Page 8: A Prisoner of War Remembers
Railway Station, Civitella-Roveto |
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Shortly after the bombing of the Monastery at Cassino, together with Vincenzo's news, we realised that the Germans were going to retire. They dared not do so during the daylight hours, for the Allies had complete mastery in the air, but we could hear a lot of movement at night. Then came the sound of nearer explosions which meant that the Germans were blowing up the many Liri bridges. On his visit to the cave Vincenzo told us that, once it was safe for us to do so, Domenico would put a white sheet in a nearby field, which we could see from the cave, as a signal that we should descend. Then, one morning the sheet was out. This was on 7th June 1944. With unbelievable joy we descended, still, however, keeping a sharp look out in case there were any pockets of Germans left on the lower slopes. We did not meet with any, but encountered dozens of peasants digging up treasures, hidden from the Germans, and driving livestock which must have been discreetly secreted and attended to. We were embraced, in true Latin style, by Domenico, his family and many of his friends when we reached the barn, and literally there were tears of joy running down Domenico's face. We found over twenty refugees from Civitella, whom this wonderful family had fed and sheltered for many weeks, living in the appurtenances to the barn. Domenico said it was time to go down to Civitella to meet our deliverers and he insisted on my leading the way with him arm-in-arm. As a large party left the barn and the cobbled path was very narrow, we were strung out over quite a distance and, as we progressed, we were joined by many more excited peasants. I felt that Domenico and I were some sort of "pied Pipers" leading this vociferous and jubilant throng. I also felt a little ashamed at the thought of meeting Allied troops again, for had not we been out of the war for two years while they had been fighting? However, I soon put this thought out of my head when we were treated more as heroes than as slackers by the relieving New Zealanders. By one of those strange coincidences, which occur in wartime as well as in days of peace, the first man I spoke to was a corporal with whom I had spent a convivial evening at the Kiwi Club in Cairo when on leave there two years previously. I noticed that he had gained the Military Medal in the interim. He and his chaps gave us mugs of hot, strong and sweet tea. How delicious it tasted after nine months of abstinence from this refreshing beverage. I asked Corporal Tyson (his true name remembered after thirty-three years) if by any chance he had a small slab of chocolate with him as I had promised Elvira, months before, to try to get her some in the event of things turning out happily, as they did. (She had not tasted any for many years.) One of his men immediately conjured up a large slab and when I gave it to Elvira, that afternoon, she was so excited that she could not undo the wrapping. I am ever grateful to the donor, for it was nice to have kept one's word under the difficult circumstances. Corporal Tyson asked me if I would like a copy of that morning's newspaper and I thought he was joking until he produced a copy of the Eighth Army News, No. 69, Vol. 4 dated Wednesday 7th June 1944. I don't know where the paper was printed, but there must have been good organisation somewhere for the advance party (held up only while the Engineers replaced the near-by demolished bridge with a Bailey structure) to have copies. I still have this copy which not only gives further details of the fall of Rome, a few days previously, but also the first news of the "D.Day" landings the day before. We proudly introduced Domenico to Corporal Tyson and his chaps, explaining his heroism. They were so impressed that they took him to their Major, who, when he heard the main facts, shook Domenico warmly by the hand and added his congratulations to those of his men. Tears of joy again flooded this hero's face. There was never any thought of recompense in Domenico's mind. When we first went to him he (ever thoughtful) suggested that we wrote letters to our people at home. This we duly did and he secreted them under a loose stone in a nearby wall. In the event of our being recaptured, and he was there to do so, he would hand these letters to the relieving troops with details of our recapture. As the weeks went by we added lots of news to these letters. Before we left to go down to meet our deliverers, he took the letters from their hiding place, tore them up and thanked God that they no longer served any purpose. After further converse with our soldiers, Domenico took us to his town home and introduced us to a lot more of his fellow-citizens. I think that this must have been the proudest day in his life. Early in the afternoon we took the path back to the barn and to a good meal which Angelina had waiting for us. Domenico did not produce the six flagons of wine retained for "deliverance day" celebrations as we were to fare fiesta on a big scale the following day. Domenico delightedly related his encounter with the New Zealanders below, stating that a Major had actually shaken hands with him. I was gratified to hear, much later, that General Freyberg, in person, congratulated Domenico and his brothers on their heroic behaviour. Domenico insisted that we sleep in the family beds that night and outlined plans for the fiesta on the following day. However, my bed was either too comfortable or the excitement too great, for I never slept a wink that night. More likely it was the fact that I was unwell. I regretfully decided that I must have medical attention as soon as possible. Domenico and his family agreed, and they all accompanied me down to Civitella where I attempted to convey my appreciation of everything they had done. Sorrowful and tearful farewells were bade, and when I explained my condition to the first Kiwi officer I encountered, he immediately sent me down to the Regimental Aid Post in a jeep. There I was superbly treated and sent on by ambulance to Cassino, thence by ambulance 'plane to Naples, so to hospital and home. Some time after my return to Cape Town I was at the grocery counter, in a big department store, when the woman in front of me started to harangue the girl assistant because she would let her have only one pound of butter. I told this woman that I had just returned from Italy, where thousands of people lacked bread, let alone anything to put on it. She left muttering under her breath but the assistant thanked me for my intervention, saying that her parents were Italians. This was splendid news and she readily agreed to help me correspond with Domenico. I wrote my letters out in English, her parents re-wrote them in Italian which I copied out and posted. Similarly they gave me English transcripts of his letters to me. We corresponded thus for some eighteen months until I left South Africa. Since then, unfortunately, I have had no further news of him or his family. |
