THE TRAIN
THE JOURNEY
and
ON THE RUN
THE TRAIN
Here is an excellent description of a train taking POWs from Italy to Germany made by a soldier from 9 Durham Light Infantry who had been taken in prisoner in North Africa and sent to Camp 53 Sforzacosta near Macerata, Le Marche.
...there was a big train, cattle trucks, and all of them with a guard box on the back, there was a guard in every one; on the outside, he was in like a little cabin of his own, a little sentry box and they could sit in there, they were covered in...There was two doors in the middle at each side, sliding doors and there was like a window at the top, and there was the same on the other side.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry US Divison
Staff/Sergeant Morris describes what happened before the men were put on the train:
...an announcement was pasted on the wall. All prisoners were to leave the camp the following day by train. The moment John and I had been waiting for had finally arrived. A list of prohibitions was included in the announcement.
Prisoners were not allowed to bring money (what little I possessed at the time of my capture had been confiscated earlier), matches, cigarette lighters, pins, needles, razor blades, knives, pens, or pencils aboard the train. A large English soldier laughed, 'They're afraid you’ll draw a hole in the side of the box-car and crawl out.' Our hosts promised to return all valuables surrendered voluntarily when we reached a permanent camp in Germany...
Some 30 guards had the repugnant chore of searching over 800 prisoners. We prisoners were filthy, louse-infested, and our body odor could have warped the copy of an old Lifeboy soap ad. I had not enjoyed a real shower since the prior summer. We had to strip off all our clothes; our nude bodies were inspected. One item of clothing at a time was handed to the guard for inspection before we were allowed to put it on again.
Richard was suffering from an abscess under a tooth, and had a rag wrapped round his head which the Germans did not remove. He was thus able to conceal a small folding can opener in his mouth and a knife in his hair.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
I had been in this camp for about three weeks, then one morning after roll-call the entire camp was assembled and marched out, a heavy guard escorted us to a nearby railway siding. Waiting for us was a train with a number of gloomy-looking cattle trucks in the rear. We were jostled 45 at a time into each truck, the sliding doors were bolted and sealed each side, with closely-nailed lengths of barbed wire fixed around the outside of the very small window.
27677 Private N. Stanley Wainer Royal Natal Carbineers Union Defence Force SA
After a lean stretch in that place the eight hundred or so were ordered one morning to move out. We were first told to strip off clothing, which was searched, then told to bend down so that anuses could be glanced at for concealed pocket knives. The guards were rough and bawling SS types. It was the first time we had encountered their kind. They shot at random through the ceilings of the barracks, believing some POWs might have been assisted through trapdoors to sit it out on rafters until the night, because this was a complete evacuation of the camp...There was a march to the local station, shouting and shoving as we were counted off into wooden cattle trucks, forty to each.
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Strong rumours about the move to Germany now began to circulate, and after I had been in the camp for about three weeks, orders came for the move. Suddenly one morning after roll call, it happened; a loaf of black bread was issued between five men, along with some ersatz butter and jam. We were informed there would be water on the train, together with straw, and a bucket for calls of nature. Searches were instigated, and, one or two of the stolen items were found, but more by good luck than management I was able to keep my hacksaw blade hidden and intact. After the searches were over we were paraded outside the camp, ready for the march to the railway siding where a train of cattle trucks awaited us.
Most were deep in thought on our way to the train, which, although it could be seen quite easily, was some distance away. To the newly captured prisoners this was just another new phase in their life as a prisoner of war, another step on the way to a permanent prison camp. On the other hand, to those of us who had been on the run and recaptured, the train meant danger. I myself had witnessed attacks by the Allied Air Forces, where trains, railways and sidings had been blasted, and I did not mind admitting that the prospect of a rail journey to Germany filled me with dread. At this stage of the war the Allies were in total command of the skies, and anything that moved on the ground was a target for the Allied fire-power.
As I walked between Arthur and Bob we discussed the possibility of escaping from the train. We had previously talked with other prisoners, and it all seemed so easy. All one had to do was to loosen the floorboards of the truck, wait for darkness and until the train slowed down, and then just slip out of the truck on to the tracks below. Of course, no one knew how the floorboards were to be loosened, and as I walked, fingering the hacksaw blade, I thought that it might come in useful but I was not over optimistic. As we neared the train another problem became immediately apparent; the first three trucks were constructed of steel,1 and all the hacksaw blades in the world would be of no use at all if we were to be incarcerated in one of these trucks. Even worse, if the train came under attack from the air, those inside would stand no chance of survival. Our chance of escape all depended on the procedures for filling the train, from the front, or from the back. However, as were about in the centre of the column, it was all down to pot luck as to where we would finally end up. There was talk that the Germans intended putting the escapers in the steel trucks, and I shuddered at this prospect.
When we eventually arrived at the siding, our guards began loading the trucks from the front, mixing old and new prisoners, so we kept as far to the rear as we possibly could, and luckily found that we were to occupy the second from last truck. From here, we imagined that any escape attempt would be easier, but once we were on board, a surprise was in store for us. As soon as we settled down, a council of war was held to find out how many of the fifty or so in the truck wished to try to escape. Twelve of us said we would have a go, so Arthur, Bob and I sat together with the other nine and we began to examine the floorboards. In addition to my hacksaw blade, some of the others had small knives or pieces of metal, and, while we were trying to prise the floorboards apart, one of the crowd shouted out, 'Look what I've found', waving aloft a short iron bar, pointed at one end. This was indeed a pleasant surprise, as our task of prising open the floorboards of the truck would be that much simpler. Clearly, the bar had been left on the truck by one of the Italian workers whilst putting the straw and water on board. Elated, the twelve of us waited impatiently for the train to move off, and as we waited, we drew lots to decide in which order each of us would leave the truck. I drew third place, Arthur fifth, with Bob in twelfth position. At last, with much shouting from the guards, and the shrill whistle of the engine, the train was under way. Off to the Fatherland! We certainly hoped not!
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
We knew we were going to get taken out sooner or later by train. Box-cars again. We had heard that there was a British train loaded with 600 British troops - prisoners of war - who had gone up that way and they side-tracked them along a bunch of rail road cars that were loaded with gasoline. Tank cars. The planes bombed them and killed them all, the whole bunch. So we knew our chances of ever making it to Germany were maybe 50-50. This time of year, down in Italy, there was a lot of fog. And we thought that if the fog stays down, we’ll make it. If the fog lifts, we won’t make it. So we loaded aboard the train one afternoon and took off. We went through that night all right. There were 40 men to one box-car and our toilet was a thing about that long. Cast iron with a hole about this big in one spot. That was our toilet.
THE JOURNEY
2932159 Signalman Ebenezer S. Sutherland 6 Seaforth Higlanders
...approximately forty men travelled in each truck.
6985977 Fusilier T. Conlan 2 Battalion Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers
The truck was in a very dirty condition, food was very scarce, meals consisting of small pieces of bread and some Italian bully-beef, and a little water (twice in three days). There was one barrel in the truck for sanitation purposes...Armed guards were on duty at every second truck. They were standing on the platforms between the trucks and fired their rifles approximately every ten minutes, directing their fire alongside the trucks.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army
John and I scrambled quickly to get a place at the end of the car near its one small window, our intended escape route. The window was covered with barbed wire secured by heavy staples on the inside of our car. In the centre of the car the Germans had place a large rectangular chamber pot fitted with handles at each end.
Forty-eight men crammed in the car did not allow for everyone to lie down at the same time...From our window we could see that the guards rode in every third box-car. Two armed Germans were stationed on both sides at the center of those cars whose doors were open. One guard looking forward could observe the car of prisoners ahead, and another could watch the car behind...When the train rounded a curve, inspection of the other cars showed rungs for climbing down the side below the window and on the back of each car as well. We assumed that our car was equipped with the same set of climbing rungs. On level ground the train's speed was about 45 miles an hour.
Richard goes on to describe how his mate John cut through the window wire with the knife and can opener they had managed to hide, and that by three the next morning it was free everywhere except at the top. At that precise moment the train stopped in a station but it was immediately surrounded by armed guards. However, the two men calculated that the following night they would be able to make their escape. At dawn the train moved off, passing through Viterbo and Orte, and when at ten o'clock it stopped once more a guard entered the car and went to inspect the window, hitting it with his rifle butt. Fortunately the wire held, and he failed to notice the cut ends beneath the staples. The story continues:
We were allowed out of the train to stretch our legs and to relieve ourselves in the dry grass near the rails...No sooner had the train resumed its journey with its human cargo, one of the soldiers of 34 Division mounted the chamber pot for a bowel movement. Flushed with embarrassment, his crimson cheeks made his blond hair seem almost white. His mates jeered.
'Fer Chrissakes! Why dja hafta stink up the joint like this? Why dint ja take a shit back there when they let us out?'
'I can't help it. I didn't have to go back there. Do you think I want to do this in front of all of you?'
One more day in this box-car would drive me out of my mind...
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
That first night went by all right. The fog stayed down...the next day we were going pretty good and we came to a river. The bridge had been blown up and rebuilt some. They couldn’t take the whole train across the bridge at the time. It wouldn’t hold it. So they took the engines across, then a bunch of German soldiers pushed us across one at a time in those box-cars. We couldn’t get out of the box-cars ourselves. I remember looking down at the river below as we were being pushed across... So we got across there that day.
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
As we slowly chugged along, the three of us discussed theforthcoming escape attempt, and, remembering how difficult the crossing of the River Po had been on my way from Verona, I suggested that if at all possible, we should escape before reaching the river, in order to head south again in an effort to rejoin our troops. On the other hand, if escape proved impossible till after crossing the Po, we would have to head for Switzerland. Both Arthur and Bob agreed with this suggestion. Soon, all twelve of us were eagerly discussing as to when it would be best for us to start on the floorboards. A small minority, who had set their sights on Switzerland, wanted to defer the breakout until we were much further north, but the rest of us were all for making a break just as soon as possible. For obvious reasons, I was with the majority, as I had previously walked hundreds of miles through very rough country, and I did not want to start such a journey all over again; nor did I have any great desire to go to Switzerland. Of course, the majority won the day, and we set to work with the crowbar, in order to be ready for the breakout in darkness, when hopefully the train would be travelling slowly. We started to gather speed, and the wind whistled through the hole in the floor, where we'd already removed one of the floorboards. Some of those not involved in the escape attempt complained about the bitter cold, but none of us took any notice of them. It wasn't the cold that bothered me; as I listened to the sound of the wheels thundering along the track, I felt sick with fear. I wondered how many of the others felt as I did.
...Just before darkness, the train was brought to a sudden halt, and immediately we knew that this was not a routine stop. The door to the truck was flung open, and we were hounded out of the truck. We had stopped in open countryside, and as soon as our feet hit the ground, we were surrounded by armed sentries. Fearfully, we stood, wondering what was to happen next. I knew we should have been more careful in levering the floorboards, because I had no doubt that the Germans had heard the racket, but I had to admit that I was just as keen as the next man to get on with the job. As we stood watching, two of the guards entered the truck, and when they emerged, moments later, one of them was carrying the crowbar. Another guard searched underneath the truck, and when he emerged, we knew for certain that he had discovered the hole in the floor. We had watched this happening, in silence, when suddenly we were galvanised into action by the guards, who forced us to strip naked, and then proceeded to search both our persons and our clothing. They took our footwear and belts away from us, telling us that these would be returned once we reached Germany. The floorboards in the truck were fixed back into place, and as we waited to re-embark, a NCO chalked something on the side of the truck. I could not understand the meaning of the sign, but one of the others, who understood a little German, told me he had written the words 'Housebreakers' and underneath, another two words, 'No Rations'. After getting back on board, the truck was encircled with barbed wire.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
The thought of escaping was on everyone's mind, but the over-energetic fools in the next truck to ours could not wait...they started ripping the floorboards up before the train had left the siding. Consequently all 45 occupants were transferred to our truck, making it almost impossible to move about. Apart from the straw-strewn floor, two compressed waterproof cardboard latrines had been placed by the door, for emergency use only...Attempts were made to force the door open, others tried to remove boards off the side of the truck, some even started on the floor, but the overcrowding made this attempt useless. Someone produced a pack of cards, so a solo school started, but the card game became boring, so two or three of us started another escape bid on the door.
...there was a big train, cattle trucks, and all of them with a guard box on the back, there was a guard in every one; on the outside, he was in like a little cabin of his own, a little sentry box and they could sit in there, they were covered in...There was two doors in the middle at each side, sliding doors and there was like a window at the top, and there was the same on the other side.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry US Divison
Staff/Sergeant Morris describes what happened before the men were put on the train:
...an announcement was pasted on the wall. All prisoners were to leave the camp the following day by train. The moment John and I had been waiting for had finally arrived. A list of prohibitions was included in the announcement.
Prisoners were not allowed to bring money (what little I possessed at the time of my capture had been confiscated earlier), matches, cigarette lighters, pins, needles, razor blades, knives, pens, or pencils aboard the train. A large English soldier laughed, 'They're afraid you’ll draw a hole in the side of the box-car and crawl out.' Our hosts promised to return all valuables surrendered voluntarily when we reached a permanent camp in Germany...
Some 30 guards had the repugnant chore of searching over 800 prisoners. We prisoners were filthy, louse-infested, and our body odor could have warped the copy of an old Lifeboy soap ad. I had not enjoyed a real shower since the prior summer. We had to strip off all our clothes; our nude bodies were inspected. One item of clothing at a time was handed to the guard for inspection before we were allowed to put it on again.
Richard was suffering from an abscess under a tooth, and had a rag wrapped round his head which the Germans did not remove. He was thus able to conceal a small folding can opener in his mouth and a knife in his hair.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
I had been in this camp for about three weeks, then one morning after roll-call the entire camp was assembled and marched out, a heavy guard escorted us to a nearby railway siding. Waiting for us was a train with a number of gloomy-looking cattle trucks in the rear. We were jostled 45 at a time into each truck, the sliding doors were bolted and sealed each side, with closely-nailed lengths of barbed wire fixed around the outside of the very small window.
27677 Private N. Stanley Wainer Royal Natal Carbineers Union Defence Force SA
After a lean stretch in that place the eight hundred or so were ordered one morning to move out. We were first told to strip off clothing, which was searched, then told to bend down so that anuses could be glanced at for concealed pocket knives. The guards were rough and bawling SS types. It was the first time we had encountered their kind. They shot at random through the ceilings of the barracks, believing some POWs might have been assisted through trapdoors to sit it out on rafters until the night, because this was a complete evacuation of the camp...There was a march to the local station, shouting and shoving as we were counted off into wooden cattle trucks, forty to each.
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
Strong rumours about the move to Germany now began to circulate, and after I had been in the camp for about three weeks, orders came for the move. Suddenly one morning after roll call, it happened; a loaf of black bread was issued between five men, along with some ersatz butter and jam. We were informed there would be water on the train, together with straw, and a bucket for calls of nature. Searches were instigated, and, one or two of the stolen items were found, but more by good luck than management I was able to keep my hacksaw blade hidden and intact. After the searches were over we were paraded outside the camp, ready for the march to the railway siding where a train of cattle trucks awaited us.
Most were deep in thought on our way to the train, which, although it could be seen quite easily, was some distance away. To the newly captured prisoners this was just another new phase in their life as a prisoner of war, another step on the way to a permanent prison camp. On the other hand, to those of us who had been on the run and recaptured, the train meant danger. I myself had witnessed attacks by the Allied Air Forces, where trains, railways and sidings had been blasted, and I did not mind admitting that the prospect of a rail journey to Germany filled me with dread. At this stage of the war the Allies were in total command of the skies, and anything that moved on the ground was a target for the Allied fire-power.
As I walked between Arthur and Bob we discussed the possibility of escaping from the train. We had previously talked with other prisoners, and it all seemed so easy. All one had to do was to loosen the floorboards of the truck, wait for darkness and until the train slowed down, and then just slip out of the truck on to the tracks below. Of course, no one knew how the floorboards were to be loosened, and as I walked, fingering the hacksaw blade, I thought that it might come in useful but I was not over optimistic. As we neared the train another problem became immediately apparent; the first three trucks were constructed of steel,1 and all the hacksaw blades in the world would be of no use at all if we were to be incarcerated in one of these trucks. Even worse, if the train came under attack from the air, those inside would stand no chance of survival. Our chance of escape all depended on the procedures for filling the train, from the front, or from the back. However, as were about in the centre of the column, it was all down to pot luck as to where we would finally end up. There was talk that the Germans intended putting the escapers in the steel trucks, and I shuddered at this prospect.
When we eventually arrived at the siding, our guards began loading the trucks from the front, mixing old and new prisoners, so we kept as far to the rear as we possibly could, and luckily found that we were to occupy the second from last truck. From here, we imagined that any escape attempt would be easier, but once we were on board, a surprise was in store for us. As soon as we settled down, a council of war was held to find out how many of the fifty or so in the truck wished to try to escape. Twelve of us said we would have a go, so Arthur, Bob and I sat together with the other nine and we began to examine the floorboards. In addition to my hacksaw blade, some of the others had small knives or pieces of metal, and, while we were trying to prise the floorboards apart, one of the crowd shouted out, 'Look what I've found', waving aloft a short iron bar, pointed at one end. This was indeed a pleasant surprise, as our task of prising open the floorboards of the truck would be that much simpler. Clearly, the bar had been left on the truck by one of the Italian workers whilst putting the straw and water on board. Elated, the twelve of us waited impatiently for the train to move off, and as we waited, we drew lots to decide in which order each of us would leave the truck. I drew third place, Arthur fifth, with Bob in twelfth position. At last, with much shouting from the guards, and the shrill whistle of the engine, the train was under way. Off to the Fatherland! We certainly hoped not!
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
We knew we were going to get taken out sooner or later by train. Box-cars again. We had heard that there was a British train loaded with 600 British troops - prisoners of war - who had gone up that way and they side-tracked them along a bunch of rail road cars that were loaded with gasoline. Tank cars. The planes bombed them and killed them all, the whole bunch. So we knew our chances of ever making it to Germany were maybe 50-50. This time of year, down in Italy, there was a lot of fog. And we thought that if the fog stays down, we’ll make it. If the fog lifts, we won’t make it. So we loaded aboard the train one afternoon and took off. We went through that night all right. There were 40 men to one box-car and our toilet was a thing about that long. Cast iron with a hole about this big in one spot. That was our toilet.
THE JOURNEY
2932159 Signalman Ebenezer S. Sutherland 6 Seaforth Higlanders
...approximately forty men travelled in each truck.
6985977 Fusilier T. Conlan 2 Battalion Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers
The truck was in a very dirty condition, food was very scarce, meals consisting of small pieces of bread and some Italian bully-beef, and a little water (twice in three days). There was one barrel in the truck for sanitation purposes...Armed guards were on duty at every second truck. They were standing on the platforms between the trucks and fired their rifles approximately every ten minutes, directing their fire alongside the trucks.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army
John and I scrambled quickly to get a place at the end of the car near its one small window, our intended escape route. The window was covered with barbed wire secured by heavy staples on the inside of our car. In the centre of the car the Germans had place a large rectangular chamber pot fitted with handles at each end.
Forty-eight men crammed in the car did not allow for everyone to lie down at the same time...From our window we could see that the guards rode in every third box-car. Two armed Germans were stationed on both sides at the center of those cars whose doors were open. One guard looking forward could observe the car of prisoners ahead, and another could watch the car behind...When the train rounded a curve, inspection of the other cars showed rungs for climbing down the side below the window and on the back of each car as well. We assumed that our car was equipped with the same set of climbing rungs. On level ground the train's speed was about 45 miles an hour.
Richard goes on to describe how his mate John cut through the window wire with the knife and can opener they had managed to hide, and that by three the next morning it was free everywhere except at the top. At that precise moment the train stopped in a station but it was immediately surrounded by armed guards. However, the two men calculated that the following night they would be able to make their escape. At dawn the train moved off, passing through Viterbo and Orte, and when at ten o'clock it stopped once more a guard entered the car and went to inspect the window, hitting it with his rifle butt. Fortunately the wire held, and he failed to notice the cut ends beneath the staples. The story continues:
We were allowed out of the train to stretch our legs and to relieve ourselves in the dry grass near the rails...No sooner had the train resumed its journey with its human cargo, one of the soldiers of 34 Division mounted the chamber pot for a bowel movement. Flushed with embarrassment, his crimson cheeks made his blond hair seem almost white. His mates jeered.
'Fer Chrissakes! Why dja hafta stink up the joint like this? Why dint ja take a shit back there when they let us out?'
'I can't help it. I didn't have to go back there. Do you think I want to do this in front of all of you?'
One more day in this box-car would drive me out of my mind...
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
That first night went by all right. The fog stayed down...the next day we were going pretty good and we came to a river. The bridge had been blown up and rebuilt some. They couldn’t take the whole train across the bridge at the time. It wouldn’t hold it. So they took the engines across, then a bunch of German soldiers pushed us across one at a time in those box-cars. We couldn’t get out of the box-cars ourselves. I remember looking down at the river below as we were being pushed across... So we got across there that day.
7895023 Private Bill Blewitt 1 Battalion Sherwood Foresters (201st Guards Brigade)
As we slowly chugged along, the three of us discussed theforthcoming escape attempt, and, remembering how difficult the crossing of the River Po had been on my way from Verona, I suggested that if at all possible, we should escape before reaching the river, in order to head south again in an effort to rejoin our troops. On the other hand, if escape proved impossible till after crossing the Po, we would have to head for Switzerland. Both Arthur and Bob agreed with this suggestion. Soon, all twelve of us were eagerly discussing as to when it would be best for us to start on the floorboards. A small minority, who had set their sights on Switzerland, wanted to defer the breakout until we were much further north, but the rest of us were all for making a break just as soon as possible. For obvious reasons, I was with the majority, as I had previously walked hundreds of miles through very rough country, and I did not want to start such a journey all over again; nor did I have any great desire to go to Switzerland. Of course, the majority won the day, and we set to work with the crowbar, in order to be ready for the breakout in darkness, when hopefully the train would be travelling slowly. We started to gather speed, and the wind whistled through the hole in the floor, where we'd already removed one of the floorboards. Some of those not involved in the escape attempt complained about the bitter cold, but none of us took any notice of them. It wasn't the cold that bothered me; as I listened to the sound of the wheels thundering along the track, I felt sick with fear. I wondered how many of the others felt as I did.
...Just before darkness, the train was brought to a sudden halt, and immediately we knew that this was not a routine stop. The door to the truck was flung open, and we were hounded out of the truck. We had stopped in open countryside, and as soon as our feet hit the ground, we were surrounded by armed sentries. Fearfully, we stood, wondering what was to happen next. I knew we should have been more careful in levering the floorboards, because I had no doubt that the Germans had heard the racket, but I had to admit that I was just as keen as the next man to get on with the job. As we stood watching, two of the guards entered the truck, and when they emerged, moments later, one of them was carrying the crowbar. Another guard searched underneath the truck, and when he emerged, we knew for certain that he had discovered the hole in the floor. We had watched this happening, in silence, when suddenly we were galvanised into action by the guards, who forced us to strip naked, and then proceeded to search both our persons and our clothing. They took our footwear and belts away from us, telling us that these would be returned once we reached Germany. The floorboards in the truck were fixed back into place, and as we waited to re-embark, a NCO chalked something on the side of the truck. I could not understand the meaning of the sign, but one of the others, who understood a little German, told me he had written the words 'Housebreakers' and underneath, another two words, 'No Rations'. After getting back on board, the truck was encircled with barbed wire.
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
The thought of escaping was on everyone's mind, but the over-energetic fools in the next truck to ours could not wait...they started ripping the floorboards up before the train had left the siding. Consequently all 45 occupants were transferred to our truck, making it almost impossible to move about. Apart from the straw-strewn floor, two compressed waterproof cardboard latrines had been placed by the door, for emergency use only...Attempts were made to force the door open, others tried to remove boards off the side of the truck, some even started on the floor, but the overcrowding made this attempt useless. Someone produced a pack of cards, so a solo school started, but the card game became boring, so two or three of us started another escape bid on the door.
BREAKING OUT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
27677 Private N. Stanley Wainer Royal Natal Carbineers
Jimmy Culverwell
We started off on a fairly comfortable journey, with straw on the floor, a half drum in one corner as a toilet, and enough room for each to sit at ease. Then there was a stir of excitement when one of the 'peasant' types - a Jimmy Culverwell from Johannesburg, I recall - asked te be given a front corner because he had a knife. He had hidden this in a long groove cut under a wooden-soled boot. An observant type, he had noticed little sentry platforms at the rear of each alternate truck. Ours had one behind, the truck ahead had not. So he set to work, and early that evening he lay on his back and kicked away at planks partly cut through. Then as the train slowly slugged up one of the numerous inclines, he called a cheerio, was wished good luck, and he disappeared: through the opening he had made. With all the up-grades on the line, the truck would have been empty by daylight, in theory, but falling down to roll on the track ballast and not being heard by the guards was a difficult feat. The third to go through, a New Zealander, had hardly left the truck when there was a shot from above. The guard behind had heard the others landing and rolling, or he perhaps had spotted movement in the starlight. He had climbed upon the truck's roof and crawled to the front, shooting at the New Zealander as he dropped. (He was hit in the thigh).
28158 Gunner Jimmy Culverwell, Transvaal Horse Artillery, had manned some 25 pounders at at Sidi Rezegh and like many other South Africans, had been taken prisoner at Tobruk. After escaping from the moving train he was recaptured by the Germans, but managed to evade again and was hidden in a monastery.
(email from his son James Culverwell to the website)
(It is possible that he was hidden by the monks at Farfa. See entry for the 'Saracen' on Prisoners of War page.)
1511 Private W. P. Andrews,Umvoti Mounted Rifles
Private W. P. Andrews was shot by the German guards as he escaped from the train along with Jimmy Cuilverwell. He was temporarily buried at Stimigliano Civil Cemetery before being taken to Bolsena War Cemetery. The date on his gravestone is 27 January 1944.
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
That evening we stopped and got out of our railway wagons to take soup. A German officer addressed us. He said that some prisoners had attempted to escape – they had been shot and the same fate would have happened to anyone who tried this. We were told to take our footwear off and throw them in an empty wagon. The POWs who had been in there were told to double up into our wagon. There was little room for movement. I got on the side as the centre was taken up by our toilet - half of a steel drum.
27677 Private N. Stanley Wainer Royal Natal Carbineers Union Defence Force SA
Soon afterwards the train halted. The lever closing the truck's door was lifted and the door pushed open. Outside there was a loud confusion of German shouts and curses and a flashing of torches. Guards formed a crescent between our truck and the one behind. We were ordered to get down from the truck one by one, remove our boots and leave them on the ground, and were transferred to the truck behind with rifle blows to hurry the procedure.
A SA sergeant, a sensible apartheidist, instructed the blacks to sit closely together on 'their' side, while we sat in a similarly somewhat cramped manner 'ours'. It took loud words to accomplish this, but amongst the whites was a small group of Afrikaners whose appearance was still tough, and they backed the sergeant with threats violent enough to motivate the loungers.
Through that uncomfortable night we drowsed a little, and probably many thought apprehensively of the daylight to follow. Allied planes were flying freely in the southern parts, and almost without opposition in the central area. In camp we had been told of a POW train standing in Aquila station. It had been machine gunned 'up and down' by half a dozen Spitfires, and the result had been tragic.
That evening we stopped and got out of our railway wagons to take soup. A German officer addressed us. He said that some prisoners had attempted to escape – they had been shot and the same fate would have happened to anyone who tried this. We were told to take our footwear off and throw them in an empty wagon. The POWs who had been in there were told to double up into our wagon. There was little room for movement. I got on the side as the centre was taken up by our toilet - half of a steel drum.
27677 Private N. Stanley Wainer Royal Natal Carbineers Union Defence Force SA
Soon afterwards the train halted. The lever closing the truck's door was lifted and the door pushed open. Outside there was a loud confusion of German shouts and curses and a flashing of torches. Guards formed a crescent between our truck and the one behind. We were ordered to get down from the truck one by one, remove our boots and leave them on the ground, and were transferred to the truck behind with rifle blows to hurry the procedure.
A SA sergeant, a sensible apartheidist, instructed the blacks to sit closely together on 'their' side, while we sat in a similarly somewhat cramped manner 'ours'. It took loud words to accomplish this, but amongst the whites was a small group of Afrikaners whose appearance was still tough, and they backed the sergeant with threats violent enough to motivate the loungers.
Through that uncomfortable night we drowsed a little, and probably many thought apprehensively of the daylight to follow. Allied planes were flying freely in the southern parts, and almost without opposition in the central area. In camp we had been told of a POW train standing in Aquila station. It had been machine gunned 'up and down' by half a dozen Spitfires, and the result had been tragic.
ON THE RUN
For half a day...
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
And I looked up and at that time the fourth wave dropped theirs. I saw stuff coming down. And I thought it was bombs. And I yelled at this guy - his name was Kirchner - 'Kirchner, there’s two haystacks out there. You get under that one, I’ll get under this one.' Those haystacks would have stopped nothing, but anyway, what it was coming down, instead of bombs, it was mud and stuff by the river that had been blown up and it was just chunks of mud coming down...
We go up this kind of a hill and when we got up the hill aways, maybe a hundred yards or so, there was a cave up there and a couple of Italian families living in that cave. We stopped there, the four of us together at the time, we stopped. They gave us some wine and stuff while we were there. But then - we were drinking some wine and really enjoying ourselves - here came the German soldiers up there with machine guns and ordered us out of there and back down to the train..
For a few days
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
On reaching the top of the incline, I rolled over the top out of the sight of the railway below. My mouth was dry, and I felt sick, mostly from shock. I lay there panting and fighting to regain my breath. My thoughts were, if you want me Jerry, come and get me.
The other side of the hill sloped down to a small clump of bushes. I made them my next objective. I squeezed through the bramble bushes and started creeping through the undergrowth. I was suddenly transfixed by the sound of English voices ahead of me. Stealthily I forced my way forward into a small clearing. I came face to face with two other escapees from the wrecked train. They looked at me in astonishment, one of the chaps had been captured with me on that fatal patrol. His name was Gibson. The other chap was a stranger to me, (Bill Blewitt) he spoke with a Tyneside accent, he didn't seem to be put out when I called him Geordie, so that's the name he was stuck with...Geordie was a little older than Gibson and me and had been originally captured in North Africa by the Italians. Like me, they were both pretty well exhausted, so we moved to the most dense area of our hiding place and sat down, after a short rest we discussed our next move. We knew the Germans would take a roll-call of the dead, the injured and the remaining prisoners, then start a full-scale search of the area. Our final decision was to move south, in the hope of meeting up with the advancing Allied troops.
It was midwinter, the weather varied between cold and mild spells, although most of the foliage had fallen there was still enough to give us some cover. We broke the cover of the bushes and moved in a southerly direction, using whatever concealment we could find. Eventually our cover petered out onto open ground, but luckily we came to a small farm. Geordie could speak good Italian, so he was our interpreter and spokesman. Both Gibson and Geordie had dark hair and dark complexions, and would pass as Italians easily. My complexion was completely the opposite, light skin, and very fair hair. I found an old flat cap and by wearing that at least my hair problem was solved.
As we approached the farm a dog started to bark, a minute or two later the farmer appeared, he somehow obviously knew who we were, but was quite friendly. Geordie asked him our whereabouts, he told us we were just north of Orvieto and warned us not to go into the town as it was occupied by German troops. Geordie thanked him and we continued on our way southwards, making a detour to miss the town, and avoiding roads as much as possible. We travelled mostly across open muddy country, making it a laborious journey and impeding our progress, although by late evening we must have walked seven miles. Tired and exhausted, at the next farmhouse we came to Geordie asked if we could sleep in the barn for the night. The farmer allowed us into his house and gave us an evening meal, then apologising said, 'Sorry, you must sleep in the barn, it's a safeguard in case the Fascists call, as they do sometimes.' If we were discovered outside he could claim ignorance of our presence, which would perhaps save his farm from being burnt down. This was just one of the ways the Fascists used to punish anyone helping the prisoners to escape. So we spent the night in the barn with the oxen.
37548471 Private Russel Eugene Kurzhal I Company 168 Regiment 34 Infantry Divison US Army
And I looked up and at that time the fourth wave dropped theirs. I saw stuff coming down. And I thought it was bombs. And I yelled at this guy - his name was Kirchner - 'Kirchner, there’s two haystacks out there. You get under that one, I’ll get under this one.' Those haystacks would have stopped nothing, but anyway, what it was coming down, instead of bombs, it was mud and stuff by the river that had been blown up and it was just chunks of mud coming down...
We go up this kind of a hill and when we got up the hill aways, maybe a hundred yards or so, there was a cave up there and a couple of Italian families living in that cave. We stopped there, the four of us together at the time, we stopped. They gave us some wine and stuff while we were there. But then - we were drinking some wine and really enjoying ourselves - here came the German soldiers up there with machine guns and ordered us out of there and back down to the train..
For a few days
14208010 Trooper Robert W. Calvey 46 Recce Regiment
On reaching the top of the incline, I rolled over the top out of the sight of the railway below. My mouth was dry, and I felt sick, mostly from shock. I lay there panting and fighting to regain my breath. My thoughts were, if you want me Jerry, come and get me.
The other side of the hill sloped down to a small clump of bushes. I made them my next objective. I squeezed through the bramble bushes and started creeping through the undergrowth. I was suddenly transfixed by the sound of English voices ahead of me. Stealthily I forced my way forward into a small clearing. I came face to face with two other escapees from the wrecked train. They looked at me in astonishment, one of the chaps had been captured with me on that fatal patrol. His name was Gibson. The other chap was a stranger to me, (Bill Blewitt) he spoke with a Tyneside accent, he didn't seem to be put out when I called him Geordie, so that's the name he was stuck with...Geordie was a little older than Gibson and me and had been originally captured in North Africa by the Italians. Like me, they were both pretty well exhausted, so we moved to the most dense area of our hiding place and sat down, after a short rest we discussed our next move. We knew the Germans would take a roll-call of the dead, the injured and the remaining prisoners, then start a full-scale search of the area. Our final decision was to move south, in the hope of meeting up with the advancing Allied troops.
It was midwinter, the weather varied between cold and mild spells, although most of the foliage had fallen there was still enough to give us some cover. We broke the cover of the bushes and moved in a southerly direction, using whatever concealment we could find. Eventually our cover petered out onto open ground, but luckily we came to a small farm. Geordie could speak good Italian, so he was our interpreter and spokesman. Both Gibson and Geordie had dark hair and dark complexions, and would pass as Italians easily. My complexion was completely the opposite, light skin, and very fair hair. I found an old flat cap and by wearing that at least my hair problem was solved.
As we approached the farm a dog started to bark, a minute or two later the farmer appeared, he somehow obviously knew who we were, but was quite friendly. Geordie asked him our whereabouts, he told us we were just north of Orvieto and warned us not to go into the town as it was occupied by German troops. Geordie thanked him and we continued on our way southwards, making a detour to miss the town, and avoiding roads as much as possible. We travelled mostly across open muddy country, making it a laborious journey and impeding our progress, although by late evening we must have walked seven miles. Tired and exhausted, at the next farmhouse we came to Geordie asked if we could sleep in the barn for the night. The farmer allowed us into his house and gave us an evening meal, then apologising said, 'Sorry, you must sleep in the barn, it's a safeguard in case the Fascists call, as they do sometimes.' If we were discovered outside he could claim ignorance of our presence, which would perhaps save his farm from being burnt down. This was just one of the ways the Fascists used to punish anyone helping the prisoners to escape. So we spent the night in the barn with the oxen.
For several months
5050243 Corporal Edward George Adams 16 Durham Light Infantry
5050243 Corporal Edward George Adams 16 Durham Light Infantry
His daughter Jenny Roberts sent in the following information:
After escaping from the train he went up into the mountains near Rieti where he met a man called Federico Gordiano from Vignanello, who wrote to his mother on 3 August 1944 that he had seen him in April 1944. On 9 August his mother received notice of his capture.
In his liberation report he states:
Free for 2 and 1/2 months. Recaptured on April 12th 1945 (1944 Author's note) by German patrol near Terni who were rounding up Italian patriots. Separated from companions.
He was initially sent to Stalag VIIA Moosburg and from there to Stalag 383 Hohenfels.
After escaping from the train he went up into the mountains near Rieti where he met a man called Federico Gordiano from Vignanello, who wrote to his mother on 3 August 1944 that he had seen him in April 1944. On 9 August his mother received notice of his capture.
In his liberation report he states:
Free for 2 and 1/2 months. Recaptured on April 12th 1945 (1944 Author's note) by German patrol near Terni who were rounding up Italian patriots. Separated from companions.
He was initially sent to Stalag VIIA Moosburg and from there to Stalag 383 Hohenfels.
3908767 Corporal Bill Marsh 1 Battalion South Wales Borderers
Corporal Marsh describes how he teamed up with an Irishman called Johnnie who had also presumably escaped from the train:
I was about three miles away from the nearest village when I made contact with an Italian. I asked him if he had a cigarette which he gave me. He also cleaned my head wound using wine, and told me that the village was not far away. I was not at this village very long before more men from the train arrived, some badly injured. I stayed the night at this village but next day I decided to go on. Before I left I was given a pair of clogs, old ones of course, but they were better than being bare-footed. I found them very awkward to walk in at first but after a while I got used to them! I went on alone all that day, sometimes following paths and but occasionally along the road which I tried to avoid. I think this was on a Saturday. I remember heading towards a small farm, and I tried to keep under cover as much as possible in case it was occupied by Germans.
After hiding a while I saw an Italian walk outside the house. I attracted his attention and made myself known to him - always a risky business. However he took me inside his farmhouse where I was given some food and wine. That night I stayed at this farm, but not in the house because they were justifiably afraid the Germans might call on them. They allowed me to sleep in the cowshed.
Early next morning, which was Sunday, the farmer came to call me to go inside for some food. Suddenly we went silent as we heard voices outside, and I was pushed inside a cupboard out of sight. But then I recognised the voices! So I walked out of the cupboard, telling the Italians that it was my comrades! There were four of them, one with a badly injured foot caused through the bombing on the train.
We were now too many to be at the same place so I decided to move on once again, asking Johnnie if he would partner me. We left the other two behind with the chap who was injured, and walked on and on until we came across a place which appeared to look like a ranch, with a house in the distance which we made for. It seemed that someone lived there because we could smell where wood had been burned, but it was locked up. Here we decided to take a rest, keeping watch all the time.
Suddenly we saw a figure walking towards us, It was early afternoon, around 4.00 pm we guessed, as neither of us had a watch. We could see he was carrying a rifle and was in some kind of uniform. It was too late for us to make a run for it so we had to stand our ground. On getting nearer I could see he was an Italian. I greeted him with 'Buona Sera' - 'Good Evening.' He was friendly towards us and invited us into the house after we told him who we were. He told us he had been in America and he could speak a few words of English. This made us feel a little more safe than before. He said it would be safe to stay with him for a while so we decided to stop there the night.
He gave us some bread and grapes to eat and wine to drink. Johnnie had a good night's sleep, but not me, for when I broke the barbed wire from the window of the cattle truck in order to escape on the bridge, a wire spike had stuck in my finger. This had now turned poisonous, causing a lump to form under my arm. It was giving me much pain so I had to bathe my finger in hot water all that night.
The Italian was awake rather early next morning so I woke Johnnie up as well. We decided to move on once again so I asked the Italian for the direction of Rome. My arm was very painful so we had to make for the nearest houses we could see. All the Italians were very helpful to us and by bathing my finger in hot salt water as often as possible I was able to reduce the poisoning and soon my finger was well again.
Early one morning we left the road to take a cut across some fields. We passed through a small wood and I saw some telephone wires. As we looked through the hedge we could see a Jerry sentry down to the right of us. This was a German anti-aircraft gun emplacement and on our left were German soldiers, fully armed and in marching order.
Johnnie wanted to go back but I said, 'Come on, we'll go straight across, and they might not notice us.' We were dressed in civilian clothing of a sort, and we made our way across the field and out on to the road the other side. There we saw an Italian boy driving a donkey in the same direction as we were going. We soon caught up with him, which was lucky as coming up the road to meet us was a company of German soldiers led by an officer. We gave the Fascist salute which the officer acknowledged! We walked on a little further with the boy and his donkey until Johnnie and I decided to leave him and go across the fields.
The nights were beginning to get very cold, and it was not always possible to find a place where we could sleep. Some nights we had to sleep under a hedge in a field or if lucky find a building of some kind. We found it very hard going during the time we had snow as we were wet through ploughing through it up to our knees. By this time we were near the village of Percile where I had been once before - it was where 'Posh' Price had been taken ill, in the mountains.
Johnnie and I were taking a rest one day when we saw another person walking quite near to where we were resting - and he was an American. We called him over to us and asked him where he came from. He told us he had escaped from a lorry. He was a prisoner being taken by a road convoy which had been attacked by aircraft. He said he'd hidden in a ditch and covered himself over with grass and remained there until the rest moved away. I asked him where he had been taken prisoner and he told us that he had been captured at Anzio where the Americans had made a landing. Of course, this was great news to us.
We decided to move on once again and soon we reached the village. The first thing was to find out if any Germans were there, so we had to wait until we could contact someone. Within a short while I heard someone talking in the vineyards - it was Alberto Domenici, he was surprised to see me again as he knew the Germans had captured 'Posh' Price, Vince Read and myself. He wanted to know what had happened to the other two, 'Posh' and Vince, so I told him. Soon we were able to get some food but had to go to a shed at the other end of the village - by now I knew the way quite well! But things didn't work out very well this time. Although I told them the chap with us was an American they didn't seem to believe it and they thought he was a German. Johnnie and I had to persuade him to go on alone.
We didn't stay at this place long but moved over the hill to a village called Orvinio. It was here that we made contact with a shepherd called Angelo. He was about 65 years old and was in the 1914-18 war fighting by the side of English soldiers. So we were lucky again, as he brought us food in the mornings, a sort of stew and sometimes polenta (this is maize or Indian corn). Here we built a small place of stone covered with twigs and brush where we could sleep at night.
It would appear from a tape recording made for his grandson that Bill named the Irishman as Johnnie Atkins or Atkinson, thus confirming that he was the same man who had previously been the travelling companion of Arthur Melling and who had therefore escaped from the train. Information from Bill's son Gerald.
Private Green 'Duke' Cox 133 Regiment 34 Infantry Division US Army
Private Cox's daughter says:
Our father and the other escapees headed to the mountains and slept in caves or under cliffs or anywhere they could. Late in the evenings they would go to farmhouses and beg for food. They mostly lived on bread and green olives - occasionally they would get a bottle of wine from the farmers. He had said this lasted around four months...A woman at one of the farmhouses was a nurse
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
I found a path and decided to run north. It eventually led into a farmyard. The people were outside. They had been watching the bombing. I asked for water and they gave me grappa. They women cried when they saw my feet - they were bleeding. They brought a chair and a bowl of water, they washed and bandaged them. I could not put any footwear on with the pain. One of the men made me a pair of sandals out of an old tyre. I could never have walked with shoes. They offered to look after me but I thanked them for all they had done but told them it would not be safe.
Word must have got round and I was joined by another POW from nearby. We left and said we would try to get far away before dark. As usual I set off on the roads and footpaths keeping our direction from the main road. We took a good footpath running in line with the main road and made good progress. It eventually led into a clearing and to my horror I saw the indentations of iron heel marks of jack-boots. The path was leading into a fairly thick shrubbery so there was no option but to go down on to the road and beware of any traffic. We had not been on the road long when two soldiers appeared carrying rifles. John made for some shrubs on the side of the road. I saw one of the soldiers take his rifle off his shoulder. I told John to make out he was pissing and I started to sing La La Maddalena in Italian. I made out I was drunk – one thing was certain, the smell of grappa would be with me as I had spilled some when I realised it was not the water I had asked for. John joined me by which time the soldiers were close.
I said, 'Good Evening,' and asked for a cigarette. He shouted in German 'Fuck off!' I did not understand much German but I almost thanked him. 'All right. Good night.'
My heart was beating very fast but I thanked God we had made it. Just a short distance further on we came to a farmhouse, we did a recce to make sure there were no soldiers and asked the farmer if he could help us by telling us how we might progress without getting in the way of the Germans. From what I could make out there was a large rest camp nearby for men recovering from illness etc. He said that he was delivering produce in Rome the next day and would take us and drop us off where we wanted. That evening we had a good meal of pasta with small pieces of pork with grated cheese - it was great. He told us the Germans came into the yard each morning for vegetables and he would take us on our way soon after. He was as good as his word. I sat up front with him and John sat in the back of the lorry covered in vegetables. I could hardly believe my luck. It was hard to explain – it was like a dream. I kept thinking of the apparition I had had of my mother and her promise that I would make it. The driver stopped some distance outside of Rome and said that there was a person who could take us to a Resistance group, or we could make it on our own. John decided to go his (own) way. I think he thought I was a little bomb happy.
I thought I might get a pair of boots - by this time I had just about had it with the tyre sandals. I remember passing what looked like a large smouldering hill. It was in the foothills of a forest. This was how they made their charcoal – burning wood and then covering it with turf, leaving vents. We took a path around this and went into the forest – a long trek up a mountain at the top of which was a monastery. This was the hide-out of a resistance group – Italians and about twenty South Africans who were made POWs when Tobruk fell.
I soon made friends with two South Africans – Robert Brettell and Richard Dix-Peek. We went on one or two missions together. I was not impressed. Poorly armed – only old revolvers. I was supposed to be guarding the rear while a group went forward to make some damage to the railway lines. I had only a revolver as an armament. This was old and without any spare ammunition. I did not fancy my chances with it. I spoke with Robert and Richard and told them the next time we went on patrol together I was going to leg it. We talked it over and they said they would like to bring along a tracker – a sergeant. I was not in favour because the fewer in number the better.
I was to come to regret having him for a number of reasons all of which nearly cost us dearly. We made our break and I told them we would make our way to the province of Rieti - not many Germans and the country people better for food. On our way down we had stopped at a farm and got some bread. We had moved on but I noticed that the tracker had not caught up with us. I went back a way and heard a woman scream. I ran to the farm and the tracker was forcing himself on the woman. I told him to stop it. I said if I had had a gun I would (have) shot him. I told him he could have done untold harm to other POWs passing this way as news travels fast.. He got the message but he was someone I could never trust. I should have known better but I was coaxed into it.
... I shall never forget going into a village to celebrate my birthday. It was in the month of March. We went into a wine bar and the wine was poor. The tracker soon got rowdy. I said I had had enough and was going. Half way out of the village I heard a commotion. I carried on. The tracker was coming along dragging a young pig. He was shouting and asking me to help. I told him he was crazy. We had to cross the main road and by this time someone had opened fire. I told him he had no chance of making it with the pig. We made it across the road and went up to the top of a tall hill. We could see the posse they had sent out for us. After this I had less contact with the so-called tracker. Got on well with Robert and Richard.
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell's daughter tells his story:
He was slightly injured but managed to escape in the confusion and gradually made his way back to Fernando Savioli, who again sheltered him.
I remember him recounting much about his time staying with the Italian peasant families, though which aspects relate to his first and which to his second periods of freedom I am unsure. I know that in his time 'on the run' he learnt to speak Italian very well. It was a matter of survival and if you didn’t speak Italian, you starved, he said. He had left school at 15 but must have had an aptitude for languages, and his 'schoolboy French' had served him well in the monastery. As a child I remember he was still able to understand Italian when he heard it on the television, though this ability declined somewhat in his later life.
He (and in their first stay, Hutch) had also worked in the fields for the families with whom they lived. This was not only a good 'cover story' if and when unwelcome visitors came by - they were simply passed off as labourers - it also made a vital contribution to the livelihood of poor Italian farmers who had been further impoverished by war...If strangers came asking questions, my father altered his name slightly to 'Arturo Pinnelli'. When I head these stories as a child, I couldn’t help wondering if this was merely a joke (he himself found it amusing) until many years later I saw an Italian scientist on television whose surname was Pinnelli, so he or his host family had chosen a real Italian name. Some people didn’t seem to recognise that he was not Italian and said he had a Neapolitan accent...
During one or both of their stays with the Italians, they would live with the families most of the time, but when things got too 'hot' - for example soldiers coming to the village - they would hide out in the hills for a few days and the family would bring them food. My father was extremely grateful to the Italians for all the support they gave them, often at great personal risk, but they had to be wary of the small minority of Fascists, and sometimes whole villages would be more dangerous in this respect than others. In one place, he stopped to ask for water from a man. The man gave him some, but told him, 'You must leave, this village is full of Fascists.'
He stayed with Fernando Savioli for five or six months.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army
Our frantic, almost aimless running had brought us back to the rail road tracks a few miles north of the bombing. We had not noticed the rails at first; the angry, authoritarian voice on the rail road bed just below us caught our attention.. A large German in a black uniform was speaking sharply to a group of slave laborers. He wore a swastika arm band and cradled a sub-machine gun which he seemed eager to fire on his prisoners at the slightest provocation. Was he a member of the dreaded SS? His whole persona epitomized the cruel Nazi depicted in posters and movies which encouraged the war effort against Hitler. I could say now with conviction something about which I had had reservations, 'Yes, there is such a Nazi.' Would he notice us? We did not want to breathe. Finally at nightfall, the evil -looking guard and his slave laborers left, walking southward down the tracks and disappeared from view. When it was quite dark, we stood up and looked at each other, 'Well, we live to fight another day.'
Walking cross country towards the Po River, still several hundred miles distant, we stumbled upon a farm. We rapped low on the door and announced, 'Siamo americani,' (we are Americans). I had gotten some help in Italian back in the camp at Fara in Sabina from Private Mike Guele who was quite fluent. 'Siamo americani' was one of the phrases Mike had taught me.
The warm welcome was surprising, although the British Eighth Army veterans had informed us back at Frosinone about the generosity we were likely to encounter from the Italian civilian population. The family seemed not the least astonished by our arrival. They knew we had escaped from the bridge where delayed action bombs continued to explode at intervals. The reverberations made the bridge appear close by; however, the family were not perturbed. John and I relaxed. They invited us to sit at a large wooden table in the kitchen where the family was gathered. We began a tortured conversation in our broken Italian while hot, fresh pasta was prepared for us in the fireplace...The family persuaded us to trade our shirts and trousers to them for civilian clothing. The tattered garments we received in return were no bargain, but they did make us look like two bedraggled Italian civilians...from a distance. Having made bedrolls from our field jackets and winter gear, we slung them over our shoulders and sallied forth. Outside, a thick fog greeted us...
The British prisoners to whom we had talked concerning survival in German-occupied Italy had convinced us that the front in the South was nigh impossible to penetrate. The protracted stalemate between the two opposing armies had exhausted the food supply of the civilian population off whom we would need to live. The Po River, France, and a submarine ride to freedom seemed a more distant and more difficult obstacle now that we were free. Nevertheless, we asked our hosts, 'Dove si trova il Po?' ( Where is the Po?) They looked at us in a somewhat bewildered manner and pointed in the general direction.
On their third evening of freedom Richard (Dick) and his friend John arrived at La Poderina, a farm situated on a hill ridge in southern Tuscany just across the Umbrian border. It was the home of the Pinzi family. They were made very welcome but eventually had to move on:
On Wednesday of the second week we opened the grain room door to the landowner's agent, the 'fattore'. His icy hostility to us did not place him among the 'gente buona'. 'Get rid of them,' he told the (Pinzi) brothers (Guido and Giulio) out in the kitchen. 'Germany will win the war.' So much for predictions 14 months before the Russians were battering at the gates of Hitler's bunker. Giulio proved to be a more accurate prophet; he believed we would see the Allied forces driving through the valley below in two or three weeks.
We had been at Poderina for about two weeks; it was time to move on. Half the farm houses of the southern Chiana Valley must have known we were staying with the Pinzis. The SS might pay us a visit in the middle of the night. We rose at 4.00 am., before any stirrings in the bedrooms. I wrote a note in tortured Italian and placed it beside a candle. We closed the front door as silently as possible.
Darkness covered the western slopes of the Val di Chiana as we tried to make out the silhouette of Mount Cetona to our north. On February 10, 1944, with no clear idea of the events going on in the world or the war, we hoped to make an end run around the frozen front in the South. Moving cross country brought us in view of the base of Mount Cetona. First, there was a highway to cross, something to be done carefully. Germans were most likely to be found on the roads, not out in the woods.
We approached the road cautiously, using a route which provided the cover of trees and bushes. The last few yards to the road's edge were covered by crawling to a point which offered a view of the highway in both directions. Then it was a brisk run across the road to cover on the other side. Monte Cetona is thickly wooded which gave us a greater sense of security. It would be harder for unfriendly eyes to spot us from a distance. A good part of the day would be spent crossing the western flank of Cetona half way between the base and the summit.
After having found hospitality in another farmhouse Richard and John moved on again the following morning:
As (we) made our way northward across the plateau, we began to notice an improvement in the appearance of the farms. Here lived the tenants of il marchese Antonio and la marchesa Iris Origo. That evening one of the Origo's tenant families opened their door to us with the usual welcome that all our Italian hosts had shown. The kitchen and fireplace implements were not so primitive as those we had seen in other kitchens, nor did the family live directly above the stables.
The next morning the family talked with animation about 'La marchesa'. The subject was a mystery to us, but we began to understand that their intense interest centered about a certain lady. They wanted us to wait two days until a meeting with her could be arranged. In the meantime the family would dye our field jackets black to make us look less conspicuous...A young man in the family led us to a clearing in some woods the. following morning and instructed us to wait. Not long afterwards, a lady, dressed in English tweeds, strode briskly into the clearing. Trim, brown hair starting to turn gray, mid to late 30s, she looked absolutely fearless. We knew nothing about her, but she made a strong impression on us.
This was Iris Origo, head of the Italian Red Cross, author, friend of Virginia Woolf, wife of an Italian nobleman. The daughter of an American diplomat and an English lady, she married il marchese Antonio Origo in 1924. She and Antonio were not ordinary 'padroni' (landowners). They had purchased a run-down villa, La Foce, and the land around it containing 50 tenant farms 20 years earlier in the hopes of making a difference in the lives of some Tuscan farmers. The families on the 50 farms had a school for their children and an infirmary with a full-time nurse. Better agricultural methods were taught to peasants whose practices dated back to the Middle Ages. Needless to say, the new agricultural methods met only grudging acceptance.
As Italian war casualties mounted, the Origos established an orphanage on the estate for children who had lost their fathers. From September, 1943 to mid-June, 1944, Iris and Antonio Origo engaged in a nerve-racking balancing act. They endured the hostile suspicions of the local fascisti who denounced them periodically to the Germans. A constant stream of escaped POWs and other fugitives sought their assistance. Wounded partisans appeared at the infirmary for treatment at odd hours, occasionally when German officers were visiting the villa. She and Antonio had to find supplies for themselves, their two young daughters, and the orphans. Periodically, Antonio had to go to Carabinieri headquarters in Montepulciano where he would face down accusations or diffuse potentially explosive situations. Not all partisans were saints; on occasion, Antonio had to reject demands which amounted to blackmail.
At the time, John and I had no idea who this dignified lady was nor anything about the difficulties she was facing. Listening to her speak English was such a delightful surprise. I had not realized how agreeable it can be to hear one's native tongue spoken by a stranger...The marchesa pointed out some flaws in our plans to walk north to France or, an alternative plan we suggested, steal a boat in the Grosseto or Livorno (Leghorn) area in order to sail it to Corsica, because John had experience in sailing. There had been rumors of an Allied landing in that region, she pointed out to us. The Germans had removed some of the population; food was scarcer; there was more enemy observation. In the North between Florence and Bologna our adversaries were at that very moment building a defense line across the peninsula. To attempt penetrating that line would certainly risk recapture.
Richard and John took Iris Origo's advice and returned to the Pinzi family, who were delighted to see them and wanted to know why they had left in the first place. However, the two men judged that their continued presence in the house might compromise the family, and so they built a shelter of sods in the woods beyond the house, returning only at mealtimes. A steady trickle of other escapees passed by the farm, including two Americans who had escaped from the bombed train - an infantryman from Iowa belonging to 34 Division and a B-25 bombardier.
Corporal Marsh describes how he teamed up with an Irishman called Johnnie who had also presumably escaped from the train:
I was about three miles away from the nearest village when I made contact with an Italian. I asked him if he had a cigarette which he gave me. He also cleaned my head wound using wine, and told me that the village was not far away. I was not at this village very long before more men from the train arrived, some badly injured. I stayed the night at this village but next day I decided to go on. Before I left I was given a pair of clogs, old ones of course, but they were better than being bare-footed. I found them very awkward to walk in at first but after a while I got used to them! I went on alone all that day, sometimes following paths and but occasionally along the road which I tried to avoid. I think this was on a Saturday. I remember heading towards a small farm, and I tried to keep under cover as much as possible in case it was occupied by Germans.
After hiding a while I saw an Italian walk outside the house. I attracted his attention and made myself known to him - always a risky business. However he took me inside his farmhouse where I was given some food and wine. That night I stayed at this farm, but not in the house because they were justifiably afraid the Germans might call on them. They allowed me to sleep in the cowshed.
Early next morning, which was Sunday, the farmer came to call me to go inside for some food. Suddenly we went silent as we heard voices outside, and I was pushed inside a cupboard out of sight. But then I recognised the voices! So I walked out of the cupboard, telling the Italians that it was my comrades! There were four of them, one with a badly injured foot caused through the bombing on the train.
We were now too many to be at the same place so I decided to move on once again, asking Johnnie if he would partner me. We left the other two behind with the chap who was injured, and walked on and on until we came across a place which appeared to look like a ranch, with a house in the distance which we made for. It seemed that someone lived there because we could smell where wood had been burned, but it was locked up. Here we decided to take a rest, keeping watch all the time.
Suddenly we saw a figure walking towards us, It was early afternoon, around 4.00 pm we guessed, as neither of us had a watch. We could see he was carrying a rifle and was in some kind of uniform. It was too late for us to make a run for it so we had to stand our ground. On getting nearer I could see he was an Italian. I greeted him with 'Buona Sera' - 'Good Evening.' He was friendly towards us and invited us into the house after we told him who we were. He told us he had been in America and he could speak a few words of English. This made us feel a little more safe than before. He said it would be safe to stay with him for a while so we decided to stop there the night.
He gave us some bread and grapes to eat and wine to drink. Johnnie had a good night's sleep, but not me, for when I broke the barbed wire from the window of the cattle truck in order to escape on the bridge, a wire spike had stuck in my finger. This had now turned poisonous, causing a lump to form under my arm. It was giving me much pain so I had to bathe my finger in hot water all that night.
The Italian was awake rather early next morning so I woke Johnnie up as well. We decided to move on once again so I asked the Italian for the direction of Rome. My arm was very painful so we had to make for the nearest houses we could see. All the Italians were very helpful to us and by bathing my finger in hot salt water as often as possible I was able to reduce the poisoning and soon my finger was well again.
Early one morning we left the road to take a cut across some fields. We passed through a small wood and I saw some telephone wires. As we looked through the hedge we could see a Jerry sentry down to the right of us. This was a German anti-aircraft gun emplacement and on our left were German soldiers, fully armed and in marching order.
Johnnie wanted to go back but I said, 'Come on, we'll go straight across, and they might not notice us.' We were dressed in civilian clothing of a sort, and we made our way across the field and out on to the road the other side. There we saw an Italian boy driving a donkey in the same direction as we were going. We soon caught up with him, which was lucky as coming up the road to meet us was a company of German soldiers led by an officer. We gave the Fascist salute which the officer acknowledged! We walked on a little further with the boy and his donkey until Johnnie and I decided to leave him and go across the fields.
The nights were beginning to get very cold, and it was not always possible to find a place where we could sleep. Some nights we had to sleep under a hedge in a field or if lucky find a building of some kind. We found it very hard going during the time we had snow as we were wet through ploughing through it up to our knees. By this time we were near the village of Percile where I had been once before - it was where 'Posh' Price had been taken ill, in the mountains.
Johnnie and I were taking a rest one day when we saw another person walking quite near to where we were resting - and he was an American. We called him over to us and asked him where he came from. He told us he had escaped from a lorry. He was a prisoner being taken by a road convoy which had been attacked by aircraft. He said he'd hidden in a ditch and covered himself over with grass and remained there until the rest moved away. I asked him where he had been taken prisoner and he told us that he had been captured at Anzio where the Americans had made a landing. Of course, this was great news to us.
We decided to move on once again and soon we reached the village. The first thing was to find out if any Germans were there, so we had to wait until we could contact someone. Within a short while I heard someone talking in the vineyards - it was Alberto Domenici, he was surprised to see me again as he knew the Germans had captured 'Posh' Price, Vince Read and myself. He wanted to know what had happened to the other two, 'Posh' and Vince, so I told him. Soon we were able to get some food but had to go to a shed at the other end of the village - by now I knew the way quite well! But things didn't work out very well this time. Although I told them the chap with us was an American they didn't seem to believe it and they thought he was a German. Johnnie and I had to persuade him to go on alone.
We didn't stay at this place long but moved over the hill to a village called Orvinio. It was here that we made contact with a shepherd called Angelo. He was about 65 years old and was in the 1914-18 war fighting by the side of English soldiers. So we were lucky again, as he brought us food in the mornings, a sort of stew and sometimes polenta (this is maize or Indian corn). Here we built a small place of stone covered with twigs and brush where we could sleep at night.
It would appear from a tape recording made for his grandson that Bill named the Irishman as Johnnie Atkins or Atkinson, thus confirming that he was the same man who had previously been the travelling companion of Arthur Melling and who had therefore escaped from the train. Information from Bill's son Gerald.
Private Green 'Duke' Cox 133 Regiment 34 Infantry Division US Army
Private Cox's daughter says:
Our father and the other escapees headed to the mountains and slept in caves or under cliffs or anywhere they could. Late in the evenings they would go to farmhouses and beg for food. They mostly lived on bread and green olives - occasionally they would get a bottle of wine from the farmers. He had said this lasted around four months...A woman at one of the farmhouses was a nurse
D/JX302102 Able Seaman Arthur Melling HMS Saracen
I found a path and decided to run north. It eventually led into a farmyard. The people were outside. They had been watching the bombing. I asked for water and they gave me grappa. They women cried when they saw my feet - they were bleeding. They brought a chair and a bowl of water, they washed and bandaged them. I could not put any footwear on with the pain. One of the men made me a pair of sandals out of an old tyre. I could never have walked with shoes. They offered to look after me but I thanked them for all they had done but told them it would not be safe.
Word must have got round and I was joined by another POW from nearby. We left and said we would try to get far away before dark. As usual I set off on the roads and footpaths keeping our direction from the main road. We took a good footpath running in line with the main road and made good progress. It eventually led into a clearing and to my horror I saw the indentations of iron heel marks of jack-boots. The path was leading into a fairly thick shrubbery so there was no option but to go down on to the road and beware of any traffic. We had not been on the road long when two soldiers appeared carrying rifles. John made for some shrubs on the side of the road. I saw one of the soldiers take his rifle off his shoulder. I told John to make out he was pissing and I started to sing La La Maddalena in Italian. I made out I was drunk – one thing was certain, the smell of grappa would be with me as I had spilled some when I realised it was not the water I had asked for. John joined me by which time the soldiers were close.
I said, 'Good Evening,' and asked for a cigarette. He shouted in German 'Fuck off!' I did not understand much German but I almost thanked him. 'All right. Good night.'
My heart was beating very fast but I thanked God we had made it. Just a short distance further on we came to a farmhouse, we did a recce to make sure there were no soldiers and asked the farmer if he could help us by telling us how we might progress without getting in the way of the Germans. From what I could make out there was a large rest camp nearby for men recovering from illness etc. He said that he was delivering produce in Rome the next day and would take us and drop us off where we wanted. That evening we had a good meal of pasta with small pieces of pork with grated cheese - it was great. He told us the Germans came into the yard each morning for vegetables and he would take us on our way soon after. He was as good as his word. I sat up front with him and John sat in the back of the lorry covered in vegetables. I could hardly believe my luck. It was hard to explain – it was like a dream. I kept thinking of the apparition I had had of my mother and her promise that I would make it. The driver stopped some distance outside of Rome and said that there was a person who could take us to a Resistance group, or we could make it on our own. John decided to go his (own) way. I think he thought I was a little bomb happy.
I thought I might get a pair of boots - by this time I had just about had it with the tyre sandals. I remember passing what looked like a large smouldering hill. It was in the foothills of a forest. This was how they made their charcoal – burning wood and then covering it with turf, leaving vents. We took a path around this and went into the forest – a long trek up a mountain at the top of which was a monastery. This was the hide-out of a resistance group – Italians and about twenty South Africans who were made POWs when Tobruk fell.
I soon made friends with two South Africans – Robert Brettell and Richard Dix-Peek. We went on one or two missions together. I was not impressed. Poorly armed – only old revolvers. I was supposed to be guarding the rear while a group went forward to make some damage to the railway lines. I had only a revolver as an armament. This was old and without any spare ammunition. I did not fancy my chances with it. I spoke with Robert and Richard and told them the next time we went on patrol together I was going to leg it. We talked it over and they said they would like to bring along a tracker – a sergeant. I was not in favour because the fewer in number the better.
I was to come to regret having him for a number of reasons all of which nearly cost us dearly. We made our break and I told them we would make our way to the province of Rieti - not many Germans and the country people better for food. On our way down we had stopped at a farm and got some bread. We had moved on but I noticed that the tracker had not caught up with us. I went back a way and heard a woman scream. I ran to the farm and the tracker was forcing himself on the woman. I told him to stop it. I said if I had had a gun I would (have) shot him. I told him he could have done untold harm to other POWs passing this way as news travels fast.. He got the message but he was someone I could never trust. I should have known better but I was coaxed into it.
... I shall never forget going into a village to celebrate my birthday. It was in the month of March. We went into a wine bar and the wine was poor. The tracker soon got rowdy. I said I had had enough and was going. Half way out of the village I heard a commotion. I carried on. The tracker was coming along dragging a young pig. He was shouting and asking me to help. I told him he was crazy. We had to cross the main road and by this time someone had opened fire. I told him he had no chance of making it with the pig. We made it across the road and went up to the top of a tall hill. We could see the posse they had sent out for us. After this I had less contact with the so-called tracker. Got on well with Robert and Richard.
C/JX160639 Able Seaman Arthur Ross Pinnell HMS Saracen
Able Seaman Pinnell's daughter tells his story:
He was slightly injured but managed to escape in the confusion and gradually made his way back to Fernando Savioli, who again sheltered him.
I remember him recounting much about his time staying with the Italian peasant families, though which aspects relate to his first and which to his second periods of freedom I am unsure. I know that in his time 'on the run' he learnt to speak Italian very well. It was a matter of survival and if you didn’t speak Italian, you starved, he said. He had left school at 15 but must have had an aptitude for languages, and his 'schoolboy French' had served him well in the monastery. As a child I remember he was still able to understand Italian when he heard it on the television, though this ability declined somewhat in his later life.
He (and in their first stay, Hutch) had also worked in the fields for the families with whom they lived. This was not only a good 'cover story' if and when unwelcome visitors came by - they were simply passed off as labourers - it also made a vital contribution to the livelihood of poor Italian farmers who had been further impoverished by war...If strangers came asking questions, my father altered his name slightly to 'Arturo Pinnelli'. When I head these stories as a child, I couldn’t help wondering if this was merely a joke (he himself found it amusing) until many years later I saw an Italian scientist on television whose surname was Pinnelli, so he or his host family had chosen a real Italian name. Some people didn’t seem to recognise that he was not Italian and said he had a Neapolitan accent...
During one or both of their stays with the Italians, they would live with the families most of the time, but when things got too 'hot' - for example soldiers coming to the village - they would hide out in the hills for a few days and the family would bring them food. My father was extremely grateful to the Italians for all the support they gave them, often at great personal risk, but they had to be wary of the small minority of Fascists, and sometimes whole villages would be more dangerous in this respect than others. In one place, he stopped to ask for water from a man. The man gave him some, but told him, 'You must leave, this village is full of Fascists.'
He stayed with Fernando Savioli for five or six months.
20838320 Staff/Sergeant Richard A. Morris C Company 157 Regiment 45 Infantry Divison US Army
Our frantic, almost aimless running had brought us back to the rail road tracks a few miles north of the bombing. We had not noticed the rails at first; the angry, authoritarian voice on the rail road bed just below us caught our attention.. A large German in a black uniform was speaking sharply to a group of slave laborers. He wore a swastika arm band and cradled a sub-machine gun which he seemed eager to fire on his prisoners at the slightest provocation. Was he a member of the dreaded SS? His whole persona epitomized the cruel Nazi depicted in posters and movies which encouraged the war effort against Hitler. I could say now with conviction something about which I had had reservations, 'Yes, there is such a Nazi.' Would he notice us? We did not want to breathe. Finally at nightfall, the evil -looking guard and his slave laborers left, walking southward down the tracks and disappeared from view. When it was quite dark, we stood up and looked at each other, 'Well, we live to fight another day.'
Walking cross country towards the Po River, still several hundred miles distant, we stumbled upon a farm. We rapped low on the door and announced, 'Siamo americani,' (we are Americans). I had gotten some help in Italian back in the camp at Fara in Sabina from Private Mike Guele who was quite fluent. 'Siamo americani' was one of the phrases Mike had taught me.
The warm welcome was surprising, although the British Eighth Army veterans had informed us back at Frosinone about the generosity we were likely to encounter from the Italian civilian population. The family seemed not the least astonished by our arrival. They knew we had escaped from the bridge where delayed action bombs continued to explode at intervals. The reverberations made the bridge appear close by; however, the family were not perturbed. John and I relaxed. They invited us to sit at a large wooden table in the kitchen where the family was gathered. We began a tortured conversation in our broken Italian while hot, fresh pasta was prepared for us in the fireplace...The family persuaded us to trade our shirts and trousers to them for civilian clothing. The tattered garments we received in return were no bargain, but they did make us look like two bedraggled Italian civilians...from a distance. Having made bedrolls from our field jackets and winter gear, we slung them over our shoulders and sallied forth. Outside, a thick fog greeted us...
The British prisoners to whom we had talked concerning survival in German-occupied Italy had convinced us that the front in the South was nigh impossible to penetrate. The protracted stalemate between the two opposing armies had exhausted the food supply of the civilian population off whom we would need to live. The Po River, France, and a submarine ride to freedom seemed a more distant and more difficult obstacle now that we were free. Nevertheless, we asked our hosts, 'Dove si trova il Po?' ( Where is the Po?) They looked at us in a somewhat bewildered manner and pointed in the general direction.
On their third evening of freedom Richard (Dick) and his friend John arrived at La Poderina, a farm situated on a hill ridge in southern Tuscany just across the Umbrian border. It was the home of the Pinzi family. They were made very welcome but eventually had to move on:
On Wednesday of the second week we opened the grain room door to the landowner's agent, the 'fattore'. His icy hostility to us did not place him among the 'gente buona'. 'Get rid of them,' he told the (Pinzi) brothers (Guido and Giulio) out in the kitchen. 'Germany will win the war.' So much for predictions 14 months before the Russians were battering at the gates of Hitler's bunker. Giulio proved to be a more accurate prophet; he believed we would see the Allied forces driving through the valley below in two or three weeks.
We had been at Poderina for about two weeks; it was time to move on. Half the farm houses of the southern Chiana Valley must have known we were staying with the Pinzis. The SS might pay us a visit in the middle of the night. We rose at 4.00 am., before any stirrings in the bedrooms. I wrote a note in tortured Italian and placed it beside a candle. We closed the front door as silently as possible.
Darkness covered the western slopes of the Val di Chiana as we tried to make out the silhouette of Mount Cetona to our north. On February 10, 1944, with no clear idea of the events going on in the world or the war, we hoped to make an end run around the frozen front in the South. Moving cross country brought us in view of the base of Mount Cetona. First, there was a highway to cross, something to be done carefully. Germans were most likely to be found on the roads, not out in the woods.
We approached the road cautiously, using a route which provided the cover of trees and bushes. The last few yards to the road's edge were covered by crawling to a point which offered a view of the highway in both directions. Then it was a brisk run across the road to cover on the other side. Monte Cetona is thickly wooded which gave us a greater sense of security. It would be harder for unfriendly eyes to spot us from a distance. A good part of the day would be spent crossing the western flank of Cetona half way between the base and the summit.
After having found hospitality in another farmhouse Richard and John moved on again the following morning:
As (we) made our way northward across the plateau, we began to notice an improvement in the appearance of the farms. Here lived the tenants of il marchese Antonio and la marchesa Iris Origo. That evening one of the Origo's tenant families opened their door to us with the usual welcome that all our Italian hosts had shown. The kitchen and fireplace implements were not so primitive as those we had seen in other kitchens, nor did the family live directly above the stables.
The next morning the family talked with animation about 'La marchesa'. The subject was a mystery to us, but we began to understand that their intense interest centered about a certain lady. They wanted us to wait two days until a meeting with her could be arranged. In the meantime the family would dye our field jackets black to make us look less conspicuous...A young man in the family led us to a clearing in some woods the. following morning and instructed us to wait. Not long afterwards, a lady, dressed in English tweeds, strode briskly into the clearing. Trim, brown hair starting to turn gray, mid to late 30s, she looked absolutely fearless. We knew nothing about her, but she made a strong impression on us.
This was Iris Origo, head of the Italian Red Cross, author, friend of Virginia Woolf, wife of an Italian nobleman. The daughter of an American diplomat and an English lady, she married il marchese Antonio Origo in 1924. She and Antonio were not ordinary 'padroni' (landowners). They had purchased a run-down villa, La Foce, and the land around it containing 50 tenant farms 20 years earlier in the hopes of making a difference in the lives of some Tuscan farmers. The families on the 50 farms had a school for their children and an infirmary with a full-time nurse. Better agricultural methods were taught to peasants whose practices dated back to the Middle Ages. Needless to say, the new agricultural methods met only grudging acceptance.
As Italian war casualties mounted, the Origos established an orphanage on the estate for children who had lost their fathers. From September, 1943 to mid-June, 1944, Iris and Antonio Origo engaged in a nerve-racking balancing act. They endured the hostile suspicions of the local fascisti who denounced them periodically to the Germans. A constant stream of escaped POWs and other fugitives sought their assistance. Wounded partisans appeared at the infirmary for treatment at odd hours, occasionally when German officers were visiting the villa. She and Antonio had to find supplies for themselves, their two young daughters, and the orphans. Periodically, Antonio had to go to Carabinieri headquarters in Montepulciano where he would face down accusations or diffuse potentially explosive situations. Not all partisans were saints; on occasion, Antonio had to reject demands which amounted to blackmail.
At the time, John and I had no idea who this dignified lady was nor anything about the difficulties she was facing. Listening to her speak English was such a delightful surprise. I had not realized how agreeable it can be to hear one's native tongue spoken by a stranger...The marchesa pointed out some flaws in our plans to walk north to France or, an alternative plan we suggested, steal a boat in the Grosseto or Livorno (Leghorn) area in order to sail it to Corsica, because John had experience in sailing. There had been rumors of an Allied landing in that region, she pointed out to us. The Germans had removed some of the population; food was scarcer; there was more enemy observation. In the North between Florence and Bologna our adversaries were at that very moment building a defense line across the peninsula. To attempt penetrating that line would certainly risk recapture.
Richard and John took Iris Origo's advice and returned to the Pinzi family, who were delighted to see them and wanted to know why they had left in the first place. However, the two men judged that their continued presence in the house might compromise the family, and so they built a shelter of sods in the woods beyond the house, returning only at mealtimes. A steady trickle of other escapees passed by the farm, including two Americans who had escaped from the bombed train - an infantryman from Iowa belonging to 34 Division and a B-25 bombardier.
4131027 Private James Hall 6 Cheshire Regiment
Captured at Castelforte on 18 January whilst crossing the River Garigliano, Private Hall was taken to PG 54 Fara in Sabina and put on the train for Germany. He escaped with 4127941 Sgt. E. Broadley and they walked south, passing through Narni, Terni, Rieti and Rocca Sinibalda to Collelungo where they stayed for a month, as shown on this part of his Escape and Evasion Report sent in to the website by his daughters Caroline Blackburn and Suzie Newsham:
Captured at Castelforte on 18 January whilst crossing the River Garigliano, Private Hall was taken to PG 54 Fara in Sabina and put on the train for Germany. He escaped with 4127941 Sgt. E. Broadley and they walked south, passing through Narni, Terni, Rieti and Rocca Sinibalda to Collelungo where they stayed for a month, as shown on this part of his Escape and Evasion Report sent in to the website by his daughters Caroline Blackburn and Suzie Newsham:
2932159 Signalman Ebenezer S. Sutherland 6 Seaforth Higlanders
Signalman Sutherland was captured in the Minturno area on 18th January 1944. He was taken to POW holding camp PG 54 Fara in Sabina. After escaping from the bombed train he moved southwards in the direction of the Allied lines, hid in caves in the hills and lived off the countryside. In May 1944, he arrived in the mountain village of Rocca di Mezzo where he was hidden and fed for the next 40 or so days by the Agnifili family.
(Sent in to the website by his niece Sandra Greenwood.)
Signalman Sutherland was captured in the Minturno area on 18th January 1944. He was taken to POW holding camp PG 54 Fara in Sabina. After escaping from the bombed train he moved southwards in the direction of the Allied lines, hid in caves in the hills and lived off the countryside. In May 1944, he arrived in the mountain village of Rocca di Mezzo where he was hidden and fed for the next 40 or so days by the Agnifili family.
(Sent in to the website by his niece Sandra Greenwood.)