大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Bill Ross of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Ralph Corps (deceased), and has been added to the site with his relatives' permission. They fully understand the site's terms and conditions.
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At any rate, we could have a fire in the shelter for the remainder of the day. On returning to the shelter, I found my friend up and walking about. He said that he felt much better. The fire was going well, and after consulting with my friend, we decided to have a good hot brew. This was soon done and I was pleased to see he was looking much better. A good night鈥檚 rest had done the trick, or, as he said, it was probably the burnt porridge.

That day passed very slowly indeed and the rain didn鈥檛 loosen off for a minute. Meals were eaten at the usual time and when darkness came that evening, the weather was still bad.

Nevertheless, we had to go on. We couldn鈥檛 remain in this hideout indefinitely and our store of food was not inexhaustible. Besides, if our calculations were correct, we had only come about 20 miles and Brindisi was still more than forty miles away. We decided to move on; owing to the rain, darkness came earlier than usual. We ate our evening meal and prepared ourselves for the journey and when all was ready, out we went into the rigorous night. It was the darkest night I had seen for a long time and the rain was coming down in torrents. Italy may be a sunny country, but when it rains, it certainly does it in grand style. In less than an hour, both of my feet were wet through. The day鈥檚 rest had restored our energies and the heavy going did not, at first, trouble is unduly.

There were frequent stoppages, but the compass course had to be checked every 150 yards or so. There were no signs of any stars in the sky and it looked to me as if we were in for a rough night鈥檚 travel. 9 p.m. found us both drenched to the skin. Some time later, it would be, I believe, about 9.45 p.m., we saw in front of us, the dim lights of a town. 鈥淭hat will be Gioia,鈥� said my friend. A deviation was made so as to pass the town on our left, but the more we tried to deviate, the nearer we appeared to get to it. A secondary road was crossed and soon afterwards, after climbing a wall, we found ourselves near a railway. It was slightly elevated from where we stood. As we stood there, a train passed and came to a stop, some 150 yards to our left. It was a passenger train and there was only one conclusion: it must have stopped in a station. The time was about 11 p.m. We moved to our right away from the place and a few yards further away, I found some broccoli growing. I ate a couple right there on the spot. Having satisfied my appetite to some extent, I gathered three more. My colleague also gathered a few. We then proceeded. Suddenly, a bridge appeared in front of us. It crossed over the railway. Our position here was below ground level. For some minutes, we listened attentively. Hearing nothing, we moved along the wall side; found a place where the wall could be scaled and up I went onto the top. My companion then threw the broccoli up and I, having received it safely, gave him a hand to join me. Again we listened. There appeared to be no one about, but knowing that most bridges were guarded, we had to be exceptionally careful. We decided to cross the bridge. I proceeded slowly along the side of the wall; my colleague was a short distance behind me. The bridge, having been safely negotiated, faded into the darkness to our rear as we continued our journey. We came to a main road lit by overhead blue wartime lamps. There wasn鈥檛 a sight, sound or any movement. The place might just as well have been dead. Wasting no time, we scuttled across the road, continued along for a short distance and turned down the first turning. It was another minor road. Our intention now was to get as far as possible from the main part of the town. We walked briskly along and were just about to congratulate ourselves, when out of the darkness ahead, an Italian voice snapped, 鈥淐HI VA LA!鈥� My spine rocketed up through the top of my head and my hair stood on end. I stood transfixed; the broccoli under my arm fell to the ground almost unnoticed. I could see nothing of the speaker, but the way that command was pushed out left me in no doubt as to what it meant. Visualising a rifle pointing at my middle, I looked round for some avenue of escape. There was none.

鈥淲hat shall we do?鈥� whispered my friend. I didn鈥檛 know, escape now was out of the question. The more we whispered, the more suspicious the sentry (or whomever it was) became. 鈥淭he game鈥檚 up,鈥� I whispered, 鈥渢ell him we鈥檙e escaped prisoners and get it over with.鈥� Turning toward the hidden voice, my friend shouted in his best Italian. 鈥漃rugianieri di Guerra,鈥� said the hidden speaker, in reply. We advanced some ten yards further along. I saw there, off to my right, a sentry box. I was on a road junction. An Italian Alpine sentry was at the post. As we approached him, he said, 鈥淏ORGHESI?鈥� to which question my friend promptly replied, 鈥淪i! Si!鈥�

鈥淎vanti benne motte,鈥� said the sentry. Suiting my actions to those of my companion, I moved on past the post and let my friend do the talking. I felt like breaking into a gallop right there and then, but common sense told me that such action would be fatal. Straight across the road junction we went, accelerating our speed only when out of sight and hearing of the sentry. Down the first turning, left at top speed, then right, then left again, over a wall and into a field, across the field and over another wall, then we stopped. I shook my friend鈥檚 hand. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 it all about?鈥� I enquired. 鈥淚鈥檓 not quite sure,鈥� he replied, grinning, 鈥渂ut I think that sentry took us for a couple of workmen returning by the last train and when I said 鈥楶rugianieri di Guerra,鈥� he must have thought I was trying to be funny.鈥� He went on to say that he wasn鈥檛 sure of the meaning of the word, 鈥楤orghesi,鈥� but believed it to mean 鈥榳orkmen鈥�. It was later ascertained that 鈥楤orghesi鈥� means civilian. Luckily for us, it was dark and the Italian had not been able to distinguish the colour of our overalls. We had a good laugh over the incident, checked our compass course and moved on.

Had that sentry been intelligent, he would have asked a few questions and thus earned for himself, a medal as big as a frying pan. My friend spoke only a little Italian and a few questions would have had him non-plussed, or so I thought as I trudged along by his side. The rain continued and our progress was exceedingly slow. Some 30 to 40 minutes after passing the sentry, we arrived at another main road. Our compass said, 鈥淪traight on!鈥� yet that was impossible, for immediately to our front was a high stonewall, much too high for us to climb. To the right were many buildings, one of which was lit up. So, as was natural, we turned left and proceeded, our intention being to turn right into the country at the first opportunity. I don鈥檛 think we had gone more than 20 yards along that road when my friend nudged me, indicating with his thumb, something off to my left. I looked, and there, standing back from the road was a sentry box. I couldn鈥檛 see inside, but I could distinguish something which I imagined to be the foot of a man sticking out. No doubt, the sentry there was taking things easy. He said nothing as we passed. A few yards beyond that sentry post, we saw, to the right of the road, a long low wooden building of the type used by soldiers. The windows were blacked out but some light filtered through the sides of the window panes; evidently a guardroom. As we continued along, very much on the alert now, I noticed just ahead and on both sides of the roadway, a series of low buildings similar to the one we had just passed. We stopped walking. A sentry was posted at the entrance, therefore there would be another one, probably two, to encounter on the way out.

I whispered to my friend, he pointed to the side of the road where some excavations were being made. Losing no time, we began picking our way through the building materials. It was impossible not to make a little noise. Reaching the limit of the excavations, I looked to my left. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. There, less than five yards away was a sentry box. It was at an angle to our approach and if the sentry was sitting down, he would not see us. But he must have heard us! 鈥� unless he was asleep. I pushed my friend over to the right, away from the box, and at the same time, indicated its position. Deviating, we moved away and entered a ploughed field. Crouching low, we were moving silently along when, like a blundering fool, I stumbled against one of the furrows of earth and crashed to the ground. Immediately, from about 15 yards to my left, though not from the direction of the sentry box, I heard the click 鈥� click of a rifle bolt as a round was shoved up the spout. And then, although I鈥檇 prayed and hoped it wouldn鈥檛 happen, that famous Italian call ripped through the night: 鈥淐HIVA LA?鈥� I didn鈥檛 linger; getting swiftly from the mark, I was up and away. Flight in this case was the only effective argument. With mouth wide open and neck outstretched like a goose in flight, legs and arms working like piston rods and with the old earthenware jar flying in the slipstream, I simply flew over that ploughed land.

The threat of a rifle bullet in the rear portion of my anatomy certainly worked wonders. My tired limbs seemed to be enhanced with new life and although I鈥檓 not a sprinter and never was, on that occasion, I was every inch a champion 鈥� a living example of perpetual motion, fire and speed. Yes, no man, not even Jessie Owen himself could have got his head in front. Again, out of the darkness came that command to halt, but more important things occupied my mind and I continued my flight. The first hundred yards went by in record time and I could hear my partner somewhere away to my right, blowing hard, yet still struggling valiantly on. Meanwhile, I was going great guns and I was about to do the second hundred in even time, when something appeared in front of me, out of the blackness ahead. I slung out the anchors and they held. There was a crash on my right as I came to a sudden stop. In front of me was a barbed wire fence, regulation pattern. I looked over my shoulder and saw the flashing of torches moving about. They were not moving in my direction, rather they appeared to be looking for something. I moved over to my partner. Being unable to stop, he crashed into the fence. He was unhurt, but that enforced spring had done neither of us any good; we were too much in need of air. And then, that fence. Why was it there? Obviously, to keep someone in or someone out. Even Italians don鈥檛 erect wire fences without a reason. We at once decided to join those on the outside for, being prisoners of war, we had a strong aversion to being on the inside looking out.

But what a night; as black as a coal cellar it was. I鈥檒l never forget it, neither will my friend. For weeks (so I thought), we struggled on in the pouring rain, through ploughed fields and olive grove, leaping across streams or walking through them, colliding with obstructions or falling over them. The heavy going sapped our energies in no time, until in the end, I cannot truthfully say that we climbed walls at all, but simply fell over them, or if too high for that, struggled to the top and rolled down the other side. I remember walking along a cart track, which appeared to have no ending. And my friend, after checking our compass course, strode casually over a wall about one foot high. My loud guffaws on this memorable occasion did nothing to improve his temper, and as a result, I was presented with a compass and told to lead on. But that compass! What a boon it was 鈥� worth more than its weight in gold, although it always insisted on saying north, instead of east; or south instead of east. Seldom did it agree with directions travelled. But without its assistance, we鈥檇 have been hopelessly lost. Our course that night, if it could be worked out on paper (and I鈥檓 positive it could not), would have leaked something like a series of flies鈥� legs and question marks. Very irregular flies鈥� legs and question marks they鈥檇 have to be too. But at long last, our journey did come to an avid end. It would be about 4.20 a.m. We were passing through one of the innumerable olive groves at the time, when a small white conical building was seen a few yards to our left. Had the place not bee whitewashed, it would have passed unnoticed. Further investigation found it to have a thatched roof. There were no windows, but I discovered a door. It was locked by means of a chain and padlock. A little brute force soon provided a key and we went inside. When the door was closed, I struck a match and looked around me. It was a queer place we were in. There was a well in one corner and a fireplace in the other, but what cheered us more than anything was the sight of a huge store of wood, stacked against the walls. 鈥淭his is it,鈥� I said, 鈥渢he one place we have been looking for.鈥�

Within a few minutes, a fire was blazing in the grate and the place looked much more cheery and comfortable too. The earthenware jar, still intact after the many shocks it had received during the night, was once again filled with water and placed on the fire. More and more wood was added to the fire. Sitting there, close to its warmth, I looked across at my companion. He was in a sorry state. From head to feet he was plastered in mud. His feet looked about ten times too big for his body. Reverting my gaze to myself, I noticed that I too was in such a condition. I couldn鈥檛 see my boots and my overalls, especially around the knees and elbows were thick with mud.

Looking up suddenly, I beheld my friend with a grin on his face. 鈥淚f only your wife could see you now Sleuth,鈥� he said, the grin extending to his ears, 鈥渟he wouldn鈥檛 know you.鈥� I had to grin too, not only at the remark, but also at the grin on his face. I then replied, 鈥淨uite true I don鈥檛 doubt, but if your mother could see YOU now, she鈥檇 probably disclaim relationship.鈥� This remark opened up the way for further skitting, and by the time our brew was ready, we were beginning to forget the rough time we鈥檇 just been through. That brew certainly warmed us up. We then decided to dry our clothing. I removed my boots and socks. Placing the socks near the fire to dry out, I took out my pocketknife and began digging through the mud surrounding my footwear. My companion did the same with his and when the operation had been completed successfully, we placed them (the boots) near the fire. I then began to remove my overalls. As I did so, I saw something fall to the ground. It was the broccoli, though in such a dilapidated condition, that I cannot say it resembled anything edible. In fact, I was just about to pitch it onto the fire when my colleague stopped me. 鈥淕ive it to me,鈥� he said, 鈥渋t鈥檒l be alright when it鈥檚 washed.鈥� I was going to argue this point with him when I remembered that I had no need to eat any unless I wished. I handed it over and saw my companion and saw him add it to two more similar specimens.

Other parts to this story can be found at:
Pt 1鈥︹��.
A4121605

Pt 2鈥︹�︹��
A4121632

Pt 3鈥︹��..
A4121650

Pt 5鈥︹��..
A4121687

Pt 6鈥︹��..
A4121696

Pt 7鈥︹��..
A4121713

Pt 8鈥︹��..
A4121722

Pt 9鈥︹��.
A4187955

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