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This story has been submitted to the People’s War website by Anne Wareing of the Lancashire Home Guard on behalf of Ernest Frederick Acton and has been added to the site with his permission….

One night in Sicily 1943.

My Company (237. (H) Field Company. R.E.) landed in Southern Sicily at first light, we had our transport on the landing craft, though of course we had to get up the beach and into a field of almond trees to await the trucks, as usual we had no idea where we were.

The Company was attached to a Battalion of the Lancashire Fusiliers, part of the 78th U.K. Infantry Division and they had pushed ashore ahead of us, hoping as we found out to cause a threat to the Germans who were occupied around Catonia which was flat and good tank country, once more we were heading for the hills.

Our Lieutenant unfortunately went a bit too far in his armoured Daimler and went over a mine, however only shaken, he and his driver returned on foot, not a good start, thought I.

The Germans in their wisdom considered that it was almost impossibility for an attack to be made through the mountain pass. No good for tanks, one miserable road winding up to the village of Centuripe and twisting down to Bronte and Randazzo.

However the Lancashire Fusiliers climbed up the rocks, took the village and the enemy woke up to the fact there was trouble brewing if we carried on round Mount Etna.

It was impossible to move on the road down the Bronte in the daylight and the bridge had gone, though it would not have taken the tanks, but the river at the bottom was fordable and the Engineers had made the ford acceptable to the soft transport ie: ammunition trucks, ambulances, 25 pounder guns etc.

The infantry attacked, crossed the river and dug in on the far side. The Engineers, ammunition, supplies all waited on the road up to Centuripe until dark. There was already one R.E. Company down on the ford, we were assigned to pass through and deal with mines etc. and other obstacles.

The road down to Bronte was soon packed with vehicles, it was pitch black, progress was extremely slow. A three ton truck passed going up to the advanced dressing station at Centuripe. Two sappers were holding a body wrapped in a blanket Sergeant Smethurst R, E. from our sister company now down on the ford, killed by a mortar.

Progress continued slowly until quite suddenly a shell exploded somewhere down the road, then another and afterwards at intervals. An ammunition wagon exploded and other vehicles were hit, the night was light with burning vehicles and to add to the general panic the screams of the wounded could be heard.

I realized it would be better not to take the usual course of evasion, ‘the ditch’ as the vehicles were nose to tail, the best would be to get away from the road and take a chance in the fields. The shells were now dropping higher up the road and getting uncomfortably near; I jumped over the ditch and ran into the open.

Almost immediately a figure staggered out of the gloom and had obviously been wounded, he came towards me and fell asking for help, it was difficult to see where he had been hit, however it was soon obvious that the side of his head and one arm near the shoulder had been caught by shrapnel and both wounds were bleeding profusely. He wanted water.

The night was not so dark now as the trucks that were burning were helping a bit. I took out my field dressing and tackled the facial wound and bound it round the head as tight as possible then using his field dressing did the same with the arm, hoping to stem the flow of blood. He drank from my water bottle and I followed suit, the neck of the bottle was covered in blood.

I now had to get him across the field and up to where the road bent round and hope a vehicle would take him to the dressing station. The shells were dropping to close for comfort and waiting for a lull I set off, half carrying him as best I could.

On the way he told me his name was Preston and that he was a compressor driver in my unit, I did not know him. We made reasonable progress only stopping to get down when the shelling resumed until we were near the road. I saw there was a jeep to the right, headed for it and found two young officers who helped to lift Preston on to the rear, which had a flat area.

I offered to accompany my comrade, but they said it was not necessary; they turned the jeep round and went. That was the last I saw of him.

The German artillery (88mm) must have been situated behind the next hill and were almost like Howitzers, it was possible to hear the gunfire before the shells landed and I heard the next lot. I dived straight in to the ditch and laid flat. The shell landed just above and on top of the bank, I was enveloped in the debris and smelt of the explosive, but miraculously not hit.

It went quiet, I got up and found two lads wandering on the road, they had been wounded in the back and wanted the dressing station. I gave them directions and off they went, probably thinking I was a ghost. My problem now was to go down the hill to my unit, which should be at the bottom.

The shelling was now more sporadic and I started of down the field, keeping away from the road; then came the next salvo. I hurled myself to the ground just short of a weapon slit already occupied, but I could just get my head in, the shrapnel hit me in the side and went through my webbed belt, it hurt a bit, but I had no field dressing, having used it on Sapper Preston.
So stuffing my handkerchief under my belt over the wound, I got up and proceeded down the hill and joined my section.

Sometime later I asked how Sapper Preston had got on, but nobody knew until quite by chance I went to H.Q.R.E. and found out that the two officers had not taken him to the Field Dressing Station, but dropped him off at the Headquarters. He had died from loss of blood from his wounds.

I had a small wound where the shrapnel had gone in and out, not worth worrying about. Sapper Preston is buried in the military cemetery at Catonia.

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