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(Many months later we heard that The Mahrattas and Camerons did not surrender and continued to fight for another 36 hours, but with the H.Q. captured they had to cease resistance).
Later that evening we were given permission to attempt a breakout through the enemy lines which encircled us. On completion of the destruction of all our weapons, transport,food stocks, and anything of use to an enemy, Sgt. Cameron, Sgt. Campbell, and I made our way through the darkness, over the anti-tank ditch, through the minefield, and groups of sleeping Germans and Italians in the direction of a place in the desert where we thought friendly troops were still holding out. At sunrise, we lay hidden in a sand dune for the rest of the day where a short distance away, the crew of a German tank carried out track repairs. Fortunately they moved away before we continued our walk for the second night. Eventually, we found the place we were looking for, but it had ben abandoned. Feeling very thirsty following the exposure to the heat and our long walk we began to look around for anything which could contain water. Among the debris of war we found an upturned British steel helmet containing dirty washing water. We drank this ignoring the horrible taste of soap. Further seaches and the kicking of old tins and drums provided nothing of use. We lay on the ground exhausted and fell asleep after our tiring walk.
We awoke to the sounds of shouts, engines revving close by, and the approach of excited Italians with levelled rifles, who proved to be with an armoured division which had halted at this place before our arrival. Obviously they had heard us making a noise during the night. They told us to raise our hands while they plundered the soap, razor and towel from our haversacks. They thought we were parachutists glancing at our balmorals with the tartan patch, jeering at us about their capture of Tobruk. I had picked up a little of their language previously when working with Italian prisoners of war but I kept quiet. Sgt. Cameron said he would try to escape, but when they told us to run towards one of their trucks, he fell to the ground. Once they noticed his wounds they were more aimable towards us. To cries of "Per te, la guerra e finito"!we climbed on to the vehicle realising that in spite of our efforts we were now prisoners of war. A few miles onwards we met a German motorised column returning from the battle area. A German Officer seeing us with the Italians ordered us in perfect English, to leave them and board one of his trucks. This was one of ours being towed by a large covered lorry. Back we went towards Tobruk in this convoy creating clouds of dust which gave us the idea to escape when it grew dark, when we would jump clear.It was our bad luck to reach a prisoner of war cage before dusk where we joined many other unfortunates like ourselves. Then followed a journey of about 250 miles huddled together on the rear of an open top Italian 10 tonner, without food or drink. We arrived at Benghasi - the enemy's main port - where we joined hundreds of Allied prisoners in a camp overlooking the docks, but where due to the lack of tent space I became separated from my companions. We learnt we would be boarding a ship en route for Italy, and it was with mixed feelings of delight when the port was bombed that night with spectacular results by the R.A.F, and apprehension for the morrow when we would be in those docks. We spent an uncomfortable night !!
Next morning we descended a ladder into the hold of a cargo vessel down below the water line. The hatches were then closed over us. Although the hold was clean, the heat was stifling for the hundreds of us down there. We had an escort of Italian Destroyers but our thoughts were of the location of our own submarines known to be operating in these waters. After a day and a half in those miserable conditions without food or water, we arrived at the port of Brindisi in Italy. Then we marched to the station where we crowded on to goods wagons en route for Bari, and a prisoner of war camp. On the other side of the barbed wire I met our Commanding Officer - Col. C.S. Duncan - for a short chat. He thought he was to be flown out to Germany, while I was destined for a camp in Italy. As Bari was a transit camp we marched out to a railway station, along the streets lined with curious crowds of locals who gave vent to their feelings by jeering and shouting what I understood to be obscenities towards us. At the station waited the usual goods wagons into which we were herded in groups of about forty to a wagon. The journey was long, hot, and uncomfortable, but it was a relief when we reached the station at a small village of Fara Sabina North East of Rome, where after another tiring march we arrived at a new tented camp, built to accomodate about 2,000 prisoners of War.
The layout of this camp was typical of many in Italy, with tents in long rows, each large enough to accomodate over 100 men, with provision for two tier wooden bunks, and pilliases filled with straw, and two thin blankets to ward off the cold Italian winter to come. The perimeter consisted of a double wire fence about 12 feet high, with a trip wire, and towers at intervals, each occupied by an armed sentry. At night the fences were illuminated by powerful electric lamps. A few water taps were provide for ablutions but no facilities for a hot shower or bath. The lavatories were just a long board with holes therein, where one sat above a deep trench with no means of privacy - the whole contraption was screened from the rest of the camp by a low fence. After prolonged use, the smell can well be imagined on spite of the use of disinfectant. Food consisted of a "soup" containing all manner of unknown vegetables with bits of macaroni floating about. This was served out of a large metal drum twice a day, one ladle from the bottom and one from the top.(One thick one thin)!! Once a week we received a small piece of cheese made from sheep's milk, about three inches long, by one inch wide and the thickness of a finger. There was a daily issue of coarse bread in the shape of a small bun. It was many months before the arrival of Red Cross food parcels from home - without which some of us may not have survived. With time to reflect on the circumstances of my capture, the over riding feeling was one of humiliation and frustration. Most of the battalion must have been split up into several camps. I did not know any of the very small number of Camerons here. We were a mixed crowd of Allied Forces including Royal Navy, and R.A.F. With the increase of air activity, we were joined by American crews of bombers shot down over targets nearby. In due course we moved into newly built brick barracks, and an escape tunnel started, beds and beddings remained as before. At least we now had electric light of sorts, and life improved with the arrival of Red Cross food parcels at the rate of one parcel between four men, without which we would have been in a sorry state. Uniforms arrived which were a godsend as we were still wearing our kharki drill shirts and shorts. One of the new buildings was made into a theatre. and a stage made out of Red Cross packing cases together with stage furniture. Very professional looking stage props were made, and the whole stage front stained a deep walnut colour with the use of imitation "coffee" filched from the Italians. House and stage lighting (as far as I can remember), was controlled by the use of a dimmer switch. raising and lowering an insulated metal rod connected to the mains supply, into a can of
salted water. Very effective but rather lethal I think !! Variety shows were performed to a very high standard. and on receipt of professional scripts from home, many well known plays were produced at regular intervals. Lectures on many subjects, and language classes were enjoyed by many. A small group of prisoners visited our barrack rooms to give play readings behind a raised blanket or curtain, complete with sound effects which allowed our imagination to soar beyond the barbed wire fence. Our conversations were sparked off by many rumours (better known as "latrineagrams") as many seemed to originate in the toilet area. These would consist of an invasion of Italy, food, and our eventual release and what we would do when we got back home. The subject of escape came up quite often especially after I discussed an idea with an Australian Pilot.Chatting one day he noticed the Italian planes passing low over the camp, from an airfiled not so far away. He reckoned we could get out of camp under the wire at night, approach the airfield and we would lie up and observe activities. We would steal an aircraft which would be fuelled and ready for take off. We would then fly due south to a beach on the North African coast in friendly territory. A piece of cake !! The more we talked it over the more we confident we became. But we were overtaken by events.
9th, September 1943. In the early hours we awoke to find the guards had vanished from their watch towers. Our Senior Officer was called to the Commandant's offce where he was informed that the Italian Government had agreed to an armistice, but German forces were still fighting the Allies who had invaded the southern coast from Sicily. He offered to arrange for a group of his Officers to lead us all over the mountains towards the advancing Allies. His offer was declined and soon groups of prisoners had cut the wire fences, and in British uniform were streaming out into the countryside. Taking what small items I could carry, I joined with a group of my friends and left through the gap in the wire. We pushed on as fast as we could to make as much distance from the camp before nightfall. The trees were useful cover as we climbed the hills through the undergrowth, towards the first village near the top,while we heard the Germans were in pursuit, as shots were fired as they rounded up stragglers. We kept low out of sight while spotter planes and troops searched for us during the day. At dusk we approached villages for food and shelter, but declined offers of shelter indoors, but that night and many night thereafter we slept in pig stys and cattle barns, glad of the cover from the winter cold and rain. The first few days we avoided main roads on which German vehicles could be seen making their way south, as we made slow progress from village to village, further from the camp. In the evening twilight as we lay down from a days walk hidden in the undergrowth. we experienced the first of many surprises. From a village below, emerged small groups of young women carrying baskets containing slices of bread, fruit,, and carafes of local wine. They made their way towards the kharki figures in the long grass, to deposit at least one basket to each group or leave several items from large white scarves. These were the relatives of our previous enemy who had voluntarily come to our aid for which we were very grateful, but it was hard to understand why they should be so kind. Perhaps the historical bonds between America, Great Britain, and Italy indicated where their true allegiance lay.
It was a risk to remain in such a large group in one place for long as there were many troop movements in the vicinity. It was asking for capture, so we agreed to split up. I became the odd man out by choice as I knew winter was approaching fast where the battle lines were a formidable obstacle and three main bridges would be well guarded. Consequently, I considered it prudent to lie low until better weather arrived in the Spring. So I said goodbye to my friends.
I met an old Italian who gave me shelter in his barn and said the Germans were making dawn searches for escaped prisoners and a reward offered for information leading to their capture. The local population were in fear of their lives now several prisoners had been found in houses and reprisals taken against the owners. It was dangerous to remain so I moved on. Then I met Antonio who had a small holding and vinyard. He suggested a change of clothing into civilian coat and trousers. While I hid in his shed, his wife took my trousers and dyed them black, removing all the brass buttons and patch pockets. With a civilian type shirt I'd received in a parcel from home,( and a jacket, a pair of German boots, and an old Italian Army greatcoat, topped off with a broad brimmed hat provided by my new friends), I adopted the disguise of a typical Italian peasant ! Not once did it occur to me that I was liable to be shot if found as an escapee out of uniform . My hair was darkened with olive oil, and my military identity discs and other items of a personal nature were buried in a hole nearby.

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