Above: Duilio Virgili

Alle amico [To a friend]
Alberto Rosenblum
Duilio

Last June, Alan Rosenblum sent me a detailed account of the protection his father, Sergeant Albert Rosenblum, was given by the Virgili family of Ortezzano, Italy, after his escape from Camp 59 in 1943.

Al also sent scans of a few old photographs and an envelope from a letter sent by Duilio Virgili to his father after the war (the letter has since been lost).

I forwarded Al’s account and the photos to Italian researcher Filippo Ieranò in Servigliano, Italy, explaining that Al was interested in making contact with the Virgili family.

In September, Filippo replied: “It was not easy, but eventually I managed to get in touch with Rita Virgili, the sister of Duilio Virgili of Ortezzano.”

Filippo explained, “Mrs. Virgili recalls that Albert and several other American prisoners came to their house during the war. She currently lives in Rome, and would be very glad to establish a relationship with Alan Rosenblum.”

Printing on front of envelope:

Mr. Albert Rosenblum
3765 Doney Street, Whitehall
Columbus 13, Ohio
Estados Unidos

Via Aérea

On back of envelope:

M. Duilio Virgili 2_ Mayo
c/o 174 B. Blonca
R. Ar.

Concerning the letter itself, Alan Rosenblum writes, “The original letter from Duilio has been lost, probably when as a boy, I steamed off the stamp for my collection.”

Above: Duilio Virgili

RICORD DI [In remembrance of]
VIRGILI
DUILIO
Virgili Duilio
ORTEZZANO
Octo 13, 1943

Below is Al’s account of his father’s escape, followed by comments Rita Virgili shared with Al via e-mail late last year.

Albert Rosenblum After the Escape

When my dad and three fellow prisoners escaped from Camp 59, they decided that south was the best direction to travel to reach the Allied lines.

They had no food or water, no weapons, and they were in foreign territory wearing their prison military uniforms.

My father and Sergeant John Novotny, both in the Army’s 18th Infantry, had been wounded at El Guettar and had not fully recovered. All the prisoners were malnourished from the inadequate food supply at Camp 59.

As they neared the town of Ortezzano (Ascoli), sympathetic locals put them in touch with the Partisans. The Partisans fed them and provided less conspicuous civilian clothing.

The Americans, all experienced as infantrymen and schooled in escape and evasion techniques, wanted to try to reach the Allies. They asked for an Italian guide to lead them through enemy lines.

The Partisans, however, felt it was too dangerous and that the escapees were in too poor health for an arduous journey of hundreds of miles on foot. Winter was approaching and the Italian mountain country was unforgiving. The Italians knew that the Germans had instituted a massive manhunt for escaped POWs, and that they were bringing reinforcements to harden defenses against the expected Allied invasion after Mussolini’s overthrow.

The Partisans thought it better that the Camp 59 escapees remain and work with the underground while their health and the military situation improved.

Dad and his group of escapees agreed and they divided up, each staying with a different Partisan family. The families were at great risk, because the penalty for aiding and harboring an escaped POW was death.

Dad became part of Virgili family on their farm near Ortezzano. As the eldest son, Duilio Virgili was head of the household.

Another of the POWs stayed with the family of Onelio Ferretti in the nearby town of Montelparo.

Above: Onelio Ferretti

Sept. 1943
Ferretti Onelio
Montelparo 1943 XXI

The following photos of Italian partisans are from among Albert Rosenblum’s papers. Alan writes, “I think they were in the Italian underground unit with Onelio Ferretti that my Dad and his fellow escapees worked with while fighting the Germans after their escape.”

Above: Salvatore Coccia

Coccia Salvatore,
Antonio and Annita
In Memory of the/his Salvation
Italy

Above: Guido Lupi

Through that winter and spring, Dad and the other POW escapees helped on the family farms during the day and on prearranged nights would gather with resistance leaders to plan ambushes and attacks on military and munitions convoys traveling through the district.

They proved to be a good fighting force, combining the skills, training, and combat experience of the soldiers and the intelligence gathering and terrain knowledge of the Partisans.

They were successful in intercepting and burning several convoys and they destroyed rail installations and facilities important to the German war effort.

The Partisans had a hidden radio that they used to monitor the military situation. News of Allied victories spurred everyone’s hopes. Dad and his band of escapees, now healthy, were eager to return to their units. They said goodbye to their host families with promises to meet again in better days.

With help from members of the underground, Dad and the others made their way through the German lines. They met up with American units in the Caserta area and were repatriated on June 28, 1944.

The group was taken to Mediterranean Base Headquarters in Italy and then on to Oran, Algeria, for shipment back to the United States.

Dad continued his Army career after the war, and in 1953 received orders for a transfer to Germany. At the time he spoke of reuniting with his Italian friends. My mother had lost family members in Eastern Europe to Nazi atrocities and did not want to live in Germany. Dad decided to retire from the military.

A couple of years later, we received a letter from Duilio Virgili. Dad had befriended him during the war and even taught him to box. The son, now in his early twenties, was thinking of immigrating to the United States. He wondered if Dad would sponsor him. Dad wrote back, but he received no further letters.

In the late 1970s, as my dad was retiring from his second career at the Defense Construction Supply Center in Columbus, Ohio, he and my mom talked of traveling to Italy. But by then health problems prevented the trip and a possible reunion.

Rita Virgili on the Sheltering of the Escaped Prisoners

The following comments from Rita Virgili are presented in Italian, followed by English translation.

On September 26, 2011, Rita Virgili wrote:

Io di quel periodo ricordo poco perchè avevo 5 anni, ma ricordo perfettamente ciò che accadde.

I do not remember much from that time, because I was five years old, but [in this case] I do remember perfectly what happened.

Ricordo che Suo padre era rifugiato in casa nostra con altri prigionire ed aveva un bellissimo rapporto con i miei genitori a tal punto di chiamarli Mamma e Papà.

Di giorno giocava spesso con me e con mio cugino Tarcisio e una mattina andando a scuola nel periodo tra fine aprile e primi di maggio del ’44, da lontano abbiamo visto un Signore di nome Roscioli,capo zona dei fascisti, che avendo avuto una soffiata da qualcuno cercava i prigionieri americani rifugiati ad Ortezzano ed in particolare in casa nostra dove ve ne erano 9 che stavano facendo colazione con la famiglia. Di conseguenza io e mio cugino tornammo di corsa a casa gridando che stava arrivando Roscioli e mio padre si affacciò controllando la situazione, mentre mio fratello Duilio li aiutò a scappare accompagnandoli presso un fiume nelle vicinanze dell’Indaco per non farli trovare, ma da quel momento non abbiamo avuto più notizie loro.

I remember your father had taken refuge in our house with other prisoners, and they had such a great a relationship with my parents, so much so that they called them Mom and Dad.

During the day they often played with my cousin Tarcisio and me. Going to school one morning, in late April or early May of ’44, we saw from a distance a man named Roscioli, who was head of the area fascists. Having received a tip from someone, he was trying to locate American prisoners and refugees in Ortezzano—in particular those nine at our house, who were having breakfast with the family. Consequently, my cousin and I ran home crying that he was coming. My father looked out for Roscioli, while my brother Duilio helped the men to escape, accompanying them to a river near to the torrente Indaco, so they wouldn’t be found. [A torrente leads into a river—in this case it would be the river Aso—and is the conduit for snow melt, and therefore dry for much of the year.] From then on we had no more news of them.

Se posso esserLe utile mi ricordo solo i nomi di due compagni che erano con suo Padre, Costantino e Raphael, ma i cognomi non li sapevo.

Mi ha fatto molto onore ricevere la Sua lettera con le foto di mio fratello, il quale purtroppo è morto poi in Argentina al Rosario di Sante Fè nel 1955 misteriosamente, senza aver mai avuto informazioni dettagliate sull’accaduto. Il dolore per la famiglia è stato grandissimo ed è per questo che l’aver ricevuto questa lettera ha suscitato in me piacere e commozione allo stesso tempo.

If it is of help you, I remember the names of two comrades who were with your father—Constantine and Raphael—but their surnames I do not know.

I was very honored to receive your letter with pictures of my brother, who, sadly, died mysteriously in 1955 in Rosario of Santa Fe, Argentina. [Rosario is the largest city in the Argentinian province of Santa Fe.] I never received detailed information about the incident. The pain was very great for my family, and that is why receiving this letter has both pleased and disturbed me at the same time.

Le invio in allegato alcune foto di un tratto del paesino di Ortezzano e una parte della casa dove era rifugiato Suo Padre.

I have enclosed some photos of a section of the village of Ortezzano and [a photo of] part of the house in which your father took refuge.

Above: Photos taken at the old Virgili home in Ortezzano

On October 12, 2011, Rita Virgili wrote:

Duilio era in Argentina come emigrante per cercare lavoro,ma non faceva parte dei partigiani e non ha combattuto nella rivoluzione.

Mi ricordo che tuo padre quando era lì ad Ortezzano aiutava spesso mio padre e la mia famiglia nell’azienda agricola che avevamo facendo le cose sempre con il sorriso e la serenità.

Duilio was in Argentina to find work as an emigrant, but was not part of the partisans who fought in the revolution.

I remember when your father was in Ortezzano he often helped my father and my family by doing chores on the farm—always serenely and with a smile.

Il periodo in cui avete ricevuto l’ultima lettera di mio fratello non ti ricordi in che mese era? Io posso dirti con certezza che lui è morto a dicembre del 1955 e con lui c’era l’altro mio fratello Dino più piccolo di 5 anni che è morto poco dopo, nel febbraio del 1956 lasciando un dolore grandissimo per tutta la famiglia.

Do you remember the month when you received the last letter from my brother? I can tell you with certainty that he died in December 1955, and my other brother, Dino, who was five years younger, died shortly after—in February 1956—leaving a huge pain for the whole family.

In famiglia nostra eravamo 5 figli, 3 femmine e 2 maschi di cui, oltre a Dino e Duilio c’era mia sorella Lidia che era suora ed è morta nel 1998 per una malattia.

Ora siamo rimaste io e mia sorella Pia più grande di me di 14 anni che vive ad Ortezzano, mentre io vivo a Roma con mio marito Mario, due figlie Lorella e Dina e 4 nipoti, 2 maschi Gianluca e Matteo, e 2 femmine Federica e Martina…tutti loro mi rendono molto orgogliosa.

In our family we were five children—three females and two males—of which, in addition to Dino and Duilio, was my sister Lydia, who was a nun and died in 1998 due to illness.

Left now are my older sister Pia, who has lived in Ortezzano for 14 years, and me. I live in Rome with my husband Mario, our two daughters Lorella and Dina and four grandchildren—two boys, Gianluca and Matteo, and two girls, Federica and Martina. They all make me very proud.

On December 19, 2011, Rita Virgili wrote:

Mi avevi chiesto della disposizione della casa di Ortezzano dove tuo padre era stato rifugiato con la nostra famiglia e si trattava di una casa agricola su due piani più la soffitta nella quale dormivano in una grande camera i miei fratelli e tuo padre. Il piano sotto la soffitta era composto da una grande cucina e 4 camere da letto perchè in famiglia eravamo 13 persone. Era bellissimo nelle serate d’inverno quando c’era ancora tuo padre riunirsi a giocare tutti insieme davanti al camino, mio padre recitava il santo rosario e tutti insieme si pregava, non avevamo ancora la luce e usavamo i lumi a petrolio, ma nonostante tutto eravamo felici di stare insieme.

You asked me about the layout of the house where your father was sheltered with our family in Ortezzano. It was a farmhouse with two floors plus an attic with a large room where my brothers and your father slept. The floor below the attic was comprised of a large kitchen and four bedrooms for the family, because we were 13 people. We had wonderful winter evenings together when your father was still with us. We would get together and play in front of the fireplace. My father recited the holy rosary and we prayed together. We did not have electric lights, so we used kerosene lamps. But, in spite of everything, we were happy to be together.

Duilio and Rita Virgili’s mother and father

Postcard of Ortezzano, probably brought back to the U.S. by Albert Rosenblum—one of a number of souvenirs

Many thanks to Albert Rosenblum’s son Alan Rosenblum and daughter Pam Maccabee, and to Albert’s granddaughter Meara Maccabee for sharing their resources for this post.

I am also grateful to Rita Virgili for allowing us to share her reminiscences and to Anne Bewicke-Copley for help with translation.

Robert’s mother—also the mother of his brothers James and William—died young. Robert’s father, Leslie Dickinson, married again—to Nellie, the author of these two touching letters.

Leslie and Nellie had a son together, Len Dickinson. Letters and cards Robert sent while in service to his little brother Len are posted elsewhere on this site.

Thanks to Denis’ daughter, Maggie Clarke, for sharing this material.

18 Westfcliffe St
Burton Rd
Lincoln
12th July, 44

Dear Mrs Crooks

Thank you so much for your letter. we are so glad to know Dennis is safe and well, we have not had a line from Bob since August 16th last year, so we think he must be at liberty and still in Italy. if we could just have a line to say he is alright, it would be such a relief. I know what good pals Dennis and Bob were, I think they shared everything, Bob was very upset when he had to leave Dennis and go to a working camp, we had the last card he sent us from Campo PG 112/14 we sent the tobacco to Italy it was sent about a fortnight before Italy surrendered, I wonder if it would follow Dennis to Germany it seems the letter did, I hope he gets it, he was always giving Bob smokes, ours to Bob didn’t get through very well, but he received all his next of kin parcels. I’ll let you know as soon as we have any news. again many thanks for writing, its very upsetting for you living where you do just now trust you will be kept safe Yours Sincerely

N. Dickinson

N. Dickinson

18 Westfcliffe St
Burton Rd
Lincoln
1.2.45.

Dear Mrs Crooks

We received a letter from the War Office yesterday to say that Bob was safe in North West Italy. we are all overjoyed, as we have had no word from him since August 16th last year. hope Dennis is well as can be expected I’m sure you will let him know the good news they were such good pals. we hope it won’t be long now before they are safe home. we trust you are keeping well pleased to say we are. kind regards

Your Sincerely
N. & L Dickinson

Pictured above are Robert Dickinson (left) and Denis Crooks.

The 12 letters in this post were sent to me by Maggie Clarke, Denis Crook’s daughter.

Ten of the letters were among those ones Denis sent to his parents while he was interned at Camp 59–Servigliano. The final two were written in Camp 53–Sforzacosta. The letters are a testament to the deep friendship between Denis and fellow prisoner Robert Dickinson, who is mentioned in each of the letters.

Denis also is frequently mentioned the log of daily events in Robert’s prison camp journal, “Servigliano Calling.”

The two men were, as Denis put it, “best of chums” from January 1942 to May 1943. When Robert was transferred from Camp 53, it would be the last time the two men would see each other, as Robert did not return from the war.

In addition to reports of what Denis and Robert were up to, the letters provide a wealth of information about daily life in camp—invention and refinement of the “blowers” the men used to warm food, the concoctions that they created from Red Cross parcel contents (see also “Robert Dickinson’s ‘Campo 59 Cookery’”), and details of a camp-sponsored “grand carnival” (see also “Carnival Time”).

(No. 11) April 12th. [1942]

Dear Mother and Dad,
I received another two letters last week—no. 50 dated 4th. Feb. and letter-card dated 30th. Oct. and then today I had a letter-card (no. 3) dated 1st. of March, so I was very pleased. After I had written my last letter on Easter Sunday we received another Red-Cross food parcel, one between two. I and my friend Bob were very lucky, we had an apple pudding (tinned of course) and with it we each ate a pound of jam which we had bought at the canteen; we get paid here and can buy cheese and jam at the canteen. Gee! was it good!!! Amongst other things we had ½ lb. oatmeal, so on Monday the cookhouse made porridge for those who had oatmeal, and that was jolly good too. I hope these parcels come fairly regularly now. [missing text] had an extra 8 o’clock service last Sunday morn… [missing text] that. There were over 100 chaps there. The padre has [text missing] evening services every evening at 7:30 for about 10 minutes. I hope you are receiving my letters every week now, we write regularly every Sunday. Please thank everybody for their greetings, and for being so good to you at home, it must have been very worrying for you. Remember me to Michael and Joan Field, and also to Elsa and through her to Ron Gilbert. Yes, I do smoke a little, it helps to pass the time, so I’d love to get some cigarettes. We have an Italian issue every week, and also 50 English with each parcel. Glad your back is O.K. Dad, keep it up! Lot of love and kisses from Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 23) June 29th. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
Another week has come round, and another letter to write to you. I have also had one from you, no. 18 dated April 15th. The April ones are beginning to come through now more quickly. I’m glad you managed to sing one of the hymns on April 12th., and also that you sung them at home. I thought of you when we sang them here, and of course I’m always thinking of you all the time, especially at 9 p.m. when Bob and I are usually having our supper—i.e. our steamed and baked puddings and things from the parcel. To-night we are having “pork and beans” made into a pie—it certainly smells good! I only wish you were here to see it!! Mail has just come in [missing text] …ted 31st. May and one from Mrs. Smith [missing text] …ase thank them for me. And thank you too for the words to “The Blue Danube” —part 2. I haven’t received part 1 yet but no doubt it will turn up soon. I’m sorry the birthday wishes didn’t arrive in time, but better late than never, as they say! Have you bought your Christmas presents yet? I have now started going to drawing classes, run by one of the sergeants here, who is a pro. artist; it is quite interesting and passes the time. We have all sorts of classes going—French, German, Shorthand, etc. We have also been issued with tooth-brush and paste by the Red X. so we’re well looked after! All my love, Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 24) July 6th. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
Here we are again, full of smiles and keeping the old chin up, as I hope you are too. This week I received your letter no. 35 dated 3rd. June, so you can see the mail is coming though quite O.K. now. Yes, I think our time here is the same as yours if you are two hours on. If they do that many more times midnight will be in the daytime and noon at night-time! Things are much the same as usual here—parcels are still arriving every week and that’s the main thing. Bob and I, and many others too, are still making our puddings and cakes every day. In fact Bob and I, and two others we “muck in” with for cooking, are at present making ourselves a new and bigger oven. This one will be 9” x 6” x 6” inside, so it will be large enough for the four [text missing] at parcel we had a 12 oz. packet of raisins, so to-day we are having a chocolate-raisin pudd. (cocoa in it). They turn out lovely and crisp, just like a small cake. Everything, including the baking tins, are made with empty tins!! You can guess that’s just my line! We now have out-door boxing matches, when the band plays in the interval; last time they played “The Yeoman of England” and I thought of the old gramophone record at home. Well, my page is finished, so cheerio for now. All my love, Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 31) 24th. August. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
Three more letters from you this week, nos. 38 (June 14), 46 (July 8) and 48 (July 15). I only wish mine were getting through as regularly to you, there must be a hold-up somewhere. I have not had any more parcels this week (!!) but two of my mates had a cig. parcel and next-of-kin respectively so I got 20 Players and a lump of chocolate. We always give each other some. Fancy Norman married! It certainly was a surprise; I wish I could have been present at the ceremony. I am writing him the card this week. If you are sending me any more books, I should like some Jeffrey Farnol please. By the way, there are over 800 next-of-kin expected in the next few days, so I should strike lucky!! Now for a day in the life of a P.O.W. We get up around 8 o’clock, at least I do (some stay in bed till 10!) after having black coffee brought round to us in bed!! Each morning two men in each hut collect a soyer of coffee from the cookhouse, and sweep out the hut after they’ve “dished it out” to us. During the morning we read, smoke, or do any little odd jobs, and usually Bob and I make ourselves a ”brew”. This morning Bob is making some tea up at the special enclosure reserved for brewing. At 11:30 comes dinner—bread and cheese, tea, and something from our food parcel. Will continue next week. All my love, Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 32) 31st. August. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
I received my second cigarette parcel yesterday—200 “Players”. Thank you very much. I also received letters nos. 23 (3rd. May), 50 and 52 (23rd. and 30th. July). I’m jolly glad to hear you have at last received two of my letters. I expect the others will turn up sooner or later. I have written every week and now I sometimes write you the card as well since they are quicker. I have read all the books you sent me, and I am now swapping with other chaps who have also had book parcels. No, I can’t drink your health in vino now as we don’t get any, but I am always thinking of you and home for all that. I have not heard from the office yet, but I have written to them—on May 25th. Yes, I think that is a good idea about giving half to Toc H and half to the Red Cross. I forget the amount I stated, but say about £2 or £3 to each. I would like the Toc H donation made to the Group as they must have plenty of expenses. To continue from my last letter—during the afternoons we usually make our “duffs” after dinner, and then about 2 o’clock we have another brew of tea which we make ourselves—Bob and I. Then we get down to “work” i.e. making picture frames from tins, cardboard and all sorts of odds and ends, and fireplaces, ovens, etc. Will continue in my next. Lots of love from Denis xxxxxxx

Note: In this letter, Denis mentions Toc H. Toc H is an abbreviation for Talbot House (TH). “Toc” signified the letter T in the spelling alphabet used by British Army signalers during World War I.

(No. 34) Sept. 14th. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
This week I received another two letters from you, nos. 49 and 56 dated 19th. July and 12th. August, so you see mail is still coming in regularly, as are also the food parcels. This week Bob and I had a New Zealand one—honey, lamb and peas, lamb and tomatoes, a large (21 oz.) tin of peas which had a lovely minty flavor, just like we have them at home in the summer, 1 lb. tin of beat butter, 14 oz. jam, 1 lb. tin of cheese, café au lait, tea and chocolate. Not bad—what!! I also received this week the first book parcel you sent—six thrillers and a beautiful Bible. Thank you ever so much. Some books have also arrived [missing text] the Red Cross—about 500 or so, and quite well [missing text] course they have to see a lot of wear. Yes, [missing text] …ld make a very good nurse. I am so gla… [missing text] …ginning to receive my letters a little more regularly now. Also to hear about the young fish in the pond—I hope they live and don’t get eaten up by the mother or the neighbor’s cat! The pipe is still going strong—I’m just going to have a smoke now. On Thursday we are having a grand carnival—fancy dress, side shows, competitions, etc. etc. The Camp Commandant has given 150 lire for prizes. Bob and I are entering our oven and latest invention (charcoal burner) in the “cooking stoves” competition. There will also be a scavenging hunt—and perhaps a photographer! It should be good fun!! All my love, Denis xxxxxxx.

(No. 42) Nov. 9th. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
You’ll be pleased to hear that I had my photo taken on Thursday—just head and shoulders. I don’t know when we shall get the prints but of course I’ll send you one as soon as we do, assuming that we are allowed to send them home. I also received the games parcel this week, but I’m afraid one game had nearly all the pieces missing and the other about half missing! Still, thank you very much for sending them. Yesterday (this is Saturday morning) was my Birthday, and as you guessed, we had a bit of a “do”. Menu—prunes and custard, yorkshire pudd. with about ½ lb. of raspberry jam on it (!!) followed by a birthday cake made from biscuits from the Canadian food parcel, and raisins, and baked. It weighed about two or three pounds!! We decorated it with plain cream, chocolate cream, raspberry cream, (cream and jam mixed) and jam, and wrote “23” in the centre. Gosh, was it good! We also made another and similar cake, just in case this didn’t fill us up!! Bob and I had all this between us, and we gave several of our chums a slice of the birthday cake and we weren’t sick! I thought of you all day thinking of me and drinking my health, I drank yours in cocoa. Please thank Auntie Elsie for her letter of Oct. 8th. We have our first concert of the season this-afternoon. Lots of love from Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 43) Nov. 16th. [1942]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
I have done well for letters this week, five from you, nos. 69, 70, 73, 74 and 76, the last taking only 18 days!! I also had the Vicar’s letter dated Oct. 12th. Please thank him very much for me. The drawing classes stopped during the very hot weather, but they and other educational classes have just begun again. I have not joined as I am very busy “making things”. I have just started making another “blower”. It is really a fan, driven by two sets of belts from a handle, which forces air through a short tube and up through the bottom of the firegrate. With this machine we can burn embers, bark, rubbish of all sorts, and get the most out of the fuel. There are quite a few in the camp now, this is the third one I have made. They are fitted with proper bearings and everything. The one I am now making is “streamlined”!! Please thank Auntie Ethel for her chocolate contributions and give her my love. The 7/2 in the address is my section and hut nos, and should go after my name, where you usually put it. It is quite O.K. about lending the Math books, I often wish I had them here myself, as I sometimes do a bit on my own, or help one or two of the chaps who are taking the classes. Have not come across any other Toc H chaps yet. Well, I must close now, so cheerio and “ chin up”! Lot of love, Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 49) Dec. 28th., 1942.

My Dear Mother and Dad,
It is three o’clock Boxing Day, and I’ve just come back from a jolly good concert given by the concert party and band. It was the best show yet put on in this camp, and that’s saying something!! We have had a marvellous time here this Xmas, you maybe sure of that. Bob and I, and most of the other chaps, too didn’t touch our Xmas parcels till yesterday, so we had “big eats” all day, and to-day as well. We had tea first thing, instead of coffee. Bob and I went to Holy Communion at 7 o’clock, there were about 100 there and more at 8. With our mid-morning brew we had chocolate biscuits, and for dinner we had steak and macaroni (1 lb. tin) and Christmas pudding (1 lb.) with condensed milk on it! We also had issued two oranges each. Also in the parcel we had a tin of fancy sweets, a Christmas cake which we had for supper, ¼ lb. of chocolate, marmalade, butter, sugar, cheese and a steak and tomato pudding, which we had for dinner to-day. In the morning we baked a cake with biscuits and raisins from our last Canadian parcel and dried figs from the canteen, and we’re having that to-night with “icing” on! Last night we had a sing-song in the hut. Just before Christmas Bob received his September next-of-kin, so we have had plenty of chocolate!! I have been thinking a lot about you at home, and hope and pray we’ll be together next year. Will continue next week. Lots of love, Denis xxxxxxx

(No. 59) 12th. March, 1943.
[This letter was written in Italian Camp 53–Sforzacosta; Denis and Bob were transferred from Camp 59 to Camp 53 on January 24, 1943.]

My Dear Mother and Dad,
Here we are again, and three letters from you this week, No. 97, 2 and 9 (new series), the last only taking three weeks. December next-of-kins have started coming in, so Bob and I are expecting ours any time. 6 lbs. of chocolate!!! Keep it up! Bob is expecting about 5 lb or so in his, so it will be “big eats” when they do come. We always share everything we get, cigarettes, chocolate, books, etc.—he’s a good chum. He hasn’t had any books yet, but he has some on the way. He is a big reader and likes Farnol too, so he and I have plenty to read now. I’ve just finished reading “The Broad Highway—and a jolly good book too, and I’m just starting “Jack o’ the Green”. A short time ago I borrowed “The Good Companions” off a chap, and thoroughly enjoyed it, although I’ve read it before. When my Savings reaches the 500 I think the best thing to do will be to put the money in the bank, don’t you? Thank you very much for the Xmas present. Did you get my letter asking you to buy an electric clock “from me to you” for Xmas? Then you’ll never fear losing your train Dad. Also thank you for sending me some more tobacco, and the chaps in your section for sending some cigarettes. I was sorry to hear about Uncle Will. By the way, Bob comes from Lincoln. He is 24 and a bricklayer by trade. This week’s food parcel was American—our first one—18 oz. of butter, 18 oz. of honey, 14 oz. of marmalade, bullie, M.&V, steak, Irish Stew, Cream Cracker biscuits and sugar!! Must close now. Lots of love from Denis xxxxxxx.

Note: “Bullie” is corned beef; M&V is likely canned “meat & veg.”

(No. 65). April 23rd, 1943.

My Dear Mother and Dad,
In three days it will be your Birthday, Mother, and I shall be thinking of you especially on that day, hoping and praying that next April 24th. We shall be together again. By the way, these letters are always dated two days in advance, when they leave the camp, so to-day is the 21st. Being a Wednesday, Bob and I have just drawn our food parcel, which are issued out every Wednesday and Saturday to this compound. They are more standardized now, and very good. For dinner we had a 15 oz. tin of herrings in tomato sauce!! Bob has asked me to thank you for the chocolate. I usually ask him to do the same when his parcels arrive, as we always share everything. I hope you receive your Birthday card safely, and also the Vatican Easter telegram which we sent off three days ago. This week I had your letter no. 18. Three of the chaps I have met are Bill Nunn of Hamlet Court Road, Sid Ward of Hadleigh and Henry Whitwell of Westcliff. Do you know their people at the Guild? I did not bring my oven but I left my “blower” and have just finished making a new one. The cookhouse do cakes for us if we want them done, on their embers. My pipe is still going well, I’m glad to hear you’ve sent off some more tobacco, thanking you! Have you managed to get the photography books yet? Well, cheerio for now and keep smiling! All my love, Denis xxxxxxx.

(No. 68) May 13th, 1943.
My Dear Mother and Dad,
I had some bad news this week, Bob has been detailed with quite a lot of others to go to another camp, so it seems we are to be split up after being together since Jan. 18th. 1942. So far I have not been included amongst those going away. He will be going probably in a day or two; some went this-morning. Of course we don’t know where they are going. I have given Bob two of my books, “Winds of Fortune” and “David Copperfield” as momentos, and he hasn’t any books of his own. I knew you wouldn’t mind and he is very fond of reading. In the Dickens book I put “To Bob, a good companion and the best of chums. From your “mucker”, Denis. Jan. 1942, P.G. 59–May 1943, P.G. 53”. I’m afraid we shall miss each other quite a lot. This week I received 200 Players, presumably from Messrs. Smith and Swift. There was no name on the card. Anyway, I am writing them the card this week to thank them. I also had your letters nos. 23 and 24, and was very sorry to hear about poor Grandma, but perhaps it was a happy release, as you say. Have you heard anything of Raymond yet? No, I don’t know anybody called Coad, there is a Douglas Cooper here from Southend, and also Bill Nunn and Sid Ward, as I mentioned in one of my earlier letters. Well, I must close now. Roll-on tomorrow! (parcel day—one Canadian food parcel!!) Lots of love from Denis xxxxxxx.

Final note:

Denis returned home at the end of the war. Robert escaped and from captivity and was sheltered by an Italian family; he eventually joined the Italian Partisan resistance and in March 1945 was killed in action.

An entry about Letters of Compassion on Wikipedia has this to say about the effort:

“During World War II, short messages from prisoners of war were often read by studio announcers at stations in Germany, Japan, and other Axis powers countries. A number of shortwave listeners copied the prisoner names and addresses and notified families by mail or telephone, and the practice became known as ‘Prisoner of War relay’ or ‘POW monitoring’. Although the Allied government provided similar services, the families usually heard from shortwave listeners first, sometimes as many as 100 at a time.

“Many wartime listeners were ordinary citizens who discovered they were able access the shortwave bands; a feature included on many premium consumer radios of the era. Times and radio frequencies of the news from Rome, Berlin and Tokyo were published daily on the radio page of The New York Times. Others were dedicated shortwave listeners or DXers who maintained an ongoing interest in long-distance radio listening as a hobby. Still others were licensed amateur radio operators who were, as a group, banned from transmitting due to wartime restrictions, but often kept their listening gear in operation.”

In May 1943, Sergeant Albert Rosenblum’s family received a host of these cards from shortwave listeners around the U.S. The writers reported they had heard Albert’s name and his home address broadcast from Rome.

In addition to the news conveyed, concern and encouragement these strangers expressed must have been a great comfort to the Rosenblums.

For Albert Rosenblum’s full story, read the following post:
A Family in Service.

Helen Barrett
317 Burnet Park Dr.
Syracuse, N.Y. [New York]

Mr. Horace Rosenblum
Route 1
Box 48
Swan Lake, N.Y.

May 8, 1943

Dear Mr. Rosenblum,

Last evening I was listening to my short-wave radio and tuned in on a news broadcast from a station in Italy. The news was in English, and among other information, were the names, addresses, etc. of American soldiers who are “Italian prisoners”. Your son’s name was among those given:

Albert Rosenblum
#6701591

Perhaps you already have this information, but as a fellow American with a young brother in the war I feel it is my duty, really, to send this news on to you.

Hoping you will be hearing good news of your son very soon, I remain—

Sincerely yours,
(Miss) Helen Barrett

Box Holder
R. 1, Box 48
Swan Lake, N. York

May 6, 1943
10:45 p.m.

Dear Folks:

Tonight at 10:45 the Italian Radio listed as a prisoner somebody from your box number. I found it impossible to understand the name, but I trust my card will relieve your worries if one of your loved ones has been reported missing.

Please let me know if you hear from others and when you first heard of the broadcast.

With best wishes for his safe return, I remain,
Sincerely yours

Curtis Taylor
102 Grove Place, N. York

5115 Izard Street
Omaha, Nebr. [Nebraska]

Mr. Harry Rosenblum
Route 1 Box 48
Schroon Lake
New York

(The name Shroon Lake is crossed out and above the address is written “Try Swan Lake N.Y.” In fact a town called Shroon Lake does exist, for the front of the card bears its postmark.)

Dear Sir—

Thursday May 6th at 7:45 P.M. central war time, the Italian short wave radio, read the name of Albert Rosenblum service #6701591 as a prisoner of war in Italian hands. I am not sure I caught the first name correctly. Your name, the route number, the box number, and the service number came through clearly. The name of the town was not clear, it sounded more like Swan Lake but I find no such town listed in N.Y.

I hope this card reaches you as my experience had been that these announcements are authentic. If you receive this I would be interested in knowing whether you get any other reports and particularly whether you receive verification from the War Department.

John F. Fike

From I. S. B.
Franconia
N. H. [New Hampshire]
Box 12

From Robert Rosenblum
Father Harry Rosenblum
Route 1 Box 48
Shrone Lake
New York
Swan Lake, N. Y.

(A note on the address side of the postcard reads: “Evidently from broadcasts + reply letters to similar cards men are not hearing from home and are getting anxious”)

May 6—7.45 P.M EST. [Eastern Standard Time]

Rome Italy has just broadcast name + address on this card (near as writer could hear it) requesting listeners in U.S.A. to relay by mail the information to you that your son is now. As now a “Prisoner of War in Italian hands, Italy” This that u may know where he is and where to address his mail

Writer would like to know if u receive this letter O.K, and if the Red Cross refuses to take mail to him unless + until sender has been officially notified by war department.

S. Edison
14 W. 10 St.
N.Y.C. [New York City]

May 6, 1943
14 West 10th St.
N.Y.C.

To whom it may concern,

You have, no doubt, been informed of the fact that Albert Rosenblum is interned in Italy. This evening his name was announced by Rome radio as one of the American prisoner, and your address was given; so just on the chance that you hadn’t yet heard, I decided to write this note.

Sincerely,
Sidney Edison

F. Memory
509 S. Front St
Wilmington, N.C. [North Carolina]

Mr. Harry Rosenbloom
Rte 1 Box 48
Swan Lake, N.Y

Wilmington, N.C.
May 6, 1943

Dear Sir—

In listen to Short Wave Italian Radio Station I heard your Sons name called—Albert Rosenbloom along with your address—They announced your Son as prisoner of war in Italy.

I thought I should write you the above Information though you probably have been notified. My regrets.

Sincerely
FRANK MEMORY

153 Suppes Ave.
Johnstown, Pa. [Pennsylvania]

Mr. Harris Rosenbloom
Route 1, Box 1
Swanlake, N.Y.

May 6, 1943

Dear Sir,

Tonight over the enemy radio, I picked up a broadcast informing any American listeners of Americans who are prisoners of war in Italy. Your son, Sergeant Alfred Rosenbloom, was one. Since the announcer talked extremely fast, I was unable to get the serial number. If I can be of any further service to you, just drop me a line. Until then, I remain your faithful servant,

Paul Kay

Newark, N.J. [New Jersey]
May 6, 1943

Dear Mr. Rosenblum:

I heard over a shortwave broadcast that your son Sgt. Rosenblum is a war prisoner in Italian hands.

Respectfully
Mrs. J. Alvarez

William Hall is pictured here, second from the right, with service buddies. The photo was probably taken after his return from overseas (as he seems to be wearing corporal’s stripes). It have been taken at Ft. Benning, Georgia.

The following report on ex-POW William Hall’s camp experience is from a Canandaigua-area (New York) newspaper—probably The Democrat and Chronicle (Rochester, New York) as it is referred to in the article, circa August 1944.

Canandaiguan Visits Home After Nazi
Prison Escape

Canandaigua [New York]—“If it hadn’t been for the Red Cross food parcels none of us would have lived.”

Thus Pfc. William Hall sums up his nine months’ experience in Axis prison camps in almost the same words used by First Sgt. Earl W. Huddleston, Montgomery, W. Va., in the dramatic story of his escape from Camp 59, Italy, in the July and August issues of Cosmopolitan.

But while the West Virginian, apparently with the approval of public relations officers of the War Department details his capture, imprisonment and fight for freedom, the 28-year-old Canandaiguan, back home after two sensational escapes, had little to tell yesterday of his experiences.

“Huddleston tells it better than I could even if I were allowed to say anything,” he commented. This was the first intimation, which he later confirmed, that he was one of the same group of Americans captured by Germans in Tunisia in December, 1942, of which Huddleston gives such a graphic description in the two-part Cosmopolitan entitled “He Lived Through Hell.”

Others Unlucky

But where Huddleston apparently was successful in his first escape try, Hall and Ralph E. Hoag Jr., another Canandaigua member of the same company, were not so lucky.

So far as is known, Hoag is still confined to a German prison camp near Berlin but Hall (when or how he will not say) made his second attempt at freedom, this time successfully and just two years to the day and hour he left American shores for overseas on Aug. 2, 1942, he arrived back in the United States at the same port.

He is now spending a 21-day furlough here with his father, John Hall, 63 Chapin St., and his mother, Mrs. Ezra Deuel, Granger Street.

Hall admitted yesterday he had been dodging a Democrat and Chronicle reporter for several days, knowing he would be asked a lot of questions he couldn’t answer.

“I suppose you were cautioned not to say anything,” queried the reporter when Hall was finally cornered.

Secrecy Ordered

“Cautioned nothing. I was told,” he answered significantly.

With young Hoag (and by inference Sergeant Huddleston also) Hall was captured on Dec. 23, 1942. During the next 18½ months Hall spent nine in prison camps and 9¼ months behind enemy lines trying to contact American forces.

“Not even the thrill of getting back on U.S. soil could match the feeling I had when I finally reached the American lines,” he said. “It was worse behind the lines trying to keep alive than it ever was in the front lines of the fighting,” he declared.

Hall said he had many narrow escapes from being recaptured. He had a disguise through which his father couldn’t have penetrated, he said. Most of the time he traveled alone. But apparently he got plenty to eat because he regained all of the 40 pounds he lost during his first 26 days of imprisonment. Two bouts of flu with little medical attention while he was still in prison as well as the lack of food until the Red Cross came to the rescue, accounted for his loss of weight, he said.

Praises Red Cross

“But the Red Cross really is on the job over there. If it hadn’t been for their food parcels none of the American or British prisoners could live through it. Besides food they brought us books and cigarets, helped us make contact with our relatives back here and gave us a chance for study,” he said.

Asked what he had studied during his imprisonment Hall grimly replied:

“I spent most of my time studying how to escape.”

Hall has been in the Army nearly four years. He enlisted on Dec. 18, 1940, and spent most of the next two years in training camps here. What he is to do after his home furlough he does not know, but if it is to be back on the fighting front he hopes it will be with his old outfit, the First Division.

“They are always there where something is doing,” he commented. He has no desire to be sent to the Pacific War Zone unless the First goes there too.

William Albert Hall

American Private First Class William A. Hall was reported returned to safety after capture, imprisonment, and escape in the following Canandaigua-area (New York) newspaper article circa late-June 1944.

This and other articles and photos concerning William Hall were provided by his daughter Nancy Elizabeth Suyak (Hall) of Jack, Alabama.

Canandaiguan Escapes Second Time from Axis Captors, Rejoins Unit

One of the first Canandaiguans to be taken prisoner of war, who escaped from the Italians and was recaptured by the Germans, is again at liberty and has rejoined his unit in the European Theater of Operations, according to word received by his father, John W. Hall, of this city.

He is Pfc. William H. Hall [sic—William’s middle name is Albert], a member of Co. A 18th Infantry, who enlisted in the Army in December, 1940, and went overseas in August, 1942. He saw service in England, Scotland, and North Africa, where he is believed to have been captured by the Germans in the Allied drive on Tunisia in December, 1942.

Gets Letter Today

Since Saturday, three messages have been received by Mr. Hall, one in his son’s handwriting, which arrived today and two telegrams, one from Pvt. Hall and the other from the War Department.

First came the telegram from Pvt. Hall from Sancorigine via Mackay Radio, which was dated June 30, his birthday, and said: “Please don’t worry. You are more than ever in my thoughts at this time. I wish we were together on this special occasion. All my best wishes for a speedy reunion.”

On Monday, the War Department notified Mr. Hall as follows:

“Am pleased to inform you your son, Pfc. William H. Hall, returned to duty 18th June 1944. Undoubtedly he will communicate with you at an early date concerning his welfare and whereabouts. It was signed by Adjt. General Ulio.

Says He’s Happy

An air mail letter arrived today, which was apparently dated in the June 20’s, as the postmark was blurred. The text of the letter read:

“I am just dropping you a few lines to let you know I am very good at the present. Will be coming back in a few weeks, I hope! I am too happy at the present to write much and I can’t say much: so don’t worry any more.”

Pvt. Hall was reported imprisoned from Dec. 24, 1942 to September 1943, when he escaped with about 250 other Italian-held prisoners and was recaptured by the Germans, later escaping. At the same time Cpl. Ralph E. Hoag, of this city, and a Manchester soldier, named Rubens, escaped from the Italians, Hoag being recaptured by the Germans and Rubens getting back to his own lines and later visiting at his home. According to Mr. Hall, his son spent two nights with Rubens before he (Hall) was recaptured.

This news clipping is from a Canandaigua-area (New York) newspaper, circa late December 1942 or January 1943.

Ralph Hoag Prisoner of the Italians;
William Hall, Missing in Action

Two Canandaigua boys today are reported victims of war, one a prisoner, the other missing in action.

Ralph Hoag, Jr., son of Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Hoag, in a telegram received by Mr. Hoag, manager of Loblaw’s, was said to be a prisoner of war of the Italian government, but his whereabouts was not given and there were no details of when he was captured.

William Hall, 25, son of John Hall, South Main street, was also reported by telegram as being missing in action Dec. 24, but no details were received.

Hall, 25, who enlisted in the army about two years ago, had been serving in North Africa, according to letters received from him. He was in the same company with Hoag.

Hoag wrote his parents recently, giving an interesting account of his experiences in North Africa, together with details of his training and living conditions.

Another county resident, Capt. Martin J. Lawler, Jr., son of Mr. and Mrs. Martin J. Lawler, 24 Lyceum street, Geneva, was also reported to have been taken prisoner by the Italians. According to word received he was being detained “somewhere in Italy”. He was captured Nov. 29 by the Germans in Tunisia, according to the communication.

The photo of Ralph Hoag (left) was taken when he was interned at Stalag IVB, after escape from Camp 59 and recapture by the Germans. William Hall (right).

This letter explains his justification for receiving the Star. As the text is written longhand in a single block, I’ve taken the liberty of dividing it into paragraphs for ease of reading.

I asked Linda if, in response to the letter, her father had received the campaign medal.

“Yes, Dad did get the Italian Star,” She replied. “We have had all of his medals set into a special jarrah (Western Australian hardwood) frame and his grandson has inherited them.”

7 May 1954
R J McMahon
Yalbra Stn
C/O Glenburgh
Via Mullewa
WA

Dear Sir,

I received my Army medals and I thank you for same. In the box with the medals you forwarded a document with the different medals written on it and on the bottom of one side under the heading of time spent as a prisoner of war, it says, that an escapee or evader who took part in operations against the enemy is considered for the award of the Campaign Star.

Well, sir, from the time I got away from a prison camp in southern Italy in September 1943—the camp, by the way, was PG 59–PM 3300 at Servigliano—I spent nine (9) months behind the lines taking an active part in operations against the enemy. As there were none of my own officers with me I cannot get one to verify any of my statements.

I was up in the Apennine Mountains and my comrades were a Scotch man, I have forgotten his name entirely, and an Italian Lieutenant, his name was Lucio, his surname I have forgotten. But I do know that every operation carried out was recorded by him, Lucio, on a typewriter and where ever those documents are I don’t know. I do know that my name appeared on them. There was one other Italian with us and quite a number of Yugoslavs. We had guns and ammunition and explosives dropped by our own planes in the mountains. I myself carried a Sten gun and also my Scotch friend. The only thing I have of my scotch friend is a photograph of his sister that he gave me.

When we finally got relieved it was at a place called Petriola by a Polish Batt and they took us to their unit headquarters and put us in the clink with the other prisoners of war and they classed us as German spies and between you and me we had to talk. They were not convinced with my pay book as it was only a duplicate therefore it had no photo of myself in it. The Poles were convinced later by a British Intelligence Officer that we were genuine and so we were taken to a camp in Naples on the first step on our way home.

Well, Sir, that is my story. I have not told you of any of the patrols I went on, all carried out at night such as blowing up bridges and railway lines and embankments. It was nothing to walk up to 45 kilometres in one night and be back in the mountains by morning. I had some very narrow escapes behind the lines and I never want to go through it again. The Scotch man and I and the Lieutenant Lucio were caught in an open field on one occasion when we ventured out in the daytime.

By the way, there is a lot more to this operation than I am writing about and it would fill a lot more pages and I haven’t got the paper to write on. We were riding donkeys and we got caught in a machine gun barrage. The Scotch man’s donkey was shot dead from under him. So myself and the Italian decided to get off and run as we thought we could make better time than the donks. Boy, and when we were running the bullets really came at us. I don’t think John Landy would have been in the race with us. However we got through OK.

Well, Sir, there it is. I have no officer to verify this as there were no British or Australian Officers with us.

Yours Faithfully,

Pte RJ McMahon 2/28 Batt
WX4445

What follows is the second installment of R. J. McMahon’s autobiography, 1939–44. This post covers his experience in prison at Servigliano, escape, his involvement with the Partisans, and his eventual return to Australia.

Inside the prison walls were about 14 huts and each hut contained 50 prisoners. These huts were the most unstable constructions around and would shake with the slightest movement. When we were in bed they would shake us to sleep. The beds were two-tier bunks made with wooden slats about 6” apart. The mattresses we were issued with were a good kapok style, which were fairly comfortable and [we were issued] plenty of blankets. Having sheets on the bed was a big surprise, as we never had sheets in our own army. The last sheets we had enjoyed were prior to leaving Australia. At the end of the first week we had them taken off us and sent away to be cleaned, and we were issued with another set. Our sheet issue ran out at the end of the second week, when we mustered at the collection point waiting for another lot. The Italian in charge informed us there would be no more sheets as they had found out that the Australians did not give their prisoners sheets so they wouldn’t give them to us.

Six mates and I stayed in this prison camp for 12 months before succeeding in finding a way to get out. We tried digging our way out, emptying the soil down the sewage system and flushing it away. It was only sand and you had to take a chance on whether it fell in or not. There were a few blokes who did escape through a tunnel, but they were caught shortly after and brought back.

After that the guards were more vigilant and carried out daily searches for any more tunnels. Each morning all the beds would have to be carried out of the huts and if your hut had a wooden floor then it came out as well. After they had searched the area and were satisfied that there were no more holes you would put everything back in again.

In the huts like mine that had cement slabs for floors, we only had to remove the beds. The slabs were then checked with an iron bar tapped against them, making sure there were no hollow sounds. The Italian sergeant who always supervised the search of our hut stood in the same position each day, so we decided to dig under that one. We’d take it up and dig down about six feet, and then turn toward the outer wall, which was about twenty feet away. We would finish digging by three o’clock in the morning and be nicely tucked up in bed when they came to call us. After morning parade, where we were given a mug of coffee and a piece of bread, we would start taking our bunks out for tunnel inspection. We had been working on our tunnel for about a week when one morning, during inspection, the tunnel slab and the Italian sergeant fell down the hole, nearly breaking his neck. After he was pulled out he was going to have us all shot. Instead they brought in cement and made us fill the hole in, so we had to find another way out.

I suggested to my mates, one Scot and five other Aussies, that instead of digging our way out we should try going over the top. We nutted this plan out and thought there would be enough time while the guards, patrolling the wall, were having their halfway talk and smoke, giving us about five minutes.

[According to Linda Veness, the Scot was Tom “Jock” Kelley, and aside from her father there were only four Australians who made this break: Tom Alman from (from Kalgoorlie) Jack Allen (Kalgoorlie), Les Worthington (Wiluna) and J. Feehan (Geraldton). All five Australians were from Western Australia.]

It was just a matter of climbing to the top of the wall using a ladder and diving over, doing a tumble to break the fall. We had done it before on our training days at Northam, only then we knew what was on the other side. We were hoping it was only sand, the same as it was on the inside, and lucky for us it was. The only remaining problem was the construction of the ladder, a simple matter of nailing our slatted beds together. The trouble was we had no nails and had to get somebody to bring them in for us.

The only possibility was the visiting Catholic priest that came in for Sunday mass, but who would ask him? I volunteered, as I knew the Latin mass and so could become one of his alter boys. I approached the boss of the camp and received permission for the Scot and myself to be alter boys. After getting to know the priest we had the delicate task of persuading him to bring in the nails. First up he said no, but we persisted and then he said he would try. The following Sunday he gave us half a dozen nails. We explained to him that while wearing his vestments the guards won’t dare search him, and they didn’t. The Sunday following that, he came in with a small hammer and two-dozen nails.

On a Sunday night in October 1943, we built the ladder and made our escape around 1 a.m. Things did not go quite to plan, as only four of us were over the top before we were spotted. I was the tail-end Charlie, and by the time I got over the wall there were machine gun bullets flying everywhere. I was not worried about being hit, as I had come up against the Italians in Tobruk and they couldn’t hit a barn wall even if they were inside.

[As the mass exodus from Camp 59 occurred on September 14, 1943, it makes sense this breakout would have occurred on or before September 14 rather than in October. Indeed, in another document, a letter written in 1954, R.J. McMahon said that the escape over the wall occurred on a September night. As September 14th was a Tuesday, a Sunday breakout would have occurred on September 5 or 12.]

When I joined the others, who were waiting in a creek bed 100 yards from the wall, we headed up stream into the bush for a mile or so. Once the sound of shooting and the sirens had died down we had some sleep, knowing there would be no search party until daylight. In the morning we decided to split up and, after a feast of grapes from an orchard we had camped beside, parted company. The Scot and I paired up and decided to make for the mountains, knowing all we had to do to get there was follow the creek. While we were walking along we saw some women doing their washing. They noticed us and the Italian uniforms we wore, and must have thought we were their soldiers.

As soon as I tried to tell them I was an Australian, they dropped everything and ran like crazy back to their village. We followed as fast as we could, but found it deserted. The local population had been told of the prison camp and its Australian prisoner and had been frightened of us. So with no opposition from the villagers, we helped ourselves to food and clothes, leaving them our old ones.

We finally made the mountains and settled down with a band of Partisans. They had been up there for some time and were well-settled with supplies and a radio. My luck was in, as none of them knew anything about explosives and being an old hand with thing that go bang, I took over the job.

We were blowing up bridges and railway lines that Allied HQ wanted destroyed, and harassing the enemy whenever the chance arose. All our supplies were dropped to us by the RAF about every second night. Their first supply run included new radios, so we could talk directly with the supply planes. Other drops were of food, arms, ammunition, explosives, and instructions of targets they wanted taken out. Eventually we had everything needed to be a real hindrance to the Axis forces. Toward the end we were out every night on jobs. We would walk and creep to the target, blow it up, and then run hell for leather all the way back home with the Germans after us.

Machine guns were dropped to us by the hundreds, and the bullets by the thousands. The guns themselves were cheap, nasty little things, which you could pull to pieces in a couple of minutes using only your hands. They would break down into three parts, making it easy to carry around in a small suitcase.

After we had been successful on a raid, there would be a note in with our evening supplies saying, “Well done, lads, there is nothing left.” Every different thing they dropped to us was attached to a different-coloured parachute, made out of pure silk. These we would round up and give to the villages around our area. I always kept some for special people I knew.

During my time with the Partisans, I learned to speak Italian as well as the natives themselves. When I had learnt the language, I went back to the village we had first come across. They said they were told that the Australian prisoners were cannibals who would kill the women and eat the children. I explained it was all propaganda and handled them a half a million lira, telling them to share it. The money had been gained from our escapades with the guerillas.

At one stage, while fighting with the guerillas, my Scottish friend and I wanted a rest and decided to go and see Rita Tardella (my Italian girlfriend) and family. They lived in a village not far from where our camp was. We told our boss where we were going and he gave us a week off, telling us that when we got back, if there was no-one there, he would leave a note telling of their whereabouts.

One day during our walkabout we were helping with the seeding when we spotted a German patrol. They were searching the farms for escaped prisoners. Jock and I headed for the barn while Mama and her daughters headed off the Germans by asking if they wanted a cup of tea or coffee, which her daughters made for them. While they kept them busy, Mama tucked us away in the barn where we usually slept.

The barn was where all their animals were locked up at night. It was located directly under the living quarters of the house and this acted as central heating. Each night we would sneak in there, where Mama would have a clean spot for us to lie down on. Once we were settled, clean hay was put over us and a fresh straw put in our mouth to act as a snorkel. When Mama left everything looked normal as cow shit was spread over the top and more hay put down for the cows to sleep on. The Germans never found us.

Before we returned to the hills, we would do our bit for public relations by sharing a quarter-million lira between the local farmers. This is not as much as it sounds, because the lira was worthless.

As we could not head back to our mountain home until it was really dark and we were sure no one was watching us, we stopped at the little half-way shop on the Alpine Highway and played card or wrestled. The journey took two hours and after a good sleep we were ready to continue the fight.

A month after our holiday, we heard that the British 8th Army had landed at Pescara and they had forged a line into the town of Cheiti, which was at the foot of the Appenines on the Adriatic side. The Americans had landed at Anzio on the Mediterranean side and the plan was for them to fight their way toward each other and meet in the middle. Alas, the Americans got tied down in the first ten miles and couldn’t move.

The British were willing and able to advance, but politics got in the way, forcing them to stay put until the Americans got going again. The Americans were held up there by Germans bunkered into the San Benardicto [Benedetto] Monastery. They didn’t bomb the place for fear of breaking it up, and they had no intentions of going in and flushing the Germans out by hand-to-hand combat. So the British sent over a mixed battalion of Poles and New Zealanders to show they how it should be done, [and this] they did with no trouble at all. The Germans fled and the Americans carried on moving up their side of Italy.

After about eight months with the Partisans, toward the latter part of June, we made up our minds to head for the Allied forces. We estimated the distance to be about 80 to 100 kilometers, and by taking the safest and shortest possible route figured we should meet up with our troops within the week. We had been down that way before to blow up one of the bridges, so we drew up a mud map of the area and set off.

We had travelled about 60 kilometers before deciding to venture into the next village we came to, to restock our supplies. We had no problems with the people. They fed us and invited us to stay the night, saying it was too late to travel. After breakfast next morning we got ready to set off again. Our feet were sore from all the walking over mountains, as the soles of our boots had worn down to paper thin, letting everything stick into our feet. The village people went and found about a dozen pair of boots, from which we picked out a pair each—the oldest we could find—and gave them 100 lira each. They did not want the money, so we gave it to the children on the way out.

We left that village as quickly as we could and set off in the same southeasterly direction. We had been walking under cover, but after 20 kilometers we decided to take a chance and walk in the open. Four kilometers later we spotted a patrol coming towards us. They were Polish and, not recognizing us, confiscated all our gear. This included Sten guns, hand grenades, and also a couple of Italian Beretta handguns. They decided to take us prisoner and marched us off to headquarters. An officer had to be found that could speak good English so they could ascertain who we were and where we had come from.

The Polish officer had us searched, and out of one of my pockets came the silliest thing, my duplicate pay book. The original book had been stolen by some Arabs in Palestine. They had got into the camp one night, past the guards, slit open the tents as we slept, and took everything they could lay their hands on. The original was a brown colour and the duplicate green. The Poles were determined that we were spies and decided to shoot us in the morning.

As we were outnumbered and had no chance of escape, we tried one last bluff and requested to see a British intelligence officer. The interrogator agreed to our request. In the lockup that night they gave us a very good supper. The next morning, after a filling breakfast, they took us along to the British officer and he gave us a terrible roasting. Finally he said that he believed us and that he had known who we were right from the start. He had cabled London Headquarters with our names the hour we were brought into camp and received the answer earlier that morning.

The people in London had all guerilla fighters from Ancona to Marcerato named and numbered on file. He sent for the Polish officer and told him we were not only genuine but folk heroes, and asked him to return all our possessions.

They did better than that, issuing us with full uniforms and kit, which made us look more like soldiers than we were. They let us keep the revolvers and Sten guns. The only thing they did not do was officially put our names down as belonging to their army.

As we were not part of the British 8th Army, we were quite happy to be accepted by the Polish. It didn’t really matter to us, so long as we were treated as soldiers and fed. Their food was pretty good.

We stayed with them during their push up the coast, which saw little action as the Germans had gone. During the advance more and more POWs cum Partisans joined in with us, and by the time the top of Italy was reached we numbered 150. It was then they decided something definite had to be done with us and we were sent by train back down the Mediterranean side to Naples.

The fifteen Australian POWs were separated out from the rest and told by one of our colonels too keep to ourselves. A couple of days later all ex-POWs were put aboard a transport plane and flown to Cairo. Here we were put in a New Zealand camp and the ones that did not have a uniform were issued a full kit and separated into different nationalities. The Australians were told we would be homeward bound around the 6 August. The Kiwis then issued us with a 10-pound pay cheque, the first I’d received since capture.

Trucks took us to Port Suez, and from there [we were taken] to Bombay aboard a Dutch ship. This we really enjoyed, as we were treated like real VIP’s, even eating our meals at the captain’s table. At Bombay, we left the Dutch ship and boarded a British ship bound for Australia.

The troops aboard this ship included English, Poles, and New Zealand soldiers. Separate from this rabble was the Australian Air Force. The airmen were not liked, as they thought themselves better than the rest. This was encouraged by the High Command, who treated them like royalty—whenever and wherever they had meals proper china would be used. They were even waited on by the girls in blue.

[Those of us in] the army in comparison were given a rusty old tin mug and dixie (First World War relics), and the same with our cutlery. We had to scrub them out with sand till they looked respectable. The excuse High Command gave for favoring the airmen was that whenever they went out on a bombing raid they did not know if they were going to make it back again…. Big Deal, what about us?

We were aboard this ship for a fortnight before it set sail. Each day we were allowed to leave. Along with the pay that the Kiwis had given us, I received 80 pounds for the 2 million Italian lira I had brought with me. I had also sold both my Beretta pistols to a couple of our American GI’s for $80.00 each. With this money I purchased cotton, silk, and cigarettes, as I had heard that they were in short supply back home.

After spending all our money, we dropped in on the English colonel, who was in charge of all fighting personnel on board. And after telling him a little “story,” he went to the Australian consul and was able to obtain for us 200 rupees each. It was the last day in port and nobody was allowed off the ship, but the colonel told us that seeing we had no money to go off with until then, he would allow us to go and shop, much to the displeasure of the other troops.

We left Bombay the following morning with the escort. To pass the time during the long voyage home we played two-up on the top deck. One of my mates and I had a good run of throwing heads, fifteen in all. We started with ten pounds and would have walked away with 30,000, but we tossed once too many and lost.

Shortly after our voyage started, the orderly officer tried to put us on fatigue duty, but we all stood up as one and said “NO.” The officer stormed out. We thought we’d had a win, but he returned with the colonel and the captain of the ship. The colonel tried to put us under close arrest, but the captain threw his lot in with us and said there was to be no close arrest aboard his ship unless there was a mutiny. The colonel reluctantly agreed, saying we would be dealt with by High Command when we arrived in Melbourne.

We called in at Singapore to take on fuel and stores. While there we went to the Raffles Hotel for a beer, but were told they only sold spirits and that was at one English pound per nip. Needless to say it was only the one drink before we returned to the duty-free beer on board.

We docked at Melbourne on the 14 September 1944 and, true to his word, the colonel marched us up in front of the general of the Melbourne Command. To the colonel’s dismay, though, it backfired and instead of us being clapped in irons, he had to face the wrath of the general instead for daring to treat ex-POWs with scorn.

The Red Cross were let on board to meet us. We were each taken by a Red Cross car to the governor’s residence, where we stayed a fortnight. During our stay with the governor, they were preparing the train to take the SA and WA soldiers home. [SA and WA being South Australia and Western Australia.]

Our stay was most enjoyable, as we were shown all over the countryside—the Dandenongs, Aspro King’s residence, and higher up in the hills to see the wildlife. We were very fortunate to see a pair of very shy lyre birds.

The Red Cross officials did not want us to go wandering around by ourselves for fear we would make for the nearest pub and blow their public image. Young and Jacksons (a well-known hotel) was not very far from the residency, and each night we used to sneak down there for a few quiet ales.

We left the Garden State aboard the Indian Pacific from Spencer Street Station. The Red Cross gave each of us a parcel containing toothbrush, toothpaste, a cake of soap, face washer, and also a box of chocolates. Our first stop was Adelaide, and again the Red Cross welcomed us by taking us up to Mt. Loftus for a picnic lunch. After lunch, the South Australian POWs left us and we headed back to the train. The next stop was Parkstown, just out of Kalgoolie, where we spent a cold, miserable night, as nobody knew we were stopping over. Even the pub was closed and the publican nowhere to be found.

Finally arrived at Perth railway station after a long, tiring journey. Once again the Red Cross were there with their cars and parcels. A few of our relatives were also assembled to meet us, and the Red Cross had informed them on what each one of us had gone through and gave practical advice on how to manage the “new” us.

Spent a week holidaying with my brother Frank before returning to Swanbourne Army Camp where I and the other POWs were issued with new uniforms (made to measure, would you believe), and also a pass to take us to anywhere in the state.

The first place I wanted to go was Wiluna to see my father, younger sister, and an old mate, Les Worthington. After an enjoyable stay at Wiluna, headed for Geraldton via Meekatharra, Tukenarra, and Reedys. Small stops were had at these places, and a large party was thrown in my honour at Reedys. Finally reached my destination and spent the last part of my leave with friends.

Back at Swanbourne, I awaited my discharge. They told me I was A1 when I joined up, but now I was classed B, which meant I would not be able to do any heavy work. On the advice of the doctor, I put in for a 10% pension, as I would then have a claim for it in the future.

Earlier this year, I heard from Linda Veness of Perth, Western Australia.

She wrote, “My father was a POW in Camp 59. He and four other Australians escaped together. My father was R. J. (Jim) McMahon WX4445, AIF [Australian Imperial Force]. His companions were Private Tom Alman from Kalgoorlie, Jack Allen from Kalgoorlie, Lance Corporal Les Worthington of Wiluna, and J. Feehan of Geraldton—all from Western Australia. There is an account of their escape in one of our newspapers.

“Also escaping with them was a Scot. He was a man named Tom Kelly (written on the back of a photograph) who was nicknamed “Jock”—how odd for a Scotsman! I have tried to figure out who he was, where he hailed from, and what happened to him, but with no luck.

“My father wrote an autobiography when he was about 70 years old—15 years before he died in 1999.

“I had grown up with stories about my Dad’s war experiences: never the grim bits, just tales of where he had been and the mates he had made along the way. When we lived in Geraldton, Western Australia, he would catch up every couple of years with all the chaps from the 2/28 Battalion when they had their reunions. It was a regular weekend, I can’t remember which month, but the weather was always pleasant. They had get-togethers for the adults and there was always a BBQ or picnic which their children could attend. I loved those days. The men were some of the ‘best blokes’ you could ever hope to meet. It seemed to be a part of my teenage years, waiting for that weekend.

“When I first read these pages it seemed to me that it was probably unnecessary for anyone, apart from Dad, to have been in the war! He was such a “jack of all trades” that he could turn his hand to anything. That would have been as a result of his years previous to his recruitment.

“My father and his siblings were, in effect, orphaned when Dad was only two years old. He was put into the Catholic system and remained there until he was 18 years old. He had the utmost respect for most all of the Clergy that crossed his path. He learned how to fend for himself, he learned to have a love of words, and he learned how to ‘just get on with things’. After the schools, he went mining in some fairly remote parts of Western Australia. Hot, dry, nothing sort of places. Be inventive when things go wrong, sort of places. Learn to cope, improvise. So when the recruiting Officers found their way out to the mining camps, most of the men ‘were about ready for a change—couldn’t be any worse than this bloody place!’

“And so, off they went.”

What follows is the first installment of R. J. McMahon’s autobiography, 1939–44. This post covers his service in North Africa, capture, and captivity up until arrival at Camp 59 in Servigliano.

The recruiting officers who came to Reedys signed me up and classified me at A1. I pulled out from the job I had and went down to Geraldton. My call up came on 13 July 1940, and I served on continuous service for a total period of one thousand five hundred and seventy nine days, of which included one hundred and seventy four days in Australia at Northam Army Camp in WA [Western Australia], about 60 miles from Perth.

After marching through Perth, we sailed from Fremantle on 3 January 1941, and our first stop was at Ceylon, now called Sri Lanka. We disembarked from the Aquitania and were put aboard smaller vessels to take us through the Red Sea, and then we sailed about halfway up the Suez Canal to a place called Kantara. From there we were taken up to Palestine on board a train with only cattle trucks for carriages. I’ll swear to this day that the wheels on one side were flat the way it bumped around. We got off the train and went by truck to where our camp at Derna was all ready for us, which included a decent meal. It was so boggy it must have been the most rain they had ever seen. We were all given a palliase and told to go and fill it up with straw—that was our mattress.

In Palestine we were put through plenty of physical exercise to get up back to tip top order for what was to come. In March 1941 we left Palestine and were trucked back to Tobruk. The sixth division of Australians plus numerous other troops went up there to chase the Italians out of the desert, but the Italians gave themselves up by the thousands. Those who did not surrender headed for Benghasi, where they could board ships to take them back to Italy.

The Germans, under General Rommel, were more heavily equipped than our troops. The English general in charge of the Allied forces had told our troops that they had stopped the Germans and as they had no desert vehicles they could not get past, leaving it quite safe for us to get to Tobruk. The English troops were outsmarted when Rommel bypassed them. Rommel’s troops were at a place called Bardia by the time we got to Tobruk for desert training, and they hemmed us in.

Rommel knew he had to take Tobruk before he could get to Cairo. We had about a 16-mile perimeter around Tobruk and it was well fortified with underground concrete bunkers that were situated a couple hundred yards apart. All the troops were allotted to different sections of this line, which ran from coast to coast.

Each platoon had to look after themselves, which included your own cooking. As this job was not popular and the batman was not a wonderful cook, I volunteered on the condition that I also did my other duties, such as guard duty and night patrol. I was in charge of collecting rations (tinned food) every day. There were always plenty of rations, so what we did not use we buried in case it was needed later. We never had bread because the Germans would smell the bread cooking and bomb the bakehouse every time.

The water cart would come around every day and bring a daily supply. We were supposed to get two pints of fresh water every day, but it was always the same—if you had 30 men, you would get about 50 pints instead of 60. The supply we got was for drinking, cooking, and washing, so you could not afford to waste a drop. In the meantime, we would be taken down for a swim and issued with soap to wash ourselves and our clothes to try and get the stench away. That started off well until the Germans found out what we were doing and would come over and drop a few bombs around. That idea did not last long as we were losing too many men, so they got into another idea of bringing around a 44-gallon drum of sea water every week and we were supposed to wash and shave with it.

I got the old brain working and decided to distil this salt water if I could find the necessary material to do so. When I had everything I needed, I set to and made it all up. I had a two-gallon tin to boil the water in, and seeing it had a top on it for filling, I had to put another hole in it for the steam to escape. All the concrete bunkers had been wired up for electricity, so there was plenty of conduit around the place. I attached that to the steam hole and then from there to a long ammunition tin about two feet long and kept that full of cold water. As soon as steam hit that it would turn into fresh water leaving all the salt back in my two-gallon tin. I had to clean the salt out of it about once a week. As we had no wood, I cut a four-gallon oil tin in half, filled it up with sand, and I had to get some old sump oil and kerosene. It burned consistently. I would top it up when the flame started to get low. Of course, I had to have the same sort of fire to do my cooking.

All the while I was in Tobruk, I decided to build an oven out of bricks and clay. I then asked my officer if he could get me some baker’s yeast and I would make some bread myself. All I needed was flour and yeast and a little salt, and sugar and it turned out quite good. I would make about half a dozen loaves once a week, which the men appreciated very much.

The colonel, doctor, and padre would come around about once a week to keep in touch with all the troops, which made them very popular. On one particular visit, the colonel wanted to know why our officer had no shaved considering the salt water was issued for that purpose. My officer called me out and asked me if I would like to take the colonel, doctor, and padre down to the concrete bunker and show them how I had converted salt water into fresh drinking water. I gave them a pannikan each to try and the doctor passed it fit for human consumption. The colonel was very interested as it was such a simple set up and he wanted to know where the idea had come from. I told him I had done the same thing in the Australian outback.

The Germans did make one successful attack, but they only got as far as about a half-mile bridge head into our lines. As there were many dead and wounded from that showdown, we had to call a truce so we could pick up our wounded and they could pick up their own. It went on for a couple of hours altogether. We buried our dead on the spot and properly marked where the graves were, with name and number of each member, so when the war was over they were all dug up again and placed in a proper cemetery, which is still attended to this day. It seemed all queer walking around talking to our enemy and the ones that smoked were swapping cigarettes with each other, and when it was all done we shook hands, went back to our lines, and the war continued.

It was very uncomfortable being cover in dust all the time, when it really blew you could not see your hand if you put it up in front of your face it was so thick, and the temperature would be about 50 degrees in the daytime. We used to take our clothes off and sit around in the nude. At night when you went on patrol you would have to have everything on you could find to try to keep warm. It would be so cold that it would be down to about zero. These change in temperature caused a lot of our boys to get pneumonia, including myself. I was put in the hospital in Tobruk for about a fortnight before they decided it was serious enough to shift me back to Alexandria to an English hospital, the Sixty-Fourth General. They looked after us very well indeed except that we never got enough to eat. The English Doctor in charge of the ward supplemented our diet with small bottles of stout, but this only increased our appetites, so we would sneak out at night down to Alexandria and buy ourselves a decent feed.

The Destroyers which brought us out of Tobruk were the ones that supplied all our needs. They would leave Alexandria before the moon came up and go hell for leather for Tobruk while we were hemmed in and each night different troops would have to go down an unload them. You would have to go like hell to get all our supplies off before the moon came up. What we could not get off in time was just thrown overboard as the ships were leaving the dock. This gear, and sometimes our mail, would have be recovered later. There was a permanent lot of troops especially there to do the fishing and they would soon have everything out. During my stay there were only two destroyers lost on that run from Alexandria—they sure did a sterling job.

When my mates and I left the hospital in Alexandria we were taken by train to Kantara, the same place we had originally landed. There was a big staging camp there and a hospital ward. The Allies made another push up the desert to force Rommel back and Tobruk was finally relieved. My own unit, the 2/28 Battalion, came back to Kantara. We joined up with them and went back to Palestine on the train with the flat-sided wheels.

We were stationed at a camp called “Kilo 89” until after Christmas 1941. In 1942 we were sent to a rest camp at Tripoli (Syria), not far from the Turkish border. For the six months we were there I continued the cooking. Roll call at 6 a.m., breakfast, then the rest of the day was on our own until 6 p.m., when we had to muster for roll call and tea. After tea we would congregate in the big recreation tent until 11 p.m., then lights out. It was so cold they had one of those pot-bellied fires in there to try to keep the tent warm. For our own tents we were issued with about a dozen blankets each.

Before the war the French had a tourist place up in the mountains, near our camp. It had a beautiful chalet with plenty of rooms for their guests to stay. It was hard for us to imagine that there would be snow on the mountains all year round, considering less than a hundred miles from there you would be in the dessert again. I have a few old photographs of different mates playing in the snow. Of course, the chalet was closed down during the war and not a drop to drink. There was not even a caretaker on the place.

After four months at the camp, they told us we could have a fortnight’s leave. Only one company at a time were allowed leave and you had to tell them were you would be so they could contact you if we had to leave Syria. The reason for our unexpected leave pass was because Prime Minister Curtin wanted all Australian troops back in Australia because of the Japanese threat to our country. Those who did get leave took it in Beirut. At that time Beirut was a lovely city to visit. Only the first company managed one week of their leave when they were called back, as we had to pack up and head off back to Palestine and Kantara, full steam ahead.

We were then taken to the opposite side of the canal where we boarded a decent train for Cairo. We had about a week there, then onto our trucks and back up the desert to El Alamein. That is where the colonial troops had to plug the gap to hold the Germans again. It appeared to me we always ended up at the front when the going got tough.

I had been the cook for about 10–12 month now and I wanted out. To do this I had to front the captain quartermaster. After hearing my request he tried to persuade me to remain as cook with a promotion to sergeant as he reckoned I was the best cook in the catering corps of the entire Army.

I went from the battalion cookhouse back to my old platoon in C Company. About a week after I got back, General Morehead, an Australian, summoned all the Battalion commanders to his tent. They decided that Ruin Ridge was the main hill that had to be taken in the forecoming offensive and my battalion was to be the spearhead.

The plan of attack was passed down the chain of command from the general—colonel—company commanders—section commanders and finally to the diggers. The orders that were handed down to us were, “Ruin Ridge is held by two German battalions of foot soldiers and a battalion of machine gunners. They are backed up by grenade launchers and artillery. The 2/28 battalion will cross the start line at midnight on the 27 July 1942 and go to take Ruin Ridge hopefully by 1 a.m. When this is accomplished the signalers will send a message will send a message back to headquarters to say you now hold Ruin Ridge. The battalion is to stay there. By 2 a.m. the rest of the unit will go in an link up in one continuous line, with the British troops on your left flank and the other Australians, New Zealanders, and Indians platoons on you right flank. At 4 a.m. the tanks will roll through your lines to clean up any resistance in the flats ahead. Then at daylight our planes will fly over an bomb the hell our of the Germans in the heavily fortified bunkers.”

Alas, the military hierarchy made yet another blunder. We attacked at midnight, took Ruin Ridge after heavy hand to hand fighting, and when the objective was secured we sent the required signal. There was no answer to our message and no troops came to back us up. They left us there like shags on a rock. While fighting our way to the ridge we did not stop to destroy any of their equipment because of the expected follow up. Later that morning our Colonel was in touch with headquarters telling them that Jerry was counter-attacking and asked for support or permission to retreat. He was bluntly told to stay put. The Germans closed in around us, salvaging their equipment they had left earlier that morning.

My section at this time numbered 10 and included our officer and section corporal. We held the extreme right position and were out of contact with the rest of our platoon. Our ammunition was rapidly running out and because of our position we did not know what was happening. While our ammunition held we did a bit of damage, like knocking off any scouts that we could see, making the Germans think there were more of us than there really was. Eventually our ammunition and hand grenades ran out, so we were just lying there in the hot sun, waiting to be rescued by our own troops or, if they didn’t show, picked up by the Germans.

We were not taken prisoners until 11 a.m. on 28 July 1942. We were just lying there with our faces toward the ground, waiting, when I spotted a tank coming from behind and told the fellows on either side of me, “Here come our tanks.” It then turned side on to us and I called out, “No they are Germans,” as painted on the side I saw a big swastika. That was the last thing I remembered until ten minutes later, when I opened my eyes and wondered where my tin hat was. I found it away behind me, looked at it and saw a little hole in the front and half the back missing. I put my hand up to my head and gingerly felt it and came away with a handful of hair. I had another look at my tin hat then I ran my hand a bit harder across my head and got a handful of very bloody hair. I recall saying to the fellows along side of me, “Am I dead?” The blood then started running down the sides of my face.

There was this German calvary officer standing near us saying, “UP, UP.” We picked ourselves up and started walking toward him. He was staring hard at me as if he had just seen a ghost. When I got closer to him he was as white as a sheet, for he was sure he had just blown my head off. He then directed me down to their dressing station where they cleaned and bandaged it up to keep the sand, dust, and flies off.

The others waited for me, then with my demolished tin hat still in hand, we were marched to a temporary holding camp. The fellows I had been with told me that I was hit by a machine gun bullet from the tank and went flying back for at least 10 feet. By rights it should have blown my head off, as one of those would kill an elephant. All it did was bore a groove about one eighth of an inch deep and wide through the top of my skull and burnt the hair off on the way past.

We thought we had been the only ones taken, but then we got to the barbed wire enclosure we saw the rest of the platoon survivors were in there already. I kept my tin hat with me and many came over to admire it and my bandaged head. None believed that I was wearing it at the time, but if I hadn’t I would not be standing there with them. No, the bullet could not have had my name on it.

The colonel came and shook my hand, telling me that this was the luckiest day of my life, as from a head count there were about 15 men short.

A German officer told us they would give us something to eat, but there was not enough water to make a hot drink. He also informed us that we would be staying there overnight and the next day taken to a stopover camp, then on to Benghazi.

We eventually got to the large Italian-run prison camp at Benghazi. There were troops of all different nationalities there, including New Zealanders, South Africans, Poles, British, and Indians. Total prisoners numbered around 30,000.

When we went into action we did not expect an extended stay, and were dressed only in our summer fighting rig—shorts, shirt, our underclothes, boots, and socks. Once we became prisoners we noticed it was very cold at night and we would lie close together trying to keep warm. The Italian gave us each one of their ground sheets as a blanket and the ground for a bed. As far as food and water was concerned, it was not very much. Our doctor, who had been taken prisoner with us, told us that the food was scarcely enough to keep us alive.

I had about half a dozen close friends and even though we had little enough to live on and the place stank, due to lack of water, we were determined to stay in the prison camp as long as we could. It was easy enough to get from one camp to another, so when a ship called to take a load of prisoners, we would change our names with anyone who wanted to get out of the place. We stayed in the hope that Alexander and Montgomery would get there before long, liberating the camp. We were looking forward to decent clothes again, as the Italians gave us none at all. We finally decided to make clothes out of the ground sheet. By this time all I had was threadbare shorts. We made up pants and a wrap-around jacket for each of us.

Eventually the Italians caught up with us and put us aboard a ship bound for Italy. With two days’ food aboard, we headed out into the Mediterranean. The sailors had to keep a look out for British submarines that were around, as they had scored the previous night. To the British it was just another enemy ship and they did not hang around to pick up survivors. The rations soon ran out while dodging submarines, which extended our two-day pleasure cruise into several hunger-filled days. I’m sure we sailed around every island twice. The skipper had been to Fremantle a few times and turned out to be a decent chap who could speak English fairly well. After our rations ran out, he acquired stores from the islands that we had passed, and instead of keeping us locked in the hold he would let us out during the days.

Finally we sailed through the narrow Corinth Canal and tied up at Fort Piraeus, the main port of Athens. When we sailed from there we went hell for leather to the Port of Taranto, down the lower side of Italy. There we disembarked and were issued with new clothing, the same as they were wearing. They put us all though a steam bath, which was supposed to get rid of all our lice. It certainly killed the live ones, but not the eggs, which hatched and settled into our new clothing, meaning we had to start the killing all over again.

From there we were put on a train, which took us on to Bari. The conditions there were terrible, as the huts we had to live in were made of straw and it rained every day. Thank God we were only there for a fortnight because we were wet through all the time. Whenever the sun did shine we would sit down and pic the lice off our clothes.

We left Bari aboard a train and we were taken to a place called Servigliano, where we were put into a commandeered civilian prison—a place like Freemantle jail, with 15-foot high walls, broken glass embedded in the top, and a walkway about three feet from the top on the outside. Each guardbox contained two sentries and a machine gun. About every 15 minutes or so, one would patrol the wall, meet his mate halfway for a talk and smoke, then patrol back.

R. J. McMahon’s story to be continued in a future post.