大象传媒

Submitted by Bill Ross of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� on behalf of Ralph Corps (deceased), and was added with his relatives' permission. They fully understand the site's terms and conditions.
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For some time, we busied ourselves in the cleaning of our overalls, making a clothes line, performing our ablutions, drying socks and underclothing near the fire, but by about 5.30 a.m., things were looking more shipshape and my friend, after dragging a piece of flat boarding near the fireplace, got down to sleep. I got down at his side and tried to do the same. It was hopeless, and though I was dog-tired, I couldn鈥檛 sleep. In the end, I gave it up as a bad job. I sat up and for some time, contented myself with watching the steam rising from my drying overalls and listening to the rain falling outside the shelter.
Dawn found my companion snoring gently. I moved very quietly to the door, cautiously opened it a few inches and looked out. There was a low wall about 30 yards away; beyond it was another olive grove. Except for the pattering of the rain on the ground, everything was quiet. Stooping, I passed through the now opened door and was about to stroll around to the side, when I stopped dead. In the next olive grove and about 100 yards away, gently shielded by some olive trees, was an Italian Red Cross wagon. Quickly, I slipped back into the doorway and watched. After about ten minutes observation, I felt pretty certain that there was no one in the wagon. At least, there was no movement. I decided to continue my tour of inspection and although the ground was sopping wet, I got down on my hands and knees. You know, sometimes it seems as though the odds are piled so heavily against you that you wonder if it鈥檚 worthwhile continuing to struggle, for I had only wriggled myself forward about a couple of yards, when my heart jumped into my mouth. There, less than 60 yards away and in the same olive grove as myself, was a huge pile of wooden crates covered by camouflage. But that鈥檚 not all. A little further away and slightly to the right was a long row of army tents, and then yet another row. My enthusiasm for the escape was already on the wave, we had received yet another severe blow.
All those tents? Equipment camouflaged in olive groves? Red Cross wagons? And there, much further away, a group of tethered horses, also in an olive grove. There was only one answer, a battalion or a brigade headquarters. This indeed was a lair鈥檚 den to be in. Using yet more caution, crawled stealthily round our abode. There were no more signs of military habitation. I shouldn鈥檛 have been surprised if there had been 鈥� had Mussolini himself been sitting at the back of our shelter. I believe I could have taken it with a grain of salt.

Slipping back into the shelter, I found my partner awake and in the act of putting more wood on the fire. 鈥淒on鈥檛 do that!鈥� I exclaimed, 鈥淢usso鈥檚 black brigade is outside. 鈥淲hat鈥檙e you talking about?鈥� said my friend, looking up from his task, 鈥渢rying to be funny I suppose.鈥� 鈥淣ot on your life,鈥� I replied, 鈥済o outside and see for yourself.鈥�

He went and in a few minutes, he was back and sitting by my side. 鈥淥ur luck was certainly in when we spotted this place last night Sleuth,鈥� said he. I could make nothing of this. 鈥淥ur luck was in?鈥� I repeated, perhaps a little indignantly.
鈥淵es!鈥� 鈥淲hat d鈥檡ou mean, our luck was in?鈥� I demanded, now very indignantly. 鈥淲e ought to have treated this place like a quarantine ship.鈥�

Yes, I agree, had we known of what was ahead, but last night, we couldn鈥檛 see, remember? And our compass course would have taken us slap bang into that first line of tents. 鈥淭hat would have meant playing hide and seek with more sentries and鈥︹�� continued my friend, driving home the wedge, 鈥渢his time we might not have been so lucky.鈥�

Yes, there was no doubt about that, it was quite true what he had said. Perhaps we were lucky to find this place when we did. Old Mother Luck had certainly had us under her wing the night before. Hadn鈥檛 she safely escorted us past the Iti sentry in Gioia? And just as we were about to run headlong into disaster, hadn鈥檛 we found our present hideout? Yes! Reviewing the situation, I had to agree that our luck had been in. Still, we were on unsafe ground and I shuddered to think of what might have happened had we gone straight on and blundered into that Italian camp.

The rain continued as we talked things through, and we decided, in spite of our position, to keep the fire going throughout the day. There would not be much smoke from dry wood and our overalls and boots were still very wet. As my friend said, 鈥渋t鈥檚 better to have a fire and risk detection than shiver away in the cold and risk pneumonia.鈥� And so, the fire, which in the meantime had burnt very low, was again made up and in a little time, the shelter looked its own cheery self once again. My friend prepared breakfast while I fixed the shelter door so that it could not be opened by anyone attempting to enter. Things outside were forgotten and we ate our breakfast. When the meal was over, we decided to try to get some sleep. We both slept well and 1 p.m. found us both preparing another meal.

My companion, having now completely recovered from his attack of Malaria, proposed that we should eat the main meal of the day now instead of in the evening as had been usual. I acceded to his request. First, we had our usual jar of porridge, and then, when the earthenware jar had been washed out and refilled, it was again placed onto the fire. The three broccolis were cleaned and cut up and placed in the pot. Not being the best of cooks, we had put too much water in the jar and when adding the broccoli, nearly put the fire out. But that was only of minor importance. When cooked, they made a really good meal. I admit that the absence of salt was noticed at the time and that they tasted a bit earthy, but such things mean absolutely nothing to prisoners of war. They did help to fill the void and that was the main thing. For the remainder of the afternoon, we spent our time by the fireside drying our clothing and talking about the night to come.

Occasionally, I made a trip to the door and looked out. The rain continued, the prospects never too good and neither of us was looking forward to another night鈥檚 travel in the pouring rain. The weather we were experiencing at this stage would have been alright when we reached the aerodrome, but right now, what we wanted were clear nights and dry ground. Such were the subjects of our conversation as the hours passed away. By 6 p.m. that evening, our clothing was deemed to be sufficiently dry, and having dressed, we prepared our evening meal. It had previously been agreed that we should not move off until about 9 p.m. By taking this precaution, we hoped to escape detection by any Italian soldiers who may be loitering in the vicinity. In addition, we did not intend to follow our usual compass course east, but travel south or southeast for the first half hour or so, and thus leave the camp on our left.

9 p.m. arrived, the rain had nearly stopped and a fresh breeze was blowing. Outside the hut, we stood for several minutes to accustom our eyes to the darkness and to listen for any unusual noises. Nothing was heard; satisfied, we moved off. As on the previous night, the going was heavy, and in consequence, our progress was slow. We were exceedingly cautious too, being always on the alert for sentry boxes, tents and the like. About half an hour later, knowing that the camp had been left sufficiently behind, we switched back to our originals; compass course, that is, towards the east. The rain had stopped, the breeze was freshening and there was just cause to believe that there was a good night鈥檚 travel in front of us without getting drenched; excepting the feet of course which were already wet through.

Our path lay through a succession of olive groves with houses here and there which had to be avoided. Owing to the darkness of the night however, we frequently found ourselves right on top of buildings (figuratively speaking) before knowing they were there. This was because of the olive trees. And it so happened that just after 10 p.m. we were trudging along through one olive grove, when we came very suddenly, upon a large house surrounded by many trees. Neither of us saw the place until we were close to a large iron gate with a drive passing through. Perhaps it was a manor or a hall of some kind. I don鈥檛 know, we didn鈥檛 stop to investigate, but moved away to the right. Silently, we picked our way along the side of a wall and eventually came to another wall, which burdened our progress. Climbing it, we dropped down on the other side and were walking along what appeared to be a lawn, when my friend clutched my arm and pointed to the left. Abruptly, my heart contracted. Ahead and slightly to my left was a very dim light, or probably it would be better described if I said the glow of a light, on the side of a very large building. But what brought me to a sudden standstill was not the glow of that light. Oh no! It was an object placed between it. A small conical shaped box, just sufficiently large for a man to stand in. I held my breath; that box and lamp could mean only one thing 鈥� an Italian sentry box. And what was more was that there was a sentry in that box. Maybe there were more of them loitering in the grounds. We at once went into reverse. In a few moments, we were back in the shadows of the wall we had climbed over only a minute before. We stood and watched; because of an angle in the walls of the building, we had not seen the dim light on the box until we had been near. Now, from our position against the wall, both box and light were out of view.

鈥淢ost probably a command headquarters,鈥� whispered my friend, 鈥渁t any rate, that house must be of some importance, they don鈥檛 put sentry boxes in the grounds for nothing, do they?鈥� I didn鈥檛 reply at the time. A few moments later we were back on the side of the wall and moving away from the place. For some time, we proceeded in a southerly direction, and then having checked my compass course, moved eastwards. After changing direction, I should think we had gone about another 150 yards when we came to a fairly high wall. My friend went over first, and I, moving further to the left, commenced to do the same. I launched myself into space; body bending slightly forward from the waist, legs splayed out to take the shock of landing; mouth shut like a rat trap to prevent finishing up with my tongue in my hand. Well, it seemed to me that I鈥檇 only just initiated that jump when there was a yell of pain. My legs folded up like a jack knife and something like a 60 pounder exploded on the bridge of my nose. For a second, the darkness was brilliantly illuminated by an unimaginable number of star shells. The next moment, all the air was knocked out of my lungs as I hit the ground on the flat of my back.

As if from a mile away, I heard someone grunt angrily, 鈥淲hat the devil d鈥檡ou think you鈥檙e doing Sleuth? Couldn鈥檛 you see me standing there?鈥� I replied, 鈥淣o,鈥� very indignantly, and removed the earthenware jar from the nape of my neck. It was not broken (the jar I mean) and I struggled to my feet. Gingerly, I felt for my nose. It was all there, probably a little more if anything and although it hurt, I was pleased to find it in its allotted position. I wiped the tears from my eyes, blew my nose and sat down near the wall, by the side of my partner. He had a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat. It appears that he had seen me on the wall, silhouetted against the dim background of the sky, and had thought quite naturally, that I could see him. My jump had taken him completely by surprise; according to him, my nose had collided with his head; an explanation which at once accounts for the explosion of the 60 pounder and the illuminating star shells. He was unhurt.

When I had sufficiently recovered, we again moved on. Later in the evening, just after midnight, we came upon a cart track, which suited our compass course. The sky began to lighten somewhat. As we pushed on along the track, I noticed that the countryside was steadily changing from olive groves to pasture land. There were many hills and a few villages to negotiate. We pushed on with all speed. If there was a cart track or road suiting our course, we used it. Roads and tracks meant easier travelling and although the orders compiled by us back in the prison camp forbade us to use roads, we neglected the orders and pushed on. By this time, we were little interested in orders made, more especially with regard to travel, for if we were to reach Brinsini within the allotted 12 days, then we had to increase our rate of progress. By making use of roads, we were taking some risks but villages now were becoming few and far between, so our rate of progress increased. We always quit the roads when nearing a village of any kind, even the smallest. We went into the countryside, made a deviation, then returned to the road. Sometimes, the roads did not suit our course at all and on these occasions, we were compelled to revert to an old practice of travelling in the open country. After 2 a.m., we struck a good second-class road. It suited our course admirably, and although occasionally, it would veer a little to the north, or south, we stuck to it.

Somewhere around 4.30 a.m. we quit the road and entered into the open land in quest for a suitable place to hide. It was a very difficult task indeed, for although we explored the countryside in every direction, we were unable to find any likely place for shelter. The result was that towards dawn, we found ourselves back once again on the road. It started to rain. Quitting the road, we went left this time and along a cart track. Another 20 minutes would see it daylight. Farmers would now be up and about, so at the first opportunity, we left the track and walked briskly towards a copse between the road and a farmhouse. It was the only place that appeared to offer any hope of salvation. We arrived at the group of trees and basically climbed a wall and entered the copse. The rain came down faster. In a few minutes, we had completed our exploration. There was no shelter; the prospect of spending the day in pouring rain was not very alluring. We were both feeling very dejected too as we sat down at the base of a tree to gain a little shelter from the rain.

For some minutes, we sat there, when suddenly, my friend exclaimed hopefully, 鈥淟et鈥檚 build one! There are plenty of stones lying about.鈥� It was the only thing we could do. We set to, using stones to build a wall and branches for the roof. Very soon we had a little place ready. When completed, it didn鈥檛 look much like a shelter, more like a heap of stones with a wigwam kind of top looking as though it would collapse at any moment. After a few body manoeuvres, we managed to get inside. There was just sufficient room for us to lie down side by side. However, ten minutes inside that shelter was more than sufficient to convince us both that branches do not make good roofs. The rain was pouring in; my partner was making an attempt to evade one of the waterspouts overhead. The shelter objected to his sudden movement and collapsed.
We stood up among the wreckage and strolled over to a tree and sat down. As we sat there, we became colder and colder until in the end, we decided to disregard the rain (we were wet through anyway) and walk about to try and get warm.

Other parts to this story are at:
Pt 1鈥︹��.
A4121605

Pt 2鈥︹�︹��
A4121632

Pt 3鈥︹��..
A4121650

Pt 4鈥︹��..
A4121678

Pt 6鈥︹��..
A4121696

Pt 7鈥︹��..
A4121713

Pt 8鈥︹��..
A4121722

Pt 9鈥︹��.
A4187955

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