Allan Wilson Shellhole

1st.Sunday 1100.hrs Pietermaritzburg.

The History of Allan Wilson Shellhole

 

(Extracts as presented by Moth George Candy at the 50^th Anniversary)

The inaugural meeting of Allan Wilson Shellhole was held on the 27^th March 1928, in a storehouse at the back of John and Salter’s premises in Longmarket Street: a building that no longer exists. There were 16 foundation members.

In the constitution drawn up by AC Wearner on Warrington House Hotel notepaper the policy of the Shellhole is described as `National`,non-sectarian and non-political’ while the ‘objectives’ are to bring together for sociability all ex servicemen of any war, any service. Meetings were to be held on the first Tuesday of every month.

The choice of Allan Wilson name was an attempt to associate the new shellhole with an incident in the History of Southern Africa.

At this time the following shellholes existed in Pietermaritzburg: Edith Cavell, Inky, Plug Street, Chatty, Tim Lukin, Earl Haig, Gunga Din and Unknown Warrior.

The first Commander of Allan Wilson Shellhole was Wesley Mason. In May 1928 four committees were appointed for Finance, Entertainment, Sport and Visiting.

The Nominal roll rose to over 100 in 1935 but at the start of the Second World War was down to 50.

In the late 30`s Allan Wilson formed it’s own District Dugout and called it "NURSE CAVELL".In order that that the new Dugout should consist of more than 1 shellhole,Allan Wilson formerly divided itself into 2 sections: Allan Wilson 1 and Allan

Wilson 2.The schism, of course, did not last indefinitely and eventually Allan Wilson rejoined the Pietermaritzburg and District Dugout, though we do not know when this happened.

During the 2^nd Word War several members re-enlisted. The Shellhole undertook to send parcels to the boys up North and started a POW fund. At this stage, unfortunately, there is a gap in our records.

After the war, DJ MacDonald became the Commander, followed by Barry Boreham in 1951 and Dave Greenland in 1953..

The Nominal roll quadrupled itself in the early post war years. In 1953 a new shellhole banner was designed and on the 12 March 1953 the 25^th Anniversary of the Shellhole was celebrated. The occasion was marked by a bumper turnout of 120 members.

The possibility of building a Dugout was first mooted in 1930 and repeatedly raised during the ensuing years, but it was not until 1964 that a fund-raising scheme was launched under the direction of Doug Knight. A considerable sum was set aside, sufficient to establish a Trust Fund as well as maintain the Shellholes regular donations to Charity.

Building Operations commencened in May 1968, the first sod being turned by Albert Mason, our blind veteran. By that time 80% of the capital had been raised and by the following November, when the first meeting was held in the new quarters, the building was paid for. The Old Bill Chair was donated by gunners of the shellhole, the table and two side chairs by the Natal Carbineer members.

The formal opening ceremony was held on 13^th February 1969.The nominal Roll rose to 230 members..

In 1969 the Shellhole was granted a liquor licence, a development that necessitated the formation of a club. In this way the Allan Wilson Shellhole M.O.T.H club came into being. In 1974 extensions to the Dugout provided for a members bar and a storeroom.

The land that the Shellhole was built on was purchased from the Municipality on the 1 September 1995.

The Shellhole has created a climate in which the spirit of Allan Wilson feels most at home. All Shellholes belong to the same order and subscribe to the same principles, yet each has its own individuality.

Allan Wilson is fortunate in having in its ranks a large number of colorful personalities.

Starting eighty years ago with only 16 members ,it has grown to be the largest Shellhole in the Moth Order and as long as the Moth order endures, Allan Wilson will remain one of it`smost active and stalwart units.

It’s History has been chequered and even turbulent but it has never faltered in its constant Endeavour to abide by the three ideals of True Commradeship, Mutual Help and sound Memory.

________________________________________________________________________

 

HARRY PATCH : born John Henry 1898. Britains last survivor of WW1. He had been an apprentice plumber before he went into Battle.

Notes from the memorial service to honour the sacrifice of the soldiers of WW1 which was broadcast by SKYNEWS on Thursday 6 August 2009 and from Patch's biography "The last fighting Tommy" and Google.

The bells of the Cathedral were rang 111 times to mark each year of his life.

PATCH died age 111 on 6 July, 2009. "Semi" Military Memorial service was at Wells Cathedral, Somerset, on 6 August 2009. 1000 tickets were subject to a draw - first 1000 got entry. Proceeds to British Legion. He was a member of 7th Battalion, Duke of Cornwall Light Infantry. Member of a Lewis machine Gun crew involved in the Battle of Passchendaele during August 1917. Only spoke of the War when he turned 100. Bearer party were members of the 1st Batt. The Rifles and the service was attended by Generals and members of the Royal Family and Dutchess of Cornwall. Soldiers of 4 Nations took part in that battle namely French, Belgium, Germans and English. There were 500 000 casualties. Patch's coffin was carried into the cathedral by British soldiers of 1st Battalion, The Rifles, with two private soldiers of each of the armed forces of Belgium, France and Germany acting as pall-bearers. His great-nephew, David Tucker, carried his medals and decorations. Diplomats from Belgium, France and Germany also played a prominent role in the service. Marie-France Andre of the Belgian Embassy read an extract from Patch's book "The Last Fighting Tommy" in which a dying German soldier's cry of "mother!" convinced him there was an afterlife. His coffin was covered with the Union Flag and on top was a wreath of poppies.

Order of service: Hymn O God our help in ages past. Then Marie France Andre read para from his bigraphy "The last fighting Tommy": on page 94. "We came across a lad from A Company. He was ripped open from his shoulder to his waist by shrapnel, and lying in a pool of blood. When we got to him, he looked at us and said, "Shoot me". He was beyond all human help, and before we could draw a revolver he was dead. And the final word he uttered was "Mother!". I was with him in the last seconds of his life. It wasnt a cry of despair, it was a cry of surprise and joy. I think - although I wasnt allowed to see her, I am sure - his mother was in the next world to welcome him and he knew it. I was just allowed to see that much, and no more. Yet I'm positive that when he left this world, whereever he went, his mother was there, and from that day I've always remembered that cry and that death is not the end". .

A Wells Cathedral chorister sang "Where have all the flowers gone". Thereafter a personal tribute by a close friend, Jim Ross, who described him as a National Icon. His spirit was undaunted . He was an ordinary man with extraordinary charm who spent 80 years inprisoning the memories of the tranch and at 100 let the demons out. Then following a very moving obituary by Rev John Clarke, Dean of Wells. "We can seek to repair this world or contribute to its destruction. Rest in Peace and rise in Glory". Medals were handed over to the Infantry Division Museum of Cornwalls Light Infantry. They included The British War Medal, Victory Medal, 1939-45 Defence Medal, two commemoration medals, National Serice Medal and Hors de combat medal. Also awarded the Legion de Honneur. The Final Prayer by the Canon of Wells Cathedral who said he was warmed by his basic human decency. Nothing was as ugly, murderous and destructive as war. All who fell on both sides of the line must be remembered to achieve a just and sustainable order where all may live in peace. The Wells Cathedral Choir sang "The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God". The service ended with hymn "Dear Lord and Father of Mankind"; followed by the Last post and a minutes silence. Then followed Reveille, the Moth Prayer, In proud thanksgiving....

He had lived through the reign of six monarchs and 20 Prime Ministers. He was made an Officer of the Legion de Honneur on his 101st birthday. In 2008 he was honoured by the Belgium King Albert II who appointed him Knight of the Order of Leopold but his greatest honour was being given the Freedom of the City of Wells.

His war came to an end on 22 November 1917 when a German shell burst over the heads his 5 man Lewis Gun Team. Three of them were blown to pieces while Patch was wounded by a piece of shrapnel in the groin. He was in hospital for 12 months and was covalescing on the Isle of Wight when the Armistice was signed.

Patch wanted to be remembered as a man of peace.

 

Although a life-long supporter of The Royal British Legion, Harry Patch only took out his membership in March 2008 when Legion officials noted the oversight on his 110th birthday.

"We were rather surprised to find he wasn't a member," said Somerset County Manager, David Lowe. "So we signed him up and presented him with a bottle of fine whiskey."

 

NOTE 2: AWC AGM to be held 1 November 2009 following the AWSH meeting. All club members invited. Office bearers for 2009/2010 will be elected.

Notices on the Board in the Bar.

There may be a constitutional change of which due notice will be given. These need to be discussed at the next commitee meeting.

NOTE 3: Thanks to AWSH for staging an Italian evening and to all those who helped in the bar and with the sound. Woody sang beautifully and MacDonald played the guitar like a true master which he is. Everybody enjoyed the evening.

NOTE 4: NEW SMOKING REGS. We havent recived details but these were published in the Witness. We obviously have to comply with them.

 

 

I will remember them

 

Peter Barlow-Jones joined the 2nd Carabineers in Pietermaritzburg September 4th 1939. volunteered and joined the troops leaving for the 2nd World War.

During 1941 I spent my 21st birthday in Halfaya Pass in North Africa with my school friends all around my age or younger. At Halfaya Pass the firing of guns went non-stop for 48 hours – targeting the Germans in the Pass. The noise was terrible, with no rest for the soldiers or machines. (After this skirmish I never regained the hearing in my left ear.) We eventually surrounded the Germans and cut off their supplies.

At this time a German reconnaissance aircraft flying very high, came over at noon every day (near Badia). At the time none of the allied aircraft could reach the same heights and thus it could not be shot down. We just didn’t have the artillery or the standard aircraft to reach it. Meanwhile our military intelligence and desert air force hatched a plan and stripped down one of our Hurricanes to a minimum, leaving only 2 guns – one on each wing for minimum weight. The stripped Hurricane did indeed reach the same height as the German plane and shot down "Bardia Bill". As the Germans baled out of the doomed aircraft we watched the parachutes open and then saw them fall away from their ‘chutes. One fell a mile from us (close to the German lines) – orders were given for us to investigate what had happened. We found the mutilated German body with his ‘chute cords cut. We heard later that the Germans had used locals from the Isle of Crete to pack their parachutes – who had clearly tampered with the cords.

My friend Bill Rowbotham was captured at Halfaya Pass and taken a p.o.w. and later found in a terrible state in a Wadi. Later while wandering through our dead and wounded, I closed the eyes of the dead and repeated peaceful words. I also spent time comforting our wounded, gave them water when needed and assessed their wounds and helped where needed. I informed the Medics nearby of the severity of the soldier’s wounds.

TRUE COMRADESHIP, MUTUAL HELP, SOUND MEMORY.

Many 1st Carbineer soldiers were situated on our right flank and many were wounded and killed there at Gazala. I was wounded at Gazala 5 June 1942, and still carry the large shrapnel scars.

For 65 years I never missed a parade remembering the dead

I march with medals on my chest

I grieve for my friends we laid to rest?

My eyes gleam when I hear the bugles blow?

Why do I cry for those days so long ago?

Why do I march with medals on my chest?

Why do I grieve those laid to rest?

When those boys of such tender age marched forth

To battle lines terrible visions of dusty desert sands are thought

We buried them in a blanket shroud

With dog tags that they wore so proud

This young flesh scorched, blackened, broken and tired

We buried them with pride

We buried them in communal graves

So newly dug in bloodstained desert sands

With medals on my chest

I march to remind you all

Of those young youths who never knew peace at all.

Uncle Otto Barlow-Jones awarded Military Cross for bravery in France WWI with seven other medals. He was sent in 1943 to the desert to bury those young heroes. They buried them in individual graves with Springbucks on their headstones in a communal cemetery.

Moth Peter Barlow-Jones

Mafeesh Shellhole

CLIVE MAXWELL ANDERSON : 6 February 1924 to 4 August 2009 (Thanks for Jumbo Acutt for this precise from notes given to him by the Anderson family).

Clive was the second son of Max and Barbara ANDERSON of Emerald Dale in the Donnybrooke district and was brother to three sisters.

Attended a farm school in the district and then Merchiston, Hilton College and the Technical College.

On leaving school he attested and joined the Royal Natal Carbineers and on arriving at Hay Paddock was drafted into the anti tank platoon comprising Vickers machine Guns and Mortars and were the support for A and B companies.

Left Pietermaritzburg by train to Durban and boarded the "Stratheden" with 4500 other troops.

Left Durban to the singing of Mrs Perla Siedle, the "Lady in White" - "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye".

On arrival in Egypt went to Katatha Camp where the regiment was training. There they were using the 6 pounder anti-tank guns. Then they moved to Italy as part of the 6th South African Division. The front moved up through Cassino, Rome, Florence, Bologna, the Po River, Venice and Turin. Winter in Italy is very severe and Clive remembers always being cold.

At the end of the war in Europe the older soldiers were sent home first and the younger men too over the regiment. They moved to an hotel in San Remo, on the Italian Riviera and visited various spots eg Mont Blanc and Nice on the French Riviera. Clive eventually arrived back home in Durban on 20 January 1946 on the same boat - the Stratheden.

Clive then attended a 2 year diploma course at Cedara Agricultural College which turned out to be a wonderful way to get used to civvy street. At Cedara he met his future wife Belle Trollip and they married in July 1949 and lived on the family farm in a house that Clive built.

In July 1952 Clive, his wife and two sons moved to Lilydale which his uncle Francis had invited him to take over as he and his wife had no children. Farming was at a slow pace in those early days and most of the work was done by 3 spans, 18 in a span, of huge oxen which were cross Afrikander and Devon. His jersey herd of 80 cows was hand milked - the milk separated and the cream to the creamery and the residue to the staff and the pigs. He also ran a flock of 1200 Dohne Merino sheep which all had to be shorn each year. Clive also bred cattle and by cross breeding he and others started the Tauricas Breeders Club. This breed was specifically for the area as the Dainy Short Horn couldnt take the winters. Clive was a keen member of the Donnybrook Agricultural Society and the Beef Producers Union and eventually became chairman of both these associations. Clive was nominated as a director of SDtockowners and became chairman. Stockowners at that stage had a daily turnover of a million rand a day and this took up a lot of his time.

Clive was a very likeable person who lived life to the full. He was a staunch member of the Allan Wilson Shellhole and took part in most activities such as the newspaper sorting on Monday mornings and bowls on a Wednesday afternoon and will be missed by all.

Clive is survived by three sons and a dughter. His wife died about 5 years ago.

My Army Days by Clive Anderson

 

Like most young fellows, on leaving school in 1942, I played the field – going to parties, playing cricket and generally letting my hair down!

These were very unsettling times with the war in full swing.

In 1943, my friend, Eric Eaglestone from Creighton and I decided to join up with a view to joining the Air Force. We went together to see the Army Doctor in Maritzburg. Eric went into the Doctors room first and after a whilecame out with a long face saying, "They have turned me down as they found I have diabetes". I was then called in, put through all the tests and declared AI. The Doctor then asked me to read out numbers on a chart with a whole lot of coloured dots all over it. I couldn’t see a thing. The Doctor then grinned and said "You are fit but colour and no good for the Air Force!" I couldn’t believe it, so stumbled out to find Eric and we both made our way home with our tails between our legs!!

It so happened that my father had injured his arm in an accident and had been taken to hospital. He told me that I couldn’t join up then. I had to stay and run the farm as my older brother Meredith was also in the army. That proved to be a difficult time for me as all the other men were in uniform.

During that time, the Colonel of the RNC, Murray Comrie, married a beautiful young girl Meryl Whittaker, the magistrate’s daughter from Bulwer whom I knew and rather fancied!

We attended their wedding, at which all the young officers in full dress uniform were present. I felt very out of place as a civvy person.

I decided to join the RNC at the first opportunity, which was as soon as my father returned from hospital. I went to the Imperial Hotel to interview the Colonel, Murray Comrie, whom I knew quite well and agreed to go to Kaffir’s Kraal training camp without delay. On arrival at KK, I was issued with an army number uniform etc.

And put in a tent with five Afrikaans fellows, who being keen to impress the instructors with neatness, had spread concrete stone chips on the tent floor. With just one blanket and a ground sheet to sleep on, that floor was both cold and uncomfortable. I used to smoke pipe and happened to flick a match out the tent flap. Our instructor, who used all manner of language, saw the errant match and said, "You aren’t dirty, you’re bloody filthy". I probably got extra c/drill for that! The instructors were determined to cut us down to size. We were issued with very old carbines and sent out to the shooting range. At fifty yards, I shot a possible, but the further back we went, the worse I got. Even the instructor couldn’t hit the target. Next morning on parade, the huge sergeant major said, "Who is Anderson". I owned up, and then he said "You shot a possible, then nothing". I like a fool said "There’s something wrong with the sights on my gun" at which came a blast from another sergeant "You call yourself a soldier, that’s a rifle, not a gun, you idiot". I was well and truly flattened.

The RNC officers came on a recruiting drive and I was first in the queue! I joined the regiment at Hay Paddoek and was drafted into the Anti-tank platoon and put on Heavy Baggage fatigue. The Anti-tank, Vickers Machine gun and Mortar platoons formed the support companies for the Rifle Infantry Companies A, B & C prior to our departure "up North" the First Royal Carbineers’ Regiment gave an official Ball in the City Hall. It was a gala occasion and well attended by the city dignitaries and regimental officers in full regalia. Together with other young privates, I attended as a partnerless rookie dressed in uniform plus army boots!

I noticed that the Colonel wasn’t paying sufficient attention to his new wife who was sitting out, so I invited her to dance, which she readily accepted much to the amazement of the top brass whose eyebrows were raised as we glided past, not to mention some of the envious looks I received from other young guys, officers included!

We left Pietermaritzburg by train, loaded the Battalion’s heavy baggage and then boarded with 4 500 other troops. Mrs. Perla Siedle Gibson, the "Lady In White" sang to us and as we went out to sea, one could hear strams of "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye". We certainly needed it!

We were billeted in a hold at the bottom of the ship –"The Stratheden" – well below sea level. We were met by our escort a RN Destroyer which accompanied us all the way up. What a wonderful job they did. We learnt afterwards that 4 "U-Boats", stationed in Madagascar were waiting for us. We changed course every few minutes with the destroyer racing across our bows dropping depth charges.

On one night they dropped over a hundred as the U-Boats were very near! Everything was in total blackout at night – we slept on deck as down below was too hot and smelly! Our food was cooked there and we were expected to live there but it was altogether too ghastly, with most chaps seasick including me!

We found a place on deck to sleep, but had to mighty sharp in the early morning as the Indian deck hands would shout "Wakie – wakie – washie – dekkie", then released a torrent of water from fire hoses on the decks! We weaved our way out towards India then back to the Red Sea at Port Aden after successfully avoiding the subs. At Aden we came to a stop as our destroyer escort sailed slowly past us, turned then came back in a final farewell. We lined the decks and waved our thanks to those sailors who had brought us safely there.

I know one of the sailors on that destroyer who said it made the hair stand on the back of his neck to see us all waving and with the ships horn blowing the "V" signal. What a moment that was and not easily forgotten! The troops disembarked at Port Tufik leaving those of us on Heavy Baggage fatigue to unload the ship. There were about a dozen of us on the fatigue with Lt. John Clark in charge.

We had to use the ships derricks to unload everything on to barges manned by Gyppos. One had to descend from a top fore deck via a rope ladder down about 50 feet on to the barge which was quite scary, as one was suspended in mid air.

After securing the battalion equipment in a house, under guard, we then unloaded bags of oranges sent up from South Africa. I remember one Gyppo who was half way down the ladder and was making an awful noise – we told him to shut up without effect. John Linc, one of our chaps picked up an orange and threw it at him hitting him between the shoulder blades. He let out a yell and fell straight above us – only to recover in time and grab the ladder before landing on our barge!

After a few days, trucks came for the baggage and a tram came to take us into Cairo. John Clark, who was a real character and had served in the Desert Campaign, knew all the ropes. He kicked the driver out of his cab and made him sit in the back. He then made me stand next to him to ring the bell, which was a large knob on the floor, while he took control of the tram! Then off we went at full speed through Cairo – with the protesting Gyppo driver yelling and shouting at me to "Ring the bell," as pedestrians scattered in all directions to avoid the runaway tram!

We arrived at Babalook station in one piece after my first taste of Egypt.

On the next day we went to Katatba Camp to join the regiment who were in tents, having got over the effects of a dust storm which had kept Dr Resnick and staff busy cleaning sand out of ears and eyes etc.

We trained at Katatba on our 6-pounder anti-tank guns that took a large shell with a relatively small amour piercing bullet. It had an earsplitting crack when fired. We fired at a moving target, pulled by a Bren Gun carrier six hundred yards away. The drill was for the No 1, a sergeant in charge, to point the barrel of the gun at the target and shout "ON", when the No 2 gunner would shout "ON" when he could see the target through the periscope aim and fire. On one occasion a serious accident occurred when the No 2 gunner mistakenly aimed at the Bren Gun carrier, fired and shot right through the engine. We saw to our horror, four chaps hale out of the carrier and roll over with bits of the engine in their legs and arms. The tow rope was lengthened after that narrow shave!!

After much training, doing maneuvers and courses in the desert, the Division left for Italy to take up positions in the battle of "Monte Casino".

I was in the second batch to leave Egypt with all the transport vehicles which we loaded onto 113 ships and crossed the very rough Mediterranean Sea. At a pre-arranged signal, the Ack-Ack on every ship opened up on one solitary cloud, an amazing sight to see the tracers converging in the cloud, - a plane would have been blown to pieces had it been there.

The Casino Monastery and the town below was a smoldering shambles as we passed through. The Polish division was sent in to avenge the invasion of their country. Five thousand were killed, having dug their own graves before the attack!! A terrible waste of lives.

ROME:- We were one of the first troops to enter the City of Rome – where no fighting took place. The population lined the streets, but didn’t know us until our Bren Gun Carrier platoon arrived. When they saw them, they simply mobbed us with flowers of welcome!!

From Rome to Florence, where we had to fight our way against a retreating enemy, fighting a rearguard action. Our front was limited by the range of mountains through Italy – The fighting regiments were the RNC, WRDLR, 1st City CTH ( Cape Town Highlanders) with armoured tanks, the SSB, NMR, PAG and Scots Guards. We leap frogged our way up with the German troops determined to keep us at bay. We had the advantage of air superiority by then and the help of "Shooftic Kitcs" – Artillcry spotters that were single engine slow flying planes that flew high enough to avoid small arm fires. Those brave pilots relayed information to our gun batteries with good effect. Our progress was slow and the weather very hot, with the sun baking us in our unprotected troop carriers – at every opportunity, we would dive into streams and lakes to cool off. I recall on one occasion Dr Coffee Resnick, Capt Nissen and I, stripped off and waded into a lake next to the road, much to the amazement of the locals. At the towns of Sienna and Radda, the enemy put up a determined fight, using their Tiger Tanks. The 1st City took the town of Sienna, at considerable cost. Ahead of us , at Radda, we were kept at bay by accurate fire from their 88mm guns mounted on Tiger Tanks which would simply drive into a house and fire at us through the windows undetected.

In a theatre of operations, during war time while in action, one was constantly under the threat of being shot at either by small arms fire, machine gun, mortar, or shelling by artillery. To be bombed or strafed by airplanes was equally harrowing. The use of "Air Bursts" when shell fuses were set to burst in mid-air over a target was extensively used by both sides and took their toll. Many of our men were wounded or killed in this manner. Yet another menace was the enemy sniper who hid well concealed and selected his victim at will.

I happened to escape one of those bullets literally by the skin of my nose when a sniper took a pot shot at me as I leant against a tree. The impact so close caused my knees to buckle and I dropped to the ground, probably giving the sniper an impression of a kill!!

Our platoon were on one occasion positioned lying alongside a street in a town with an enemy mobile 88mm blasting away at us. A shall hit a tall fir tree above us spraying its shrapnel around. One of the sergeants lying there with us cried out "My back – my back". We examined him but couldn’t detect anything so I jumped into the Jeep and rushed to the doctor for help. To reach him, we had to drive past an enemy ammunition truck that was on fire with its contents exploding. When Dr. Resnick examined Sergeant Tom, it was too late. His spinal cord had been severed. We were all severely shaken by the loss of such a fine fellow.

FLORENCE:- It became a race between the RNC and the SSB in tanks to get to Florence first! We won, of course, as all bridges over the river Amo except for the Ponte Vechio had been blown up. We simply walked over the famous Ponte Vechio over which no vehicles could travel.

In Florence I said to my friends that we were in the centre of all Art, so went direct to the Gallery to see the famous Original Statue of David. While there, we went round the Gallery and I was struck by the Room of Oil Paintings by the artist Michael Frederiko an artist who had the ability to capture the movement of the sea on canvass. I asked the price of one which he said I could buy it for 30 pounds in South African money. I agreed to buy it for that figure but said I would have to send home for the money. The curator took an awful chance as I may easily have been killed. The painting hangs in my living room to this day.

From Florence we had to fight our way from Prato to Pistaya up the mountain passes to "Castigleone de Peppory" where the SA Division Military Cemetery now stands. From there to Mount Vigizi where the Indian battalion suffered heavy casualties.

It rained for days on end and everything became sodden – the roads impossible with tanks and heavy artillery stuck in the mud and rendered inoperable. We took Mount Vigizi which was a giant rock on which the enemy had an observation point. Captain Titch Francis won the M.C for taking the mountain.

We moved on to attack the mountain known as 826 with its two villages, Gritzana and Stanko, close by at its foot. Our Colonel was against the attack on this mountain as we had no support artillery. They were stuck in the muddy conditions. The RNC regiment took the mountain 826 but was counter attacked by a whole division of SS troops that overcame our positions inflicting heavy casualties on us including the 2 IC. Major Rex Tomlinson killed – a very sad blow that affected Colonel Murray Comrie who had been his half-section throughout. He was then boarded out of the army and sent home to South Africa. Major Peter Francis, a company commander, then took over as a very successful Colonel of the Regiment.

With artillery support eventually restored and in position, the Wits Delarey Regiment under Colonel Bester, retook the mountain and drove the enemy back to their prepared position on Mount Capara and Monte Sole where they spent the winter.

The Winter Line

After the recapture of hill 826, I took a day’s leave and went back to Florence to retrieve my painting. Upon arrival at the Art Gallery, the curator said "You are fortunate young man". He had kept his word – he could have sold it for double the figure to the Brazilian or American soldiers who came afterwards and were loaded with money! I claimed to be honest also so handed him the 30 South African Pounds sent to me by my father.

I must say that the Italian Curator was an upright gentleman who had kept his word even though as a soldier, I could have been killed. I naturally value my painting which hangs in pride of place in my house.

The trip back from Florence up the mountain pass saw my introduction to snowflakes that drifted into my eyes without the protection of a windscreen very painful.

It was snowing heavily by the time I rejoined the unit and I had to run the gauntlet between lines of fellows who pelted me with snowballs. Snow was a novelty to us at that stage!

When the German army opposing us eventually retreated to their well fortified positions on Monte Sole and Capara, they left us South Africans to spend the bitter Italian winter in the bare Apennine Mountains around 826, where they had destroyed most of the houses. They had figured that the South Africans couldn’t take the cold and snow in such exposed conditions – They were far wrong!

We spent the winter dug in along the ridge down from Mt. 826 with only one Jeep access track from Gritzana village along the side of the mountain which was under observation from Mount Sole and so used only at night as any movement would attract enemy shellfire.

At our platoon’s position, John Tager and I dug into a bank of hill – filled sandbags with the soil to create an outer wall with an opening as a doorway. There was just sufficient room for our sleeping bags. The first morning we discovered a spring of water that ran at 11am through the door, but froze by 4pm. We had to cut branches from surrounding bushes which we laid on the floor to keep above the water!

No fires were permitted as our positions would be exposed and invite artillery or mortar fire. Our food and ammo was brought up by the mountain to us by mule train. There were about a dozen mules, each carrying special fitted saddles which held eight large Thermos flasks into which came "Skilly" Bully Beef, meat and vegetables, which all tasted the same. We heated our tea water with large blow lamps filled with petrol.

The mule trains were manned by Italian Muleteers who were in turn controlled by our soldiers allocated to the task. It was on one of these occasions when my half-section Gerald von Geasau and Doug Underhill were so badly injured by a shell which hit the roof of a building in which they were resting. Fortunately the RAP was close abd able to give them blood before they were taken to hospital.

We were in the line for five days at a time, then would pull back to a half blown up house a couple of miles back., where we could make a fire under a half 44 gallon drum of water for a very welcome wash and change of clothes – particularly our socks which were always wet!

It was on one of these occasions that I turned 21 years old on 6.2.1945. Our small ration of issue brandy was all we had to celebrate with!!! The following day we went back into the line and the other chaps said I wouldn’t make the day!!

Guard duties were the order of the day and night, two hours on and four off. The nights were pitch dark except that our search lights placed way back, would train their beams of light onto the clouds in the sky above us and so create artificial moonlight which was a great help while on guard. When the lights shifted however, it did give the impression that the bushes in the snow moved and kept us alert!!

While on guard, one sat behind the Bren Gun mounted on a bank, covered with a gas cape to prevent it from freezing. We sat on a plank with our feet in a hole into which we sometimes climbed when being shelled or mortared. A long wire was at hand attached to a tin with stones, hanging from a tree to act as an alarm if necessary!!

My sheepskin jacket, cap and mittens were sent to me by my parents and greatly appreciated – the cap and mittens were passed from one man to the next while on guard. I wouldn’t part with my jacket which I wore constantly. It saved my life as it snowed heavily at times and was bitterly cold.

The Carbineers maintained an outpost in No-Man’s land on a small hill known as point 412. A platoon would walk down to it at night and withdraw early next morning leaving one section of 6 men to guard it all day. They were expandable and the first to learn about an attack.

The outpost was a small hill through which carts had to cut a track over the years. We occupied the sunken point 412 track with a Bren Gun facing the enemy. I was on guard on the last day when the thaw set in. our heavy artillery, the 5.5 Battery, was shelling enemy positions a little in front of us. The earth shook as the exploding shells, which screamed over our position, landed. This caused the whole roadway of packed ice to start moving down the incline rather like a glacier. We were warned by telephone that we were to be ambushed on our way back that evening. They didn’t ambush us, but as we went over the hill to our HQ at Germany, they shelled us with uncanny accuracy. They just missed our group, and then as we beat it back, sent over another shell, which forced us to dive for cover. The Bren Gunner landed in the mud with his face and hands covered in mud and shouted, "I can’t see". I grabbed him and his Bren Gun and had to lead him to the duck boards over the marsh which we had to cross. It seemed as if the Germans knew exactly where we were.

Another occasion I remember vividly was while I was standing outside my dugout having a shave one morning. Hearing the roar of planes, I looked up to see two fighter planes appear flying across our front. They had clipped wings and I thought them to be American Mustangs – then they flew up, banked and turned revealing the black crosses on their wings!! One plane came straight for me and I thought, "Well this was it!!" – But in a flash he was gone.

They were on a reconnaissance flight and were looking for our 4.2 mortar positions, which they identified and forced to move after heavy shelling. The 4.2 mortar was a deadly weapon which caused the enemy much grief. An American foot battalion took over from us when we pulled out for a rest at Lucca. The American sergeant who came to our position, cooked his food first then we showed him 412. He said we were crazy to go there. That night it was as if the whole war had started again with the Yanks blazing off into the night with no real purpose! I must point out that while in the static winter line, the need for our anti-tank guns dropped away and we became infantry. As such in the mountains we had to wear white sheets over ourselves for camouflage and carry our bedrolls wherever we went. These vital parts of our equipment were rolled up and threaded through the webbing at the small of our back. We were an odd looking group but altogether dependent on our bedrolls which were made of a quilted material covered with a similar fibre to that used for parachutes. I had an Italian Farrier drive horseshoe nails into the heels of my boot that protruded about an inch to avoid me slipping on ice. We would see the Italian Muleteers hanging onto the tails of their mules while climbing up the hills. Upon reflection; those mules did a wonderful job of work for us. They brought our food, ammunition and actually everything we required. We were issued with brandy and black chocolate, which was necessary living at that altitude, and soft soap which we rubbed onto our feet every evening to avoid trench foot and frost bite. I can remember grinding 3X peppermints into the black chocolate to resemble Peppermint Crisp! The regiment rested at Lucca near Pizza with its Leaning Tower, which we climbed.

The Spring push back into the Mountain Line – the removal of the enemy from Caprana and Monte Sole where we watched our fighter bombers bombing the enemy positions.

Bologna – River Po We crossed the large river on a pontoon bridge created by our engineers. Limited resistance encountered from then on. We advanced steadily towards Venice. One early morning we lined up nose to tail in a town of high buildings when we felt a shower of rain!!! We looked up to see a woman’s bare arm protruding from a high window as she emptied her pottie out onto the pavement. We shouted up to her, at which she came rushing down with a towel – very distressed saying "Skuzie Senjorie". Fortunately, we hadn’t been on the pavement!

The war was drawing to an end – I was detailed to collect a group of prisoners who had surrended to the Partisans. My driver opened the back of the truck onto which the prisoners climbed. When I suggested that the officer climb on also, he refused saying "Nein". He agreed to ride in the cab with us. His name was LT von Flintal, a Wermacht Officer who didn’t associate with his troops!

We reached a point not far from Venice; weary after a long haul when the order came that we were to go straight across Italy to Turin as the Italian Partisans were running amuck. We had to drive all night to get to Turin; several accidents occurred with drivers falling asleep. The Partisans had caught Mussolini and his mistress, murdered them and hung them up for all to see. We established ourselves in a government building then transferred to an army barracks the "Kasermo de Monte Groppo".

VE was declared and a victory parade organized for all troops including the Partisans – the occasion was used to disarm the Partisans.

With the war over, our soldiers were being sent home – we younger men then took over the responsible duties of the regiment. I was put in charge of the company transport and had to control all vehicles while in convoy using a motorbike for the purpose.

We were required to guard army vehicles depots in Genoa, captured enemy vehicles and abandoned equipment some of which had been booby-trapped which necessitated caution.

Some of our fellows discovered a tanker full of Benzine, which they sold to good ettect.

The RNC moved to San Romo on the Italian Riviera each company taking over a hotel! Our company took over the hotel Albergo Mirra Marie. Being in charge of the transport, I was the busiest person there! It seemed that everyone needed a vehicle to go places and I was required to issue route forms for each trip.

On one occasion, my friends, Bob Bradley, Jack Richards and I decided to visit Mont blane. We drove from Turin up the Aoster Valley to a small town Kurrmaura at the foot of the highest mountain in Alps. The DLI maintained an outpost half way up the mountain at the head of a cableway recently built but not yet open to the public. The cable car was just a suspended platform surrounded by flimsy chicken wire – quite an experience!

On another occasion, I took six of my pals over to Nice in France. We soon discovered that the town was an American Army Rest Centre, as it was crawling with American soldiers on leave.

Because our uniform was different to theirs, we were constantly asked by GIs (Government Issue) – "Say guys, where do you come from?" We would reply "South Africa". To which they would say "South Africa. Never heard of it". This went on all day. Finally when we were about to leave, we went into a pub for a final drink and were sitting along the bar, when in came a Yank, bought his drink, and turned to my friend Jannie Versveld with the usual question. "Say guy, where do you chaps come from?" Jannie answered "South Africa". "South Africa, never heard of it," said he. Jannie said, "Where do you come from?" The Yank said, "Oh I come from New York". Jannie said, "New York. Never heard of it". The Yank nearly fell off his stool. "What?" he said, "You’ve never heard of New York? God Dammit, You must have rocks in your head!"

We returned home eventually on the same ship "The Stratheden" to a tumultuous welcome in Durban harbour on 20th January 1946 with all the ships in the harbour blowing the victory sign as we came in to be greeted by thousands of people all cheering.

Our boat was listing to the right with all of us crammed to the right hand railings and we were obliged to move over to bring the ship upright for the tugs to push us onto the quayside.

In spite of petrol rationing, my family was all there to greet me.

What an experience!!

 

 

PINEDENE SMALL ARMS MUSEUM by Graham BUCKLEY

The Eastern Free State has become a very popular tourist venue over the last few years with its many varied attractions and natural beuty. Amongst the most popular places that are normally included on the visitors itinerary are the Katze Dam and Highlands Water scheme, The Cherry festivalin November, the Golden Gate Nature Reserve and the little village of Clarence.