed. The trench where they were all dug in had received a direct hit from an enemy shell. All three are buried in the British Cemetery at Cassino. Just boys! Bombers went in again, and again plastered the mountain side, unfortunately for us an American bomber dropped his load right on top of British Army HQ. All our officers were killed, by what is nowadays called friendly fire.
The 6th Black Watch, 4th Division British Army now skirted round Monte Cassino to cut off the German escape from the rear. Years later I read in a newspaper that the most sensible thing to have done was to go round the damned mountain in the first place. Just think how many lives would have been saved, but the powers that make the important decisions wanted to go over, go through, not round Cassino.
The way ahead was now open and we were advancing up into northern Italy. We passed through Cassino which was now just a heap of rubble and ruined streets. On the gable end of what is now the Hotel Continental some wag had stuck a board with the message 鈥淯nder New Management鈥�. I was always amazed at the spirit of my fellow British soldiers. They seemed to drag up some form of humour even in their very darkest days. The most excruciating jokes told under the most terrifying circumstances. Before the tanks and heavy armour could get going however, all the rubble from the town had to be moved to make a path for them.
The way to Rome was now open and the Germans had left it untouched. I think the fact that the Pope was in residence might have had something to do with it.
So far away from home, when all of a sudden Glasgow seemed so near. We were marching through an Italian village, when suddenly and with a broad Glesca accent, a voice called out 鈥測e want yer socks washed?鈥�
These were Italian women who had spent most of their lives in Scotland but, through no fault of their own, had been repatriated to Italy at the start of hostilities. They had recognised the Black Watch, probably the Red Hackle. They were more used to the Black Watch than they were the Black Shirts of Mussolini.
What wonderful women, I only hope that they made it back to Scotland after the war.
Things were quiet for a while and we qualified for one week鈥檚 leave, at a Military Holiday Camp (Ha Ha Ha), just outside Rome. We all piled onto lorries, but we had heard that after dropping us off, the convoy of lorries was heading for the city. We asked our driver if he would drop us off in Rome and pick us up a week later. This he agreed to do. We stayed with an old Italian couple in a nice flat and had a really good time seeing all the sights.
We moved off again, pushing onto Florence, where the German Army were putting up a stiff resistance. After all the heavy fighting our Division was pulled out of the line for a rest.
It was at this time that the Government introduced a one month home leave scheme, and I was one of the lucky ones, I was able to get home for Christmas and New Year.
And what a leave it was! I made straight for Smethwick and Maisie Logan. I asked her dad out for a drink (well in his case several drinks) and asked him for his daughter鈥檚 hand in marriage. Of course Alex was delighted and gave his consent, so we took the train to Glasgow to tell my folks, and got engaged on New Years Day 1945. We were strolling through Glasgow hand in hand when I decided to buy a Sunday newspaper, and there on the front page, was a picture of Black Watch soldiers lying dead on the ground. Lying shot dead on the street of Athens in Greece, killed by Greek partisans called ELAS.

Civil War had broken out in Greece, and the 6th Black Watch, who were out of the line for a rest, were to be sent to restore law and order. My leave came to a sudden end, in fact I didn鈥檛 want to go back after all that I had been through. Maisie and an old pal, Roddy Mulgrew, had to push me onto the train at Queen Street Station. I never got the chance to say goodbye properly. Whilst the troop train was getting up steam in the station, Sergeants were being carried onto the platform dead drunk.
They had been having a wonderful liquid leave. Women were crying, children were crying 鈥淒on鈥檛 go Daddy鈥� it was heart breaking. We really did think that our fighting was over. Nevertheless, we all piled onto the train and steamed out.
The civil war was a political fight between the Greek Government and ELAS who were all communists and determined to overthrow the Monarchy and government. We were up to our necks chasing the partisans on behalf of the Greek government, even though we had more in common with ELAS These men and women had waged guerrilla war on the Germans, behind the lines, for years and years. They hated German occupation of their country .The Greek royal family on the other hand spent the war years in Claridges Hotel, in London.
Having done most of the fighting, the partisans now wanted a say in how Greece was governed, the upper class Greeks wanted nothing to do with them. In fact I heard that most of the rich Greek shipping barons made their loot supplying the U boats with oil, meeting the U boats in secret out in the Atlantic, with their tatty old rust bucket tankers.
British troops were christened 鈥淐hurchill鈥檚 Army鈥�, and as soon as we landed in Athens the partisans took to the mountains. The Black Watch chased them of course, those were our orders. It was amazing though, we would approach a mountain village, and as we drew near, the church bells would start to ring. This was a warning to the partisans to melt away before us. The villagers shielded them, and we didn鈥檛 want to catch them anyway, so it worked out quite well. We followed them through the mountains right up to the Albanian border and lost them completely. Unfortunately another group of partisans were caught by our troops, our officer said that they must be handed over to the proper authorities as we were only acting as policemen. We did protest but it did no good. We handed them over. They were all shot!
Our next job was much more pleasant! Garrison duty on the island of Corfu, one company at a time. It was like landing in Heaven after all the months of Hell. It was like being on holiday, only better! The war in Europe was over, and at last we could all make plans for the future, like going home. At least most of us were, but there is always a tragedy waiting round the corner.
We were all so thankful that we had come through and would soon be going home. It was New Years Eve, when Willie McCartney, of our platoon, reported for guard duty .The soldier that he was replacing on duty, called across, to wish him all the best for the New Year. Somehow in the excitement he must have pressed the trigger of his Tommy gun. The gun fired a burst and hit Willy, killing him instantly. Can you imagine how we all felt? It was an accident, a pure fluke, and the man whose gun went off, was my best friend Johnny Anderson. We had come through so much together, so many terrible sights, and on the very last day of the year, to lose Willy in such a stupid fashion was too much to bear.
We all rallied round Andy, it was not his fault, and he was in a terrible state. There was an official enquiry and he was completely exonerated, but it weighed very heavily on his mind.
Now it was just a case of waiting for transport to get us all home to Blighty .To pass the time, my mate Andy and I used to frequent the local taverna in a nearby village. The taverna sported a bar, and a concrete floor for dancing. The only drawback were the Greek males, who took a dim view of anyone dancing with their women. To keep the peace Andy and I danced together, with him taking the woman鈥檚 part. In fact he was so good at the woman鈥檚 steps, that an elderly drunken villager tried to cut in, during an 鈥渆xcuse me dance鈥�. Andy drew the line there, and we were all in stitches at his predicament. However the Greeks were very quick with their tempers and their knives, so poor Andy decided that he had better go along with the old bloke. It was supposed to be a tango! More like a tangle!
Time for re-embarkation had arrived, it was time to leave all my mates in the 6th Black Watch. It was very hard to say goodbye to Andy as we had been through some rough times together and also great times together. We all of us promised to meet up a year later in Glasgow. (We did all meet up that first year in 1947, but it was to be the only reunion.)
The other men in the group and I started out for the port of Piraeus on the south coast of Greece, but it was a very hard winter, with bitter winds and great drifts of snow. As a result we were snowed in up in the mountains and we missed our ship. We had to wait, hanging around kicking our heels for a week, until we could board another ship. We finally sailed for Taranto in Italy, and then travelled by rail to the French Channel Ports.
This journey by train took days, and days, it seemed never ending. The daft thing about it was that all along the route German prisoners of war were in organised parties handing out food to the British soldiers passing through. They had hot food waiting for us at every station! Talk about from the sublime to the ridiculous!
The journey lasted almost three weeks, we felt as if we had been on the move forever, but at last we arrived in England. Guess where? The Demob Centre!
I was dragging all my kit, a huge wooden box that I had made for Maisie (a fine piece of carpentry if I do say so myself), also a fine glass tray, with a polished wood surround. Painted onto the glass was a scroll of the Black Watch Honours. It had been painted in detail by one of the lads in the platoon, he had been a sign writer in Civvy Street. On the long journey home, many a time I could have chucked the lot overboard but I held onto it, to the bitter end.
Demob was quick. We were given a choice of suits, which were quite smart. I chose a navy pin stripe. There was also shirt, tie and shoes and according to your length of service a gratuity! Mine was 拢75. Imagine that! 1939-1946 and I had earned a bonus of 拢75. Mind you our wages were only 7 shillings per week. Being a carpenter I was classed as a tradesman and so earned a few shillings extra. I headed for Smethwick outside Birmingham as I was getting married on February 2nd [1946]. By his time it was Feb 1st and the Logan family were getting ready to cancel all the arrangements: Fortunately I arrived just in the nick of time.
Yes, I made it to the church on time and Maisie and I were married at Waterloo Road Methodist Church, in front of all of both our families, our friends and wonderful neighbours. I even met the postman who had delivered all my letters. He seemed to know more about me and where I had been, than I did myself.
I wore my demob suit although Maisie would have preferred me to wear my uniform. I was adamant that I would only wear a civvy suit on my wedding day. I never wanted to join any group or organisation again. Not even a Christmas Club!
In my opinion the Scottish Regiments and Scots soldiers were the best, although not everyone thought the same. My brother-in-law Rally served with the Highland Light Infantry, the HLI. He drove the Brigadier鈥檚 car and was a damned fine driver. One day he was sent to an airfield in northern Holland to pick up a church minister. This chap was called the Flying Padre because he visited British troops all over the shop, to give church services and also help where needed. Rally drew up in the car ..鈥淭ake your briefcase Sir?鈥� he asked, and the padre handed over his case. 鈥淛ust a moment soldier鈥� said the padre 鈥淭o which regiment do you belong?鈥� 鈥淭he HLI Sir鈥� replied Rally. 鈥淚n that case I鈥檒l carry my own briefcase thank you鈥� said the Holy Joe. What a cheek, and what a reputation for the HLI Rally sadly didn鈥檛 make it. He was a good friend, a good soldier and a great guy!

I look back on my army days with mixed feelings. Terrible, terrible times, and also many good times, when we seemed to spend much of the time laughing and fooling around. I鈥檓 glad that I was able to come through when so many young men of my generation died.
My niece Heather, persuaded me to jot down my memories, but I have to say that quite a few events, dates, and places have faded away with the years. Also there are some things that I would rather forget, pushed away to the back of my mind, where I prefer them to stay. Thank God that you, Stuart [his son], have never had to know war, that you grew up safe and sound in your own home. I only wish that Heather and Ralph could have known their daddy too.
It was all so long ago, but sometimes, it seems like only yesterday!

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