RECAPTURED
THE ARRIVAL OF THE US ARMY
REJOINING THE ALLIED LINES
RETURNING HOME
BACK TO ITALY
RECAPTURED
2659382 Sergeant Jim Mulhall was recaptured after just one day....
I escaped alone easily in the chaos, as many were killed and the German guards were badly shaken. I was barefoot, as the Germans had taken my boots, braces and belts as a precautionary measure because I had insulted a German unter-offizier on Fara-in-Sabina station, north-east of Rome. After I had walked for three hours my feet were sore so I rested for a few hours, and then secured a pair of old straw shoes from an Italian house near to the railway south of Orvieto. I walked southwards throughout the night of the 28th and on the morning of the 29th I approached an empty house near to (l think) Lucano where I found wine and fruit. About an hour afterwards five Germans approached the house, where I was found hiding in the outhouse and taken to Orvieto hospital.
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
Corporal Marsh and the Irishman Johnnie Atkins were captured and sent to Camp 82 at Laterina in the Province of Arezzo.
Johnnie and I remained at this hideout until May 1944 when, on a Sunday morning around 4 or 5 o'clock in the early hours, a patrol of Germans with Alsatian dogs discovered us. Captured yet again, we were taken across the hills to another village called Valinfredda, where we were handcuffed together, put into a motor truck and taken to a camp where there were more prisoners.
We were only there a few hours when we were moved to a camp called Laterina. There were about five or six hundred of us in this camp. Here we stayed for a few weeks until one day the Germans decided to clear the camp. This was in the afternoon. We called this march the Murder March as 15 of our chaps were shot during this movement. They said they were marching us to a station but by the next morning we were back in the same camp.
On arriving back a party was organised to go out and bring back the 15 dead who we buried. During this night march I told one of our chaps I was going to make a break for it.
Coming up the road towards us I could see a herd of white bullocks. I intended to walk among them but I found it was Germans tending the animals, not Italians. Something sharp was stuck in my back and I quickly jumped back into line.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
Robert and his companions carried on in this way for several days, asking for and obtaining help from the farms they came across, avoiding a group of Germans and obtaining assistance including food from a Contessa. Further on in a village some nuns gave them information about German troop movements.
We had travelled a fair distance and were passing through an area comprising of small scattered hamlets and villages. With no sleep the previous night and our food supply finished we were both physically and mentally exhausted and in bad need of sustenance. We tried several houses in various villages for food and a place to sleep, only to be met with point-blank refusal every time, the same reason being given, the Fascist patrols were active in the area. This in itself should have warned us away from the district, but we were too tired, hungry, cold and weary to think of safety. We had just reached the outskirts of a village when we slumped on a grass verge and debated our plight. I had noticed a small 'bistro' in the main street of the village, and whilst we sat resting I mentioned this to the others. Considering the pitfalls we decided we would return and check it out, attempting to get food and lodgings for the night, regardless of expense.
The soldiers entered the hostelry and were befriended by an Italian who offered to help them but instead arranged for their capture by a group of armed men. In an attempt to escape, they hid in a hut and blocked up the doorway with some bricks, only to be discovered by the men's dogs. The leader dismissed most his men except for lad of about fourteen who was wielding a sub-machine gun, and asserted that as the three captives were in civilian clothes and could not identify themselves they were spies. He refused to take Robert's and Gibson's army pay books as evidence, saying they could have picked them up anywhere. Robert continues:
A high wall with a grassy slope leading up to it partially encircled the village, he ordered us to climb the short grassy slope and stand with our backs against the wall at the top. The gun-crazy lad took up a position some thirty yards below and trained his Tommy gun on us. Our execution now seemed imminent, I stood between Gibson and Geordie.
Robert decided that he would feign death at the first shot, rolling down the bank and into the ditch, and from there try to grab the gun from the lad. However
..relief came in a different form. A priest walking along the now moonlit road approached the two below us, he spoke to them for some length of time, then crossed himself and walked back towards the village. A minute or two later we were ordered to come back down onto the road. We did that with alacrity and a sigh of relief, we looked at the two Italians as (if) to say, that's one up to us so far. The priest apparently held more sway in the village than the Fascist movement.
The three escapers found themselves in the village lock-up together with some other POWS who had been captured in North Africa and had been recaptured in that same village. It would appear that they had been beaten up by their captors:
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Private Blewitt describes what happened in the lock-up
It was in the early hours of the morning that we arrived at the gaol. It was a small building, not too far from Terni, as I was to learn later, so, in fact, we had not covered much ground since escaping from the train. The gate into the courtyard was opened for us by a weary looking uniformed figure, and then through a stout wooden door, we were led into a cell. There was no furniture in the cell, only a raised sleeping platform, and, there were no blankets; there was not even a place to wash, but just before the cell door clanged shut, a bucket was thrown into the cell.
Sleep was impossible that night; we were all aching from head to toe, and, it was bitterly cold. Daylight brought little relief, but at least we had a chance to examine our cuts and bruises. I was cut mainly about the legs, had a nasty swelling over one eye, and had numerous bruises on my back and shoulders. However, my worst injuries seemed to be to my ribs, because every breath I took caused me great pain. My two companions were in much the same state as I was, and I considered the beating I took in the cave near Veiano1 was nothing compared to what I had suffered the previous night at the hands of these Fascist thugs. Later that morning we had a visitor. He looked like the weary guard who had admitted us to the gaol in the early hours of the morning, but he brought neither food nor drink for us, as we had hoped. However, he did push another prisoner into the cell, and a more elegant prisoner I have never seen! He was dressed in a smart suit, shirt and tie, with shining shoes, and he spoke perfect English. Indeed, I would say, without hesitation, that he was English, but he was an obvious plant, and after asking many questions, to which he received no answers, he was quickly removed from our company. He was not gone long, when the gaoler returned, and I was taken away, alone, for interrogation.
Between two gaolers, I was escorted up a flight of stairs to a room where an army officer sat at a desk, flanked on either side by two black-shirted soldiers, vicious looking thugs. I expected a repetition of the events which took place after our capture in the village, but I was wrong. In an almost friendly tone, the officer asked me to sit before him at the desk. Totally amazed at the attitude, I sat, and was immediately offered a cigarette, and while I sat smoking, the officer began to talk about family life and the horrors of war. I sat throughout all this, silent, pretending I did not understand much of what was being said, but he was a true expert, and after praising the British, and saying how much he admired us, he quietly asked me whereabouts in England I was from. Lulled into a false sense of security, I told him I was from Newcastle, and then the real interrogation began. Had I been a spy, or perhaps someone involved in subversive activities, I don't think for one moment I would have fallen for his blandishments, but I was only a Private soldier, and although I had been interrogated on a number of previous occasions, I had not previously encountered such a cunning interrogator.
Still in his quiet manner, he told me that it was useless for me to pretend that I did not understand Italian, and that if he thought I was hedging in any way, one of his soldiers would help me understand! Still sore from the beatings and knowing that this was no idle threat, I decided to answer his questions, maybe not truthfully in every detail, but hopefully in a manner that he would accept. His first questions concerned my capture in the desert and my escape from Verona, and these I answered truthfully; there was no one else involved, and I had nothing to hide...However, he was very interested in what had happened since I escaped from the train, and when he began these questions his mask slipped, revealing his true nature, a typical Fascist thug.
He wanted to know who had helped us after our escape, and in particular, where we had obtained our clothing. I told him that the clothes Arthur and Bob were wearing had been stolen, and that I'd procured my own clothes near Verona. At this, he flew into a rage, saying that he did not believe we'd stolen any clothing, and, as for my story about wanting to reach the Allied lines to the south, he told me he did not believe one word! He argued that anyone concerned for their own safety would not have chosen to take on a difficult walk of hundreds of miles, when the comparative safety of Switzerland was less than one hundred miles from Verona. In his opinion, I was involved in subversive activities against the state, and, was encouraging others to do likewise. It was obvious that he did not believe anything I said, right from the start, and that our future had been decided even before the interrogation began.
He told me, with relish, that I was to inform my comrades that we were still under the sentence of death, but if we were to tell him where we had obtained our clothes, the sentence could be rescinded. The following day, we were to be taken on a tour of the area where we had been captured after our escape, and we were to point out the houses where we had received assistance. I half expected another beating, but nothing happened, and once the interrogation was over, I was rather subdued as I was returned to my cell. I related to Bob and Arthur all that had taken place during my interrogation, and we decided that, whatever happened, we would not disclose our sources of help after our escape. There was nothing heroic about our decision; in the first place it was doubtful whether we would recognise again any of the places where we'd received help, and secondly, we had no doubt that informing on others would not save our own skins. Having made up our minds, we waited, with trepidation, the arrival of the guards for our expected tour of the area.
About one hour after my interrogation, after we'd had a meal of bread and water, a truck drew up in the courtyard, and six or so guards alighted. They waited while a gaoler took us from our cell, and then, with much laughter, threw us bodily into the back of the truck. Our tour of the area began at the bombed-out bridge. From there, we scoured the countryside, in all directions, stopping at a number of houses. Each time we stopped we were asked the same question; 'Did you receive help at this house?' and each time the answer was the same, 'No'. Our refusal to co-operate with our captors caused them to become very angry, but there was nothing they could do, except maybe deliver another punch or two to our ribs. Strange as it may seem, we were becoming immune to their savage attacks. Finally, the sergeant in charge called off the time-wasting exercise, and we were returned to the gaol. Arthur and Bob were put into the cells, but I was taken upstairs to see the officer, who, by this time, was in an absolute rage. At first, because of the way he was waving his revolver about in front of my face, I thought that I was to be shot out of hand, but eventually, he calmed down, and in a most sinister manner, he told me that we were to be shot within the next two days, in view of our total lack of co-operation. Back in the cell, I gave my companions an account of what had taken place, and we were in no doubt that the Fascists would carry out the planned execution. It appeared that our fate was sealed, but we were about to receive help from an unexpected quarter.
We spent a sleepless night, unable to sleep not only because of the dire situation we now found ourselves to be in, but also because of the cold, and nagging hunger pains. It seemed to us that the Fascists must have a policy of not feeding condemned prisoners, because no food at all was brought to us that morning. However, about mid-day, we heard the sound of motor cycles, and a truck, screeching to a halt in the courtyard. Then came the sound of German voices, apparently, raised in anger. To our great surprise, our cell door was flung open, and we were ordered outside. The previous night, we had removed the sacking from our feet, and as we were being hustled outside, we tried to replace the sacking, but our gaoler would not allow it. We were hurried, barefoot, into the courtyard, where two Germans astride motor cycles, with another four standing beside a truck, were awaiting us. At a signal, we were ordered to board the truck, and with an escort beside us, we left the gaol. The motor cyclists roared off in another direction.
The three men were taken firstly to a camp in Spoleto before being transferred to Camp PG 82, Laterina.
Again, we travelled by truck, the railways being almost unusable, and for this we were grateful; those of us who had been on the bombed train did not relish travelling on another train. The first night of our journey, we stopped at a camp, the name of which I never knew. The following night we came to a camp by a river, set on a plain in the shadow of some mountains. I was to find out, the day after our arrival, from an Italian worker, that it was situated in the valley known as Valdarno, the valley of the river Arno, between Florence and Arezzo; it was named Laterina. The mountains towering above were known as the Pratomagno, and the camp, before the armistice with Italy, was known as Camp 82.
Bill Blewitt and Arthur Gibson escaped from this camp and spent time on the Pratomagno. Robert was sent on to firstly Stalag IVB in Germany and then to Stalag XI, ending the war in Arbeits Kommando 544/9 near Magdeburg.
ON TO GERMANY
Leoferne Belli, born in 1923, a retired railwayman from Allerona Stazione, gave his testimony to Giov. Battista Tomassini who reproduced it in his book Il Ponte without quoting his source:
The Germans took the prisoners who had been trapped in their wagons, including some who were wounded, and put them and the men they had recaptured into a barbed-wire enclosure which they had set up on some land between two farms, Podere Osteria and Podere Civitella. Heavily armed, they stood guard over them. Towards midnight they forced the farmworkers to harness some oxen to two carts which were then used to transport the wounded to the station.
The other prisoners, amongst whom there were some women, were marched under guard for a distance of three or four kilometres after which they were put onto another train, which the following day, 29 January, continued its sad journey towards Germany.
3253567 Rifleman J. L. Leeson 2 Battalion The Cameronians (Scottish Rifles)
When giving his testimony at the enquiry Rifleman Leeson said he thought that most of the men who had escaped from the train had been recaptured, himself included. He and the others were put on another train for Germany. Leeson escaped from it when near to the border and gradually made his way to the British Lines in Italy.
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
From Camp Laterina we were transported to another station and there put onto the train for Germany via the Brenner Pass. After reaching Germany we were put into a transit camp near Munich. Here we received some Red Cross food parcels (we also received some while in camp in Italy). I remember the camp near Munich quite well as the British Medical Officer sent around to ask if any of us would like to give something towards helping to feed babies which had been born to some Yugoslavs who were in captivity there. We all contributed something from our parcels.
From this camp we were sorted out, and this was where I parted from Johnnie, my Irish friend, as I was sent to Hohenfels where there were about 5,000 prisoners...There then followed a forced march of 100 miles which took us ten days. We were taken through Regensburg, which already had been bombed by the R.A.F. and the Americans, the place was just a heap of rubble. One day we were marching along the road at around 10 o'clock in the morning when there was a terrific noise. It was R.A.F. fighter planes coming down at us from the direction of the sun. It was a terrifying moment and we all waved our hats, blankets and anything we had - I should think the whole 5,000 waved. The pilots must have recognised who it was, so without firing a shot they circled round and down once again, then went up overhead and performed the Victory Roll. What a relief this was - we knew we had been recognised.
After this march we were put on small farms, 200 in one place, 200 in another and so on. All that we had to eat was boiled potatoes and some horrible tea made from herbs.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
Anyway the Germans ordered us, took us, back to the train. They backed some more box-cars in there and they put us aboard the train that night and took us on up to Florence...That’s the first time we really got something good to eat. They gave us, in this train depot, a whole bunch of noodles, I think it was. Noodles and stuff. All we wanted. Finally got our bellies full there. First good meal we’d had to eat since - well over a month, then...we stayed at Florence that day...I’d say it would be about 31 January 1944.
We stayed at Florence that day...they came in then, German officers, and said they were going to put us in coach cars. Wouldn’t be box-cars now. And said if anybody escapes, they got put in box-cars again. So we rode that day and that night we reached Brenner Pass. You probably know where that is. Between Italy and Austria. That’s a pass that was bombed all the time. We stopped. A German officer came around and issued everybody a little first aid kit, a small one, because we might have trouble getting through there. That night, we left and made it through the pass and the next morning were in Austria....That would have been around February 1...We went through there and up to Munich on a train and they sidetracked us up there. All of a sudden the bombs are dropping. The Americans are bombing part of it. Everybody jumped out and went under the train and stayed there till it was over with, but they were bombing the other side so nobody there got hurt at all. Late that afternoon, or that evening, they took us out to Stalag VIIA. Into that camp there.
Russel was in Stalag VIIA for almost two months, then was moved to Stalag IIB and from there he was sent to a farm at Versin in Poland. When the Russian army was approaching early in 1945 Russel and the other prisoners were made to walk across Poland towards Germany which took almost two months, a distance of about 500 miles.
The Injured
The injured men from the hospitals in Aquapendente and Orvieto were sent on to prison camps as soon as they could travel, those with light injuries directly to Germany and the others to a hospital in Mantova (Mantua).
84050 Sergeant Robert J. Maddern Union Defence Force SA
I was transported by hospital train to the civil hospital at Mantova, North Italy, where fortunately, owing to my being able to speak German, I made friends with the German Doctor, Maj. Schultz, after whose kind treatment I regained the use of my legs after three months.
Conditions were insufferable, no medical supplies, no surgeons, and no nurses, male or female. Upon my approaching the Major on the subject he listened to me and allowed me a free hand, so I was left completely in charge, I agitated for the right to contact Geneva for supplies, this was done, and under the supervision of Dr. Lee Giaggi de Blasys, we began to receive the much-wanted material. I asked for permission to ask for volunteers at the nearby POW cage for medical soldiers to work the hospital, this was granted, and with two English lads and three South Africans we started work. Not being a medical soldier myself I was free to escape at any time, as I certainly could have, but having had a taste of the impossible conditions myself, I resolved to stay and do what I could, in this respect my knowledge of German and Italian proved invaluable to us.
By May 1944 the hospital, through my suggestion to the area commander Col. Schmidt, was declared a stable institution, this fact alone saved the lives of many Allied prisoners, as then, if they were not considered fit to travel, they were left in our hands until fit enough to do so, thus giving us more time in which to combat the infections which were taking so many lives. To this date I had no success in trying to convince the Germans to give us a competent surgeon, all surgical work was being done by ordinary physicians. Here, however, I succeeded at last. I was given permission to contact an old friend, Professor Dalla Rosa, a surgeon of high repute, the Germans under pressure subsequently allowed him to work in our interests.
To this date my staff had grown to five Allied medical soldiers, seven Italian internees from the Italian Medical corps, and ten Red Cross women volunteers, six Italian doctors and one surgeon, even with these however we were sadly understaffed to cope with the constant average of 200 patients, 75 of whom were generally listed as serious, some months we had as many as 700 patients...To the beginning of January 1945 we had been receiving all Allied POWs from the whole of the Italian front, in all over 5,000 had been through our hands and of these, by the grace of God, we had only lost 66.
In March 1945, the total evacuation of the hospital was ordered, but under agitation the area commander agreed to leave 45 of the most seriously wounded behind in the care of Allied Medical soldiers, being a senior NCO I was not permitted to stay, so with all my records, grave registrations etc. I escaped while the lightly wounded were being loaded into buses for evacuation further north. 48 hrs. later the Germans evacuated the town, and I returned to the hospital to carry on until our troops arrived, during this period I took charge of 3 German officers and 250 other ranks left at the hospital for lack of transport. These along with my records I handed over to Gen. Martin, Officer Commanding the 5th Army Medical Services, through Col. C.H. Moseley O. C. of the 15th U.S. Evacuation Hospital, who took over our hospital on his arrival six days after the Germans had left.
At Col. Moseley's request, owing to him not having anyone conversant with the enemy languages, I worked for him for three weeks doing all his contact work, as the hospital was set up to full working capacity receiving our own and German POWs. At this date the Germans capitulated in Italy, our work was done, and by Col. Moseley's request we were all given priority for a speedy repatriation.
THE ARRIVAL OF THE US ARMY
5 Armored Division
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
Early one morning we heard gunfire in the distance and the sound of shells whistling overhead. Our German sentries didn't seem to take any notice of us wandering around, so a few of our lads went down to the village. Some hours passed before they returned, and as they came they were shouting something - 'The Yanks are coming!' Sure enough there they were, but only a forward patrol. However, for us this was enough. It meant the end of imprisonment for us. We all cheered - in fact we almost went mad! This patrol of Americans was equipped with walkie-talkies, so they sent back messages reporting their contact with British Prisoners of War.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
Robert was in Arbeits Kommando 544/9
The Allied troops were now within a few miles of Magdeburg and we could hear their artillery in the distance, which led to rumours that we were going to be moved to another camp further inland. This seemed confirmed when we were told there would be no further work parties and we were confined to our room. With the build up of activity and the strong troop reinforcements around the outskirts of the town our move seemed inevitable...some ten minutes later we were ordered downstairs and assembled in front of the factory, and without having a roll-call or search (which saved us covering for at least four missing prisoners), we headed through the gate. The road was full of German soldiers and armoured units, all heading toward Magdeburg, behind them a contingent of Hitler Youth, some of them as young as ten or eleven. On both sides of the road other units of Hitler Youth were entrenched at intervals, all dressed in seemingly new uniforms, and armed with various weapons, mostly anti-tank guns. Many of the little buggers spat and swore at us, as we waited for more military vehicles to pass. The abuse ceased when a German officer yelled orders at them, although we were still a target for their spittle.
We finally moved in the opposite direction, heading towards the River Elbe. We had been walking for about two hours when we came to a bridge across the river, we also came to an abrupt halt. There was a hell of a lot of confusion all around the bridge area, it was bedlam; womenfolk shouting at their children, men cursed and swore about how long they had been waiting, and officers repeatedly yelled orders to army personnel. The entire bridge was a seething mass of civilian refugees pushing prams, bicycles, and pushcarts laden with young, whimpering children perched on the families' belongings, all moving (or trying to) in the same direction. This with the long formations of German soldiers trying to pass in the opposite direction, resulted in absolute chaos. We sat by the roadside and waited for about half an hour, during which time a meagre bread ration was dished out, but the situation did not improve, it deteriorated if anything, and eventually our officer ordered us to our feet.
The column continued walking for two more days and nights. Robert continues:
I had had the impression for quite some time that we had been walking around in circles most of the time. As we moved right into the village, we came fact to face with another large group of British POWS, how many would be hard to say, at least one hundred and fifty, they were guarded it seemed by more German officers than the ordinary run-of-the-mill soldiers. We were kept apart from the other group of prisoners, who seemed to have been on the march for some considerable time, our group were tired, hungry and downhearted but we looked at them pityingly. Our officer gathered us around him in a little field, in the distance we could hear the noises of war, and realised the Allied troops were near at hand. The officer- in-charge explained to the prisoners that they were in a neutral zone and that a senior German officer was to be sent to make contact with the Allied forward troops. When he did not return as expected a second official was sent together with two British POWS. On the second occasion the mission was successful.
Within the hour we could hear the rumble of tanks approaching and intermittent small arms fire. Whatever army it was advancing on the village we did not know, it could have been the Germans. Ignoring the officer's warning to stay put we ran to the outskirts of the village as a large Yankee tank appeared and ground to a halt a few yards in front of us. Behind it was a convoy of lorries carrying American troops, everyone was shouting, cheering and offering outstretched hands. The sight of these troops had a strange emotional effect on us, more than some prisoners could endure; tears of joy trickled down their faces. As we walked the length of the convoy, cartons of cigarettes, not packets, were being passed down to us along with Yankee combat food packages, or as they called them, K rations. Unable to remember the date of this liberation day, my curiosity became aroused, so I asked a Yank: it was Friday the Thirteenth.
Robert and his fellow ex-POWS were taken by lorry to an American evacuation hospital and then to a disused prisoner of war camp near a town called Dorstep to await a flight back to the UK via Brussels.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
Well, we had been on the road picking up more guys along the way. The guys started getting sick and falling along the way. You’d see them lay there. You wouldn’t stop and help them. We never did. The three guys who hung together, they helped each other, but anybody else that fell, you didn’t fool with. One time we came into this town and another group about the same size came in from another direction. There were about 2,000 men in that town, then. Next morning, we split up in two groups and went different ways again. It’s hard to explain just exactly what took place across there. We’d sleep in barns most of the time at night and that wasn’t so bad, but it was a long, long hike across there...We went straight west for a month, more than that. Over a month. And one night, they stopped us in kind of a little airport and they were supposed to put us to work there and do something.
Jesus, the next day, we got bombed there. Our own planes came and bombed the place. The next day there were craters probably 30 feet deep out there where the bombs had hit. But they didn’t hit the barracks. After we were there a couple more days, this German officer told the other guy in charge to get those men out of there, otherwise they’re going to get killed in there. He figured they were going to bomb again. So on a Saturday morning, we left there, and we didn’t get even a mile out of there, walking up a hill, and our planes leveled that place. Every barracks was just leveled. So we come that close. They would have got us all had we not got out of there...We had been on a march for two months. They started us back east again, and we walked for three days and three nights steady. We never slept or ate anything for the last three days and three nights. Until they found out that the bridge across the Elbe River was blown up, and they couldn’t get us across that bridge. So they left us on our own early that morning. And that’s when this 5 Armored Division spearheaded in with their tanks and got us out of there. They (the Germans] said they were going to shoot us up real fast if we didn’t get out of there and we looked and saw dust coming down the road. Two of these SS officers said they were German tanks. But they were American tanks instead. So we saw what it was and turned and came back and our tanks rolled in and got us out of there...on 13 April, 1945...Friday the 13th..
Of the men in our group, we ended up with 426. The rest fell along the way. What happened to them, I don’t know. They were sick. Got sick along the way. They were falling liked poisoned grasshoppers for a while. That’s all that was left of us.
That night, they took us to this town that was closest there, and they put us in the houses there. They put the civilians all on one side of the street, and put us on the other side of the street. Told us to take anything we wanted. That’s where I got that knife that I have at home. Anyway, we went to cook that night and this guy from Kentucky, Albert Sutherland, he was trying to get a fire going, and they had this little wood cook stove there. They had a bunch of eggs there. We were going to fry a bunch of eggs. He couldn’t get the fire going at all, so there was a big slab of fat bacon there and he tossed that in there, and that burned like everything, so he got the fire going. We fried eggs and ate there till 3 o’clock in the morning.
The next morning, there was a barn next to there, and we went up to the barn and milked some of the cows and we had a good time that night. The people came back the next morning - that lived in the house - they had some pretty nice beds in there, one real soft one. I laid down on that bed and we kind of made a mess of everything. Messed things up, I guess. They were talking about how bad it was and we told them what we had just been through, so then they calmed right down. Everything was all right. They were good to us then.
...they took us over by Hanover by truck. We rode all night to get to Hanover. We stayed, and there they gave us all the food we wanted. We ate and waited for our name to be called out so we’d be heading back to the States. When they called you, they took you on this DC-3 plane (C-47’s) 26 guys to a plane and flew us out of there. They flew us over to Le Havre, France. I was in Germany about two weeks after I was liberated, at the most. And we stayed at Le Havre until 1 May, and then we boarded the ship there and went over to England and then home.
14 Armored Division
Combat Command B
4386573 Private George Mason
5 Green Howards
Private Mason had been sent to Stalag 344 Lamsdorf
I remained there until the Russians began their offensive, and in January 1945 the Germans started the evacuation of the camp. I was in a train-load taken to camp XIIIC Hammelburg, Bavaria, arriving there about the 6th or 7th of March. The Americans started a push in this sector and camp evacuation started again. On 31 March 1945 at night we were going to be entrained again at Hammelburg station which is four miles from the camp. We left the camp in groups of 20s with two German guards in charge of each 20. These guards were old and carried a lot of equipment, I escaped when we were half way between the camp and the station with Sgt. T. Shields, Reconnaissance Corps. It was at night, and I followed the sergeant through a gap in the hedge off the roadside. We lay up in some dense backwoods for seven days, heard plenty of activity from tanks and small arms. On 8 April 1945 we ventured out and met an American patrol in a village. They took us back to the camp where the Americans were in full control. I landed in England on 11 April 1945.
REJOINING THE LINES
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
Time passed and one day when we were outside the village of Collalto Sabina we heard a vehicle coming up the road. We got off the road and hid. You can imagine our surprise when it was a British Transport. I spoke in Italian and said we were pleased to see them. They told us to raise our arms but we soon made it clear we were ex-POWs. The young officer in charge said they were the 12 Lancers. The officer seemed a little troubled with my age and also with the fact that I looked a bit like a German (blonde hair and blue eyes)..I only found this out later.
He asked me to accompany him to a Yankee post to get cigarettes and sweets... I was to all intents and purposes a prisoner of the Yanks. I insisted on seeing someone in command. I demanded to be removed to the British Army. I got my wish and then an interrogation with our men. It was obvious they did not believe me. I must admit it sounded strange. The one point of my statement they found hard to believe was that a large boulder had come through the roof of the train but it was a fact. An American Army Air Force officer I had met at Collalto Sabina visited me. He took me to his quarters. I had a shower, a complete change of clothes. They at least believed me and treated me with respect...I was sure glad to learn I would be leaving this shower and going to a transit camp at Naples to await a ship back to the UK. Before I left I had to sign the Official Secrets Act.
We had a day or two in hand so we visited Pompei. I met up with others from the Saracen...Nothing exciting happened until we arrived back at Greenock. We mustered on deck waiting to go ashore, a band started to play and much to my astonishment we were the first ashore. We met with naval officers, they arranged for us to get money, gave us our travel vouchers etc... When we arrived at our headquarters they had cleared the lower decks – that meant that all available men were out to cheer us. I felt choked but happier than I had ever been. We all collected our new kit. I had my American uniform put away and once again I was a sailor...We all got our railway tickets and were on our way.
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell 's daughter describes his debriefing:
He stayed with Fernando Savioli until the area was finally liberated by the British in June 1944 - by a unit based in Forest Gate, just a mile or two from his home in London.
Having been found behind German lines, the British had to ensure that he was as he claimed, and not a spy for the enemy. He was interrogated by a British officer, who asked him questions such as, 'If you’re a Londoner as you say, tell me what number bus I would catch from ... (naming a route in central London)'. He rarely went to central London by bus and did not know the answer. The officer asked him some easier questions and in his exhausted state his mind went blank. Things were not looking good. Finally the officer asked him how he would get to a certain place in Portsmouth from the docks, to which he replied: 'You’d go along such and such a street, then past Aggie Weston’s...'. The officer stopped him. 'OK I’m satisfied that you’re not a spy,' he said. 'Only a serviceman in the Royal Navy would refer to Dame Agnes Weston’s homes for sailors as Aggie Weston’s.'2
My sister has a typewritten slip which says:
'Certified that No. C/JX160639 AB Pinnell A.R. rank Able Seaman Unit RN has been interrogated by an intelligence officer of British Section C.S.D.I.C. (ADV) CMS on 14 June 1944 signed G. W. Kennedy British Section. Note: this certificate must be carefully retained by the individual to whom it refers and must be produced on request to the appropriate authorities, whether in the Middle East, British North Africa or the United Kingdom.'
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army
6 South African Division passed through Orvieto on 14 June and moved northwards beyond Poderina.
June 17, 1944, dawned under a clear sky. We were free of enemy-occupied territory at last. John and I made one last visit to our sod shanty where we had lived the last two months. It gave us a sense of pride that it was still rainproof, and habitable if its occupants were not overly demanding. As we looked at our bunks and the burlap bags filled with straw which served as our mattresses, John mused, 'Well, Dick, it was better than sleeping in a slit trench.'
We made our way up to Poderina at the crest of the mountain for the last time; the heavy motor traffic of the Allies on the valley floor was a welcome sight. Mafalda and Fermina, with the help of Giovanna and Nilda, were preparing one last feast, pasta asciutta with lamb. It was a bitter-sweet occasion; there was jubilation to be free of the threatening German occupation, but we had to leave this wonderful family, most likely never to see them again...
We sat down to write a letter to the 'bel generale' on behalf of Giulio, extolling his contributions to the well-being and safety of escaped Allied prisoners and praising his steady courage in the face of threats from the Fascists and Nazis. An additional letter to the Allies was necessary; it noted the dates we had spent with the Pinzis who fed and lodged us during that time. We hoped that the Allies would keep their word and reimburse this generous family.
At the door tears flowed down Fermina's and Mafalda's cheeks; they had come to look on us as sons. We gave the Pinzis everything we had of any value and said 'Arrivederci', see you later, knowing it was most likely 'Addio', farewell. We started down the trail in the direction of the heavy traffic on the valley floor. 'We did live to fight another day, Dick.' From time to time, we glanced over our shoulder at Poderina, perched on the top of the ridge, until it faded from view.
Would we meet American troops? While playing cribbage outside our sod shanty, John, Alberto, and I used to indulge our imagination about our first meeting with American soldiers. Since we were all wearing worn-out civilian clothing, we hoped they would assume we were Italian civilians and ask us for information in broken Italian. Our reply was going to be, 'Speak English, sonny, and I'll understand you better.'
Somehow, such an encounter did not seem so amusing now. The knot of tension which had gripped my spirit for so many months let go suddenly. I felt completely exhausted...Thinking that I would not make it back up to the front lines was reassuring, but it was discomfiting as well. For what had I faced, after all? What had I accomplished? Why was I getting off so easily? What about all those I knew who lost their lives? What about those in my platoon whom I never really got to know as people who died? What about all those old friends who were probably gone now? How many of them were killed during my absence? I walking to safety, not they.
I had not faced the 10th. Panzers like the Desert Rats of the British Eighth Army. Were my adversaries merely the chaff of the German Army from which the cream had been skimmed? I had been so lucky in Sicily and at Salerno not to be where the worst of the fighting was taking place.
A sharp voice behind us interrupted my guilty thoughts. 'Just where do you blokes think you're going?' 'Since you've got the gun, we'll go with you,' we responded. The Tommy lowered his sub-machine gun, 'It's some fucking Yanks! And all the time I thought you was Jerry!'
A trip to the valley floor brought us to a battalion command post of the Sixth South African Division which was trying to push a German unit off Mount Cetona. The interpreter, who had to communicate almost simultaneously with men from so many different areas of the world, seemed to be the busiest man there. He was speaking, within the space of a few minutes, six languages: Afrikaans, Italian, Spanish, Russian, German, and English. He lost his composure only once when he berated a German prisoner who had called him a 'schweinhund' during his interrogation. My German was practically non-existent, but it sounded like 'pig-dog' to me!
The two soldiers travelled via Orvieto to Rome in an army truck, which halted at a makeshift depot.
Two familiar faces were at the depot, Joe Koziol and Mike Guele, who had news about our old platoon. Joe and Mike had survived, but five other men from the platoon had not been so fortunate. After escaping from the bridge, they made the mistake of staying together as a group, which drew attention to them. One night as they slept in a hut, a Gestapo unit murdered them.
Rome meant a British Army billet with beds, showers, new shoes, and new clothing...John and I went out to see the Eternal City. On a pavement we came upon two soldiers from Sixth Corps Headquarters, and they led us up to their apartment...
What was the matter with me? Why was I so worn out? Why wasn't I enjoying my freedom more? I flopped on one of the apartment's beds, the first bed my body had touched in more than a year. The next thing I knew, John was shaking me the following morning. 'Come on, Dick, we've got to get back to that billet. We don't want to miss our shipment out of here to Naples.'
Unbelievable destruction greeted our convoy on its way through Anzio. Every inch of ground was littered with debris from some kind of blast. Blue water in the Tyrrhenian sparkled peacefully on our right as the trucks made their way down the coastal highway toward Naples. How ironic it was, I thought, that John had been sent to the front as punishment, and now he was going home before the rest of the men in the Sixth Corps Headquarters.
They were then sent on to Oran, Algeria before leaving for home.
The area command post sent for John and me later that morning. Major Williams, a former battalion commander in the 157, came out to greet us with our orders, 'The following personnel, having escaped enemy custody, will proceed without delay to the United States.'
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Bill and a South African he had teamed up with on the Pratomagno were in the hamlet of Gorgiti near the small town of Loro Ciuffenna when the they were liberated by 6 British Armoured Division in August 1944.
There was much rejoicing in Gorgiti; like us, the villagers could hardly believe that they had been liberated at last. The best wine and food, which had been hidden from the Germans, was produced, and what followed was almost a carnival. Naturally, we joined in the celebrations, but the realisation, that we could not consider ourselves to be free until we were with our own troops, made us anxious to be on our way. There were tearful scenes as we left the village. On our way down into the valley we met up with a man leading a donkey laden with wood. He was smoking a cigarette, and asked us if we wanted one, to which we replied that we did. We were astonished to be given a cigarette from a twenty packet of Senior Service. To our unspoken questions he merely said, 'The English have arrived'. These were the words I had been longing to hear for twelve months. With a cheery wave, he continued on his way, while we hurried down into the valley.
Surprisingly, crossing the lines was no more exciting than taking an afternoon stroll. We walked into a village at the foot of the Pratomagno, a village called, I think, Loro Ciuffena, pronounced Shoofena, a place we would not have ventured near during the German occupation. In the centre of the village stood a Bren carrier, surrounded by Italians, begging for or trying to buy food. We stood and watched for a few minutes, before making ourselves known, and when the Bren carrier crew realised that we were in fact British escaped prisoners of war, we were immediately showered with food and cigarettes, and a brew of hot, sweet tea was enjoyed, before an officer came on the scene. At last, a few days short of one year behind the lines, I had finally made it. I took one last look up at the Croce di Pratomagno, La Rocca, Gorgiti, and the other mountain villages, and I wondered would I ever see them again?
We were questioned briefly by the officer, and he took down the details of our regiments, our escapes, and briefly, how we had spent our time behind the lines.. it was arranged that we were to taken by truck to a fairly large village. On arrival at our next stop, we were taken for interrogation...I cannot recall, exactly, the sequence of events which took place after our interrogation, but we were fed, showered and medically examined, and much to my surprise, we were not issued with any new clothing, except a pair of boots. We were then instructed to make our own way to Naples, to a Repatriation Unit for escaped prisoners of war. On arrival, we would be paid, kitted out, and then, when space was available, would be sent home on a homeward bound troopship. In the meantime, our next of kin would be informed that we were now safe, in our own lines. We were allocated a tent and some bedding, and allowed free time on our first night. We still had a small amount of Italian money, and spent a pleasant night 'on the Town', without having to look over our shoulders every few minutes.
It was strange to be awoken the next morning by the bugler sounding Reveille; stranger still to be able to have a wash and shave, toiletries having been issued, and from there to go to the dining hall for a typical British Army breakfast. We received a few funny looks as we stood in line for breakfast. After breakfast, we made our way to the MT Section, sought out an officer, asking if there was any transport going in the direction of Naples. The officer sent a runner to the Orderly Room in order to verify our story, and once he was satisfied, he informed us that a truck was leaving shortly for a place near Rome, and that we were welcome to a lift. We accepted, and by mid-afternoon we arrived at another transit camp, not too far from Rome. We were interrogated, yet again, before being offered a meal, and issued with bedding...
We arrived about mid-day in Naples, at the Number 2 Allied Prisoner of War Repatriation Unit, and although I don't remember too much about the place, I certainly knew I was back in the Army. First of all, of course, was the inevitable interrogation, although this time, I had to provide a written account of my adventures, starting with the day I was captured in the Western Desert. Next, I was given a thorough medical examination, and after a hot shower, I was fitted out with a complete new uniform, including a pair of khaki drill shorts and slacks, and, the added luxury of socks and underwear. I felt a new man!
Bill was taken to an Army rest camp in Salerno the following day, to await transport to the UK. After one month he returned to Naples, ready to embark for home.
2932159 Signalman Ebenezer S. Sutherland 6 Seaforth Highlanders
A friend of the family took him by motorbike to Avezzano, once the Allies arrived there. Initially he was thought to be a deserter form the German army, but once his identity was confirmed he was sent back to Naples and sailed from there to the United Kingdom in June 1944.
4131027 Private James Hall 6 Cheshire Regiment
Pte Hall and Sgt. Broadley reached their lines on 16 June. Pte Hall was interviewed by M.I. 9 on 7 July
RETURNING HOME
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
During the time when Bill was with the Irishman Johnnie he had managed to get a message to his sister via a man he had met who worked in Vatican City, who had offered to send a message to her by radio. He later discovered that the message had been picked up on the radio by a person in London who wrote it down and posted it on to her. He was shown the message on his arrival home in 1945. His story continues:
It was lovely to be back in England again, as I had spent nine and a half years overseas. We were given food, tea, and cigarettes, and then a lovely hot shower, a clean change of clothing and a nice bed to sleep in. It was wonderful! The next thing was to send that most important telegram informing our next of kin. In my case this was my sister, who lived at The Wern, Five Lanes. My telegram said that I had arrived at Worthing, West Sussex and would be home within the next 48 hours.
This was May 1945 and I was given nine weeks repatriation leave. I was now weighing nine stone seven pounds (133 pounds), having gained weight from the time I was in Rome Hospital at Christmas, 1942, when I was less than eight stones (96 pounds). After some good food at home I eventually weighed 12 stones (168 pounds).
After my leave was over I had to report to High Wycombe where I underwent training - the same training as we had in the Depot all those years before! I was then attached to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps at Hounslow until I was demobbed at Hereford on 23rd October, 1945.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
Robert landed at Westcott and the next morning he was required to fill a questionnaire which apart from name, rank and number the sheets required a complete and detailed history of events, including all prison camp names, numbers dates interned within, campaigns of war prior to capture, any acts of sabotage committed, if so full information of such, and any other relevant information from the day of capture until day of release. They were then given new uniforms, ration cards, travel warrants and other documents and boarded lorries which were waiting to take them to the station. When Robert finally arrived in his home town he was stopped by two Redcaps as he was on his way home, who demanded to see his papers.
Reaching my front door, I lifted the knocker and tapped lightly. This started our old dog Paddy barking. A minute or so later, a shaft of light from the open bedroom window broke the darkness...My father's head poked through the window. Looking up with tearful eyes I said, 'Hello Dad.' I heard my mother's sleepy voice say, 'What's the matter, Father?' That was the moment I could not hold back my pent-up feelings: overwhelmed with emotion, the tears of joy rolled down my flushed cheeks.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
When we first got to New York, we anchored in the harbor overnight and didn’t pull in till the morning. We got off the ship and the Red Cross gave us coffee and doughnuts...We wanted to see the Statue of Liberty, never got to see it. It was so foggy you couldn’t see anything. We got on a ferry boat in New York City and went across the bay to New Jersey. And got on a train there, and about an hour’s ride on the train, we were out at this Camp Kilmer, New Jersey. We went to a recreation hall while there, and some General got up there and was going to give us a speech. He starts out, 'You heard today that you guys were going to get 21 days furlough. You’re not. You’re getting 60.' Boy, that was a good deal. And he says, 'I know you guys want to get home. I’m going to try and have you out of here within 24 hours.' And that was about 10 o’clock in the morning, and the next morning about 10 o’clock we were on a train again, heading across through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana. It took two days to get there.
Russel went on to Fort Snelling (Minneapolis) and then home to Pine City the next morning. He was discharged on 29 October, 1945.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army and his comrade 31000229 Private John Tourtillotte
The Pan Am flying boat landed in the water near La Guardia Airport. Waves pounded against the hull as we bounced up and down on our way to the dock. The nice lady chauffeuring me to a Park Avenue hotel should have been passing out coffee and doughnuts to other soldiers. It was hard to believe such royal treatment was intended far me.
Did the Morris Candy shop in Boulder still have a four digit phone number? Yes, one-three-four-eight would accept a collect call from Richard Morris in New York City. Happy screams came from the other end of the line.
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell 's daughter says:
When he finally returned to his home in Leyton, the family did not know the exact date and time when he would arrive, but the family dog sensed him when he was a long way down the street and made such a commotion that they knew he was coming.
He stayed on in the navy until 1953, becoming a Leading Torpedo-man and a Petty Officer. He married in 1948 and had three children (my brother Martin born in 1950, my sister Judith in 1952, and me in 1957). His naval trade was in electrical engineering and he continued this in civilian life working as a service engineer on traction batteries. He died suddenly at home from a heart attack in February 1993, aged 70.
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Melling speaks of an apparition he had whilst at sea
I got off at Bromley Cross station and walked home. As I approached our house I noticed there was no flag or reception party about - I will never, ever forget. Elsie my sister came out of the back door as if to meet me then ran in and out again. She ran to me and collapsed in my arms. She shouted 'It's our Arthur.' Little did I realise that they still thought I was dead. They had not received the telegraph as yet. It was a shock for me as well as for everyone else. I carried Elsie in the house. My mother said, 'I knew you would make it.' I told her how she had appeared to me on the sub and said I would be safe. It was tears all round. Of course they wanted to know everything. I told them about my escape from the train that was taking us to Germany and told them I had been made to sign the Official Secrets Act. I explained a few of the things that had happened to me in Italy.
That night I had a few drinks with my father and then to bed. I was in need of my sleep. I was awakened by my father telling me that a reporter from the Bolton Evening News was downstairs and wanted to interview me. I told him I was tired and not to bother as there was nothing I could really tell them. Nevertheless father talked to them. I think it read something like 'Three times escapes from Germans'. After about two of three days Mr. Jellico the postman knocked on the door. He was laughing as he gave me the telegram stating that I had been recovered – it almost sounded as if they had found me, perhaps I was lost!
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
It was late September, or early October 1944, when we sailed out of Naples harbour; the name of the ship, I seem to recall, was the Orion. There were other repatriates on board, some of them wounded, but the bulk of the troops were homeward bound, before being sent to the Second Front. I was back in the army now, with all the red tape, guard duties and chores to perform, but because nobody seemed to want to take responsibility for the few escapers on board, we were banished to the ship's galley. Here we received the same food as the crew, with a few little perks such as the occasional tot of rum, but it was a constant round of kitchen duties, washing up and so on. It was a relief to get back on deck, and breathe in the fresh sea air. I remember that when I sailed from England for the Middle East, it became almost a ritual for me to stand at the stern of the ship each evening, thinking of home. Now the reverse was the case; I stood on deck each night, thinking of the mates I had been with during my time behind the lines, and of the kind and brave Italians who had assisted me, and made my escape possible.
The voyage out to the Middle East had taken several weeks, because of having to go around the Cape, but the journey home was much quicker, and would last only a matter of days. We passed through the Bay of Biscay, where I expected rough weather, but the sea was like a mill pond, and a few days after passing through the Bay, we came in sight of land. I asked one of the crew if it was England, and he replied that we were actually in sight of Liverpool, the port from which I'd sailed so long ago. Later, we docked to the sound of a military band, welcoming us home to England.
After disembarking, we ex-prisoners were first off the ship, and, without any formalities. A bus was waiting to take us to the transit camp, where we were to spend the night, before proceeding on leave the following morning. On arrival at the camp, after a thorough medical examination, we were given £8 wages, and some ration cards for six weeks leave. In addition, we received chocolate, some boiled sweets, and cigarettes. We spent the night in a pub, and the following morning, after an early reveille, entrained for the final leg of the journey home. Before getting on the train, I sent a telegram to my wife to say that I would be home later that day.
I forget exactly how long it took to get home, but after changing at York, I do remember some delay at Durham. My excitement knew no bounds as I waited for the train to restart, and at last we were on the way, and very soon I was alighting at number 10 platform, Newcastle Central Station, to be almost bowled over by my wife Rhoda as she ran along the platform to greet me. It had been almost four years since we were last together.
BACK TO ITALY
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell's daughter concludes:
He never went back to Italy until the summer of 1991, when he decided to visit the places he had known and try to track down anyone he knew. With his sister and brother-in-law and my mother, Lilian, he visited Farfa and stayed again in the monastery (by then a guest-house run by nuns).
He told us that he went to the village where he had first stayed before recapture, with little hope of finding the family, as all he could remember was that the daughter was called Maria, and every girl in Italy then was called Maria! He got talking to an old man in the square, who reeled off the names of all the local Marias of the right age. 'Maria X, Maria Y, Maria Petrucci...' 'That’s it!' my father said. The man pointed across the square: 'That’s her sitting outside her house,' he said. She remembered Hutch more than my father, but it was undoubtedly her, and he had his photo taken with her. A short article about this holiday and part of his story appeared in the Waltham Forest Guardian on 10 January 1992, by Penny Ager, to whom I'm indebted for some of the chronology and proper names.
2083832 Staff/Sergeant Richard Morris talking about his friend 31000229 Private John Tourtillotte 2932159
In February 1970 John and Maxine (his wife) had gone to Italy where they retraced as best they could the route John had I had taken more than 26 years earlier. They had been successful in locating the Pinzi family and now were bringing photos of the big reunion. Guido was still farming, but not at Poderina, although the house was still standing, looking much as it did in the '40s.
Richard Morris' s daughter Sue Finley and her son visited the Pinzi family in 2008
I escaped alone easily in the chaos, as many were killed and the German guards were badly shaken. I was barefoot, as the Germans had taken my boots, braces and belts as a precautionary measure because I had insulted a German unter-offizier on Fara-in-Sabina station, north-east of Rome. After I had walked for three hours my feet were sore so I rested for a few hours, and then secured a pair of old straw shoes from an Italian house near to the railway south of Orvieto. I walked southwards throughout the night of the 28th and on the morning of the 29th I approached an empty house near to (l think) Lucano where I found wine and fruit. About an hour afterwards five Germans approached the house, where I was found hiding in the outhouse and taken to Orvieto hospital.
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
Corporal Marsh and the Irishman Johnnie Atkins were captured and sent to Camp 82 at Laterina in the Province of Arezzo.
Johnnie and I remained at this hideout until May 1944 when, on a Sunday morning around 4 or 5 o'clock in the early hours, a patrol of Germans with Alsatian dogs discovered us. Captured yet again, we were taken across the hills to another village called Valinfredda, where we were handcuffed together, put into a motor truck and taken to a camp where there were more prisoners.
We were only there a few hours when we were moved to a camp called Laterina. There were about five or six hundred of us in this camp. Here we stayed for a few weeks until one day the Germans decided to clear the camp. This was in the afternoon. We called this march the Murder March as 15 of our chaps were shot during this movement. They said they were marching us to a station but by the next morning we were back in the same camp.
On arriving back a party was organised to go out and bring back the 15 dead who we buried. During this night march I told one of our chaps I was going to make a break for it.
Coming up the road towards us I could see a herd of white bullocks. I intended to walk among them but I found it was Germans tending the animals, not Italians. Something sharp was stuck in my back and I quickly jumped back into line.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
Robert and his companions carried on in this way for several days, asking for and obtaining help from the farms they came across, avoiding a group of Germans and obtaining assistance including food from a Contessa. Further on in a village some nuns gave them information about German troop movements.
We had travelled a fair distance and were passing through an area comprising of small scattered hamlets and villages. With no sleep the previous night and our food supply finished we were both physically and mentally exhausted and in bad need of sustenance. We tried several houses in various villages for food and a place to sleep, only to be met with point-blank refusal every time, the same reason being given, the Fascist patrols were active in the area. This in itself should have warned us away from the district, but we were too tired, hungry, cold and weary to think of safety. We had just reached the outskirts of a village when we slumped on a grass verge and debated our plight. I had noticed a small 'bistro' in the main street of the village, and whilst we sat resting I mentioned this to the others. Considering the pitfalls we decided we would return and check it out, attempting to get food and lodgings for the night, regardless of expense.
The soldiers entered the hostelry and were befriended by an Italian who offered to help them but instead arranged for their capture by a group of armed men. In an attempt to escape, they hid in a hut and blocked up the doorway with some bricks, only to be discovered by the men's dogs. The leader dismissed most his men except for lad of about fourteen who was wielding a sub-machine gun, and asserted that as the three captives were in civilian clothes and could not identify themselves they were spies. He refused to take Robert's and Gibson's army pay books as evidence, saying they could have picked them up anywhere. Robert continues:
A high wall with a grassy slope leading up to it partially encircled the village, he ordered us to climb the short grassy slope and stand with our backs against the wall at the top. The gun-crazy lad took up a position some thirty yards below and trained his Tommy gun on us. Our execution now seemed imminent, I stood between Gibson and Geordie.
Robert decided that he would feign death at the first shot, rolling down the bank and into the ditch, and from there try to grab the gun from the lad. However
..relief came in a different form. A priest walking along the now moonlit road approached the two below us, he spoke to them for some length of time, then crossed himself and walked back towards the village. A minute or two later we were ordered to come back down onto the road. We did that with alacrity and a sigh of relief, we looked at the two Italians as (if) to say, that's one up to us so far. The priest apparently held more sway in the village than the Fascist movement.
The three escapers found themselves in the village lock-up together with some other POWS who had been captured in North Africa and had been recaptured in that same village. It would appear that they had been beaten up by their captors:
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Private Blewitt describes what happened in the lock-up
It was in the early hours of the morning that we arrived at the gaol. It was a small building, not too far from Terni, as I was to learn later, so, in fact, we had not covered much ground since escaping from the train. The gate into the courtyard was opened for us by a weary looking uniformed figure, and then through a stout wooden door, we were led into a cell. There was no furniture in the cell, only a raised sleeping platform, and, there were no blankets; there was not even a place to wash, but just before the cell door clanged shut, a bucket was thrown into the cell.
Sleep was impossible that night; we were all aching from head to toe, and, it was bitterly cold. Daylight brought little relief, but at least we had a chance to examine our cuts and bruises. I was cut mainly about the legs, had a nasty swelling over one eye, and had numerous bruises on my back and shoulders. However, my worst injuries seemed to be to my ribs, because every breath I took caused me great pain. My two companions were in much the same state as I was, and I considered the beating I took in the cave near Veiano1 was nothing compared to what I had suffered the previous night at the hands of these Fascist thugs. Later that morning we had a visitor. He looked like the weary guard who had admitted us to the gaol in the early hours of the morning, but he brought neither food nor drink for us, as we had hoped. However, he did push another prisoner into the cell, and a more elegant prisoner I have never seen! He was dressed in a smart suit, shirt and tie, with shining shoes, and he spoke perfect English. Indeed, I would say, without hesitation, that he was English, but he was an obvious plant, and after asking many questions, to which he received no answers, he was quickly removed from our company. He was not gone long, when the gaoler returned, and I was taken away, alone, for interrogation.
Between two gaolers, I was escorted up a flight of stairs to a room where an army officer sat at a desk, flanked on either side by two black-shirted soldiers, vicious looking thugs. I expected a repetition of the events which took place after our capture in the village, but I was wrong. In an almost friendly tone, the officer asked me to sit before him at the desk. Totally amazed at the attitude, I sat, and was immediately offered a cigarette, and while I sat smoking, the officer began to talk about family life and the horrors of war. I sat throughout all this, silent, pretending I did not understand much of what was being said, but he was a true expert, and after praising the British, and saying how much he admired us, he quietly asked me whereabouts in England I was from. Lulled into a false sense of security, I told him I was from Newcastle, and then the real interrogation began. Had I been a spy, or perhaps someone involved in subversive activities, I don't think for one moment I would have fallen for his blandishments, but I was only a Private soldier, and although I had been interrogated on a number of previous occasions, I had not previously encountered such a cunning interrogator.
Still in his quiet manner, he told me that it was useless for me to pretend that I did not understand Italian, and that if he thought I was hedging in any way, one of his soldiers would help me understand! Still sore from the beatings and knowing that this was no idle threat, I decided to answer his questions, maybe not truthfully in every detail, but hopefully in a manner that he would accept. His first questions concerned my capture in the desert and my escape from Verona, and these I answered truthfully; there was no one else involved, and I had nothing to hide...However, he was very interested in what had happened since I escaped from the train, and when he began these questions his mask slipped, revealing his true nature, a typical Fascist thug.
He wanted to know who had helped us after our escape, and in particular, where we had obtained our clothing. I told him that the clothes Arthur and Bob were wearing had been stolen, and that I'd procured my own clothes near Verona. At this, he flew into a rage, saying that he did not believe we'd stolen any clothing, and, as for my story about wanting to reach the Allied lines to the south, he told me he did not believe one word! He argued that anyone concerned for their own safety would not have chosen to take on a difficult walk of hundreds of miles, when the comparative safety of Switzerland was less than one hundred miles from Verona. In his opinion, I was involved in subversive activities against the state, and, was encouraging others to do likewise. It was obvious that he did not believe anything I said, right from the start, and that our future had been decided even before the interrogation began.
He told me, with relish, that I was to inform my comrades that we were still under the sentence of death, but if we were to tell him where we had obtained our clothes, the sentence could be rescinded. The following day, we were to be taken on a tour of the area where we had been captured after our escape, and we were to point out the houses where we had received assistance. I half expected another beating, but nothing happened, and once the interrogation was over, I was rather subdued as I was returned to my cell. I related to Bob and Arthur all that had taken place during my interrogation, and we decided that, whatever happened, we would not disclose our sources of help after our escape. There was nothing heroic about our decision; in the first place it was doubtful whether we would recognise again any of the places where we'd received help, and secondly, we had no doubt that informing on others would not save our own skins. Having made up our minds, we waited, with trepidation, the arrival of the guards for our expected tour of the area.
About one hour after my interrogation, after we'd had a meal of bread and water, a truck drew up in the courtyard, and six or so guards alighted. They waited while a gaoler took us from our cell, and then, with much laughter, threw us bodily into the back of the truck. Our tour of the area began at the bombed-out bridge. From there, we scoured the countryside, in all directions, stopping at a number of houses. Each time we stopped we were asked the same question; 'Did you receive help at this house?' and each time the answer was the same, 'No'. Our refusal to co-operate with our captors caused them to become very angry, but there was nothing they could do, except maybe deliver another punch or two to our ribs. Strange as it may seem, we were becoming immune to their savage attacks. Finally, the sergeant in charge called off the time-wasting exercise, and we were returned to the gaol. Arthur and Bob were put into the cells, but I was taken upstairs to see the officer, who, by this time, was in an absolute rage. At first, because of the way he was waving his revolver about in front of my face, I thought that I was to be shot out of hand, but eventually, he calmed down, and in a most sinister manner, he told me that we were to be shot within the next two days, in view of our total lack of co-operation. Back in the cell, I gave my companions an account of what had taken place, and we were in no doubt that the Fascists would carry out the planned execution. It appeared that our fate was sealed, but we were about to receive help from an unexpected quarter.
We spent a sleepless night, unable to sleep not only because of the dire situation we now found ourselves to be in, but also because of the cold, and nagging hunger pains. It seemed to us that the Fascists must have a policy of not feeding condemned prisoners, because no food at all was brought to us that morning. However, about mid-day, we heard the sound of motor cycles, and a truck, screeching to a halt in the courtyard. Then came the sound of German voices, apparently, raised in anger. To our great surprise, our cell door was flung open, and we were ordered outside. The previous night, we had removed the sacking from our feet, and as we were being hustled outside, we tried to replace the sacking, but our gaoler would not allow it. We were hurried, barefoot, into the courtyard, where two Germans astride motor cycles, with another four standing beside a truck, were awaiting us. At a signal, we were ordered to board the truck, and with an escort beside us, we left the gaol. The motor cyclists roared off in another direction.
The three men were taken firstly to a camp in Spoleto before being transferred to Camp PG 82, Laterina.
Again, we travelled by truck, the railways being almost unusable, and for this we were grateful; those of us who had been on the bombed train did not relish travelling on another train. The first night of our journey, we stopped at a camp, the name of which I never knew. The following night we came to a camp by a river, set on a plain in the shadow of some mountains. I was to find out, the day after our arrival, from an Italian worker, that it was situated in the valley known as Valdarno, the valley of the river Arno, between Florence and Arezzo; it was named Laterina. The mountains towering above were known as the Pratomagno, and the camp, before the armistice with Italy, was known as Camp 82.
Bill Blewitt and Arthur Gibson escaped from this camp and spent time on the Pratomagno. Robert was sent on to firstly Stalag IVB in Germany and then to Stalag XI, ending the war in Arbeits Kommando 544/9 near Magdeburg.
ON TO GERMANY
Leoferne Belli, born in 1923, a retired railwayman from Allerona Stazione, gave his testimony to Giov. Battista Tomassini who reproduced it in his book Il Ponte without quoting his source:
The Germans took the prisoners who had been trapped in their wagons, including some who were wounded, and put them and the men they had recaptured into a barbed-wire enclosure which they had set up on some land between two farms, Podere Osteria and Podere Civitella. Heavily armed, they stood guard over them. Towards midnight they forced the farmworkers to harness some oxen to two carts which were then used to transport the wounded to the station.
The other prisoners, amongst whom there were some women, were marched under guard for a distance of three or four kilometres after which they were put onto another train, which the following day, 29 January, continued its sad journey towards Germany.
3253567 Rifleman J. L. Leeson 2 Battalion The Cameronians (Scottish Rifles)
When giving his testimony at the enquiry Rifleman Leeson said he thought that most of the men who had escaped from the train had been recaptured, himself included. He and the others were put on another train for Germany. Leeson escaped from it when near to the border and gradually made his way to the British Lines in Italy.
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
From Camp Laterina we were transported to another station and there put onto the train for Germany via the Brenner Pass. After reaching Germany we were put into a transit camp near Munich. Here we received some Red Cross food parcels (we also received some while in camp in Italy). I remember the camp near Munich quite well as the British Medical Officer sent around to ask if any of us would like to give something towards helping to feed babies which had been born to some Yugoslavs who were in captivity there. We all contributed something from our parcels.
From this camp we were sorted out, and this was where I parted from Johnnie, my Irish friend, as I was sent to Hohenfels where there were about 5,000 prisoners...There then followed a forced march of 100 miles which took us ten days. We were taken through Regensburg, which already had been bombed by the R.A.F. and the Americans, the place was just a heap of rubble. One day we were marching along the road at around 10 o'clock in the morning when there was a terrific noise. It was R.A.F. fighter planes coming down at us from the direction of the sun. It was a terrifying moment and we all waved our hats, blankets and anything we had - I should think the whole 5,000 waved. The pilots must have recognised who it was, so without firing a shot they circled round and down once again, then went up overhead and performed the Victory Roll. What a relief this was - we knew we had been recognised.
After this march we were put on small farms, 200 in one place, 200 in another and so on. All that we had to eat was boiled potatoes and some horrible tea made from herbs.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
Anyway the Germans ordered us, took us, back to the train. They backed some more box-cars in there and they put us aboard the train that night and took us on up to Florence...That’s the first time we really got something good to eat. They gave us, in this train depot, a whole bunch of noodles, I think it was. Noodles and stuff. All we wanted. Finally got our bellies full there. First good meal we’d had to eat since - well over a month, then...we stayed at Florence that day...I’d say it would be about 31 January 1944.
We stayed at Florence that day...they came in then, German officers, and said they were going to put us in coach cars. Wouldn’t be box-cars now. And said if anybody escapes, they got put in box-cars again. So we rode that day and that night we reached Brenner Pass. You probably know where that is. Between Italy and Austria. That’s a pass that was bombed all the time. We stopped. A German officer came around and issued everybody a little first aid kit, a small one, because we might have trouble getting through there. That night, we left and made it through the pass and the next morning were in Austria....That would have been around February 1...We went through there and up to Munich on a train and they sidetracked us up there. All of a sudden the bombs are dropping. The Americans are bombing part of it. Everybody jumped out and went under the train and stayed there till it was over with, but they were bombing the other side so nobody there got hurt at all. Late that afternoon, or that evening, they took us out to Stalag VIIA. Into that camp there.
Russel was in Stalag VIIA for almost two months, then was moved to Stalag IIB and from there he was sent to a farm at Versin in Poland. When the Russian army was approaching early in 1945 Russel and the other prisoners were made to walk across Poland towards Germany which took almost two months, a distance of about 500 miles.
The Injured
The injured men from the hospitals in Aquapendente and Orvieto were sent on to prison camps as soon as they could travel, those with light injuries directly to Germany and the others to a hospital in Mantova (Mantua).
84050 Sergeant Robert J. Maddern Union Defence Force SA
I was transported by hospital train to the civil hospital at Mantova, North Italy, where fortunately, owing to my being able to speak German, I made friends with the German Doctor, Maj. Schultz, after whose kind treatment I regained the use of my legs after three months.
Conditions were insufferable, no medical supplies, no surgeons, and no nurses, male or female. Upon my approaching the Major on the subject he listened to me and allowed me a free hand, so I was left completely in charge, I agitated for the right to contact Geneva for supplies, this was done, and under the supervision of Dr. Lee Giaggi de Blasys, we began to receive the much-wanted material. I asked for permission to ask for volunteers at the nearby POW cage for medical soldiers to work the hospital, this was granted, and with two English lads and three South Africans we started work. Not being a medical soldier myself I was free to escape at any time, as I certainly could have, but having had a taste of the impossible conditions myself, I resolved to stay and do what I could, in this respect my knowledge of German and Italian proved invaluable to us.
By May 1944 the hospital, through my suggestion to the area commander Col. Schmidt, was declared a stable institution, this fact alone saved the lives of many Allied prisoners, as then, if they were not considered fit to travel, they were left in our hands until fit enough to do so, thus giving us more time in which to combat the infections which were taking so many lives. To this date I had no success in trying to convince the Germans to give us a competent surgeon, all surgical work was being done by ordinary physicians. Here, however, I succeeded at last. I was given permission to contact an old friend, Professor Dalla Rosa, a surgeon of high repute, the Germans under pressure subsequently allowed him to work in our interests.
To this date my staff had grown to five Allied medical soldiers, seven Italian internees from the Italian Medical corps, and ten Red Cross women volunteers, six Italian doctors and one surgeon, even with these however we were sadly understaffed to cope with the constant average of 200 patients, 75 of whom were generally listed as serious, some months we had as many as 700 patients...To the beginning of January 1945 we had been receiving all Allied POWs from the whole of the Italian front, in all over 5,000 had been through our hands and of these, by the grace of God, we had only lost 66.
In March 1945, the total evacuation of the hospital was ordered, but under agitation the area commander agreed to leave 45 of the most seriously wounded behind in the care of Allied Medical soldiers, being a senior NCO I was not permitted to stay, so with all my records, grave registrations etc. I escaped while the lightly wounded were being loaded into buses for evacuation further north. 48 hrs. later the Germans evacuated the town, and I returned to the hospital to carry on until our troops arrived, during this period I took charge of 3 German officers and 250 other ranks left at the hospital for lack of transport. These along with my records I handed over to Gen. Martin, Officer Commanding the 5th Army Medical Services, through Col. C.H. Moseley O. C. of the 15th U.S. Evacuation Hospital, who took over our hospital on his arrival six days after the Germans had left.
At Col. Moseley's request, owing to him not having anyone conversant with the enemy languages, I worked for him for three weeks doing all his contact work, as the hospital was set up to full working capacity receiving our own and German POWs. At this date the Germans capitulated in Italy, our work was done, and by Col. Moseley's request we were all given priority for a speedy repatriation.
THE ARRIVAL OF THE US ARMY
5 Armored Division
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
Early one morning we heard gunfire in the distance and the sound of shells whistling overhead. Our German sentries didn't seem to take any notice of us wandering around, so a few of our lads went down to the village. Some hours passed before they returned, and as they came they were shouting something - 'The Yanks are coming!' Sure enough there they were, but only a forward patrol. However, for us this was enough. It meant the end of imprisonment for us. We all cheered - in fact we almost went mad! This patrol of Americans was equipped with walkie-talkies, so they sent back messages reporting their contact with British Prisoners of War.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
Robert was in Arbeits Kommando 544/9
The Allied troops were now within a few miles of Magdeburg and we could hear their artillery in the distance, which led to rumours that we were going to be moved to another camp further inland. This seemed confirmed when we were told there would be no further work parties and we were confined to our room. With the build up of activity and the strong troop reinforcements around the outskirts of the town our move seemed inevitable...some ten minutes later we were ordered downstairs and assembled in front of the factory, and without having a roll-call or search (which saved us covering for at least four missing prisoners), we headed through the gate. The road was full of German soldiers and armoured units, all heading toward Magdeburg, behind them a contingent of Hitler Youth, some of them as young as ten or eleven. On both sides of the road other units of Hitler Youth were entrenched at intervals, all dressed in seemingly new uniforms, and armed with various weapons, mostly anti-tank guns. Many of the little buggers spat and swore at us, as we waited for more military vehicles to pass. The abuse ceased when a German officer yelled orders at them, although we were still a target for their spittle.
We finally moved in the opposite direction, heading towards the River Elbe. We had been walking for about two hours when we came to a bridge across the river, we also came to an abrupt halt. There was a hell of a lot of confusion all around the bridge area, it was bedlam; womenfolk shouting at their children, men cursed and swore about how long they had been waiting, and officers repeatedly yelled orders to army personnel. The entire bridge was a seething mass of civilian refugees pushing prams, bicycles, and pushcarts laden with young, whimpering children perched on the families' belongings, all moving (or trying to) in the same direction. This with the long formations of German soldiers trying to pass in the opposite direction, resulted in absolute chaos. We sat by the roadside and waited for about half an hour, during which time a meagre bread ration was dished out, but the situation did not improve, it deteriorated if anything, and eventually our officer ordered us to our feet.
The column continued walking for two more days and nights. Robert continues:
I had had the impression for quite some time that we had been walking around in circles most of the time. As we moved right into the village, we came fact to face with another large group of British POWS, how many would be hard to say, at least one hundred and fifty, they were guarded it seemed by more German officers than the ordinary run-of-the-mill soldiers. We were kept apart from the other group of prisoners, who seemed to have been on the march for some considerable time, our group were tired, hungry and downhearted but we looked at them pityingly. Our officer gathered us around him in a little field, in the distance we could hear the noises of war, and realised the Allied troops were near at hand. The officer- in-charge explained to the prisoners that they were in a neutral zone and that a senior German officer was to be sent to make contact with the Allied forward troops. When he did not return as expected a second official was sent together with two British POWS. On the second occasion the mission was successful.
Within the hour we could hear the rumble of tanks approaching and intermittent small arms fire. Whatever army it was advancing on the village we did not know, it could have been the Germans. Ignoring the officer's warning to stay put we ran to the outskirts of the village as a large Yankee tank appeared and ground to a halt a few yards in front of us. Behind it was a convoy of lorries carrying American troops, everyone was shouting, cheering and offering outstretched hands. The sight of these troops had a strange emotional effect on us, more than some prisoners could endure; tears of joy trickled down their faces. As we walked the length of the convoy, cartons of cigarettes, not packets, were being passed down to us along with Yankee combat food packages, or as they called them, K rations. Unable to remember the date of this liberation day, my curiosity became aroused, so I asked a Yank: it was Friday the Thirteenth.
Robert and his fellow ex-POWS were taken by lorry to an American evacuation hospital and then to a disused prisoner of war camp near a town called Dorstep to await a flight back to the UK via Brussels.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
Well, we had been on the road picking up more guys along the way. The guys started getting sick and falling along the way. You’d see them lay there. You wouldn’t stop and help them. We never did. The three guys who hung together, they helped each other, but anybody else that fell, you didn’t fool with. One time we came into this town and another group about the same size came in from another direction. There were about 2,000 men in that town, then. Next morning, we split up in two groups and went different ways again. It’s hard to explain just exactly what took place across there. We’d sleep in barns most of the time at night and that wasn’t so bad, but it was a long, long hike across there...We went straight west for a month, more than that. Over a month. And one night, they stopped us in kind of a little airport and they were supposed to put us to work there and do something.
Jesus, the next day, we got bombed there. Our own planes came and bombed the place. The next day there were craters probably 30 feet deep out there where the bombs had hit. But they didn’t hit the barracks. After we were there a couple more days, this German officer told the other guy in charge to get those men out of there, otherwise they’re going to get killed in there. He figured they were going to bomb again. So on a Saturday morning, we left there, and we didn’t get even a mile out of there, walking up a hill, and our planes leveled that place. Every barracks was just leveled. So we come that close. They would have got us all had we not got out of there...We had been on a march for two months. They started us back east again, and we walked for three days and three nights steady. We never slept or ate anything for the last three days and three nights. Until they found out that the bridge across the Elbe River was blown up, and they couldn’t get us across that bridge. So they left us on our own early that morning. And that’s when this 5 Armored Division spearheaded in with their tanks and got us out of there. They (the Germans] said they were going to shoot us up real fast if we didn’t get out of there and we looked and saw dust coming down the road. Two of these SS officers said they were German tanks. But they were American tanks instead. So we saw what it was and turned and came back and our tanks rolled in and got us out of there...on 13 April, 1945...Friday the 13th..
Of the men in our group, we ended up with 426. The rest fell along the way. What happened to them, I don’t know. They were sick. Got sick along the way. They were falling liked poisoned grasshoppers for a while. That’s all that was left of us.
That night, they took us to this town that was closest there, and they put us in the houses there. They put the civilians all on one side of the street, and put us on the other side of the street. Told us to take anything we wanted. That’s where I got that knife that I have at home. Anyway, we went to cook that night and this guy from Kentucky, Albert Sutherland, he was trying to get a fire going, and they had this little wood cook stove there. They had a bunch of eggs there. We were going to fry a bunch of eggs. He couldn’t get the fire going at all, so there was a big slab of fat bacon there and he tossed that in there, and that burned like everything, so he got the fire going. We fried eggs and ate there till 3 o’clock in the morning.
The next morning, there was a barn next to there, and we went up to the barn and milked some of the cows and we had a good time that night. The people came back the next morning - that lived in the house - they had some pretty nice beds in there, one real soft one. I laid down on that bed and we kind of made a mess of everything. Messed things up, I guess. They were talking about how bad it was and we told them what we had just been through, so then they calmed right down. Everything was all right. They were good to us then.
...they took us over by Hanover by truck. We rode all night to get to Hanover. We stayed, and there they gave us all the food we wanted. We ate and waited for our name to be called out so we’d be heading back to the States. When they called you, they took you on this DC-3 plane (C-47’s) 26 guys to a plane and flew us out of there. They flew us over to Le Havre, France. I was in Germany about two weeks after I was liberated, at the most. And we stayed at Le Havre until 1 May, and then we boarded the ship there and went over to England and then home.
14 Armored Division
Combat Command B
4386573 Private George Mason
5 Green Howards
Private Mason had been sent to Stalag 344 Lamsdorf
I remained there until the Russians began their offensive, and in January 1945 the Germans started the evacuation of the camp. I was in a train-load taken to camp XIIIC Hammelburg, Bavaria, arriving there about the 6th or 7th of March. The Americans started a push in this sector and camp evacuation started again. On 31 March 1945 at night we were going to be entrained again at Hammelburg station which is four miles from the camp. We left the camp in groups of 20s with two German guards in charge of each 20. These guards were old and carried a lot of equipment, I escaped when we were half way between the camp and the station with Sgt. T. Shields, Reconnaissance Corps. It was at night, and I followed the sergeant through a gap in the hedge off the roadside. We lay up in some dense backwoods for seven days, heard plenty of activity from tanks and small arms. On 8 April 1945 we ventured out and met an American patrol in a village. They took us back to the camp where the Americans were in full control. I landed in England on 11 April 1945.
REJOINING THE LINES
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
Time passed and one day when we were outside the village of Collalto Sabina we heard a vehicle coming up the road. We got off the road and hid. You can imagine our surprise when it was a British Transport. I spoke in Italian and said we were pleased to see them. They told us to raise our arms but we soon made it clear we were ex-POWs. The young officer in charge said they were the 12 Lancers. The officer seemed a little troubled with my age and also with the fact that I looked a bit like a German (blonde hair and blue eyes)..I only found this out later.
He asked me to accompany him to a Yankee post to get cigarettes and sweets... I was to all intents and purposes a prisoner of the Yanks. I insisted on seeing someone in command. I demanded to be removed to the British Army. I got my wish and then an interrogation with our men. It was obvious they did not believe me. I must admit it sounded strange. The one point of my statement they found hard to believe was that a large boulder had come through the roof of the train but it was a fact. An American Army Air Force officer I had met at Collalto Sabina visited me. He took me to his quarters. I had a shower, a complete change of clothes. They at least believed me and treated me with respect...I was sure glad to learn I would be leaving this shower and going to a transit camp at Naples to await a ship back to the UK. Before I left I had to sign the Official Secrets Act.
We had a day or two in hand so we visited Pompei. I met up with others from the Saracen...Nothing exciting happened until we arrived back at Greenock. We mustered on deck waiting to go ashore, a band started to play and much to my astonishment we were the first ashore. We met with naval officers, they arranged for us to get money, gave us our travel vouchers etc... When we arrived at our headquarters they had cleared the lower decks – that meant that all available men were out to cheer us. I felt choked but happier than I had ever been. We all collected our new kit. I had my American uniform put away and once again I was a sailor...We all got our railway tickets and were on our way.
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell 's daughter describes his debriefing:
He stayed with Fernando Savioli until the area was finally liberated by the British in June 1944 - by a unit based in Forest Gate, just a mile or two from his home in London.
Having been found behind German lines, the British had to ensure that he was as he claimed, and not a spy for the enemy. He was interrogated by a British officer, who asked him questions such as, 'If you’re a Londoner as you say, tell me what number bus I would catch from ... (naming a route in central London)'. He rarely went to central London by bus and did not know the answer. The officer asked him some easier questions and in his exhausted state his mind went blank. Things were not looking good. Finally the officer asked him how he would get to a certain place in Portsmouth from the docks, to which he replied: 'You’d go along such and such a street, then past Aggie Weston’s...'. The officer stopped him. 'OK I’m satisfied that you’re not a spy,' he said. 'Only a serviceman in the Royal Navy would refer to Dame Agnes Weston’s homes for sailors as Aggie Weston’s.'2
My sister has a typewritten slip which says:
'Certified that No. C/JX160639 AB Pinnell A.R. rank Able Seaman Unit RN has been interrogated by an intelligence officer of British Section C.S.D.I.C. (ADV) CMS on 14 June 1944 signed G. W. Kennedy British Section. Note: this certificate must be carefully retained by the individual to whom it refers and must be produced on request to the appropriate authorities, whether in the Middle East, British North Africa or the United Kingdom.'
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army
6 South African Division passed through Orvieto on 14 June and moved northwards beyond Poderina.
June 17, 1944, dawned under a clear sky. We were free of enemy-occupied territory at last. John and I made one last visit to our sod shanty where we had lived the last two months. It gave us a sense of pride that it was still rainproof, and habitable if its occupants were not overly demanding. As we looked at our bunks and the burlap bags filled with straw which served as our mattresses, John mused, 'Well, Dick, it was better than sleeping in a slit trench.'
We made our way up to Poderina at the crest of the mountain for the last time; the heavy motor traffic of the Allies on the valley floor was a welcome sight. Mafalda and Fermina, with the help of Giovanna and Nilda, were preparing one last feast, pasta asciutta with lamb. It was a bitter-sweet occasion; there was jubilation to be free of the threatening German occupation, but we had to leave this wonderful family, most likely never to see them again...
We sat down to write a letter to the 'bel generale' on behalf of Giulio, extolling his contributions to the well-being and safety of escaped Allied prisoners and praising his steady courage in the face of threats from the Fascists and Nazis. An additional letter to the Allies was necessary; it noted the dates we had spent with the Pinzis who fed and lodged us during that time. We hoped that the Allies would keep their word and reimburse this generous family.
At the door tears flowed down Fermina's and Mafalda's cheeks; they had come to look on us as sons. We gave the Pinzis everything we had of any value and said 'Arrivederci', see you later, knowing it was most likely 'Addio', farewell. We started down the trail in the direction of the heavy traffic on the valley floor. 'We did live to fight another day, Dick.' From time to time, we glanced over our shoulder at Poderina, perched on the top of the ridge, until it faded from view.
Would we meet American troops? While playing cribbage outside our sod shanty, John, Alberto, and I used to indulge our imagination about our first meeting with American soldiers. Since we were all wearing worn-out civilian clothing, we hoped they would assume we were Italian civilians and ask us for information in broken Italian. Our reply was going to be, 'Speak English, sonny, and I'll understand you better.'
Somehow, such an encounter did not seem so amusing now. The knot of tension which had gripped my spirit for so many months let go suddenly. I felt completely exhausted...Thinking that I would not make it back up to the front lines was reassuring, but it was discomfiting as well. For what had I faced, after all? What had I accomplished? Why was I getting off so easily? What about all those I knew who lost their lives? What about those in my platoon whom I never really got to know as people who died? What about all those old friends who were probably gone now? How many of them were killed during my absence? I walking to safety, not they.
I had not faced the 10th. Panzers like the Desert Rats of the British Eighth Army. Were my adversaries merely the chaff of the German Army from which the cream had been skimmed? I had been so lucky in Sicily and at Salerno not to be where the worst of the fighting was taking place.
A sharp voice behind us interrupted my guilty thoughts. 'Just where do you blokes think you're going?' 'Since you've got the gun, we'll go with you,' we responded. The Tommy lowered his sub-machine gun, 'It's some fucking Yanks! And all the time I thought you was Jerry!'
A trip to the valley floor brought us to a battalion command post of the Sixth South African Division which was trying to push a German unit off Mount Cetona. The interpreter, who had to communicate almost simultaneously with men from so many different areas of the world, seemed to be the busiest man there. He was speaking, within the space of a few minutes, six languages: Afrikaans, Italian, Spanish, Russian, German, and English. He lost his composure only once when he berated a German prisoner who had called him a 'schweinhund' during his interrogation. My German was practically non-existent, but it sounded like 'pig-dog' to me!
The two soldiers travelled via Orvieto to Rome in an army truck, which halted at a makeshift depot.
Two familiar faces were at the depot, Joe Koziol and Mike Guele, who had news about our old platoon. Joe and Mike had survived, but five other men from the platoon had not been so fortunate. After escaping from the bridge, they made the mistake of staying together as a group, which drew attention to them. One night as they slept in a hut, a Gestapo unit murdered them.
Rome meant a British Army billet with beds, showers, new shoes, and new clothing...John and I went out to see the Eternal City. On a pavement we came upon two soldiers from Sixth Corps Headquarters, and they led us up to their apartment...
What was the matter with me? Why was I so worn out? Why wasn't I enjoying my freedom more? I flopped on one of the apartment's beds, the first bed my body had touched in more than a year. The next thing I knew, John was shaking me the following morning. 'Come on, Dick, we've got to get back to that billet. We don't want to miss our shipment out of here to Naples.'
Unbelievable destruction greeted our convoy on its way through Anzio. Every inch of ground was littered with debris from some kind of blast. Blue water in the Tyrrhenian sparkled peacefully on our right as the trucks made their way down the coastal highway toward Naples. How ironic it was, I thought, that John had been sent to the front as punishment, and now he was going home before the rest of the men in the Sixth Corps Headquarters.
They were then sent on to Oran, Algeria before leaving for home.
The area command post sent for John and me later that morning. Major Williams, a former battalion commander in the 157, came out to greet us with our orders, 'The following personnel, having escaped enemy custody, will proceed without delay to the United States.'
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Bill and a South African he had teamed up with on the Pratomagno were in the hamlet of Gorgiti near the small town of Loro Ciuffenna when the they were liberated by 6 British Armoured Division in August 1944.
There was much rejoicing in Gorgiti; like us, the villagers could hardly believe that they had been liberated at last. The best wine and food, which had been hidden from the Germans, was produced, and what followed was almost a carnival. Naturally, we joined in the celebrations, but the realisation, that we could not consider ourselves to be free until we were with our own troops, made us anxious to be on our way. There were tearful scenes as we left the village. On our way down into the valley we met up with a man leading a donkey laden with wood. He was smoking a cigarette, and asked us if we wanted one, to which we replied that we did. We were astonished to be given a cigarette from a twenty packet of Senior Service. To our unspoken questions he merely said, 'The English have arrived'. These were the words I had been longing to hear for twelve months. With a cheery wave, he continued on his way, while we hurried down into the valley.
Surprisingly, crossing the lines was no more exciting than taking an afternoon stroll. We walked into a village at the foot of the Pratomagno, a village called, I think, Loro Ciuffena, pronounced Shoofena, a place we would not have ventured near during the German occupation. In the centre of the village stood a Bren carrier, surrounded by Italians, begging for or trying to buy food. We stood and watched for a few minutes, before making ourselves known, and when the Bren carrier crew realised that we were in fact British escaped prisoners of war, we were immediately showered with food and cigarettes, and a brew of hot, sweet tea was enjoyed, before an officer came on the scene. At last, a few days short of one year behind the lines, I had finally made it. I took one last look up at the Croce di Pratomagno, La Rocca, Gorgiti, and the other mountain villages, and I wondered would I ever see them again?
We were questioned briefly by the officer, and he took down the details of our regiments, our escapes, and briefly, how we had spent our time behind the lines.. it was arranged that we were to taken by truck to a fairly large village. On arrival at our next stop, we were taken for interrogation...I cannot recall, exactly, the sequence of events which took place after our interrogation, but we were fed, showered and medically examined, and much to my surprise, we were not issued with any new clothing, except a pair of boots. We were then instructed to make our own way to Naples, to a Repatriation Unit for escaped prisoners of war. On arrival, we would be paid, kitted out, and then, when space was available, would be sent home on a homeward bound troopship. In the meantime, our next of kin would be informed that we were now safe, in our own lines. We were allocated a tent and some bedding, and allowed free time on our first night. We still had a small amount of Italian money, and spent a pleasant night 'on the Town', without having to look over our shoulders every few minutes.
It was strange to be awoken the next morning by the bugler sounding Reveille; stranger still to be able to have a wash and shave, toiletries having been issued, and from there to go to the dining hall for a typical British Army breakfast. We received a few funny looks as we stood in line for breakfast. After breakfast, we made our way to the MT Section, sought out an officer, asking if there was any transport going in the direction of Naples. The officer sent a runner to the Orderly Room in order to verify our story, and once he was satisfied, he informed us that a truck was leaving shortly for a place near Rome, and that we were welcome to a lift. We accepted, and by mid-afternoon we arrived at another transit camp, not too far from Rome. We were interrogated, yet again, before being offered a meal, and issued with bedding...
We arrived about mid-day in Naples, at the Number 2 Allied Prisoner of War Repatriation Unit, and although I don't remember too much about the place, I certainly knew I was back in the Army. First of all, of course, was the inevitable interrogation, although this time, I had to provide a written account of my adventures, starting with the day I was captured in the Western Desert. Next, I was given a thorough medical examination, and after a hot shower, I was fitted out with a complete new uniform, including a pair of khaki drill shorts and slacks, and, the added luxury of socks and underwear. I felt a new man!
Bill was taken to an Army rest camp in Salerno the following day, to await transport to the UK. After one month he returned to Naples, ready to embark for home.
2932159 Signalman Ebenezer S. Sutherland 6 Seaforth Highlanders
A friend of the family took him by motorbike to Avezzano, once the Allies arrived there. Initially he was thought to be a deserter form the German army, but once his identity was confirmed he was sent back to Naples and sailed from there to the United Kingdom in June 1944.
4131027 Private James Hall 6 Cheshire Regiment
Pte Hall and Sgt. Broadley reached their lines on 16 June. Pte Hall was interviewed by M.I. 9 on 7 July
RETURNING HOME
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
During the time when Bill was with the Irishman Johnnie he had managed to get a message to his sister via a man he had met who worked in Vatican City, who had offered to send a message to her by radio. He later discovered that the message had been picked up on the radio by a person in London who wrote it down and posted it on to her. He was shown the message on his arrival home in 1945. His story continues:
It was lovely to be back in England again, as I had spent nine and a half years overseas. We were given food, tea, and cigarettes, and then a lovely hot shower, a clean change of clothing and a nice bed to sleep in. It was wonderful! The next thing was to send that most important telegram informing our next of kin. In my case this was my sister, who lived at The Wern, Five Lanes. My telegram said that I had arrived at Worthing, West Sussex and would be home within the next 48 hours.
This was May 1945 and I was given nine weeks repatriation leave. I was now weighing nine stone seven pounds (133 pounds), having gained weight from the time I was in Rome Hospital at Christmas, 1942, when I was less than eight stones (96 pounds). After some good food at home I eventually weighed 12 stones (168 pounds).
After my leave was over I had to report to High Wycombe where I underwent training - the same training as we had in the Depot all those years before! I was then attached to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps at Hounslow until I was demobbed at Hereford on 23rd October, 1945.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
Robert landed at Westcott and the next morning he was required to fill a questionnaire which apart from name, rank and number the sheets required a complete and detailed history of events, including all prison camp names, numbers dates interned within, campaigns of war prior to capture, any acts of sabotage committed, if so full information of such, and any other relevant information from the day of capture until day of release. They were then given new uniforms, ration cards, travel warrants and other documents and boarded lorries which were waiting to take them to the station. When Robert finally arrived in his home town he was stopped by two Redcaps as he was on his way home, who demanded to see his papers.
Reaching my front door, I lifted the knocker and tapped lightly. This started our old dog Paddy barking. A minute or so later, a shaft of light from the open bedroom window broke the darkness...My father's head poked through the window. Looking up with tearful eyes I said, 'Hello Dad.' I heard my mother's sleepy voice say, 'What's the matter, Father?' That was the moment I could not hold back my pent-up feelings: overwhelmed with emotion, the tears of joy rolled down my flushed cheeks.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
When we first got to New York, we anchored in the harbor overnight and didn’t pull in till the morning. We got off the ship and the Red Cross gave us coffee and doughnuts...We wanted to see the Statue of Liberty, never got to see it. It was so foggy you couldn’t see anything. We got on a ferry boat in New York City and went across the bay to New Jersey. And got on a train there, and about an hour’s ride on the train, we were out at this Camp Kilmer, New Jersey. We went to a recreation hall while there, and some General got up there and was going to give us a speech. He starts out, 'You heard today that you guys were going to get 21 days furlough. You’re not. You’re getting 60.' Boy, that was a good deal. And he says, 'I know you guys want to get home. I’m going to try and have you out of here within 24 hours.' And that was about 10 o’clock in the morning, and the next morning about 10 o’clock we were on a train again, heading across through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana. It took two days to get there.
Russel went on to Fort Snelling (Minneapolis) and then home to Pine City the next morning. He was discharged on 29 October, 1945.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army and his comrade 31000229 Private John Tourtillotte
The Pan Am flying boat landed in the water near La Guardia Airport. Waves pounded against the hull as we bounced up and down on our way to the dock. The nice lady chauffeuring me to a Park Avenue hotel should have been passing out coffee and doughnuts to other soldiers. It was hard to believe such royal treatment was intended far me.
Did the Morris Candy shop in Boulder still have a four digit phone number? Yes, one-three-four-eight would accept a collect call from Richard Morris in New York City. Happy screams came from the other end of the line.
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell 's daughter says:
When he finally returned to his home in Leyton, the family did not know the exact date and time when he would arrive, but the family dog sensed him when he was a long way down the street and made such a commotion that they knew he was coming.
He stayed on in the navy until 1953, becoming a Leading Torpedo-man and a Petty Officer. He married in 1948 and had three children (my brother Martin born in 1950, my sister Judith in 1952, and me in 1957). His naval trade was in electrical engineering and he continued this in civilian life working as a service engineer on traction batteries. He died suddenly at home from a heart attack in February 1993, aged 70.
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Melling speaks of an apparition he had whilst at sea
I got off at Bromley Cross station and walked home. As I approached our house I noticed there was no flag or reception party about - I will never, ever forget. Elsie my sister came out of the back door as if to meet me then ran in and out again. She ran to me and collapsed in my arms. She shouted 'It's our Arthur.' Little did I realise that they still thought I was dead. They had not received the telegraph as yet. It was a shock for me as well as for everyone else. I carried Elsie in the house. My mother said, 'I knew you would make it.' I told her how she had appeared to me on the sub and said I would be safe. It was tears all round. Of course they wanted to know everything. I told them about my escape from the train that was taking us to Germany and told them I had been made to sign the Official Secrets Act. I explained a few of the things that had happened to me in Italy.
That night I had a few drinks with my father and then to bed. I was in need of my sleep. I was awakened by my father telling me that a reporter from the Bolton Evening News was downstairs and wanted to interview me. I told him I was tired and not to bother as there was nothing I could really tell them. Nevertheless father talked to them. I think it read something like 'Three times escapes from Germans'. After about two of three days Mr. Jellico the postman knocked on the door. He was laughing as he gave me the telegram stating that I had been recovered – it almost sounded as if they had found me, perhaps I was lost!
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
It was late September, or early October 1944, when we sailed out of Naples harbour; the name of the ship, I seem to recall, was the Orion. There were other repatriates on board, some of them wounded, but the bulk of the troops were homeward bound, before being sent to the Second Front. I was back in the army now, with all the red tape, guard duties and chores to perform, but because nobody seemed to want to take responsibility for the few escapers on board, we were banished to the ship's galley. Here we received the same food as the crew, with a few little perks such as the occasional tot of rum, but it was a constant round of kitchen duties, washing up and so on. It was a relief to get back on deck, and breathe in the fresh sea air. I remember that when I sailed from England for the Middle East, it became almost a ritual for me to stand at the stern of the ship each evening, thinking of home. Now the reverse was the case; I stood on deck each night, thinking of the mates I had been with during my time behind the lines, and of the kind and brave Italians who had assisted me, and made my escape possible.
The voyage out to the Middle East had taken several weeks, because of having to go around the Cape, but the journey home was much quicker, and would last only a matter of days. We passed through the Bay of Biscay, where I expected rough weather, but the sea was like a mill pond, and a few days after passing through the Bay, we came in sight of land. I asked one of the crew if it was England, and he replied that we were actually in sight of Liverpool, the port from which I'd sailed so long ago. Later, we docked to the sound of a military band, welcoming us home to England.
After disembarking, we ex-prisoners were first off the ship, and, without any formalities. A bus was waiting to take us to the transit camp, where we were to spend the night, before proceeding on leave the following morning. On arrival at the camp, after a thorough medical examination, we were given £8 wages, and some ration cards for six weeks leave. In addition, we received chocolate, some boiled sweets, and cigarettes. We spent the night in a pub, and the following morning, after an early reveille, entrained for the final leg of the journey home. Before getting on the train, I sent a telegram to my wife to say that I would be home later that day.
I forget exactly how long it took to get home, but after changing at York, I do remember some delay at Durham. My excitement knew no bounds as I waited for the train to restart, and at last we were on the way, and very soon I was alighting at number 10 platform, Newcastle Central Station, to be almost bowled over by my wife Rhoda as she ran along the platform to greet me. It had been almost four years since we were last together.
BACK TO ITALY
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell's daughter concludes:
He never went back to Italy until the summer of 1991, when he decided to visit the places he had known and try to track down anyone he knew. With his sister and brother-in-law and my mother, Lilian, he visited Farfa and stayed again in the monastery (by then a guest-house run by nuns).
He told us that he went to the village where he had first stayed before recapture, with little hope of finding the family, as all he could remember was that the daughter was called Maria, and every girl in Italy then was called Maria! He got talking to an old man in the square, who reeled off the names of all the local Marias of the right age. 'Maria X, Maria Y, Maria Petrucci...' 'That’s it!' my father said. The man pointed across the square: 'That’s her sitting outside her house,' he said. She remembered Hutch more than my father, but it was undoubtedly her, and he had his photo taken with her. A short article about this holiday and part of his story appeared in the Waltham Forest Guardian on 10 January 1992, by Penny Ager, to whom I'm indebted for some of the chronology and proper names.
2083832 Staff/Sergeant Richard Morris talking about his friend 31000229 Private John Tourtillotte 2932159
In February 1970 John and Maxine (his wife) had gone to Italy where they retraced as best they could the route John had I had taken more than 26 years earlier. They had been successful in locating the Pinzi family and now were bringing photos of the big reunion. Guido was still farming, but not at Poderina, although the house was still standing, looking much as it did in the '40s.
Richard Morris' s daughter Sue Finley and her son visited the Pinzi family in 2008
2932159 Signalman Ebenezer S. Sutherland 6 Seaforth Highlanders
Signalman Sutherland was discharged from the army in February 1946. He returned to Rocca di Mezzo to visit the family Agnifili in the 1960s and in 1972 to thank them again, having communicated over the years. He died of a massive coronary in August 1976 aged 57 years.
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt, 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Luigi, Bill, Rhoda and Roberto
When on the run late in 1943 Bill and another escapee had been sheltered and helped by families in Veiano in the province of Viterbo. the villagers hid them in a cave and food was brought to them by a shepherd boy.
With my wife, I returned to Veiano in 1975 and was given a wonderful, if emotional welcome. From 1947, I had corresponded with the shepherd boy, Roberto Cristofari, and in 1976 I was overjoyed when he and his friend, Luigi Moi, visited my home.
With my wife, I returned to Veiano in 1975 and was given a wonderful, if emotional welcome. From 1947, I had corresponded with the shepherd boy, Roberto Cristofari, and in 1976 I was overjoyed when he and his friend, Luigi Moi, visited my home.