‘SRS Embark’ – Murro Di Porco
It was with a feeling of intense and scarcely supressed excitement that we watched the banks of the Suez Canal slowly drifting past us. We had the opportunity of seeing in the distance our old camp at Kabrit to which we waved goodbye, as we steamed through the Great Bitter Lake; and as we rounded the ‘Point’ all the HMS Saunders men in the vicinity gave us a hearty wave, exchanging back chat with the Saunders’ personnel who were manning the landing craft aboard us. Many were the good wishes they shouted at us as we passed, though they must have had even less idea of where we were going than we had ourselves.
The time passed very quickly and that afternoon we arrived at Port Said, to see a great fleet of liners, cargo ships, and escort vessels assembled there, all doubtless bound for the same destination as we. Only now did we begin to realize something of the scale of the operation that was to take place shortly and in which we were to take part. All around were great ships, loaded to capacity with troops and fully equipped with landing craft and similar equipment to enable these troops to be taken ashore. The navy, too, were conspicuous, and busy little corvettes, destroyers, and landing craft were fussing around continually. Port Said is a much smaller harbour than Suez, with the result that the ships were packed much closer together, and all this helped us realize more markedly something of the size of the invasion fleet which was here being assembled.
The next day we learned that the whole invasion force was going to be allowed ashore rather than be cooped up the whole day on board their ships. For security reasons, this had naturally to be done on an organized basis, but I still do not think that the results achieved were justified by the immense amount of trouble that had to be taken to get us ashore. Firstly, all badges, decorations and regimental signs had to be removed. This seemed a rather silly precaution in itself, as I imagine that the Germans would have been far more interested in learning that there was an invasion force assembled at Port Said, and its approximate strength, than in what individual units went to make it up. But by marching through the streets of Port Said we seemed to be doing no more than to advertise our presence there, to whoever was interested, and moreover to give a very good indication of our approximate strength! We looked on the whole thing rather sceptically, and the best interpretation we could put upon it all was that Monty was so supremely confident about the ultimate success of the venture, that he really did not mind if the enemy did know we were coming.
It was quite an impressive sight. The seemingly endless column, made up of every type of unit from many nations, marched straight and erect through the broad, palm-flanked main streets of Port Said, while an awed crowd gathered to watch them as they passed. I wonder what thoughts were passing through their heads as they watched, and whether any secret radio to Germany was kept extra busy that day, as a result of this parade through Port Said.
After a lot of muddle and waiting around for a ferry to take us back to the Monarch, we eventually arrived aboard, and from then on the atmosphere was tense and expectant. We knew that we had not long to wait now, and it came as no real surprise to us when we found ourselves slipping out of the harbour about 11am the following morning and heading straight out into the blue Mediterranean. But we were far from being alone. Both ahead and astern we could see ship after ship slowly manoeuvring into position. Soon we were formed up into proper convoy formation, and hugging the coast of Egypt, we at last really started to move towards our still unknown objective.
But there was no point in keeping us in the dark any longer for security reasons about where we were going to land, for we were now out to sea and completely out of touch with any chance friend or acquaintance whom we would be likely to bump into ashore.
So it hardly came as a surprise to us to receive a little blue book telling us all that the soldier or tourist might like to know about an important island in the middle of the Mediterranean – Sicily, the stepping-stone to Europe. Many of us had thought that it might be Sicily that we were bound for, and as soon as we had received this little book which contained a large scale map of the island, all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle immediately fell into place.
From a close study of the map, we found that the little foot-shaped promontory on which we were to land, was situated on the south-east shore of the island, about 5 miles or so south of Syracuse, the capture of which port was undoubtedly one of the immediate objectives of the operation.
Officers were summoned again for final briefing and last minute aerial photographs were issued. From then on the ship was a hive of activity as we realized that we had no time to lose. The photographs were studied, discussed and interpreted both individually and collectively, and a large-scale relief model of the objective area went the round of all sections in the regiment. Right back in the days when we were at Azzib the general plan of the attack had been defined and rehearsed. This had been passed down in further detail from troop to sections, and we were now busy passing it down from sections to subsections and parties, and the individual men themselves. Large scale plans of the objective area were drawn and studied, until each man knew where he had to be, what was expected of him, and which flank to cover, at any given moment. The plan was so completely instilled in us that the whole operation, from the moment we touched the coast to the time we assaulted the gun positions, could be carried out in all its detailed intricacies without the need for a single order being given.
The photographic interpretation which we did was extremely thorough – too thorough in fact, for many far fetched and conflicting conclusions were drawn. For instance, there was one mark on the photograph which caused a lot of trouble and no one could quite decide what it was. Then it was noticed that there was a figure of a man close beside it, and this man was studied carefully to see if he could give us any indication as to the nature of the position. It was decided that if the man were running away from the position, it would most likely be an ammunition or bomb dump, while if he were running towards it, it would probably be an air raid shelter, as the arrival of the reconnaisance plane would almost certainly have caused an air raid alarm to have been sounded. The only trouble was that there was considerable difference of opinion as to which direction the figure was running, and right up to the last no definite conclusion about this point had been reached. It turned out later that we need not have troubled ourselves about this, and many other similar details, for the object in question was found on arrival to be no more than an innocent haystack!
On the practical side as well as the theoretical, we were also very busy. Our equipment had to be sorted and the weight of it carefully distributed over our bodies. Weapons had to be cleaned and loaded, grenades primed and protective coverings made for arms and ammunition to prevent them from coming to harm as the result of immersion in seawater. For this last purpose many dodges were devised. Oiled silk was issued which we sewed into little waterproof bags for our valuables and ammunition, while certain rubber articles designed for a very different purpose were placed over the muzzles of our weapons and our watches. With a final check up and fitting of our equipment, a final glance at the maps and photographs with which we had been issued, we were at last completely ready for any eventuality. We were even provided with inflatable ‘Mae West’ life belts, just in case we should have to swim for it – an uncomfortable thought considering that most of us were carrying the best part of 80lbs weight on our backs!
Once all these final preparations had been completed there was nothing left for us to do but wait and talk over the coming operation among ourselves and with our respective sections. The scene was an unbelievably peaceful one. Out of a cloudless sky the sun shone happily down on the unruffled surface of the blue-green Mediterranean. On the port horizon could be seen the dim outline of the Libyan coast, while the great ships in convoy formation moved lazily, effortlessly and imperturbably towards the enemy shores which we hoped would remain unaware of our impending arrival.
We all realized how much easier our job would be if we could make a surprise landing, but we considered this to be extremely unlikely and too much to hope for in view of the immense scale of the operation. It only needed one enemy aircraft to sight this vast mass of ships for our secret to be out and for the greater part of the surprise element to be lost. And so we kept our fingers tightly crossed during the five-day voyage, and many were the anxious glances cast into the air from time to time in the fervent hope that enemy aircraft would stay away. The tension became especially marked when we drew level with the enemy-held island of Crete, for we realized that the danger would first come from there. But by the grace of God we apparently got by completely unobserved and were unmolested during all the time we were at sea. At the height of the danger period it was reported that a four-engine reconnaissance plane, thought to be a Focke-Wulf had flown over the convoy at great height, but I never saw it myself, and the fact that we received no unwelcome attentions from enemy aircraft during the whole of the trip rather belied the report. In all probability it was one of our own bombers which caused the scare.
We learned later that the squadron that had separated from us when we left Kabrit, and which formed the SBS (Special Boat Squadron), had been given as one of its primary tasks, the job of raiding Crete with a view to keeping the planes there on the ground. It is very likely that we owed the apparent total inactivity of enemy aircraft during the whole time we were at sea to the success with which they carried out this operation.
Our feelings while we were sailing towards Sicily are hard to describe, but it is no exaggeration to say that we were extremely uncomfortable! When I became more experienced in action I grew to realize that far worse than the actual fighting itself is the period immediately preceding the engagement. During that time the waiting, the inactivity and the considerable nervous tension would completely occupy our minds, and the temptation to spend our time brooding and thinking morbid thoughts was hard to resist. It was at times like these that fear of the unknown would take the strongest hold of us. It was too easy to look at the group of faces we had come to know so well and to let the thought possess us that almost certainly there would be many we would not see again after a few days time. We knew that there was a great chance too, that we ourselves might be among the unlucky ones who would not return – we would look at all our intimate personal possessions, our photographs and letters from home – as we packed them away and wonder if we would ever see them again, and what would happen to them if we did not come back. The uncertainties and dangers of the coming D-Day filled our whole horizon, and caused us more mental torture than any hardships of battle.
These were our feelings during those tense and care-laden days before we were due to swarm up the Sicilian cliffs. We had been told that Sicily was the best-fortified island in the whole Mediterranean – a veritable fortress, with which inspecting enemy generals and commanders had expressed themselves well satisfied. And when we came to think that the task which had been allotted to us was to breach this steel wall at one of its strongest points, our natural forebodings become easy to understand. We never dreamt that we would be able to capture the battery without intense fighting, and deep down inside us was the firm belief that many of us would be expended in the effort, and would never come back.
But to counteract these very natural fears was the supreme confidence we had in our own ability, resulting from our previous thorough training. We knew that we were trained to such a degree of efficiency that we would be able to take on enemy forces greatly superior to us in number, and still win the day. All we hoped and prayed for was a speedy end to this deadly waiting and uncertainty, and a normal amount of luck and favourable conditions, to allow us to ‘show these “Itie” bastards exactly where they could get off!’
We left Port Said on the morning of 5 July and during the next three days nothing occurred to make us think that we were not on just another exercise safe in home waters. But on the afternoon of 9 July one small announcement over the ship’s broadcasting system brought us all back to reality with a jump. No longer were we going through a restless and disturbing dream, this was the real thing! The calm voice of the navigator announced, ‘If you care to look out to the starboard bow, you will just be able to make out the summit of Mount Etna, Sicily’s highest mountain.’
This simple announcement caused a stampede to the decks and there we saw clearly on the horizon a beautiful sight of the top half of this regular coneshaped volcano apparently floating on the clouds. Its lower half was completely invisible.
At the sight of this our fears and nervousness came back with a vengeance. I remember thinking to myself, ‘My God what fools! Here we are, having successfully avoided being noticed by enemy aircraft, parading our might just a few miles from the Sicilian shore in broad daylight, as if to show the enemy what is coming to them tonight.’ I don’t think I was the only one to entertain thoughts such as these at first sight of Etna.
It was then about 4pm, and I noticed with alarm how choppy and unsettled the sea was becoming. Early that morning the sun had been beating down upon us and nothing, save the white lines of foam in the wake of the fleet, disturbed the smooth unruffled beauty of the blue water. But around mid-day an almost imperceptible motion had made itself felt as we had our lunch and this was now increasing to a marked and most unpleasant extent. ‘Heavens don’t say we are going to have a roaring gale just to make everything more difficult?’ but this is what it looked like. The old tight feeling round my head revealed that I was shortly going to feel ill – Derek had succumbed and Sergeant Storey came to see me looking as pale as a sheet. And all the time the gale was increasing in violence and showed no sign of abating. Getting us into the landing craft and onto the shore was going to be a tricky business indeed. Needless to say this added discomfort and danger only served to increase our fears.
It began to grow darker, and with the coming of night the general tension increased. Only a matter of hours now before we would be right in the thick of it. The wind and the seas had by now risen to gale force, and the Monarch was bucking about like an unbroken colt. We spent most of the remaining hours lying down quietly trying to fight away the overpowering nausea and lassitude that sea sickness brings in its train. All preparations had been made and all we waited for now was the time to arrive for us to embark. About 1am the ship suddenly slowed and we transferred from normal to invasion lighting. All bright lights were dimmed and for the remainder of the time before we embarked, we walked around in a pale and eerie glow. We staggered up to the mess, where most of the officers had already assembled, and proceeded to force bacon and eggs down our unwilling throats. This and the hot coffee provided, did us good and served to mitigate the damp clammy feeling of sickness which was threatening to take hold of us.
We hung around in the mess for about an hour and then about 2am went down to our respective cabins to get ready.
‘SRS, Prepare to embark!’ Over the loudspeakers came those dread words to which we had become so accustomed and which we had so long awaited. I hurried into my equipment, gave everything a final check over and then sat down on my bunk, waiting.
‘SRS, Stand by to embark!’ As though it were just another of those embarkation exercises which we had practised so thoroughly, we slowly made our way to our boat stations and took up our embarkation positions. The men were all present and in good spirits. Now that we were actually doing something, we did not feel nearly as bad as we had felt a few hours before. The doors were open and through them we saw the dark blue patch that betrayed the blackness of that stormy night. The ship was still rolling and tossing and the sailors seemed to be having some trouble in getting the boats lowered to our level. We seemed to wait there for an appreciable time.
‘SRS, Embark!’ The calm voice of the naval officer giving the command brought our confidence back with a rush. Even if this was the ‘real thing’ we had after all practised it so thoroughly that we stood every chance of coming through it safely. I no longer felt any apprehensions for I seemed to be living in a dream. We had been imagining this moment so many times during the previous few months that now that it had actually come, it somehow seemed unreal. I expected any minute to wake up and find that we had merely been taking part in just another exercise!
The files of men moved slowly forward, helping each other cross over to the landing craft. So weighted down by our equipment were we, and so rough were the seas, that it was an extremely difficult operation to get into the boats, and only the welcome presence of a sailor, who was clinging to the door ready to give us a hand, prevented several nasty accidents. Staggering under the weight of my kit, and still feeling weak from sea sickness, I fell into the bottom of the landing craft and after picking myself up, made my way to my appointed seat. I had hardly sat down, when I heard a splash followed by a shout of ‘Man Overboard!’ God! Had one of the chaps fallen in? It soon became very obvious indeed that someone had, and frantic efforts were made to pull him out.
‘Never mind about him! Get cracking and get those boats away,’ came the harsh voice of the ship’s first officer – this callousness on his part caused many exclamations of indignation from our men in the boat, but I think we all realized that we were now under operational conditions and could not risk a whole boat load for the sake of one man. The longer we were there, the greater the danger we were in. However, the boats were loaded without further incident, and Josling, one of Tony’s section was successfully fished out of the water, none the worse for his adventure, save that he was soaked and shivering and had lost his rifle. He was passed into my boat looking very sorry for himself and probably very thankful at his lucky escape.
Then followed the difficult operation of lowering us into the water, a procedure especially tricky owing to the violence of the seas. But thanks to the skills of the LCA crew, no sooner did our craft touch the top of the water, then the cables were cast loose in a moment, the motors roared into life and we glided away from the dangerous vicinity of the ship’s side. If there had been any delay in casting off, our heavy craft would have been knocked to pieces against the Monarch’s side like matchwood.
We cruised around near the ship until all the landing craft were safely launched, and then formed up into formation and started off on the 3-mile trip to the shore, which could just be seen as a low black line in the distance ahead. It was still uncomfortably rough, and as the little boat dipped and wallowed in the waves we were inundated and drenched to the skin by great sheets of water and spray which came flying over us. Shivering, ill, and making full use of the cardboard buckets provided, we sat huddled in the sides of the boat praying that, no matter whatever lay before us, we would soon be allowed to escape from this hell.
We had not been out for more than thirty minutes when the motion of the boat grew considerably less, and we began to feel slightly more comfortable and were able to take some interest in what was happening around us. The strength of the gale had suddenly abated, and as we approached the shelter afforded by the shore, our motion became more settled. I staggered to my feet and went to join Harry who was standing in the stern. In this position I was able to watch the events on the shore more or less as an impartial observer and so interested in this did I become, that I almost forgot the implications of the position in which we were. Our great worry was caused by a searchlight which was sweeping the seas, and as we drew closer, we could not imagine how we were going to avoid being lit up in its dazzling rays, which would mean goodbye to our precious surprise, and probably the end for many of us.
A roar of engines overhead and the crump of heavy bombs falling told us that our bombers were successfully attracting the enemy’s attention, and to our intense relief we saw the horizontal beam of the searchlight become vertical as it groped around through the blackness of the skies in a vain search for the intruding aircraft. We breathed again, assured once more. We were then able to watch unmolested quite a display. A stick of bombs seemed to straddle our objective most effectively, while the flack which the enemy was able to send up seemed most ineffective. But irregular and weak though it was, it was not completely useless, for a flash of flame in the sky which dived to extinction into the sea betrayed to us the sad fact that one of our planes had been hit.
At last came the time for which we had all been waiting with nerves keyed up and a prayer in our hearts. Even the most bloodthirsty found themselves praying in moments of danger or uncertainty, so long as they felt convinced of the justice of their coming actions. The engines of our boat went down to dead slow, and all was silent save the whistling of the wind and the tossing of the waves. Inch by inch we crept towards the land which we could now see clearly, everyone almost holding his breath lest the slightest unnecessary noise might betray our presence to the presumably waiting and expectant defenders on the shore.
Suddenly as we were creeping in the silence of the night was rudely shattered. Although we were still about 200 yards from the land, the noise seemed to come from right beside us, and sure enough there, about 20 yards away, we were able to discern a low black shape, from the top of which torches were flashing and men were shouting. For one awful moment we thought we had been discovered by an enemy E-boat, and firmly believed that our last moment had come, in the defenceless state we were in. But to our relief we soon realized that the voices were shouting in English and very violent and unmistakeable English it was. We heaved to, to investigate, and found that it was one of our gliders which had come down in the sea. One of our boats picked up the few (all too few) remaining survivors, and after this delay we continued our slow and silent journey towards the land. We could not understand how all the noise the glider boys had kicked up had not aroused any answering comment from the shore, and we congratulated ourselves on our continued good fortune.
We hit the shore with a slight bump and from then on it was only a matter of carrying out once again the very thorough landing training we had gone through so often. After assembling on the beach we made towards the cliffs which rose up just ahead. Not that there were really any cliffs, as such, for except for a sharp climb out of the boats of about 5ft, the shore rose gradually ahead of us in a series of rocky steps and boulders, so the ropes were found to be unnecessary and we were able to reach the top without any undue exertion. At the top we waited as we had been trained to do, and I quickly made contact with Harry and troop headquarters. He ordered me to remain where I was with his headquarters while he contacted the rest. So we lay there for some time hoping to receive the order to move on.
An ominous whistle over our heads followed by the sharp crump of a bursting mortar bomb quickly livened us up, especially since I heard a sharp exclamation of pain from behind me. Word was passed up that Saunders had been wounded. Aghast at this early casualty I went back to talk to Saunders and found that a bomb splinter had just cut his hand. There was no need to evacuate him, and indeed he was most indignant at any suggestion of our doing so. Mortar bombs were falling fast now, and we were most relieved to realize that they were our own. Alec, with his mortar section, undelayed by picking up glider survivors, must have arrived some minutes before us, and had lost no time in getting into action. His second bomb was right on the target, and set ammunition and grass in the area on fire, so that the whole objective was clearly and very conveniently lit up in every detail. As a result of this unexpected light being shed on the scene, I was able to work out very quickly, from studying various landmarks which we had carefully memorized from the aerial photographs, that we were not, by nearly half a mile, in the position where we should have landed. There straight in front and slightly to the left of me, clearly silhouetted against the growing brilliance of the flames, I could see a tall steel pylon, which I knew should be on the south-west corner of the camp enclosure. If we had landed in the right place, this pylon would have been almost out of sight, and away over to our right. So we must have touched down half a mile further to the east than planned, with the result that we must now be immediately below the battery.
It was this sudden realization that made me remember that we were meeting with a complete absence of opposition, even though we had inadvertently landed on the spot which we unanimously agreed from our study of the photos, would be most likely the centre of the danger area.
Somewhere to our left the comfortable, slow, tat-tat-tat of a Bren gun rang out. Then there was silence once more, save for the intermittent swish and crump of Alec’s mortar bombs, which came lobbing over into the target area at regular intervals. Still no sign of the enemy. And then from close at hand, ringing out clearly over the fresh morning air, we heard a pitiful wailing – a sound akin to a small child crying for his mother. It was some member of the Italian garrison who had been struck by the horrible realization that there were enemy within a hundred yards of him, and that the noises of the night were not due to an abortive gliderborne attack or to an aerial bombardment, but were the advance elements of a mighty and overwhelming invasion force. The sound of this voice crying in the wilderness cheered us up immensely. It was so obviously panic stricken that we felt sure that we had achieved complete surprise in our landing, and the enemy defenders were utterly unprepared.
We lay where we were for close on ten minutes listening to the gathering sounds of battle, but still no signs of Harry. Where the devil had he got to? I felt sure that he could not be far and would be coming back soon, as his entire headquarters were lying just ahead of my section. Eventually I decided I could wait no longer, and Bob Lilly and I had a rapid scout round to try and find him. But it was in vain – Harry and the remaining two sections of the troop had disappeared into the night.
Feeling very indignant at being left behind like this I decided that the only thing that I could do was to act on my own. Because we had been landed so far from our intended position, I doubted very much whether Harry had stuck to his original plan and made a detour around to the west of the objective, so as to attack it from the north. So in view of the most reassuring lack of opposition, I decided to take my section straight in across the stretch of open ground that separated us from the gun battery, which we could now clearly see, lit up by the flames caused by Alec’s extremely accurate mortar fire.
Topping a slight rise, we came upon a long low fence of tangled barbed wire. Just ahead of us were some troops, which by their silhouettes we clearly recognized as being our own. I went up to them and discovered they were Johnny Wiseman’s section belonging to No.1 Troop. Heavens what a muddle! We should never have met up with them. I got over the wire as quickly as I could, with visions of the whole length of it being covered by hidden machine-gun posts and strewn with booby traps. So anxious was I to get across that I left the entire seat of my trousers behind on the wire, which fact was announced to me by an ominous tearing sound, and a resultant draughty sensation around my nether regions.
By the time that my whole section was across the wire, Johnny Wiseman’s crowd had disappeared once more into the night.
Meanwhile, as we plodded on in extended line across this uncomfortably bare stretch of ground, the fireworks started to begin. Streams of red tracer glided slowly and surely into the heart of the target area, in ever increasing volume and intensity. The answering green tracer which we knew would belong to enemy guns, was rare and almost non-existent.
‘Sir! I don’t think we had better go any further just yet, unless you want us all killed in cold blood!’ The calm voice at my side belonged to Corporal Mitchell, my leading section commander, who, a veteran of several campaigns was all too skilled at recognizing the implications of a vicious psshht passing over our heads. I had heard the sound too, but being green, did not want to let a little thing like that put me off doing my duty. But Corporal Mitchell pointed out to me that if we were not being actually fired upon, a stack of bullets was passing dangerously close. At this moment we came to another and far more formidable wire obstacle which it would have been suicidal to cross in face of the bullets which were now whipping past us in ever increasing, and ever more threatening fashion. So we made use of a piece of good natural cover in the shape of a low bank which we were lucky enough to find on the spot, and taking up an all-round defensive position, prepared to stay where we were, with a view to giving our assistance wherever it was needed, and in any case to seal off this south side of the battery in case any of the enemy should try to make good their escape in this direction.
Meanwhile the mortar fire had ceased and a veritable hail of bullets proceeded to whip over our heads. How thankful I was that I had followed Corporal Mitchell’s suggestion as otherwise casualties among my section would certainly have been numerous.
We had not the slightest doubt but that the fire which we could hear so closely belonged to our own men, and we were confirmed in this belief by hearing the occasional burst of a No.36 Mills grenade and a faint shouting of English voices. Slowly the hubbub died down and now we could see figures walking among the enemy positions firing an occasional burst from Tommy guns, or throwing the odd grenade into the darker corners. I recognized the voice of Chalky White, one of No.1 Troop’s sergeants and shouted the password at him.
‘Desert Rats?’ – ‘Kill the Italians’, came the prompt reply, and we got up and climbed the wire into the gun position, to mingle with our own men from No.1 Troop.
A rapid review of the situation showed that Bill Fraser, commander of No.1 Troop, had kept to his threat made jokingly to Harry on several occasions, that his troop was not going to be content to capture the camp buildings, and then sit back and leave the guns to No.2 Troop. Oh no! No.1 Troop would go straight in immediately it had cleared its own particular objective and trespass on No.2 Troop’s preserves. This is precisely what happened in actual fact, though the change in plans had come through Paddy himself, who realizing the weakness of the opposition had decided to go straight in and take the objective without loss of time and in consequence to abandon completely our original plan.
One of the captured guns. Cape Murro di Porco near Syracuse, Sicily, 9 July 1943.
Harry Poat and Bob Lilley on Second Gun Battery, Cape Murro di Porco, near Syracuse, Sicily, 9 July 1943.
When we arrived on the scene we found No.1 Troop busy mopping the place up. The pale light of dawn began to clarify the scene and soon we could distinguish little groups of Italians standing shivering by their nonchalant guards. Some of our lads were busy round the entrance to a deep air raid shelter, from which certain noises had made themselves heard, and after repeated threats and exhortations, accompanied by some pretty forceful persuasion through the use of small arms fire and grenades, they succeeded in extracting the occupants. They were a sorry sight. The men came out grinning sheepishly and obviously glad that they had been left alive. Many were considerably shaken and some wounded. But what took us really by surprise was the fact that down in that dug-out were also women and children. They were a poor lot, dirty, shabby and ill equipped, ingratiating and fawning, they formed a startling contrast to the mental picture we had formed of the tough, experienced, and fanatically patriotic defenders we had expected to come up against.
In the centre of all this activity stood Paddy, looking amazingly calm and very pleased with himself; and rightly so too, for we had captured this important position without the loss of a single man. He asked me where Harry was and the rest of my troop and it was unpleasant having to answer that I did not know. But he did not seem to mind and decided to call them in by sending up the local success signal of three green Very lights. They turned up about ten minutes after our arrival, having stuck to the original plan of making a wide detour in order to assault from the north. I sat my section in the well of one of the big gun pits and contentedly we eased the weight of our kit off our shoulders and puffed at our cigarettes.
It was now light enough to see fairly clearly what was happening around us. Everyone seemed most unconcerned about the prospect of a counter-attack, and all were busy discussing with each other their share in this astoundingly simple operation. Johnny Wiseman’s section had had a scare when, as they were advancing towards the battery, they saw in the gloom what appeared to be the figure of a man as though in a firing position. The leading man stopped dead in his tracks and the rest of his section did likewise. Had they been observed by this unexpected sentry, or had they stopped in time? Breathlessly they kept still, waiting for the silent and motionless figure before them to make the next move. But all remained still and taking advantage of their presumed concealment, the section carefully brought up the Bren gun, and for lack of any other alternative, threw surprise to the winds, and opened up on the enemy figure. What a laugh they had when they found that what had caused them such worry was no more than the statue of some ‘Itie’ big- wig.
It was now almost daylight and Paddy decided that we could not stay much longer crowded around the guns. Much had yet to be done before complete daylight, and so the order was given for us to disperse and to organize the prisoners and march them away, so that the guns could be blown up and the success signal sent up to the waiting fleet. The prisoners were the first to be collected and marched off. Already, scarcely 45 mins after we had touched the Sicilian shore, we had collected over 200 of them. One could not help laughing at these childish, dirty little men, such cowards when they were outnumbered and outfought, and such bullies when they had the upper hand. These fawning, friendly, smiling little creatures, who now came up asking for a match, had nevertheless the reputation of treating prisoners in a most disgusting fashion. Of this we had ample proof as the day drew on. Many of the glider troops who had been captured by them had received disgraceful treatment; wounded men had been stripped of their clothes and coverings and left to die from exposure, while other prisoners had been beaten up and robbed of all their personal possessions. We had no cause to love the ‘Itie’, and when it was we who were in the position of captors his ingratiating advances carried no weight with us.
We formed up into troops and marched a few hundred yards down the only track that led from the battery position, and then sat down among the rocks to await further developments. Meanwhile our engineers were busy preparing the charges with which the guns were to be put out of action, and soon shattering explosions and falling shrapnel announced that this task had been successfully accomplished. All that was left for us to do now was to send up the prearranged success signal to the waiting ships in order to inform them that all was now clear and that they could come close in to shore to discharge their loads. Tony was given the task of sending off these green rockets, but it was only with considerable difficulty that he managed to get them into the air at all. The first two simply fell over on their sides, scattering green sparks in all directions, the third managed to spiral about 10ft into the air, while the fourth and last, performed a remarkable series of acrobatics, in the course of which it succeeded in reaching a height of perhaps 20ft. We wondered if our signals had been sufficient to tell the ships that they could come in, but they must have been watching the coast pretty closely, for it was only a matter of minutes from the sending up of our first rocket that the great fleet, which was just visible on the horizon, began to steam slowly towards the shore. How proud we felt as we watched them, for we realized that it was only by our achievements that they were now able to come within so close to the land.
I think we had every reason to feel pleased with ourselves, and as we heard later, General Dempsey was extremely satisfied with the quick and decisive results of our operation and from then on he began to take a special interest in our unit and to hold us in high regard. People in the ships told us later that our portion of the coast had given the only sign that the troops had landed and the activity which had been apparent there had been an intense relief to them in their suspense. Then when they saw our success signal so soon after we must have landed, they felt that their worries were over, as they knew from the short space of time that the fighting had lasted, that opposition in that sector at least must have been very slight.
A glider crashed into a stone wall, Cape Murro di Porco, near Syracuse, Sicily, 9 July 1943.
A crashed glider, Cape Murro di Porco, near Syracuse, Sicily, 9 July 1943.
It was by now daylight, and the rising sun helped to give us a more complete picture of the events of the preceding night than we could ever have hoped to have by mere reminiscing. First to attract our attention were about a dozen small black patches floating on the surface of the sea. As it grew lighter we realized with dismay that those dark objects were our gliders which had been cast off too early and which in consequence had been compelled to come down in the water. The crew we picked up as we approached the shore was not therefore an isolated case, but just one of several, and there was no knowing how many men and machines had been swallowed up by the water, now so peaceful and calm, during those few fateful hours before dawn. We counted thirteen gliders still afloat, which meant that in all probability at least twenty had come down in the water, some of which had since sunk. Twenty gliders each holding about fifteen troops meant that this operation had cost us at least 300 men who had not even had the chance to make a fight of it. Our cheerfulness died away on the spot, and it occurred to us with a sudden numbing shock that this war business was not just a game. One just did not refer to an operation as ‘having fun’ – it was a grim and ghastly business, a matter of pitting one’s wits and one’s strength, not only against the enemy but also against tricks of fate. It was certainly something in which the word ‘fun’ did not enter.
And then we let our glances wander inland, noticing a bare, rocky, flattish countryside, studded with small shrubs and stunted olive trees. It bore a parched and dusty aspect: the grass was tall and brown and, except for fields covered with small dusty tomatoes, there was no relief from the all-pervading drabness of the ground and the dark green of the trees. So much we were able to notice, before we saw, about 200 yards away, another glider lying across one of the stone walls with which the countryside seemed to abound. It had obviously struck this with the full force of its landing. Beyond it lay another, with its back broken. Heavens they were all over the place! What a massacre! The thought of the punishment which those glider boys must have received sent a cold feeling down our spines and made us all the more thankful for our own good fortune.
One of our sections had meanwhile been clearing the caves which lay along the coast and our column of prisoners was swelling all the time. Several red berets began to appear among us and soon we had twenty or so survivors from the gliders, including their brigadier who had been found shivering in a cave. He seemed most relieved at being picked up by us and spent a long time chatting to Paddy. He was most impressed by the way our troop commanders did not fail to salute Paddy whenever they went to report to him (this was mostly done for the brigadier’s benefit, needless to say). Considerably cheered after his most unpleasant ordeal of the previous night he marched off with the words, ‘Well, I suppose I had better look for my bloody brigade’. He returned some time later and attached himself to Paddy’s HQ for the rest of that particular operation.
A roar of engines and an ominous dark shadow passed low overhead, in just sufficient time for us to notice the black crosses painted on the wings, so that we went scuttling for cover in the shadows of a stone wall. It was a German Fokke-Wolf 190 probably on its normal routine dawn patrol, and it passed like the wind without troubling us. We picked ourselves up and fell to discussing the probable reactions of the pilot to the strange sight dawn must have brought to his eyes. How amazed he must have been, how overwhelmed, to see that mass of shipping standing off the coast, and what a report he must have handed in on his return to base, if indeed he ever reached there.
We amused ourselves with such thoughts, as we lay in the scant cover afforded by the rocks and walls that flanked that coastal track leading to the battery. We knew that according to the original plan, Paddy would either signal back to the ship that we were returning aboard her, or else he would state that we would press on until we joined up with our main forces. Up to that moment we did not know on which alternative Paddy had decided, but rumours were strong to the effect that we would be returning to the ship. However, if that had been Paddy’s intention, his mind was soon changed for him by events which immediately followed.
A sudden explosion from inland made us sit up with a jerk. What was that? Everything had seemed so peaceful that our reveries were interrupted in the rudest fashion. The noise was easily recognizable as coming from the muzzle end of some big gun, and with tensed expressions we sat by our wall waiting for the trouble that was in all probability coming our way. But there was no tell-tale whine of a shell and the gun fired several rounds without our being able to find out where the shells were landing. Probably it was some activity engendered by the presence of our main forces behind us, or so we thought. And then far out to sea, just short of the steaming fleet and some distance to the left of it, we saw a fountain of water shoot up into the air. So that was the trouble. Another coastal battery about a mile or two inland was firing at our shipping. The fire was very inaccurate and in all probability the guns were trained to the extreme extent of their traverse, for they were firing into an area that should normally have been covered by the battery which we had just put out of action.
But this first sign of organized enemy activity quickly decided Paddy, and word was passed round that we would join up with our main forces, but that we would knock out that battery first. This proved to be easier than we ever imagined, for by a stroke of luck Paddy chose as his headquarters a tall farm building which could be seen across the fields about half a mile away. Our squadron, with its attendant column of prisoners slowly moved towards it, and as we reached it, the fire from the enemy battery ceased. The building which we had just reached was the observation point for the enemy guns. Most of the occupying troops had fled and the remainder were speedily dealt with. We waited among the bushes and shrubs that surrounded this building, while Paddy and troop commanders studied the area. A very few minutes later I was summoned by a runner to Harry’s presence. I found him peering over a wall scanning the fields that lay ahead.
‘Oh there you are Peter,’ he said. ‘I suppose you realize that that noise we heard recently was fire from a battery further inland. The battery concerned must obviously be that one’, and he pointed out a position on a map, where we knew a gun battery was situated. ‘That is where the devils are – no not there, further to the left,’ and following his finger I was able to discern a cluster of men grouped around something that rather resembled an enormous ‘T’ that was raised from the ground.
‘That is obviously their rangefinder,’ Harry pointed out, ‘and we are now going to show them a thing or two. Derrick’s section will lead and you Peter will follow. We will make a left flank detour and get into that battery as quickly as possible’.
With those words I was dismissed to explain the situation to my section as briefly as possible, and then we were off. Slowly we moved for about 200 yards down a narrow stony track in the wake of the leading section. A burst of firing in front and then we stopped. What was up? Had we bumped into opposition already? Apparently we had, for I saw Company Sergeant Major Glaze, our PT instructor, and whom we just could not leave behind on the ship, dash forward with his 2-inch mortar with which he started lobbing a rain of bombs onto a farmhouse about 200 yards away in front of us. We were torn away from the enthralling sight of Glaze in action by being called forward. I took my section up the track while occasional bullets whined overhead, until I found Harry crouching by a wall. He was as cool as ever.
‘There seems to be some opposition coming from that building’, he said, ‘but it is not enough to worry about, and as the gun battery is our main objective, we are going to bypass it. So will you take your section on and make your way to the battery on the left of Derrick’s section. Just be careful as you go past this house, as there is a certain amount of sniping.’
With those words Harry left me to take my section past this trouble point, and we were able to enter the comparative cover of a deep shrub-strewn gully, while the noises of battle continued behind us. I learned later, that a minute or two after we had passed, the occupants of the farmhouse surrendered, and it can be imagined how surprised each party was, to learn that our ‘prisoners’ were a bunch of the glider boys, who had decided to make a stand for it in that house, against all comers. But our ‘heavy stuff’, which is how they referred to Glaze’s rather inaccurate mortar fire, was enough to make them put discretion before valour and they decided to surrender to us. They were firmly convinced that we were ‘Ities’. At that time, we were the only troops who wore khaki berets, and these, with the sun shields over our necks, and our blue Indian shirts, did give us a rather foreign appearance. They must have been considerably relieved, even if they were rather ashamed about it all, to find that they had surrendered to their own troops. The officer in charge came running out to Harry and started apologizing most profusely for having killed one of our men, or so he thought. His fears were quickly dispelled however, when the dead man was identified as a very dead Italian, and so the whole contretemps was ended without damage being done to either side.
Meanwhile, our fleet, which must have been rather worried by the intermittent shellfire directed at them, decided to retaliate and one of our destroyers, noticing movement on the building which had formerly served as observation point for the battery, started lobbing shells at it. This gave Paddy and his headquarters, who were by now the real occupants of the building, an unpleasant few minutes, but fortunately he had with him a forward observation officer, who was in direct wireless contact with the fleet, with the result that the disconcerting shellfire was quickly stopped.
The attack on the gun battery now took on a very light-hearted appearance, and far removed from any military training we had ever received. The sections all advanced along the routes they had chosen for themselves, only just troubling about keeping each other in sight, and moving forward steadily despite the erratic and spasmodic opposition they were meeting. It was soon realized that the enemy fire was far from accurate, and whether by accident or design, the first shots were always about 15ft above our heads. The lads soon realized the situation and after a while would deliberately expose themselves in order to tempt the Italians, who by now must have been considerably shaken, to take a pot shot at them and thereby reveal their position. Nonchalantly chewing pieces of grass, or sucking at the small orange tomatoes which were to be found growing everywhere in abundance, and with which everyone’s pockets were stuffed, our sections just pressed forward ignoring completely the mild and spasmodic opposition with which they were occasionally faced. As soon as fire or activity was observed in a certain area, there was no check while reconnaissances and orders were given. Sections just made straight for the point in question and invariably found by the time they reached there, that the enemy were either waiting for them with their hands up, and grinning sheepishly, or had long since fled. Not a moment was wasted in this advance of ours onto the second battery, and we allowed nothing to delay us. If we met with a check, one section would be left to deal with it while the others continued with the movement forward.
And so for more than an hour we alternated between the dusty glare of the stubble fields, and the shady relief afforded by the walls and hedgerows. From bound to bound we advanced, clearing each building of the enemy as we passed. The procedure became monotonous in its regularity. The whine over our heads of an ill-aimed bullet, which was not even sufficient to make us take cover – the sight of a shiny round black helmet just visible over a bank or a wall – the change in our course towards this object, while we fired from the hip – a number of green Italian backsides bounding away from us over the grass, and the ever increasing bag of prisoners. Such was our first morning on Sicily and a very pleasant form of fighting it was.
Percival and some of our prisoners near Syracuse, Sicily, 9 July 1943.
At one point Harry told me over the wireless to give Derrick a hand, as he had apparently met with slightly heavier opposition than usual. I moved towards him, but the trouble cleared just as I got up to the spot. Sergeant McDiarmid was standing there looking very businesslike, hurling No.36 grenades in all directions but not an Italian was to be seen. Apparently they had bolted into a house. Derrick seemed quite capable of dealing with this himself and so I pushed on. About 200 yards away three tubby green forms emerged from some high grass and scampered away towards some olive trees. This was the opportunity for which I had been waiting, and I quickly brought my Tommy gun to the shoulder and gave them a long burst. But luck was with them for my shooting was bad and I missed them all. However, it made no difference, for Tony’s section was heading rapidly towards the spot, and a minute or so later added these three very frightened ‘Ities’ to the steadily increasing bag.
The battery now lay behind us, for in the course of our detour we had bypassed it. It now remained for us to bear sharply to the right, almost until we reached the coast, and then we would turn right again and enter the battery from the northern side. We now found ourselves among several houses and the going was slower as we had to clear each of these in turn. We were progressing thus when the familiar sight of a shiny black steel helmet met our eyes scarcely 20 yards away, the owner of which was ducked behind a wall. Just as we noticed him the ‘Itie’ got up and was met by a hail of fire from the hip. Somehow or other he was missed and he ducked behind the wall again in a flash. Then ensued a cat and mouse sort of game. We stared at the spot where he had disappeared waiting for him to reappear. We were not keen to walk over to where he was, not knowing if he had any friends with him, so we waited calmly sheltered behind a thick stone wall while we shouted insults in his direction in our best Italian. Again he bobbed up, but was down again almost before our first shots rang out. But he was just up long enough for me to observe firstly that he was very frightened, and secondly that he was trying to get his hands up. Sure enough, from the same spot as he had last disappeared came the most amusing sight of two hands waving wildly just above the top level of the wall. As we watched and waited, learning from our observation several points in the fine art of surrendering, the hands grew into two arms, which waved about in frenzy while we waited. Finally a very frightened head appeared, and the childish relief expressed by the ‘Itie’ at not being met on this occasion with a fusillade of shots, made us all laugh so much that we could hardly tell him to come over to us.
We had now reached a small church, outside which the priest was striding anxiously. Here I joined up with Derrick as we turned right again to make our way towards the battery. The priest came up to us and in excellent English asked us to spare his church as the women and children of the neighbourhood had come there for refuge. This of course we agreed to do and his gratitude was overwhelming. Neither he nor the other civilians whom we met seemed in any way frightened of us, which says something for the ineffectiveness of the Italian propaganda, which had run to the effect that we would act like monsters and would leave no man, woman or child alive as we passed. On the whole, they all seemed glad that we had come and that they had been liberated from the grip of Mussolini.
We made our way rapidly towards the battery across open country, and reached it soon afterwards, only to see Tony’s section plus troop headquarters already in occupation. Apparently they had reached the battery some time before, but had been driven out by Alec’s wretched mortars, which unaware of their presence, had decided to give the battery a short preliminary pasting. However no harm was done, for Tony and his crowd just walked out of the area and sat down under the trees until it was all over and then returned. Alec must have been having a grand time that morning! For one thing he and his mortar section must have been pretty elated at the considerable success they had achieved the night before, with the result that they were all too eager to take on any target that presented itself. Alec told us with glee afterwards of how one of his mortar teams played cat and mouse with a small bunch of Italians for the best part of half an hour. He had noticed the ‘Ities’ running into a slit trench situated in the middle of a field, and not very far from where the mortar section were lying up. So he quickly mounted a mortar behind a wall, and sent a couple of bombs over onto the slit trench. As soon as they had fired, the mortar crew rushed to the wall and had a peep over to see the result of their fire. They then returned to their mortar. Things at this rate must have seemed very much too hot for the sheltering ‘Ities’, who decided to come out of their bolt hole and seek shelter elsewhere. But Alec, who was keeping the spot under observation, was not having any of this and at the first sign of movement, he sent another bomb over. The ‘Ities’ hearing its approach dashed back into the slit trench while the mortar team, revelling in this unique opportunity, were able to watch the whole proceeding from over their wall. This state of affairs continued for some little time, until the ‘Ities’ decided to give up the uneven contest, and to stand dejectedly in the open with their hands above their heads.
Of course the battery we had made such an energetic detour to attack was deserted when Tony’s section arrived there, but there was every evidence that the occupants had left in a hurry. A short wander around the battery quickly convinced us of this! The officers’ mess was still full of officers’ private kit, of which, needless to say, our lads made short shrift, and I was able to replace my torn trousers with a brand new Italian pair. Some of the guns had even been left with rounds still in the breech, but the most significant thing of all was that the magazine of the battery which was situated deep underground between the separate gun positions, was found to have been mined, and in fact only needed the pressing of a time switch to have blown the whole place to pieces. This the fleeing ‘Ities’ had omitted to do!
It was by now around midday, and we spent a lazy couple of hours in the cool shade of the olive and walnut trees in the precincts of the battery while we waited for further orders. Our prisoners were kept busy scouring the neighbouring fields and orchards for us to bring in nuts and tomatoes, with which we could make our dry rations go down more easily. The number of tomatoes we all ate that day must have been close on fifty per head.
Round about 3.30pm we were recalled to squadron HQ which was in the same farm as when we had set out for the attack on the second battery. The whole regiment was assembled here, and after a short wait we learned that we were now going to make our way inland, with a view to joining up with the main British forces. As we waited we swapped yarns with members of other sections and troops, and had a look at the immense column of prisoners we had now collected. We learned that we had captured these two strong coastal batteries, comprising a large number of guns of all types, with only two serious casualties, one man killed and one badly wounded. Several others had received minor injuries, but nothing to worry about.
Our column of prisoners must have been a good 500 strong and was increasing all the time. In addition it was estimated that over 200 of the enemy must have been killed or seriously wounded, while we had been instrumental in the rescue or relief of well over fifty of our glider troops. Apparently one of our casualties had been the result of a typical piece of Italian deceit. He came out of a dug-out with his hands up, grinning cheerfully, and then suddenly threw down a red-devil grenade at one of our men. It exploded, severely wounding our man, while Paddy who happened to be standing by, plugged the ‘Itie’ with two .45 slugs, which just about blew him in half.
There were many stories of the willingness the Italians showed to be taken prisoner. On one occasion quite a large party of them were left under the sole guard of one solider armed with a Tommy gun. As they were moving in the wake of the regiment, the guard’s magazine, which had not been inserted properly, fell out and for all the use his Tommy gun then was, he might as well not have had it. He did not notice his loss however until a grinning ‘Itie’ came running up and returned his magazine!
On another occasion, it had been decided to keep an accurate count of the number of prisoners we had under our care. And so whenever there was a period of inactivity when it might have been expected that no sections were sending in additional bodies, the guards lined up the column and counted them off. After one such count it appeared that there was one prisoner less than there should have been, so it was decided to have a recount. This of course was quite a lengthy process as it was no easy task to get several hundred gibbering Italians into some semblance of order. But eventually after about fifteen minutes the second count was completed and to everyone’s surprise it now turned out that there were six more prisoners under our guard than there should have been! It turned out later that ‘Ities’ in ones and twos were sneaking in and joining the column, preferring certain captivity to the prospect of a very uncertain freedom, combined with a considerable chance of death.
At about five that evening we set off on our march to join the main forces. Not much care was taken in the formation we adopted or in the route we chose, as by this time it looked as though all opposition on the peninsula had been satisfactorily disposed of. Our route took us past the second battery and from then on we followed a series of hedgerows that ran along a valley until we struck a track. Just before we entered the valley the peace of the evening was abruptly shattered. All of a sudden a terrific AA barrage opened up, which made us stop in our tracks and crane our necks to search the skies. The sight we were privileged to see was certainly worth watching, and long remained a memory even after the whole campaign was satisfactorily concluded.
There they were, twelve silver specks flying at about 10,000 feet in tight formation. They looked like JU 88s and were obviously intent on giving our fleet a pasting. And then out of the clear sky there suddenly swooped down about half a dozen of our Spitfires, which immediately engaged the attacking bombers with a speed and fury discernible even to us in our position of ground spectators. Almost at once the enemy formation was scattered to the winds, and there remained for us to see and hear one after the other of them come whining down in a steady smoking curve, which ended in a puff of smoke on a hillside and a dull explosion. We must have seen five of them come down in this way, while all the while the powerful barrage dinned in our ears and the roar of high-powered aero engines circled overhead. And then suddenly all was quiet again – the barrage ceased, the aircraft were lost to view and peace reigned once more. The only sign of the battle still visible, was a number of small white dots which indicated the parachutes of certain of the enemy crews who had been able to bale out.
Shortly afterwards we came to a narrow path which we followed till it came out onto a wider track. All was peaceful once more. But we were suddenly reminded of the battle of the preceding night, bypassing the wreck of yet another glider, beside which lay the limp form of a khaki-clad soldier. It was the first dead man from our own side that many of us had seen, and once again our cheerful spirits were dampened.
Later we reached a large farm where a halt was called and we prepared to stay the night. Fires were lit, mess tins got out, sentries posted and guard rosters made out. Thankful to remove our heavy kit, we hastily ate some sort of rough and ready evening meal, and then went searching for a bed. A dry ditch and an armful of straw served admirably, and soon, rolled up in our blankets, we were fast asleep. But we could not sleep for long as the cold of that night which bit through the single thin blanket was sufficient to kill all sleep and so the early hours of the following morning found me stamping about trying to keep warm. All was quiet. It was a typical blue Mediterranean night out of which the stars shone brightly. Not a sound emerged from our column of by now over a thousand men, save for the cough of a sentry or the rustle of straw as a man tried to sleep more comfortably. What a day it had been, and here we were, sleeping by a roadside, just as though we were on one of those training schemes in Palestine. Not a sound of battle was to be heard even in the distance. It seemed incredible that only the previous night this island had been invaded by the largest force history had ever seen.
Lost in these thoughts I scrounged around for some more straw, and after I had buried myself deep into this, managed to sleep restlessly. I was wakened rudely by a terrific shindy which seemed to be taking place just overhead. The Jerry bombers were having another go at our fleet, in the hope that in the uncertain half-light before dawn they would have the advantage. The air was rent with the noise of the barrage and with the roar of diving aero-engines. We were all awake in an instant and lay in our ditch watching the show. The noise subsided as it grew lighter, and by the time the sun had risen, the enemy planes had made off, evidently considering that it would be too hot for them if they were caught by our dawn fighter patrols.
An hour was given us for breakfast and a quick wash, in the process of which we were kept busy pulling from our bodies a variety of living visitors which had chosen to feast on us during the night. I especially remember the irritating presence of a large type of sheep tick which had fastened its jaws into my shoulders and which was most difficult to remove.
We then proceeded on our way, and after about an hour’s walk through shady orchards, we suddenly found ourselves overlooking the main road. Our delight was unbounded as we saw troop after troop of our tanks roaring by heading inland. The invasion must be going well for all this quantity of material to have been landed in so short a time, and to be advancing forward like this. Until then we had had absolutely no indication of how the invasion had been progressing in other sectors, and apart from the gliders these were the first of our own troops we had seen.
We crossed the road and settled in a field where we made ourselves comfortable and prepared to rest in the sun. The lads quickly explored a neighbouring farmhouse, which had apparently belonged to some rich Fascist, as it was now deserted and in the process of being looted by civilians and troops alike. By various means chickens and turkeys were caught and were quickly roasting on improvised spits built over open fires.
It was on the morning of 12 July, two days later, that we moved on again, and it came as quite a surprise to us to find that we were to return to the Ulster Monarch, which would pick us up at Syracuse harbour. So we marched down to Syracuse on that peaceful July morning. The signs of battle that we passed seemed rather incongruous and difficult to fit in with the otherwise pleasant picture. The ditches were filled with discarded enemy ammunition, medical kit, helmets and weapons. Here and there a strange sweet, clinging and infinitely sickening smell proclaimed the presence of a corpse, already in the primary stages of decomposition. Here lay an Italian dispatch rider across his burnt-out machine – a horrible and nauseating sight with his clothes all burnt off and his skin roasted crisp like pork crackling.
We came to a large bridge which we learned had been the primary objective for the gliderborne troops. They were meant to have landed within a close distance from it, captured it and held it until our main forces caught up with them. The whole drama of that particular operation was evident to us, who had seen the shambles and chaos and the grim fate with which so many of these glider troops had met, for there within 100 yards of the bridge lay a single glider, the only one of that vast fleet to reach the objective. On a crest about 400 yards away we saw another, and that was all. Two crews out of the whole brigade had landed within easy reach of the objective. Whether they had marched on the bridge alone in their small strength and had surprised the defenders as much as we had taken by surprise the defenders of our own particular objective, we did not know. All we knew was that the bridge had been taken intact by our troops and that we were now crossing it, but of what deeds of heroism the bloody signs of battle which were to be seen by the roadside gave evidence, we never learned.
We had talked to the glider boys whom we had managed to relieve and learned from them that they had been extremely badly briefed – they had seen no photographs, and did not even know that the island was honeycombed with stone walls. They were loud and angry in their exclamations of disgust at the green American pilots, to whom they attributed the whole blame of their being dropped so far from the target. Apparently these pilots, who had never seen action before, had taken fright at the sight of the coastal flack and had cast loose their precious cargos there and then, rather than pass through the flack in such a vulnerable condition. Whether this accusation is true or not – and I suspect that like many such accusations it was only partly true – it was quite obvious to us that there had been an enormous and unnecessary wastage of life in this glider operation, and that this had largely been the result of inexperience and bad planning.
We entered Syracuse just before 10am and found the town almost deserted and in a sorry state. Already our military authorities had taken possession and were restoring order, but it was a grim and bleak sight to see the deserted streets and shattered buildings.
On reaching the harbour we were transferred onto a type of ferry craft, where we were fed and taken out to the Monarch, which lay some distance off the shore with the rest of the fleet.
With relief we tossed off our heavy equipment, sipped our tea, and puffed at our cigarettes. Were the events of the past few days merely a dream, to seem so remote and unconnected with us now? We might have thought so, had we not been constantly brought down to reality by the sight of a swollen khaki-clad body floating rapidly past us. Try as we might, we could not shake from our minds the glider fiasco and the terrible consequences of it.