Month: October 2017

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Maiori, Amalfi Coast, October 19th

I’m not sure how to start this session as the day has been the most amazing and moving day so far.

I’ve already told the story of finding the mysterious photo of my Dad with the note on the back saying “Castle Lauro, Feb/March 1945, CMF School of Signals”. What was Dad doing in that place when the rest of his unit had gone to North West Europe?  It certainly explained why he didn’t have the North West Europe star when everyone else in the unit did.

I think I also explained about Operation Penknife and the deception played by Canadian signallers to convince the Germans that 1st Div was in the south.  I also told how I found Castello Lancellotti with the help of Pasquale. I guess what I didn’t say was that in all of the research about where 10 Bty was for 19 months in Sicily and Italy…there’s only one place where I know exactly where my Dad was…and that is at Castello Lancellotti as shown in the picture.

This morning at 10:00 I met Pasquale and an interpreter, Daniela, in the piazza in Lauro, in front of the Church and City Hall.  We walked up the cobbled road to the Castello gates and I was introduced to a number of people but I was in such a daze I can’t remember who they were.

We stood in the courtyard for a bit and Pasquale explained the history of the Castello dating back to 900 AD or so. The original buildings had been destroyed by the French and when it came time to rebuild one of the criteria was that it have an “eclectic” air.  This means that wherever you look in the Castello there is a different architectural period on view.  You can clearly see the differences, even I can and I don’t know baroque from broke.

We began to move to one of the buildings when Pasquale stopped and said “that is where you Father was standing”. I turned to look at the same background that is in the mysterious photo taken in 1945.

I am not often taken aback emotionally…I’m tough…right?  Certainly the cemetery visits have been emotional…but in this case I had to excuse myself from my friends to stand against the railing by myself for a moment.  Pasquale came over after a bit and touched me on the shoulder and said “you made this visit out of love”.

…………………………
“Pasquale, mio amico, if you are reading this I want to say that you have been kindness itself in guiding me here and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Grazie mille.”

The rest of the visit was not quite a blur but it was a very detailed personal guided tour of a place that Pasquale is justifiably very proud.

We took photos of course and I will work on them when I get home and make sure Pasquale has copies.

In the main hall we met Vincenzo Castaldo who has written a book about the making of the Errol Flynn movie “Crossed Swords”.  It was filmed in Castello Lancellotti.  When I found the secret door in the Library, Pasquale showed me the hidden courtyard in which the movie “promo” picture of Flynn was taken. 

The family crest is in many places and it was all explained to me but space does not permit all the details. On the right is the only thing the Canadians apparently left at the Castello, which is a fireplace modelled on a Scottish fireplace.  It certainly fits in with the eclectic nature of the Castle.

The Lancellotti family were evicted from there home in order to make room for the Central Mediterranean Force (CMF) School of Signals.  They probably didn’t know until my visit that part of the war effort played in the Castello was the deception known as Operation Penknife.

We left the Castello and I was invited to have lunch with Pasquale and Daniela but first we had to go to his office because a reporter was interested in hearing my story.  It was also the case that Pasquale had to slip away for a bit to see the family of a friend who had passed.  It wasn’t my first interview with the press in my career but I was pleasantly surprised at how the young voice on the phone seemed so eager to hear the story of my journey and my visit to Lauro.

One very large pizza and one not so large birra later and we headed for a pasticceria where I was given the local special cream filled pastry and a final toast with a coffee.

A hug goodbye and I’m again on the road.

Stand Down

Dear friends and blog followers, I’m in Maiori on the Amalfi Coast but I have a wi-fi glitch that is preventing me from logging on to my blog with my laptop. This note is courtesy of my phone but what has happened today needs more space and time than this format gives me. I will bring you up to speed ASAP but since I’m staying here “in reserve” for 2 days it may be a while before I get back to you. Until then…I’ll write it all down the old fashioned way.

Out

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18 km NW of Caserta, Italy, October 18th.

The last few days have put new meaning to the word blitz for me.  I’m significantly ahead of my schedule and to-night feeling very much that way.  The next couple of days will be much slower and probably involve touristy things more than anything.

To begin…Caserta is just north of Naples.  Yes…I’m now on the other side of Italy.  I’ll explain but it’s all related to history.

We have to begin in December, 1943 when the Canadians were tasked with crossing the Moro River as part of the attempt to breach the German Gothic line.  While 10 Bty did provide significant fire support in these efforts the real work fell to the PBI (poor bloody infantry).

The Moro River crossing was just one of 3 major events the Canadians were involved in that December of 1943.  I can’t begin to provide the full story in this blog but suffice it to say that after a deadly struggle to cross the Moro  in weather that was appalling, the Canadians were faced with another barrier called “The Gully”.  After a quick tour of Ortona itself, I spent much more time wandering around “Cider” and “Casa Barardi” two of the major points to be taken before moving on to Ortona.  It was at Casa Berardi (the Berardi family home) that Paul Triquet won the Victoria Cross for his staunch defense of the building and a key point in the taking of the cross roads codenamed “Cider”.  The taking of “Cider” was critical to the move on Ortona where the Canadians earned a reputation for street fighting that has set the standard for house to house combat.

The Moro River, the Gully and the battle for Ortona significantly reduced the combat effectiveness of 1st Div through a combination of KIA, wounds, sickness and battle fatigue.  My father and the rest of 10 Bty spent the winter of 1943/44 just east of Casa Barardi recovering from their efforts.

They were still there in April, 1944 as the War Diary shows.  It is rather rare to have the exact location of an Observation Post but since 1st Div had gone into a winter defensive position it was a daily occurrence to be changing the FOO’s and signallers.  One specific location is given at N 42 22.367 E 14 22.800 for the FOO for 10 Bty.  It just so happens this was about 1 km from where I was staying so I went there to see for myself.  This is the only building at that particular road junction and I suspect this may have been the OP.  If you were on the top floor of the building you would have an unobstructed view up the coast as well as inland to the west…thus securing the right flank of the entire Canadian position.

After all this rambling about the Ortona area it’s time to head towards Cassino.  It was in May of 1944 that 1st Div moved south west across the Apennines to support the attack on Monte Cassino.  Cassino was pivitol to the success of the American 5th and the British 8th Armies in breaching the Gothic Line and moving up the Liri Valley.

I won’t bore you with the details of my own travels over the Appennines accept to say that I had a friendly chat with an officer of the Carabinieri who wanted to know why I was going so fast downhill in what appeared to be an unmanned construction site.  He took pity on this old canadese who was heading to Cassino, after thoroughly checking both my and my cars documentation.

My Dad recalled a bit of what happened for 10 Bty at Cassino and it is recorded in Daniel Dancocks book “The D-Day Dodgers”.  (Note…they didn’t actually get that name until after June 6th, 1944 for obvious reasons).  As Dad describes and as I heard the story, 10 Bty was on the reverse slope of a hill facing Monte Cassino.  The entire allied effort was to be kept a secret so movement only occurred at night and every effort was made to hide tanks, artillery and supplies.  10 Bty’s guns were dug into the side of the slope to allow for high registry fire.  In front of them was an olive grove or trees of some sort obstructing the line of fire.  While this helped to obscure activity from prying German eyes, it also meant that the trees were in the way of the rounds to come.  Over night a number of gunners moved forward with saws to cut part way through the trees.  They supported them with timbers so they would not immediately fall.  When the order to fire was given, the trees were knocked down quickly giving and unobstructed field of fire.

I can tell you that today that same little valley is lush with olive trees and other vegetation.  So much so that I had an “obstructed” view of Monte Cassino itself.

Cassino is also where Gunner Edward Thomas is at rest.  The Battery was moving up the Liri Valley to new positions that had just been taken by the infantry.  As they were laying their gun platforms they come under fire from one of the Allied medium battery’s.  Edward was killed by “friendly fire”.

I have one more thing to add before retiring for the night.  I’ve just been in touch with Pasquale at Castello Lancellotti in Lauro and I’m to meet him tomorrow at 10:00 and he will accompany me to the “Castle Lauro” of my Dads photo.

Wish me luck.

Stand Down.

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4 Km NW of Ortona, Italy, October 17th.

It’s 17:30 and I’ve stopped for the day.  I started early and although it’s been thoroughly enjoyable I am a bit bushed..but…I made it to Ortona.

I had hoped to be able to visit the Moro River Canadian War Cemetery but as I was driving toward Ortona there it was right in front of me on a bend in the curve.  I drove straight in and spent some time walking amongst the young people buried there.  Many of the markers had personal sayings or messages from family and loved ones.  There are 1,615 residents of which 1,375 are Canadian. The grounds are immaculate with roses and other flowers growing by many of the markers.  The cemetery is surrounded by olive groves and is very peaceful despite the proximity to the road.

I was quite moved by this place.  Before I left home I had decided to pack one more stone just in case I lost one.  I went back to the car and found it and placed it at the foot of the cross.

When I got into Ortona I drove around looking for a place to rest my weary head but there didn’t seem to be a lot open.  I did see places open along the way to Ortona so I went back on the road toward Pescara and sure enough just a few clicks away, right on the beach, is the Mara Beach Hotel.  That’s where I am…call me…I’m in 804…with a view of the beach.

Now if you take a look at a map of Italy you will find that I’m just a bit further along the coast from where I started, but I took the long way to get here.  I left my digs this morning and headed for Trani because I heard it was cute.  Well…if you go down to the porto and wander a bit it is cute.  The rest of the town consists of apartment after apartment (which seems to be a trend in most of these cities). The centro storico is a maze of narrow streets (narrow means you can walk down it) and tall buildings (tall means three of four stories).  I ambled a bit and did the tourist thing with a camera but it was early and the road was a callin’.

I needed to get back on the trail of my boys so I headed inland to Andria and on to Canosa di Puglia.  Guess what happened in Andria.  I got lost.  I took a left turn one block too early and ended up in a rabbit warren of apartment buildings.  I’m sure I passed two skeletons of Brit tourists in a Fiat Panda who never made it out.  It took almost about 20 minutes of going back and forth on one way streets to get OUT.

Twenty km later and I was back on track passing through Canosa, then Cerignola and on to Foggia.  As you come out of Canosa you can see the Foggia Plain emerging.  Off in the distance are the mountains I’m heading for.  The plain is simply farm after farm…with a bunch of windmills thrown in.

I don’t know what Foggia looked like in 1943 but today it seems as if it’s nothing but highrises and squeegee guys….and cars…lots of cars.  I took the ring road around it…although I’m sure our boys went straight through.  It was about a 10 km trip and took me a good hour….and I didn’t even get my window squeegee’d.

Lucera was 15 km away and just outside Lucera, on the left and in a bit of a valley is where Arley Burley and Don Reid were killed.  I took some photos of that valley.

As you move down that road towards Campobasso you can see the mountains in the distance.  I say mountains but they are more like foothills.  You get somewhat the same vista driving north on Hwy 138 from Cornwall coming into the Ottawa Valley with the Laurentians in the background.

At this point I’m travelling on SP 17 then SP 645 following the signs to Campobasso.  Lots of spectacular views, lots of bridges, one long tunnel that sloped down, then more bridges and spectacular views.  Campobasso itself was less spectacular.  Parcheggio is rare on the city streets but I did see a car leaving a parking lot so I pulled in and parked.  I then went walkabout to find some lunch.  Now heres a rule you might consider following when in a strange town where you don’t know the language.  Watch the people that go into a bar/cafe.  If they look well healed that might be the place for you.  I watched two well healed types enter a bar/cafe and followed and had a very nice lunch.

When I wandered back up to the car, after deciding that this may once have been Maple Leaf City but no longer had any attraction, I discovered the sign at the parking lot that said it was reserved for the school employees.  I must have looked the type as no one batted an eye.

As I was leaving I spotted a park atop a hill and parked again and went up to take a look at the view. That may have been the most impressive thing about Campobasso.

On the road again and this time heading back to the coast to Tremoli.  Although the Canadians had been out of the line for the last part of October and most of November they were still being decimated.  Almost 4,500 men were incapacitated due to illness, and with respect to fighing effectiveness, this far outweighed combat casualties.  For most of the boys though it was a time of recuperation.

Monty soon had them back at it though heading north and east toward that  little town of Ortona.  But first they had to cross the Moro River…in Canadian military lore this period is reffered to as “Bloody December”.

I’m going back into Ortona tomorrow so I’ll continue the history lesson then.  Right now I need to find a beer.

Stand Down

 

 

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Bisceglie, Italy, October 16th.

A long day of driving but I think I’ve got a handle on how far I can travel in one day.  I’m ensconced in a rather nice hotel in Bisceglie, on the Adriatic side, just west of Bari. I plan to walk down to the Adriatic in a few moments.  I need to exercise my legs and my camera.

A pleasant surprise this morning as my friendly matron hussled me to the bar and sat me down with a wonderful cup of cappuccino…then pointed to the biscotti and pastries nearby.  This was a nice way to start as I didn’t have to amble about looking for a bite.

I need to backtrack a bit here because I really didn’t explain very well why the Canadians were romping up the east coastal road.  As well as the capitulation of Italy on September 8th, the Canadians learned on the 9th that a combined American/British force had landed at Salerno, just south of Naples.  At this point Montgomery had the 5th British Division moving quickly up the west coast but had the Canadians rambling amongst the mountains.  A quick move up the east coast was called for and that’s why 1st Div got sent out of the mountains to the seaside.

There appeared to be some dissention amongst the ranks in the German High Command. Erwin Rommel was in charge of Northern Italy and Albert Kesselring in charge of Southern Italy.  Rommel believed that Italy had too many spots in the south for landings such as those at Pachino, Reggio and Salerno.  He believed they should pull all the way back north to a defensive position that could be held without the threat of flanking movements.  Kesselring insisted that they could hold the south and so started that long and deadly slog by the Americans, British and Canadians up through Italy.

I followed the coastal road as best I could but just north of Soverato it disappeared…literally.  A barrier was set up and the only road was a dead end that went down to the beach.  A bit of backtracking got me on the new road E90 or S106 which did parallel the Gulf of Taranto, sometimes as four lanes, sometimes as two.  The going was fast in spots and very slow in others.  To give you an idea I travelled 438 km from 08:30 to about 16:30 for an average of less than 55 km/hr.

I saw lots of intersting things along the way including what appeared to be a very old viaduct used to bring water to the crops and two pill boxes.  These were small (2-4 person) concrete emplacements with a rounded top and gun slits all around.  One of these was on the left side of the road snug against a hillside and facing the ocean while the other was on the right side on one of the sand dunes facing the ocean.  The best part of the trip though was having the mountains on the left and the gulf waters on the right. I hope the boys enjoyed that part too.

The further north I got the better buildings and amenities looked.  Fewer closed or derelict buildings and more hotels and restaurants.  Same nice people…just different economic circumstances I’m sure.  By the time I got to the Adriatic Coast things were looking pretty darn posh.

Having whined about the driving I should tell you that it took 10 Bty until September 27 to reach Gioia del Colle just north-west of Taranto.  At Gioia I continued north to Bari in order to visit the third cemetery on the agenda.  10 Bty and the rest of the gang turned left and moved towards Motta where they would again encounter stiff resistance from the Germans.

Gunner Arley Burke was killed on October 3rd, 1943 as 10 Bty was supporting the RCR attack on Motta.  The job of a gunner can hold a number of hazards, not the least of which is enemy counter battery fire.  In this case however it was equipment 

malfunction that caused Arley’s death.  There are essentially 3 parts to an artillery round.  The casing holds the charge that ignites and propels the round.  The round itself that is full of high explosives or sometimes smoke (white phosphorus) and sometimes even propaganda leaflets.  Then there’s the fuse.  This is the nose of the round and can be set for various detonation requirements.  Sometimes the fuse is wonky.

When the command to fire came, the fuse for the round in Sgt Savill’s gun went off inside the barrel and the round exploded destroying everthing except the gun carriage. Gnr Burley, L/Sgt Jim Gill and Gnr G. Irving were wounded and Arley died the next day.

Two days later, on October 5th, Sgt Don Reid was killed. This was antoher “accident” but one that could have been avoided.  Another bit of gunner stuff.  Sometimes a round needs to be extracted from the gun without firing it.  This could be a mis-fire where the charge did not go off or in this case it could be the order to “cease fire”.  When that order is given everything stops.  Don Reid’s gun still had a shell in the chamber when “cease fire” was ordered.  This then involves taking the shell “extractor”, which is a rod with a cone shaped nose that fits over the fuse (remember the fuse) and using it to push down from the nose of the barrel.    Some effort is required to push because the entire round has initially been pushed into the barrel and the breach closed pushing it in a bit further.

The official history states that Sgt Reid was not using his extractor to push the round out but was using a cleaning brush.  One of the witnesses to the event apparently called to him and told him to wait until the right extractor was available.  It doesn’t say why Reid didnt’ use his own extractor.  In one of those stories I heard as a kid it came to light that Reid’s crew lost their extractor during a night move and rather than wait to be disciplined for equipment loss, they found an extractor from a German gun and strapped it in place.  Reid knew that this would not work to extract one of their rounds as it was the wrong shape and size.  Ramming this down the barrel would surely hit the fuse with disastrous results.

Don Reid should have waited for the right extractor.  The brush he was using hit the fuse and the round exploded, cutting Reid in half and taking off both arms of Al Armitage.

Stand Down

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Badolato Marina, Italy, Sunday, October 15th.

Well…I made it to Pachino…but I didn’t dip my toe in…I went in with pants rolled up and both feet naked.  I was standing at 36 45.575 N 15 03.170 E.  Getting there was easy to begin with but then I had to find some tiny roads that actually went to the water.  Getting back to the autostrada was relatively easy.  It just took a little longer than Dave’s estimation.

As I was coming out of Ispica I could see things shimmering in the sun.  It was difficult to stare as the road required a bit of attention so I didn’t figure out what was shimmering until I got on the road to Pachino.  Thousands of miniature green house type shelters made of plastic drapped over arched poles.  They’re very long and completely cover most of the fields.  Don’t know what they are growing under those shelters but I also saw a lot of wharehouse type buildings implying that whatever they grow, there’s lots of them and they get transported somewhere.  Lots of tall grass growing too, at least 4 or 5 metres.  In some places I was driving in a valley with these tall wavy things growing on either side.

The beach and ground moving inland remind me of the situation at Juno Beach on that other D-Day.  The beach is flat, the ground behind is flat, which probably explains why the landings here were so successful…surprise aside.  It would have been relatively easy to move inland especially if all those tiny roads I followed were there back then.

I spent the next 7 hours on the road, tavelling to Messina on the autostrada…cost me E3.70.

I’m going to pause to make a few comments about driving in Italy.  There seem to be only two rules…drive too slow or drive too fast.  Nothing in the middle…well…in the middle are the guys driving too fast to get past the guys driving too slow.  The Italians have made an art of turning a two lane road into a three lane road.  Sometimes the road is actually a parking lot so not only do you get two lanes but you get parking as well.  I am glad that I have a car that can scoot.  At one point the speed was posted at 120.  I got in the too fast lane and hit 150.  I don’t drive comfortably at 150 so I was soon back in the lane less travelled.  You do have to pay attention though.  I passed several people in the 120 zone who were doing 70.

As I approached Catania the view of Etna was incredible.  I did stop, once I was past the city and through the toll gate, to take a shot but my image just doesn’t do it justice.

At Messina I missed the exit for the ferry so had to ramble around the streets of Messina until I found it.  It costs E 37.00 to make the crossing from Messina to San Giovanni.  Once on board I decided to eat something so I bought one of those cone shaped rice ball thingmys that Dave and Barb introduced me to.  Their version was much better than the version offered me…I did eat it though.

Once off the ferry I found it quite easy to get lost again.  Since I’m in the toe of the boot I did not expect to see road signs for Taranto, which is way up north.  That’s where I missed my turn and ended up rambling around the streets of Reggio di Calabria.  I really miss my trusty navigator who is at home knitting cloths for our grandaughter.

On September 3rd 1943, 10 Bty crossed the Straits of Messina to a beach just north of Reggio.  From there Monty, who seemed to think the Canadians liked mountains, sent them straight up the middle of the toe of the boot, which is all mountains.  They worked there way slowly up to Cittanova as demolished bridges and mines continued to frustrate the advance.  There was some opposition from Italian units, but by and large infantry units of 1st Div encountered relatively light resistance…there did not appear to be any Germans about.  10 Bty did not go into action at all.

Another pause to reflect on the role of the engineers.  My view of their job changed dramatically after seeing that curvy little road that crossed a river at the bottom of a ravine in Leonforte.  In order to advance across a very heavily fortified and advantageous defensive postition, our engineers built a Bailey Bridge, under fire and at night.  I believe this was the first example during the war of a Bailey Bridge being deployed in combat.  If you don’t know what a Bailey Bridge looks like (and you happen to live in Kingston, Ontario) go to the the RMC grounds and on the left just before you enter the grounds, is a Sherman Tank sitting in the middle of a Bailey Bridge.

But…I digress.  We all know that infantry (foot sloggers) can cover any ground, any time, any where.  If they do it on their own the chances of survival are significantly decreased.  What those foot sloggers want is armour and artillery to support them.  In fact that combination of three elements bodes pourly for the enemy.  The trouble is getting the armour and artillery close to or within range of the foot sloggers.  That’s where the engineers come into play.  They fix the roads, build new bridges, clear the minefields…in other words they open the way and often within sight of the enemy and under incredible duress.

Leonforte was just one example of the incredible support role played by our engineers.  That role continued in every major and minor action our boys were involved in.

……….

On September 8th 10 Bty learned of the unconditional surrender of Italy.  This apparently called for a rum ration for all ranks.  Didn’t think my Dad liked rum??

With the fall of the Italian resistance Monty sent the Canadians to the beach for a vacation.  Actually they went down to the coastal road at Locri, the route nationale, where they quickly discovered going was better.  I made sure the going was better for me too as I stopped at the intersection where they would have joined S106 and filled the tank. I was actually getting worried about fuel because I could not find a single open gas station..lots of them around…but all closed.  Must be a Sunday in Italy thing.  I did find a self serve pump where I just had to insert my Visa in exchange for diesel…not a soul around.

I was also getting tired, after all I’d put on 498.2 k since leaving Modica at 08:30 (Yes…getting lost counts as travel time).  I thought that after Locri, which had been my original destination for the day, that I would start to seriously look for accommodation for the night.

I pulled into one place that seemed to have a bus tour on hand but they all starred at me as if I was not wanted so I left.  I pulled off the road to another “hotel” but it looked as if I’d have to ransom my first born to stay there.  I saw B&B sign (which in Italian is B&B) but when I went to investigate there was no one home.

As I scooted through Badalto Marina I saw the black and chrome sign for the Pansini Hotel (and in small letters “residence”).  The building was black and chrome too but I thought I saw a light on.  Sure enough…there was a light on but the door was locked.  I thought there might be another door and as I stood there contemplating alternatives, a woman came out of the dark…inside the building…waving to me to wait.  She opened the door and told me she didn’t speak inglese….but she had a camera singola for the night.  I parted with E60.00 and she gave me the keys to the front door and camera 110 on the primo piano.  She also pointed down the road and said “due ristorante”.  Sounded good to me.

I’m just back from one of the “ristorante”.  A pizza place that had fine linen and a very nice local vino rosso.  The pizza was perfect but I think I ate too much.  I’ll probably dream in Italian tonight.

Stand Down.

 

 

 

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Modica, Saturday, October 14

This has been a day of visiting and hearing stories from the past…but I’ll start at the end of the day.  I’m just back to my digs from an evening of jazz at the Teatro Garibaldi Modica.  The group was Rosalba Bentivoglio Sicilian Jazz Quintet.  I didn’t think Rosalba really hit her stride until about a quarter of the way through the set but when she did it was great stuff.  She did a vocal impersonation during one piece of a muted trumpet or trombone and that was cool.  Great back-up and individual performances from the pianist, bass, percussion and sax.

I had been thinking of a photo theme for the trip and thought it might be called “The Italy my Father Never Saw”.  I may have to revise that because I don’t think he would have seen or heard a jazz quintet while over here either.

It’s almost midnight in Modica and the streets are just packed with people, young and old.  Dave says the teeny boppers will have to go home shortly but then the night starts for the older set…20 and up.  I’m tired just thinking about it.

The day started with breakfast created and served by Dave himself.  German bacon, Italian/French toast…and of course…cafe.  Since I’ve got this fancy blue car the least I could do for my friends is chauffer them around….so it’s off to a mall to have coffee again with a very interesting group of visitors and ex-pats.  I don’t know their various reasons for being in Modica or for how long people have been coming or just living here but it was interesting to hear the language flow…both Brit English and Italian.  I sat beside Maria who I will be meeting later in the day, along with her mother Susan and father Gino.

Once the 16 or so of us had finished coffe and chatting our little foursome headed for a grocery store cum walmart where Dave and Barb purchased new supplies.  We also met a couple of other members of the coffee klatch who had declined to join the group today. This meeting people along the way seems to be a regular occurrence for Dave and Barb. As we meandered up to the teatro this evening Barb stopped to chat with a local grocer that they knew and as we were leaving the teatro Dave stopped to chat to another acquaintence.

I had some time off before the next adventure so I wandered around town a bit and took a few shots.  This is an amazing town set in a river valley with stone buildings blending in with the rock walls.  I’m not sure my photos will do it justice.

I wandered into the foyer of the museum near where I’m staying and their were some amazing works on display by local photographers.  They were all monochrome and I think I may try that treatment when I get home.  I don’t have the capacity to do much right now except transfer some images directly to my laptop.

Off again in the afternoon, this time to meet with Maria and her parents.  Maria became fascinated with the story of Sicily and Modica during the allied invasion after reading “Road to Rome” by Christopher Buckley.  This is an older volume that was primarily about the British end of things. She had also heard her father, Gino, talk about his experiences as a six year old seeing the young Canadian invaders come through Modica. I think it started to get really interesting for her when another band of Canadians descended on Sicily and Modica.  I’m referring to Operation Husky 2013 which involved a group of Canadian strangers following in the footsteps of the Canadian 1st Division in Sicily.  If you get a chance to see “Bond of Strangers” you will find that an incredible link has been established between Sicilians and Canadians.  While bond of strangers may have referred to the group that walked the route of 1st Div, the movie clearly shows that bonding of another sort went on during that encounter.  The scene at the end where the names of the 485 men lying in Agira are read out and in turn answered by a representative standing behind each marker is one of the most moving pieces I’ve ever seen.

Maria shared her collection of photos and notes, many of which were surprisingly available on the internet.  One piece was a pamphlet that was directed at Officers and was all about how to behave while in Sicily. We had a great discussion related to my travels and more particularly my Dad’s travels.  He didn’t go to Modica but from what we were able to discern he probably did go through the village where they have a family cottage.  This was some confirmation about her mother’s insistence that some soldiers had passed that way during the invasion.  Maria also shared a number of other references, including Mark Zuehlke’s two works “Through Blood and Sweat” which recounts Operation Husky 2013 and “Operation Husky”, which is his account of the Canadian invasion of Sicily itself.

I shared my intent to leave memorial stones at each of the gravesites but I also told Maria that I might not be able to make it to Pachino where they landed.  She was insistent that I go and put my toe in the same water that my father had touched.  Later, when we were getting ready for dinner Dave provided some data that he had worked out.  He said I could be in Pachino in about 30 minutes and that if I took the autostrada I could be in Messina in 2.5 hours.  I think he too wants me to stick my toe in the ocean.

Maria’s father Gino also recounted his experiences during the liberation of Modica.  Our meeting was in the family home that they lived in during the war but when the invasion came they moved to nearby caves to be safe from bombs and artillery fire.  Gino recalled the crashing sound of shellfire and seeing a fighter plane trailing smoke as it crossed Modica.  Gino’s father could speak some English, which was rare in those days, and he approached the soldiers that came down their road, asking who they were and where they were from.  That they were Canadians was something the entire family has not forgotten. Gino recalls asking for chocolate and cigarettes and giving all the smokes to his dad who used the tobacco to fill his pipe.  He also said that there were plenty of munitions around and the kids used to seperate the bullets from their casings, dump the powder into a pile then light it for the “whoosh” effect.  He tried on a discarded gas mask just to see how he looked.  He also described how one youngster found some form of munition that exploded and blinded him for life.  As the old saying goes “War is not healthy for kids or other living things”.

It is quite strange to be talking to people this far from home who have such great respect and admiration for what Canadians did here.  I’m glad I had this opportunity to speak to people whose lives were so greatly affected by “our boys”.

Stand Down

Take Post

Sicily, October 11th and 12th, 2017

The first day has been rather exhausting.  A long bus ride to Toronto, a long wait at the airport, a long ride on the plane to Rome, a short wait at the airport, a short flight to Catania and a long stand in line at the Europcar rental site.  They must have felt the need to make it up to me as I’ve been given a Renault station wagon with a turbo charged diesel engine and 6 speeds of transmission to mash through.  It is a peppy little beast and I just may enjoy driving it for 3 weeks.

First stop was the Catania War Cemetery, located not very far from the airport and on the way to Ragusa and Modica. It’s a very quite and rather small place just off the main highway but also under the flight path to the airport so there are lots of overhead visitors every day.  I signed the visitors book and took a few photos of the site in general then I went and found James resting place.  You can’t see Etna in the background as you can in the picture taken with his mother as there are now mature olive trees growing at the back and sides of the cemetery. I did take a shot of me in the same position as his mother but I look rather travel worn so I’ll save that to share with the family only.

You can see Pat’s stone resting on the top of the monument.  I don’t think even the spring rain will move it.

When I left the cemetery I passed over Fosso Buttacetto which is the ditch James and his mates were trying to cross when he was killed.  It’s reasonably wide but not too deep and today the highway takes advantage of a very nice bridge.  On July 18th there was no bridge and it was heavily defended by the Germans as the British tried to gain control of Catania. A few days later, July 21st, Montgomery gave up trying to take Catania by frontal assault and went into a defensive position.  The Canadians were proceeding well against strong positions at Leonforte and Agira on the 8th Armies western flank, so Monty wanted them to take the brunt of the effort and drive east to drive into the right flank of the Germans at Catania.  He even went so far as to relax restrictions on artillery rounds per gun which gave 1st Division the artillery support it would need to complete the task.

I made it to Modica with lots of time to spare before meeting with our friends Dave and Barb.  I did spruce myself up a wee bit as I’m sure I looked as bad as I felt.  Dave met me on the main street and escorted me up the cobbled round and around the cobbled corner to their little bit of heaven on the side of the hill overlooking Modica.  Their friend Lola was there as well and we had a glass of bubbly then headed out on the town…actually only a few hundred meters from their house…to a pizza restaurant that was so hidden down an alley and through some twisty rooms, that I’m not sure I could find it again.  A bit of vino rosso with my pizza and I was ready for my bed at Modica Old Town rooms.  I fell asleep as soon as I lay down but woke again about two hours later.  The good news is there was a cool breeze and no noise and I eventually found myself back in dreamland.

Sciliy, October 13th

I had planned to get up early as the intent was to do the route from Pachino as far as Agira cemetery.  What was it that Burns said about plans?  Well, he was right.  I got up at 07:30 but it took me a while to get organized.  I did meet Dave, my trusty navigator and temperature control officer for the day, at 08:30, grabbed a quick cafe nero and downed a brioche for breakfast and we were on our way.

I immediately revised the plans.  I had hoped to start at Pachino but Barb was skeptical that we would get there, back and up to Agira given that Dave had to be home to cook dinner by 18:00 so we pushed on north from Modica along some of the roads 10 Bty would have travelled.  North through Giarratana and Vizzini, then west through Grammichele, Caltagirone then north again to Piazza Armerina.

It was just outside Piazza Armerina that Gunner Stanley Cobourn from St Catherines was killed.  10 Bty had just set up their gun position (GP) when a mighty explosion shook the ground, wounding several gunners and killing Cobourn.  What they didn’t know was that they had set up shop right beside a hidden German ammunition dump that had been booby-trapped.  The speculation was that a timing device had been used and it was just the luck of the draw that 10 Bty chose that site at the same time that time ran out.

We continued north, the countryside getting higher and rockier at every turn.  This part of the world is quite beautiful but I’m sure none of 1st Division even saw that side of things.  Every turn in the road held an unwelcomed surprise for them, blown bridges, sniping, hidden machine gun positions and anti-tank guns as well as mines that quickly disabled tanks and injured foot sloggers.  As we moved up the SP7A I could see Assoro rising ahead of us. It’s importance in the scheme of things was immediately obvious…as it was to the Hasty P’s who scaled its southeast side at night and rested the ground from the surprised Germans manning it.  The battle for Leonforte and Assoro are the stuff of military legends and are the main reason that Monty looked to the Canadians to save his bacon.  The narrow, winding road into Leonforte was a nightmare back then but for us we only had to contend with occasional tractor towing a manure spreader coming our way.

At Leonforte you are at about the same latitude as Catania so if you turn east there you are heading directly for the right flank of the Germans defending Catania…and thats what 1st Division did.  We passed through Nissoria and on to Agira itself, which is another beautiful Sicilian village atop a mountain.  The Canadian War Cemetery is signed on the eastern outskirts of Agira and with those directions not hard to find.

This is the only all Canadian war grave in Europe.  It is on a lovely high piece of ground with Etna in the backround and the hills of Agira in front.  There are 485 Canadians at rest there.  We met another Canadian couple there from Pembroke who were also following the trail and had travelled up from Pachino that morning.

We found Stanley Cobourn thanks to the War Graves registry that is at every site and I placed my stone of remembrance and thanked him for his sacrifice.  Stanley was one of the “originals” having gone over with 10 Bty in ’39.  He had also participated as a gunner in the Royal Salute to their majesties in Niagara Falls on June 7th 1939.  That day he was a gunner with A gun and my Dad was a gunner with C gun.

In the event that I don’t get to Pachino I’ll share another little story about the landing there.  Jack Gill (my “uncle” Jack) was Battery Sergeant Major (BSM) at the time of the landing.  He was bound and determined to be the first 10 Bty member to land on enemy soil…and sure enough of all the 10 Bty men that disembarked as a unit, he was the first to touch Sicilian soil.  He was quite miffed however when he was greeted by my Dad who had already landed.  Dad was the signaller assigned to the Forward Observation Officer (FOO) who had accompanied the 48th Highlanders ashore.  So Dad and his FOO were actually the first 10 Bty ranks who landed at Pachino and I don’t think Jack (or my Dad) ever forgot that quirk of history.

And…another little Pachino story.  10 Bty consisted of 2 troops, “Easy” and “Foxtrot”  Easy troop never made it to Pachino.  Easy troop was aboard the “City of Venice” heading for Pachino when the ship was torpedoed.  The first 10 Bty casualty of the Italian campaign was a gunner from Roye Giffords gun crew.  No one is exactly sure what happened but they suspect that he was swept overboard following the torpedoing and was lost at sea.  I don’t know his name and I don’t believe there is a burial site except somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea.  Easy troop spent some time in North Africa waiting for new transport but eventually joined 10 Bty in Sicily just in time for the crossing to mainland Italy at Reggio di Calabria.

What could be a better end to the day than a bit of barbequed lamb, roasted veggies and a glass of vino rosso.  Well…add a snifter of limoncello and a slice of pistachio torta…and well…you’ve had a very fine day.

Stand down.

 

 

o

 

Only a couple of days to go and I’m still muddling away with some Italian and playing with Google Earth and my maps.  I’ve got a draft itinerary of sorts and I’ve been trying to work out when and where to include some of the stories I’ve heard.  In the midst of this I’ve had two photo shoots, one on Thursday night and one a friends wedding on Saturday.  Sunday was a day of rest for my aching feet.

I’ve also finished the stones and my friend Pat has added her own.  She decided that, since James was English, an English teapot would be a fitting image on her stone.  She’s done it in red, white and blue and I know the family will love to think of this remembrance gracing James final resting place.  I got a wee bit better at my artwork and I also chose smaller stones. I really don’t need a luggage surcharge just because the bag is full of rocks.

I hope you will bear with me as I reminisce a bit…part of this effort is intended to leave a record for the kids and grand-kids…and some of you may not know all of these background details.

This picture shows me on the right, Dad in the middle and Danny Beck on the left.  It was taken in the summer of 1962 in front of our house on Twidale Avenue in Niagara Falls.

I was 15 but I lied about my age in order to join the Student Militia.  Dad had been promoted to Lieutenant by then and I just love the twinkle in his eye as he stands between these two rather serious youngsters.  We are all wearing summer kit of course.  I ended up joining 10th St Catharines Field Battery, Royal Canadian Artillery, that September as did Danny but he didn’t take to it that much and soon lost interest.

The next shot is of me in battledress taken sometime in the winter or spring of 1965.  I have very few photos of me and it was probably because of the promotion that this shot was taken.  I had been temporarily promoted from Bombardier to Lance Sergeant in order to be the senior NCO in charge of signals for our annual live shoot in either Meaford or Petawawa…can’t remember which.  Among other treats I recall the promotion gave me access to the Sergeant’s and Warrant Officer’s Mess which was heady stuff indeed as I would have been all of 18 (in real years).

All of my 10th Battery adventures took place while in high school and they always seemed to take precedence over other, more reasonable high school activities, like theatre, sports and studies.  I also spent my summer days playing at soldier.  I spent one summer on a Junior NCO course at Camp Niagara, in Niagara-on-the-Lake.  The ensuing promotion allowed me to be an instructor on two summer Student Militia Courses, one in Niagara and one in St Catharines.  I think it was the summer of ’65 while instructing in St Catharines that I was called upon to represent 10 Bty as a part of a military escort for the funeral of a St Catherine’s boy who had been killed in action in Vietnam.  He was Canadian with an American mother and had served in the Battery before enlisting in the US army.  As part of the Canadian contingent I was required to wear Dress Blues, which was tricky because I didn’t have Dress Blues.  The QM and one of our Staff Sergeants came through though and it was a warm sunny day when we travelled to Buffalo, after a ceremony in St Catherines, to lay him to rest.  I’ve tried to recall his name and even looked at the records for the Viet Nam War Memorial in Washington D.C., but I can’t recall who he was.  I do recall that he was a Sergeant and that’s why I was one of the ones picked as an escort.

All of this experience led me to believe that I should make a career out of the military.  I was highly motivated by a friend of mine, Bud, who had enlisted the year before and had been corresponding with lurid images of his peacekeeping posting in Cyprus…swimming in the sea in the morning and skiing in the mountains in the afternoon.  I was also quite bored with school so I dropped out and joined the Permanent Force (PF) Office Cadet Training Program (OCTP).  I soon realized that this was not the life I wanted.  It was fun being a part-time soldier, but doing it full time was a whole different way of life and it meant missing out on a lot of other things.  I’d already missed out on too many things and was eager to work on something other than military law, field-craft and command structures.  I was lucky in that I was able to get out before too long and go back to high school to finish Grade 13. By the time I got to first year at Queen’s University I was 20 year old, long haired and bearded…but somewhat wiser.

My link with 10 Bty didn’t end there.  October 1998 was a year after Dad passed and I was 41, married with two kids.  Mom and Dad had regularly attended the annual General Sir Isaac Brock Dinner held in the Stone Frigate at Niagara-on-th-Lake.  The event was really a disguised Mess Dinner whereby all the men from 10 Bty and the Lincoln and Welland Regiment would wear there mess kit or a tux and all the ladies got dressed up “like a candied pig”.  Mom asked me to be her escort so I donned a rented tux and went along for the ride.   I knew many of the 10 Bty men there….names like House, Holleran, Gill, Lambert and Page.  They were “originals” who had gone over in ’39 but were in their 80’s and 90’s then.  They had been citizen/soldiers for the vast part of their lives.  I continued to attend the Brock Dinner for a few years after Mom passed but every year there were fewer of those names around the table until finally it didn’t seem like the same event and I felt totally disconnected to that little bit of history that was 10th Battery.

I’m not really a soldier and I was never meant to be one.  I have made military history a bit of a hobby and I do have a lot of respect for Canadian soldiers (including naval and air) but I have a great deal of admiration for those civilians who become part time soldiers in our reserve units.  In this regard I was, of course, greatly influenced by my 10 Bty colleagues and their history but I also read a few works that served to emphasise the point.  Nicholas Monsarrat was a Royal Navy reservist. His book “The Cruel Sea” was, and continues to be, a favourite.  A less well known author and work is Peter Elstob who wrote “Warriors for the Working Day”. Elstob volunteered to join the Royal Tank Regiment during the war and his experiences shaped this novel about reservists and volunteers who have to learn the craft of being soldiers. And, of course, let’s not forget our own Farley Mowat’s work “And No Birds Sang”.  He was a young Lieutenant with the Hastings and Princed Edward Regiment, another reserve infantry unit that was brigaded with 10 Bty, and this true tale of his experiences in Sicily and Italy is a classic and well worth the read.

And just to put the personal stories in context…by the end of the war 1.1 million Canadians had served…most were volunteers.  We had the largest army ever commanded solely by Canadians, about 250,000 battle hardened troops, and we had the 3rd largest navy in the world.  Our population at that time was about 12 million meaning that almost 10% of our countries populace had gone to war.  Of those who served, 44,000 gave their lives, while 54,000 were physically wounded while countless others suffered less obvious wounds in silence.

So there it is.  Memories and stories from the past coming together in my 70th year, to be revisited and relived in Sicily and Italy, and along the way a bit more personal learning about what went on there from July 1943 to March 1945.

Must get on with processing images from the wedding.

Out