Sicily, 1943 remembered.

Discussion in 'Italy' started by bexley84, Sep 20, 2016.

  1. aboode

    aboode Member

    Was Rob Williams a Pipe Major in the military?
    Aad
     
  2. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    He served with the Royal Irish Rangers I believe...not sure about being a Pipe Major with them though.
     
  3. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    Just a reminder, if one is needed, that 76 year ago today, 17th August 1943, the Sicilian campaign came to an end:

    2 LIR war diary entry:
    "Americans enter Messina, followed by forward elements of 8th Army. End of all resistance in Sicily...."

    I shall be visiting Sicily in September to attend a commemorative event on Saturday 14th, organised by the Municipality of Maletto on the north western lower slopes of Mt Etna - the area of the final fighting period on 12th/13th August for my father and his friends and comrades.

    All are welcome to join us.. I'm sure it'll be another memorable occasion of solemn reflection and thanksgiving.

    best wishes
     
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  4. Ron Goldstein

    Ron Goldstein WW2 Veteran WW2 Veteran

    Richard

    I envy you !

    Have a super time

    Ron
     
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  5. HAARA

    HAARA Well-Known Member

    A diary entry by RSM John Kemp, 76th HAA, August 1943:

    "When the Sicilian campaign ended we went back to Syracuse to the old radio station. The road we had to use to and from Syracuse was a narrow winding arrangement with an overdose of potholes and many winding steep hills to cross the valleys in the lava. Jerry had demolished a lot of bends so there was but a sheer drop. Bridges – except those we’d built – were none. Travelling was bad, and often on one of the diversions you’d see two or three miles of transport blocked solid, making a line of traffic coming in the opposite direction a difficult job. Jerry could have wrought a deal of trouble had he strafed those roads.

    There was smelly corner where some Sherman tanks had found their last resting place on a bend that was under full observation of Jerry, and they’d been knocked out one by one as they got round into view. Gutted by fire there was a nauseating smell of dead bodies that makes one’s stomach never forget. Then there were tanks, trucks, and Bren carriers knocked out by shell and mine and pulled off the road, and there’d be one or two mounds of earth with a cross made of two sticks tied together and a steel helmet on top, or it might be a rifle stuck in the ground, butt uppermost. They looked so cold and lonely there. I always have visions of the families at home when I see graves, wondering how they will receive the news, or how they imagine death came. Later the bodies are removed by Grave Registration to Military Cemeteries that seem so cold and impersonal. That’s all war means really, and death becomes impersonal. It all seems so cheap when one thinks of every man as an individual having been born in the same way, having the same loves and hates and tears, the same fears and laughter. All is gone in a moment, and all that is left is a mangled mess of flesh, bone, and cold blood. That split second that caused life on this earth to be severed from those who remained. Those who will not come back are always “good blokes”.

    Sometimes I’ve despised those memorials “In memoriam” and “they gave their lives that others may live”. So often there is the case of one man who unhappily happens to be in just the wrong spot. Surely losing his life has done nothing in that direction. It was not his choice. He’d have done everything to avoid it. It’s all so useless. It’s not the end which comes when you are dashing through shellfire, or under a hail of bullets, it’s the unexpected one. That’s what’s so difficult to understand. Such a ghastly waste of humanity when it could be put to so much advantage. At times it’s seemed so near."

    Extract from "Ever Your Own, Johnnie - Sicily and Italy, 1943-1945"
     
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  6. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    76 years ago today, 30th August '43 - General Bernard Montgomery addressing 168 Brigade, probably near Fiumefreddo..... Caubeens, London Jocks and Royal Berkshire-men in attendance.

    You can almost hear some of his one liner call and responses:

    Q: "Where do the best soldiers come from?"
    A: "Ireland"

    Q: "Which part of Ireland do they come from?"
    A: "Donegal"...

    Of course, Monty was born opposite the Oval

    montylir.jpg
     

    Attached Files:

  7. HAARA

    HAARA Well-Known Member

    The "Brig's visit", Syracuse, Sicily, 26 August 1943, related by RSM John Kemp, 76th Regt HAA RA

    "Thursday caught me off my balance when the Adjutant told me that the Brigadier[1]was inspecting some of the sites that day, starting at 10.30hrs. On the first occasion I can remember I had no clean shirt or shorts. Frantic flap, ending in borrowing rather abbreviated shorts and voluptuous shirt, all the same nice and clean. Good job too because Brig had clean shirt and shorts hate on that day. The inspection was very stereotype, with one or two smiles. There was of course the inevitable cortege of which I, from manners am expected to let everyone in the train pass, and still be in front to shout, “Stand fast”. There were the usual questions about mail, and, “How d’yer like Sicily?”, and the soap ration. This always stirs into the depths of some murky pool, and there was much hurried whisperings after the battery of questions the quaking Gnr gets shot at him. Then ensues much scratching in notebooks, hurried whispered conference, and a race to catch up with the brazen hatted gentleman. Of course the most amazing things always happen on these dos. Such things as a beautifully laid out store, all nicely painted, with bins numbered, and a log to show how everything is “so easy to get at”. Then the bolt comes right out of the blue – always can’t think why they don’t think of it before. For instance, Brig taking off spectacles, tinted, asks to see the ledger. “Umph, umphs,” and handing ledger to officer to hold says to storeman,

    “So yer know where everything is, urgh?”

    “Yessir.”

    “What’s in No. 27?”, (just like that, no ceremony).

    Storeman’s teeth chatter off the reels of a yard of barely coherent words from which we gather the bin holds such intricacies as,

    “Sir, bolts ’olding down ’alf inch, Sir, nuts wing screwing tergevver mark II left hand fred… etc.”

    All most imposing and narrated like he’d learnt it b’heart. Officer holding ledger asserts that this is, “Correct in every respect, Sah!”

    From under huge sprouting sandy moustache, “Let’s have a look inside, my man,” says Brig. Storeman, already beginning to mop his perspiring brow feverishly, while sweat on his body shows in dark patches through his shirt, practically fades away, and he staggers to open said bin. Horror of horrors! Out tumble a very grimy pair of pants, a dixie that has held the portion of stew it now contains for at least two campaigns, a length of knotted rope, one sock, aromatic, if not aesthetic, and a bottle of vino that rolls dangerously near the edge. There’s a rush during which the brazen hatted one does noble work in an attempt to save the liquor, alas to no avail, and with a sickening groan all round, the contents are spilled all over the place. But by now the Brig was convinced that there had been a slight mistake, and we made off in line astern to the cookhouse. Spotless. Everything as it should be. Always such a relief when cupboards are opened in such places to find that odds and ends of food do not fall out. This c/h was a model in cleanliness and administration. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw four paws and part of the legs of what I thought was a dead cat. I manoeuvred strategically endeavouring to ascertain what it was, and should it be dead (as I thought) cover it up before it was seen, but it was spotted by his Eagle Eye. “Huh! What’s this, by thunder! Dead cat next to the cookhouse?” Nearly everyone gave up on the spot. Fate appeared to have sent us a “clanger” of no small measure. The host all examined the body carefully, and someone got a stick to prod it. I could almost smell it. Had a ridiculous thought flash through my brain looking at all those hat bands, arm bands, brass bands, and cigar bands all so serious over it, and the murmurs of, “Not verrah pukkah Sah d’yer think?” etc. I could see headlines in the paper, “Brigadier finds dead cat in cookhouse during inspection.” Of course I was inwardly much tickled although it was such a dreadful faux pas. Suddenly, the “dead body” sprang up on all fours with back arched and hair erect, tail fluttering in the breeze, and hissed a very snooty hiss. Then turning its back and giving its tail a flick, made off. Silence for a while to see how the Big Five took it, then complete uproar, and much pukka military laughter. Great relief! I saw one or two very relieved expressions and the visions of the court room at the court martial disappearing from minds with much relief. I must admit I strapped my wristband back on with assured beaming.

    For the rest of the day it was not out of the ordinary, just a heel clicking swat stick show, and some words of praise and encouragement to help matters along."

    Extract from "Ever Your Own, Johnnie - Sicily and Italy 1943-45"


    [1]Brigadier H.Hounsell.
     
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  8. Steve Mac

    Steve Mac Very Senior Member

    I bet most of the London Irish were from England, Richard. Albeit a lot would have been of Irish lineage.

    As you know, the 168th Infantry Brigade served with 50 Div in Sicily. Do you have any literature on their thoughts about Sicily and being attached to 50 Div?

    Great photograph...

    Best,

    Steve.
     
  9. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    A month later from the mainland near Petacciato..not quite on the same officious level as the above but perhaps worth repeating...

    Described later by Brigadier Russell:

    "The Battle Patrol of the Faughs went out on the night of the London Irish attack to upset an MG post on the right flank, which might have been a nuisance.

    The Battalion Battle Patrols are specially selected chaps and pretty tough. Some of them are also pretty tough looking.

    At 0800 hrs the following morning, I witnessed a dressy party at my Command Post – including the Corps Commander, the Divisional Commander, a covey of various Brigadier, such as BRAs, CCRAs and CEs. The rather dingy little farm was bright with red.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two friends, Corporal Mc… and a Fusilier of the Faughs’ Battle Patrol, returning from their night’s dirty work. They were unshaven, muddy with blackened faces and with curious sock like things on their heads.

    They were festooned with weapons slung at various angles about their persons. They looked about as villainous a pair of blackguards as any German would wish not to meet. I must say – on that pleasant Southern Italian morning – they looked particularly villainous to me, because each carried a fine white goose in his left hand and a fat turkey in his right.

    There had, of course, been a good deal of ink spilt about this sort of things. This didn’t fuss me unduly as I always maintained that a goose (or a turkey) on a battlefield has to take its chance, which is poor. When the battle is over, the chances may improve.

    But at the same, I had just as soon my two hearties had been somewhere else.

    They both sat down to rest by a hay stack 50 yards away, wiped their sweaty faces and surveyed our couple of sections of red.

    We all saw them, of course, but pretended not to.

    After a suitable rest, they picked up their burdens – turkey in right, goose in left – and advanced in good order towards us. We appeared to be on their homeward route.

    We couldn’t pretend not to see them any longer – as they bore down on us like a mobile farmyard – and the Corps Commander turned round to me with, 'Well, Nelson, what have you got to say about this?'


    There did not seem to me to be very much to say, but I had great faith in my Faughs. They had never failed me yet and were unlikely to boggie over this small matter. Besides, they had had five minutes in the haystack. So I suggested we had better hear what the two culprits thought about it.

    The two culprits had by now reached us and feeling some mark of respect was due to such a galaxy, deposited their birds on the ground, gave a couple of smart salutes, picked up their birds and quite unperturbed, resumed their journey. 'Whoa,' said the General, 'Where did you get those birds?'

    'Well it was like this, sorr, replied Corporal Mc…, confidentially, 'an ‘ould farmer over yonder was so pleased at us chasing the Germans that he made us a present of them, and if we could have carried more, we could have had them, but (warming up, and nearly spoiling a good story), we wouldn’t take them for nothing, and me and him gave him five bob for them.'

    This simple tale disarmed everyone.

    The General withdrew in good order, only murmuring, 'You win to me, whatever he meant by that, and our farmyard became mobile once mor
    e."
     
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  10. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    Thanks.

    1) Do you have any literature on their thoughts about Sicily and being attached to 50 Div?

    The official view is as attached - I've also just been sent a 300 page hand written memoir of a man who served with 10 RB/1 LIR for the duration and no doubt he set down his view somewhere:

    P1060569 (2).JPG

    Since leaving Scotland in Aug '42, 168 Brigade had spent 2 months on a boat, 6 months in Iraq and 3 months in Egypt and had missed the Tunisian fighting so a bit of rough and tumble might have been a bit of overdue for them and, especially as they were in the back up brigade during the initial landings period, they felt pretty sanguine about the deal. They had been split off from the rest of 56th Div in March/April so those intra-Brigade bonds had already been loosened. ...I suppose an additional question was how did the rest of Green Howards/DLI/East Yorkshire men feel about a mob of untested Territorials joining up with them.

    I think the 168 Brigade men did get a bit excited when they heard that 50th Div were heading home after Sicily but they were then sent back to 56th Div joining them north of Naples... with the bonus of missing Salerno but then they faced the joys of the Garigliano river crossings and Anzio, then the Gothic Line, the Senio river and Lake Comacchio...

    2) I bet most of the London Irish were from England, Richard. Albeit a lot would have been of Irish lineage.

    The amateur analysis :
    The large majority of home addresses of the 90 odd men from both battalions of the LIR who were killed in Sicily shows a English/Welsh/Scottish home address... but perhaps that doesn't confirm birth country nor define "nationality".... plenty of Irish men had been working in London etc and were conscripted.. I suppose the 1st Bn, being the pre war TA unit, might have a higher % of London resident members than the 2nd Bn which was raised in 1939, which seemed to have a large number of men who joined up in Belfast/Ballymena etc and came from all parts of Ireland. A couple of my Dad's friends, who were Irish born/volunteered men died in Sicily and I've also been contacted by families of men with London addresses who died and were born in Eire and had volunteered....so the usual lack of hard fact using that sort of data.

    But it's absolutely fair and indisputable to acknowledge that a large % men who served with the LIR, at least in 1943. including my Dad who had an "O" at the start of his surname and was born in Peckham and lived in county Brixton, were of Irish lineage...I think it's also fair to say that wearing a caubeen changed the mind set of all the men who wore one... plus ca change..
     
  11. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    If anyone is in Sicily on Saturday 14th September....please join us in Maletto for municipality commemorations of the events of July/August 1943. It should be a most moving afternoon of reflective Remembrance.

    malettofestival.png

    See Etna and...
     
  12. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    Catania CWGC Cemetery looking particularly immaculate today - Tuesday 10th September. No BA today.

    IMG_2517.JPG IMG_2519.JPG
     
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  13. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    Porta Reale in Noto... July 1943 and 10th September 2019...
    4B9CA226-AB92-48CA-8550-F4A2C3B42468.jpg
     
  14. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    Wonderful, and so very moving, to be back again in Sicily with Edward Graham to visit the final resting place of his father who died when he and his twin brother, Sydney, were 22 days old.

    IMG_2714.JPG IMG_2716.JPG
     
    Last edited: Sep 16, 2019
  15. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    Edward Graham and myself exploring Centuripe and the Salso and Simeto river area where our fathers were engaged between 2nd and 5th August 1943...my father, Edmund, enjoyed 66 more fruitful years, Edward's father, Edmund, only lived to see another 8 days IMG_2768.JPG IMG_2772.JPG IMG_2774.JPG IMG_2779.JPG .
     
    Last edited: Sep 16, 2019
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  16. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    A lovely Saturday morning and a quick climb up to 1,100 metre Monte Sperina close to the town of Maletto where my father and his comrades of 2nd Bn London Irish Rifles were embattled on 12th August 1943 - the lat day of their fighting advance from Centuripe to Randazzo. Seven LIRmen were killed that day.

    QS.


    IMG_2804.JPG IMG_2807.JPG IMG_2817.JPG
     
    Last edited: Sep 16, 2019
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  17. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    And an additional chance to visit the site of the death of Fusiliers Edward Graham and Thomas Baybutt and Lt William Bolton on the road towards Randazzo...
    Edward Graham's son Edward placing a poppy cross nearby.

    IMG_2820.JPG
     
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  18. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    A privilege, as always, to accompany Marco and Edward Graham today to some of the locations of bitter fighting south of Catania... near Primosole and Leonardo River bridges.

    IMG_2914.JPG IMG_2915.JPG IMG_2917.JPG IMG_2918.JPG IMG_2928.JPG
     
    Last edited: Sep 19, 2019
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  19. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    And on my final day in Sicily, I was privileged to be invited to two schools in Riposto to share some of my father's "publishable" memories of his time in Sicily - I even got a mention in the La Sicilia newspaper... my father was as always whispering in my ear "don't volunteer for anything".

    There will be a large conference focused on Operation Husky/General Montgomery et al and hosted by the municipality of Riposto on 28th September if anyone is in country next week.

    IMG_2980 (3).PNG
    IMG_2966 (3).JPG IMG_2967 (3).JPG IMG_2971 (3).JPG IMG_2977 (3).JPG View attachment 249792
     
    Last edited: Sep 19, 2019
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  20. bexley84

    bexley84 Well-Known Member

    One very sad aspect of the visit to Sicily was the state of some of the areas in and close to the CWGC cemetery including:

    - continuing extreme levels of fly tipping on the access road.
    - the entrance gate of the cemetery seems to have gone missing.
    - the enclosure door holding the cemetery records had been pulled off.
    - a section of the wire perimeter fence had been cut, seemingly to allow ease of access from surrounding fields.
    - the presence one evening of two men picking olive from the trees in the cemetery and in doing so pulling down some of the branches and leaving them on the grass. I was visiting with the son of one of the men buried there and we called the police to challenge the two men and I later reported the incident to the CWGC.

    The cemetery grounds themselves looked impeccable as usual and you cannot speak highly enough for the gardening team in Sicily.
     

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