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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My companion went away towards the top of the copse and I proceeded south to do a little more exploring. Perhaps I would find someplace that had escaped detection during the half-light earlier in the morning. I found nothing and began to retrace my steps, when I saw my partner running towards me.

鈥淭here鈥檚 a good hideout over there in the next field,鈥� he said, pointing out its position. This was good news; together we proceeded to the top end of the copse. He showed me the place. Yes, it was just what we required, but it was going to be a difficult job getting there without being seen. There was a farmhouse not far away and anyone there would be able to see every move we made.

The shelter was only about 120 yards from the copse, but to approach it, it would be necessary to go across a wheat field. There was no cover whatever and no other way of reaching the shelter. We studied the situation, should we run across the intervening space? Definitely not! Such a procedure would most certainly attract attention. No! We must not run, it would be better to walk across.

For some minutes we watched the farmhouse in question. There was little movement. We waited until the coast was clear and began walking across the field. A dog at the farmhouse barked. We took no notice. A man shouted from the direction of the house. Still we took no notice and carried on walking. A man leapt out of the farm buildings and began to move in our direction, then two more followed. Walking casually along, we passed the shelter; all thoughts of staying there were now forgotten. A wall hindered our progress. We climbed it and found ourselves on a cart track. It led from the farmhouse to the second-class road along which we had walked the previous night. Turning towards the road and away from the farm, we accelerated our speed and walked briskly along. It was no use, our pursuers commenced to run and in a very short time, we were overtaken. The elder of the men spoke to us. He spoke very rapidly. I couldn鈥檛 understand one word he was saying and from the blank look on my companion鈥檚 face, it was clear to me that he comprehended about the same amount. I spoke to the man in what I hoped might be mistaken for German. He at once replied, 鈥淐antu di identitu?鈥� Even without a knowledge of Italian, there鈥檚 no mistaking those words, so, turning away from the man to prevent him from seeing the colour of my uniform beneath the overalls, I produced my army pay book.
Meanwhile, I continued with my imitated German. Our interrogator turned over a few leaves of the book and studied the pages. From the blank look on his face, I don鈥檛 suppose he could even read them. . He appeared very undecided what to do and said something to one of the other Italians present. From the conversation that ensued, I gathered that they had been warned to be on the look out for escaped prisoners. My companion understood the same. They would not let us proceed. After all, our appearances didn鈥檛 help matters at all. No shave for three days, boots and overalls dirty from the rain and mud we had ploughed through, both without hats and me with the earthenware jar slung over my shoulder. Yes, they certainly had just cause to detain us. We must have looked like a couple of disreputable individuals to those Italians. The elder Italian who appeared to be the owner of the farm we had seen, indicated the house. The game was up, we didn鈥檛 attempt any resistance. That would have been foolish. Moving along in front of our captors, we walked towards the farm. My friend was walking along beside me, but slightly in front. I had to grin when I saw one of our captors trying to accelerate his speed with a push in the back. My friend stopped walking, turned round suddenly and gave that Iti one of the most contemptuous looks I鈥檝e ever seen, full of malice, aforethought and all that. It was sufficient, the Italian didn鈥檛 attempt to repeat his action and we continued our leisurely stroll towards the house. Arriving there, they led us into a stable. Two chairs were produced and we sat down. A few minutes after arriving, the farmer鈥檚 wife, with tears streaming down her face, presented us with a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread and filled our pockets with home made biscuits. Why she should have been crying, I鈥檝e no idea, but crying she was and in no half hearted manner either. It made us both feel a little uncomfortable. However, our appetites prevailed and we set to and ate a really good meal. More and more people appeared. They seemed to be a little afraid of us, yet they were all very kind and we did not encounter any hostile looks. Many of them spoke in whispers to each other, especially the women folk, probably thinking that we would object to them conversing if they made too much noise. Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the stable and an Italian officer closely followed by a little Italian soldier appeared on the scene. Waving a heavy Luger pistol around his head, the officer shouted in broken English, 鈥淚 arrest you 鈥� you are my prisoners.鈥� People in the stable, at the sound of his voice, scattered in all directions. Any attempt to speak to the officer in English was to no avail. I discovered during the time that followed that the few words he had spoken were the only English words he knew. . He searched us and appeared satisfied, then ushered us out of the building and onto a cart track. The road could be seen about a quarter of a mile away and the track we were now on was parallel to the road. All the farm people trailed along. Some 200 yards further along the track, the officer stopped and pointed to the wall at the side. We sat down. There took place between the officers and the followers, who were increasing as the minutes passed, what I could only describe as a very fierce argument. There was much shouting and gesticulating and waving of arms (in which the pistol played a prominent part), but finally, the officer appeared to get his way, and away went five men, along the track, around a bend and out of sight. In the interval that followed, I removed the pair of laces from the earthenware jar and tossed it over the wall to my rear, into the field. Some time later, three horses and cabs arrived and we were piled into the second vehicle. The officer was undecided where to ride, whether between his prisoners or at the side. My friend advised him, in English, to ride on the horse, but he didn鈥檛 appear to understand. In the end, he decided to ride between us, though it was plain that he was a trifle nervous. He edged away from me and nearer to my companion, thus giving his pistol arm more liberty of movement. Perhaps he thought I might try and take his pistol from him. I do not think it would have been difficult. But what should I gain if I were to do so? Absolutely nothing. These were my thoughts as the cab moved off. The three cabs moved very slowly along the track. The farmer鈥檚 wife, still crying, waved to us as we left. Our cab went ahead some thirty yards and another kept the same distance to our rear. The one behind had the little Italian soldier aboard. We arrived at the main road and our convoy turned left and then proceeded along for about two miles. At a roadside farm, our cab was stopped and we were signalled to descend. We did so and followed the officer into the farmyard. There was some little delay here while the horses were stabled. My companion and I were the centre of great curiosity,

I鈥檓 not certain, but I suppose that they鈥檇 never before seen a British soldier. Anyway, they gathered round. The way they whispered among themselves and the timid way they approached us to look at our uniforms gave me that impression. And I鈥檓 not inclined to think that all Italian people are imbeciles. The officer, leaving the little soldier to guard us, disappeared into the farmhouse for some minutes and then reappeared looking very fresh and much smarter. He smelled like a barber鈥檚 shop. We were wrenched out of the farm and onto the road. Here, the officer indicated that we were to march in front of him towards a town, which could be seen about a mile ahead. We were walking as ordered by the officer on the crown of the roads, therefore, any vehicles approaching were obliged to stop until the procession had passed. I use the word procession because before we had gone a quarter of a mile, about a hundred people were trailing along at the sides and behind us. The Italian officer escort was enjoying every minute of it. He frequently halted us to speak to the multitude. Such discourses, which took place about every 150 yards along the road, were always accompanied by much shouting and pistol waving, yet the people continued to trail along. Probably, he was not telling them to go away; in fact, I don鈥檛 believe he wished them to do so, for it was obvious to us by this time that everything was being done for effect. It would have been simpler, much simpler, to convey us into town by cab and such a procedure would not have aroused the public interest at all. Some Italians are certainly vain, and by entering the town by this method, the officer, I suppose, was trying to enhance his prestige and reputation.

Straight down the main street of the town we went. All traffic stopped. People appeared to come from nowhere. Both sides of the road were crowded with sightseers and in a little time, the road itself became thronged with people. Some were even watching the procession from the housetops. It was like Carnival Day without the flags, and I shall not be far wrong if I say that all the town turned out to see us. Our escorting officer told us in sign language to march slowly along and not to hurry. In other words, we were on show.

There were many stoppages while the officer swaggered about and shouted to the crowd. The escort itself increased considerably too as soldiers disengaged themselves from the crowd and marched along proudly by our side. We were just beginning to get a little tired of all this when we were ushered into a large building. I鈥檓 not certain, no, I wouldn鈥檛 swear to it, but I鈥檇 have eaten my socks that morning if any man could have proved to me that we hadn鈥檛 passed that self same building before, not once, but at least twice during the march.

Up numerous stairs we climbed to find ourselves in a large room. It was void of furniture, but it wasn鈥檛 void for very long. In less than a minute we could hardly breathe. Like all Italians, every man wanted to speak at once, yet sadly enough, no one seemed to know what to do with us. Through the surrounding circle of rifles and bayonets, I caught a glimpse of our escorting officer. He was standing in a low corner of the room, surrounded by a crowd of open-mouthed townspeople. The heavy Luger pistol had now disappeared, but I saw his arms describing imaginary circles around his head. He was certainly in his element. Yes, I don鈥檛 think I鈥檓 exaggerating when I say he was in his element. I turned back to my colleague to find him grinning at the object of my excitement. 鈥淚鈥檇 like to see his diary entry for this day,鈥� remarked my friend, 鈥渋t would indeed be something worth seeing.鈥�

The Italians in the room (who by the way were not composed only of men, there were several women present), kept us highly amused until an Italian officer fought his way through the crowd to our side. He spoke French, good! He was the man for the job. My companion got into conversation with him and a few minutes later, away we went, plus escort and sightseers back to ground level. Around there, we were led into another room. In the meantime however, a little negotiation had taken place, for on this occasion, only a few officers and what I took to be the town council, were given permission to enter.

It was at this stage of the proceedings that I suddenly remembered a knife tucked in my boot top. It was no ordinary implement for culinary purposes, but a very wicked looking weapon with a long pointed blade. It would have been confiscated back in the prison if it had been found and I knew that the people here would take exception if they discovered its presence. Had I had my wits about me, I鈥檇 have disposed of it, immediately after capture would have been the best time. Still, the officer at the farm had searched us, well, at least he had gone through the motions and if these people here knew of this fact, they probably wouldn鈥檛 bother to search us again. I wasn鈥檛 disposed to take chances and observing a wooden box near the opposite wall of the room, I casually strolled across and took a seat. My intention here being to dispose of the knife by sliding it between the box and the wall.. But it was not to be for I had only just begun to rummage for the knife when the Italians decided to search us. Horridly, I pushed the knife back into its original position and stood up. It was a good search; they did not ask us to remove our footwear and I almost got away with it when a young Italian officer came over to me and felt at my gaiters. He felt the bulge. As a result, I was compelled to remove my boots. You should have seen the faces of our captors, more especially the Italian officer who took charge of us at the farmhouse when the knife was produced. The finding caused some little consternation among our captors, and my friend, like me, had to remove his footwear, which revealed a compass.

All of our documents were retained for the time being and we were taken into an adjoining room where we were left in the charge of 3 Italian sentries, two of whom guarded the door. Yet even these precautions did not prevent the constant stream of visitors. Every few moments, the door would open to admit such people as the town Mayor, town clerk, surveyor, local bell ringing officers on leave and a host of other persons who had appeared to have some position of importance in the borough. I suppose I鈥檓 not certain, but I suspect we were the first British soldiers they had ever seen. When in our presence, they always spoke in whispers. They appeared to hold us in some kind of reverence, as though we were untouchables, so to speak, and were nearly all very tired when they approached to see the texture of our uniforms. All were surprised to see us wearing woollen socks and underclothing. As a point of interest, it may be worthwhile for me to mention that the Italian government did not issue under clothing or socks to their soldiers. If an Italian soldier wished to wear socks, he may do so, providing he buys them himself. The same applies to underclothing too. For this reason, our interviewers wished to make sure our socks were made of wool. In this respect, we gave them every assistance and willingly allowed them to examine our clothing.

Meanwhile, the Italian officers examined our documents in the next room and discovered we were both Warrant Officers. From that moment the good treatment increased 100%. My stock of cigarettes retained by the Italians after the search, were now readily returned to me. Towels and soap were also returned to us as was the remains of our store of food. We asked for permission to wash; it was given. They would not return our razors for the purpose of shaving.

Other parts to this story can be found at:
Pt 1鈥︹��.
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Pt 2鈥︹�︹��
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Pt 3鈥︹��..
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Pt 4鈥︹��..
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Pt 5鈥︹��..
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Pt 7鈥︹��..
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Pt 8鈥︹��..
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Pt 9鈥︹��.
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