Lance Corporal Mallon M.M. – A Mad Hatter.
Xmas 1943 saw our Battalion in reserve, resting on the outskirts of the town of Campobasso a few miles behind the forward positions of that sector of operations. There had been a pretty heavy fall of snow and the weather was very cold.
The troops were sheltering in odd buildings which were generally uninhabitable because of war damage, but through “make and mend” some were made quite habitable. The boys had developed the art of scrounging to a high standard, particularly at finding wood etc. to get fires going to heat rooms up in the evenings. A number of 17 Platoon, of which L/Cpl Mallon M.M. was a member, had managed to make a large room in one of these houses quite cosy and had got a fire going around which they sat during the evening in a wide packed semi-circle. They were having a Xmas drink, enjoying the warmth of the fire, telling jokes and stories and, in general, feeling quite happy.
Mallon, who had been out on duty, returned to find a party in festive mood and all packed close together. He requested a seat where he too could sit and enjoy the fire etc. but no one was prepared to move. He then left the room and some little time later returned and made a similar request as before, but no one was prepared to make way; the, forcing his way through the semi-circle of bodies towards the fire, Mallon took a grenade from a pocket and chucked it into the fire. In a flash, the room was empty and, in an instant, he removed the grenade from the fire (the pin had not been removed). Now, he had the room all to himself, able to sit close to the fire and help himself to what ever booze was left.
I suppose you could call that a daring piece of initiative or a fool-hardy prank!
Cassino – An Unlikely Place to Meet.
Early on the morning of 15th May 1944, I was crossing the River Rapido (Gari) in full view of Monte Cassino Monastery with a number of NCO reps going forward to take over areas within the bridgehead, which had been captured from enemy units a few nights previously. Our job was to take over areas within the bridgehead where our Rifle Companys could concentrate prior to moving up to the start line for the attack which would start the advance up the Liri Valley to Rome.
At the point where we crossed the river, there was a ford and we were able to walk across. Right in the middle of the river there was a sandy high point and standing there was a lone M.P. (Military Policeman) who was directing different units along marked lanes out of the river so that they would arrive at the correct concentration areas.
As I approached the M.P., I noticed that he was a Lance Corporal and I immediately had a feeling that I knew him and, as I got close, I asked him if his name was Brogan – he replied yes and asked who I was. I said Bob Robinson from Tully, Church Hill. As we had to keep moving, I told him that I would try and contact him again, but was never able to do so.
In the spring of 1929, I had started school aged 6 years at Church Hill P.E.S and leaving school that year were a number of 14 year olds including a lad known locally as “Red” Pat Brogan, with very red hair and a freckled complexion (once seen, never forgotten). After leaving school, Red Pat went off to England to find work and never returned as far as I know. His family lived in a little house in a place called Beagh about half way between Tully and Derrygonennelly.
Red Pat and I met briefly in the middle of the River Rapido under shell fire fifteen years after we had been at Church Hill Scholl on the same day in 1929.
Brogan survived the war and settled in Watford.
“The Tempting Stew”.
On 16th May 1944, I was Platoon Sergeant of 17 Platoon in a concentration area of a “bridgehead” over the River Rapido where our Battalion was preparing for a major attack the following morning to break out and start the advance to Rome. We were quite close to the monastery which was under continuous shell fire.
On these occasions, the main meal of the day was cooked elsewhere, usually in a safe rear area and brought forward in six gallon containers which in turn were housed in an insulated box called a “Hay Box” which kept the food hot.
During the evening of that day, our company were having their main meal and were using some well constructed ex-enemy trenches, where we could shelter from shelling etc. Just as the last of the Company were being served their food, the enemy started to bombard the area with their 6 barrelled “Nebelwerfers” nick-named “moaning minnies” or “sobbing sisters” by us Tommies, because of the dreadful noise they made in flight. They were fired in salvos of six rockets at a time and it was very difficult to guess where they might land – hence the dash for the trenches!
The containers with the remainder of the food were left sitting on top of a mound of earth, and very close to the edge of a trench. I was in a trench about 20 yards away, looked up and saw the abandoned food, saw the danger of the lot being knocked over by blast and the remains of our lovely stew lost. I decided to go and help myself to some extra stew but, unfortunately, the Company Commander, Major Jimmy Clarke, saw me and shouted out to everyone within his hearing – saying to look at Sgt. Robinson pinching the stew. The reaction to my “topping up” was laughter and shouts of leave some for me! I didn’t think that anyone thought that I was stealing – more a case of taking advantage of the situation!
I had eaten my breakfast at 6am that morning and very little food since and my 21 year old appetite was ravenous. War is a team job but sometimes a little self help is necessary!!
The Dangerous and Dusty Road to Rome.
At about 0600 hrs, the Battalion left the concentration area beyond the river Rapido and marched a short distance to the start line for an attack which was part of an overall 8th Army operation to break out of the Liri Valley and head for Rome as fast as possible. C and D Coys were to lead the Battalion attack. Our Company took up a position on the start line (a sunken road) and “zero” hour, 0700hrs, was loudly announced by the commencement of 200 guns (25 pounders) firing a creeping barrage of 32 minutes in duration with 3 phases.
The first phase was of 8 minutes into an area 200 yards deep and 800 yards wide and also the signal for us to start our advance. As the barrage crept forward, we were to keep within 50 yards of the exploding shells and this was to prevent any of the enemy who may have survived the barrage having time to shoot at us with small arms.
As we got to our feet to start advancing, a shell exploded just in front of my Platoon, wounding three Fusiliers – not a good start! In support of our Company were a troop (4) Sherman tanks who, apart from their engine noise, were firing their 75 mm cannons and their M.G.s adding to the cacophony of noise. The heavy artillery 5.5” and 7.2”s were also firing from positions a couple of miles behind us at targets miles in front. These guns were controlled by spotter aircraft. Overhead squadrons of fighter bombers were flying around in a “cab ranch” system waiting for ground control to direct them to bomb, rocket or machine gun any suitable target. The noise of all this fire power was literally doubled when you took into account the echo effect of being in a valley.
As we advanced, we discovered very quickly at least one of our supporting 25 pounder guns was firing short (due to barrel wear) and I had to open up a gap of about 100 yards between my Platoon and the one on our right to compensate and prevent possible casualties. Badly worn gun barrels caused the velocity to fall, which in turn leads to shells falling short.
During the second phase (similar to the first) amongst some dead enemy we found a senior German officer who appeared to have had his wounds dressed and we assumed left to be taken prisoner, either he did not want to become a prisoner or couldn’t stand the noise of our barrage, had shot himself – the pistol was by his hand and we could see the wound in his head.
The third phase of our attack was directed onto the actual objective, which was subjected to 16 minutes of the barrage where the Germans had their defensive positions. As we approached the objective, I remember seeing a young (17-18) blond German soldier lying on the open ground. He was alive and appeared to have been quite badly wounded probably on the day before, because his wounds had been dressed and was left to be picked up by his own comrades later. He had been lying there through the 16 minutes of an intense barrage. As we approached him, he called out – “Comrade, Comrade Vasser, vasser”. I told the chaps who were with me not to give him any water until our stretcher bearers who were nearby saw him. I had noticed that he appeared to be badly injured around his stomach regions. After I moved on, one of the Fusiliers couldn’t stand his plea for water and gave him a drink – and he died almost immediately. His internal injuries were beyond repair.
We took a number of prisoners who appeared only too pleased to be finished with the war, consolidated our newly won position, dug in and spent the night there. The following morning we were on the move again – objective Rome.
The advance to Rome was now in full swing, tanks and infantry moving rapidly up Route 6, the main highway from the south to Rome. Whilst the Germans were using delaying tactics to slow our advance down by deploying small groups with M.G.s, mortars and mines at vital places. The Italian capital fell to the American led 5th Army on 4th June 1944 with units of the British 8th Army arriving a few hours behind. Rome fell two days before the Normandy landings on 6th June.
At this point in the war, our Division – the 78th – had been in almost continuous action since November 1942 (1 Year 8 months).
The 38th Irish Brigade bivouacked in open country for a few days about 10 miles north east of Rome so that those who wanted to could have a look at the Eternal City. All R.C.s were encouraged to pay a visit to St. Peters where they could expect a blessing by The Pope and have a look around the Vatican.
All other denominations were allowed to visit St. Peters the day after for sight seeing. I remember being in The Cistine Chapel and our Swiss guide pointing to the fireplace from where the white smoke is emitted as a signal to the world that a new Pope has been elected. All very interesting to an Ulster Protestant. “Holy smoke!!”
The story goes that a Fusilier (or Rifleman), who was an Ulster Protestant and Orangeman, joined the group of R.C.s for the audience and blessing by The Pope. This soldier said that he had worn an orange sash under his uniform and claimed that he now owned the only orange sash to have been blessed by a Pope.
Rome To Lake Trasimeno.
Our Division were on the attack again after a few days rest North East of Rome. The next major objective was a German line of defence based on Lake Trasimeno. On the way, there were a number of minor battles caused by enemy rear guards attempting to slow down our advance. We were operating in what became known as “Jock Columns” a formation created by a Scottish Brigadier when fighting in the desert 1941/2 and consisted of a company of motorised infantry, a troop of tanks (4) and a troop of mobile artillery (25 pounders) plus one or two other supporting elements i.e. Engineers and Signallers.
It was during one of these minor battles that I witnessed an act of raw courage by a 19 year old fusilier from Belfast. We were negotiating a few hundred yards of open flat ground when we came under fire from enemy artillery; each section of my Platoon had to run fast across this particular stretch of ground to a safe position beyond, two sections crossed safely but the third section was caught by a shell, fortunately there was only one casualty who was the young soldier from Belfast. He had his left arm blown off between his shoulder and elbow but still connected by a piece of skin, this soldier was his section Bren gunner (machine gun) and there he was, as cool as a cucumber holding the gun in his right hand and asking me who he should hand it over to, and then suggested to a stretcher bearer that he should cut the piece of skin connecting the useless arm to his upper arm stump. He was of course given the necessary first aid and then taken to the nearest Advanced Dressing Station (ADS). I was amazed at what I had just witnessed, that young soldier showed no sign of distress or concern about what had just happened to him, his career as a regular soldier had just been terminated and a very uncertain future lay ahead.
On reaching positions close to Lake Trasimeno, we had a few days rest whilst plans were being completed for the attack which was intended to break through the German defence line based on the lake. The Irish Brigade was to lead the attack.
The date of the attack was at dawn on the 24th June 1944. I was in command of 17 Pl. and our Company was in support of ‘C’ Coy., advancing through wheat fields we became shrouded in an early morning mist which I was told is peculiar to the Trasimeno area at that time of year. Quite suddenly, the mist lifted and we found ourselves exposed to enemy gunners. I remember the sky above us suddenly erupting with hundreds of small explosions. We hit the ground fast wondering what the hell was happening. After a few minutes we discovered that we had been fired on by a German anti-aircraft “quadruple” barrelled 20 mm gun which could fire hundreds of rounds per minute of H.E. shells. We had never had an experience like that before but quickly got to our feet and carried on with the attack. Fortunately, the enemy gunners could not depress their gun barrels sufficiently to fire directly at us. The gun in question was later captured on the outskirts of the village of Pescia which was our objective.
My last action at Lake Trasimeno was taking a patrol forward of Pescia after last light to check that the immediate area was clear of the enemy. What I did see was the wreck of a German tiger tank which had been savaged by Canadian tanks earlier that day. It appeared to have been hit in four different places; one shell (solid shot) had gone through the flash eliminator on its 88 mm gun muzzle, the next one had gone through the base of its turret, the third went through the hull of the tank which ignited its fuel and the fourth blew off one of its tracks. All the crew had been killed, its commander was hanging out of the turret and other crew members lay dead around it, probably killed by the Canadian tank’s M.G.s.
My last memory of the Trasimeno area was on 25th June, when seeing a Canadian tank leaving the area with a large white cow which had been hoisted onto its front, the animal we assumed had been killed by shell or bullet in the battle area. We guessed that it was not being taken way for burial but to be consumed by meat hungry tank men. It was probably regarded as legitimate battlefield booty anyway.
On the 25th, our Brigade started to pull back from the Trasimeno area en-route for a rest and refit in Egypt. The rest of our Division started to follow some days later. This would be the first time in 1 year 8 months that the 78th Division would be out of the line and in a non-operational area. We travelled down by road and rail to the Port of Taranto (Southern Italy) and by troop ship to Port Said in Egypt.
Seeing things! Eyes Closed.
On the night of 6th October 1944, my Company was involved in clearing some enemy units out of an area which had to be secured before the next major attack by our division. I was still commanding 17 Platoon On this operation enemy resistance was very strong and we only managed to get a foot hold on the objective on the first night, resulting in us having to dig in and lie low all the next day; on that night after a heavy artillery bombardment we completed the task.
It was whilst waiting with my Platoon before consolidating the newly won ground at about 1am that I had a most peculiar experience; we were all quite tired, hungry and feeling the loss of sleep having been on the move for two days and nights but nothing worse than had happened to us many times in the past. I was sitting on a bank waiting for the Company Commander to tell me where to position my Platoon and had great difficulty preventing myself from falling asleep. I knew that if I kept my eyes closed for only a few seconds I would have gone fast asleep and would have been difficult to wake up.
I realised that I would have to get to my feet and move around, as I stood up I involuntarily closed my eyes and was immediately startled to see – with my eyes closed – a skull and cross bones, so clearly that it was like looking into a kaleidoscope. I immediately opened my eyes and after a few seconds closed them again, you cannot see things with your eyes closed, but the same thing happened again and again. On the third occasion, after these few seconds I was very wide awake.
The skull and crossbones is a sign with which the Germans marked the perimeter of their minefields. The word “minen” above fairly large skull and crossbones painted on a board of about a foot square.
If I had been found asleep on that operation and in command of a Platoon, it would be safe to say that I would have been in serious trouble and would of course have put my own personal safety at risk.
Someone must have been looking after me!!!
I never told anyone about this experience at the time in case they might think that I was going loopy. It wasn’t until long after the war that I felt I should talk about it. All that I can say now is that the experience at the time made my sleepiness disappear in a flash!
Night Patrols – Italian Apennines.
During the evening of 8th October 1944, and at the conclusion of a three day operation in which I had been involved, I was briefed to take a recce patrol out after last light to check out a farmhouse about 1000 yards in front of our Company position and confirm if it was occupied by the enemy. I took a Lance Corporal and a Fusilier with me and was able to get within a hundred yards on foot; from there on we crawled to about 30 yards from the main building and noticed at least three hay stacks quite close to the farmhouse. We watched and listened for about 20 minutes and became aware of low voices and movement by the hay stacks indicating that the enemy had positions there. Having satisfied myself that the enemy were in possession, we crawled back to where it was safe to get to our feet and make our way back to the Coy. position. I made my report to the Company Commander, “Major Clarke”, who said that he would pass on my information to the C.O. Lt. Col J. Horsfall and that I should try and get a few hours sleep.
About 30 minutes later, a runner arrived at my Platoon position to say that the Company Commander wanted to see me immediately, the time then was closing up to midnight. On reaching Company HQ, Major Clarke told me that he had passed on my patrol report to the C.O. who said the enemy must not be allowed to stay there because our positions were to be handed over to the Recce Regt on the following day. And he wanted that farm to be clear of the enemy. The C.O. suggested that a fighting patrol should be sent out immediately “and commanded by myself because of my very recent knowledge of the route and location and told me “Clear the Huns out of the farm”.
I set about organising a patrol of about ten men (volunteers – actually the whole platoon wanted to come). All the men were wearing their steel helmets, which should not be worn on a patrol because in certain conditions they are liable to fall off and make a noise which could give your presence or position away. Cap comforters are always worn as they are light, warm and fit well. Due to the time it would take the men to go back to their trenches and change their helmets for cap comforter, I decided not to do so.
I gave the patrol a quick brief about the farm and hay stacks and of what we were expected to do. Also, that we would approach the hay stacks in line abreast and would be armed with sub machine guns and at least two grenades each. I would be in the centre of the advancing line and the order to open fire would be the enemy challenging us to halt and that is exactly what happened. Jerry appeared to be completely unaware of our presence until we were only a few yards away, then seven sub machine guns opened fire at once on our opponents in their trenches in front of and between the hay stacks; a fairly violent “dog fight” ensued at very close range. A lot of shooting and grenades exploding between and behind the haystacks. I was aware that during our battle that I had been hit by a piece of shrapnel in my left rib cage and had also felt a bang on my helmet and that something had hit my head above my left ear. As I felt OK, I didn’t bother to check until I got back to our Company position. A Fusilier had been hit in both legs by several bullets and was unable to walk; a Lance Corporal had also been hit but not seriously. At this point, fortunately, the enemy had ceased offering any resistance; they were either out of action or had fled.
As we were running low on ammunition, I decided that it was time to withdraw. On the way out on our patrol, I had left (three of the ten) a Corporal and two Fusiliers with a Bren Gun about a hundred yards from the farm to cover our backs and also to come forward to help us if needed. I now called them forward to collect our wounded warrior (incidentally the heaviest man in the Platoon) making a temporary stretcher with two rifles and leather Jerkins and they carried him back. With the remaining five men, I protected them until they were about 75 yards on their way back, then we backed off facing the farmhouse and hay stacks firing odd bursts from our weapons as we did so to discourage any survivors from having a go at us as we pulled back. I was very proud of those lads on that patrol. There was never any sign of nervousness and they always did exactly as they were told.
On arrival back at Company HQ, I had to make a verbal report to the Company Commander and then check out my own injuries – slight! One piece of shrapnel in my left rib cage and the other could have been serious had I not have been wearing my steel helmet. A piece of grenade shrapnel had penetrated the helmet causing an injury a couple of inches above my left ear. The third soldier had a small shrapnel wound in his back.
All three of us were sent to the nearest military hospital where I had the left side of my head clean shaved so that they could ensure there was no foreign body in the wound. A small piece of shrapnel was removed from my rib cage and after about a week, I was back with my Platoon.
At the end of October, I was promoted to CSM (Company Sergeant Major) and, in the middle of November, I was told that I had been selected to go home to UK on 28 days leave due to a new home leave scheme for soldiers who had been abroad for two years or more.
A Few Surprises – The End Of The Journey.
My leave party was sent down to Naples by train where we embarked on a troopship which joined a convoy and was escorted by a number of warships to Southampton, and from there by train via London to Stranraer – boat to Larne and train to Enniskillen via Belfast and then bus from Enniskillen to Tully – and home.
I had been at home about a week when I received a letter from my Company Commander in Italy to inform me that I had been awarded the D.C.M. (Distinguished Conduct Medal). I was in bed when the letter arrived which was brought in to me by mother, she left the bedroom but came back a few minutes later to say that the postman, Herbert McKeague who was a family relation and a First World War veteran would like to know a little more of my news having seen the letter addressed to CSM R Robinson D.C.M. I told mother to tell him that I had been awarded the D.C.M. He shouted in his congratulations and went on his way. By mid-day everyone in the neighbourhood knew that Bobbie Robinson had been awarded a battlefield decoration. I was a celebrity for the remainder of my leave and given a welcome home party which was held in the local hall in Churchill.
The worst part of that holiday was visiting the families of two local lads who had been killed in 1944. Percy Sanderson, a close friend of mine had been killed in Burma and a Bobbie Woods, a Sergeant In the Irish Guards (Tanks) killed in Normandy.
I was able to spend Christmas and the New Year with my family and in very early January 1945 when my leave was up I returned to the Battalion in Italy by the same route and means of travel. A month’s leave and a month travelling and another 5 months on the battlefield before the war ended in Italy in May 1945.
I was involved in several more battles including the River Senio, Argenta Gap and a number of minor ones before reaching the River Po where we were told that the war in Italy was over.
Our particular war in Tunisia, Sicily and Italy had lasted 2 years and 7 months. It took a few days to get the idea of peace at last. No noise of battle, no guns firing, no aircraft. Just normal human activities – unbelievable.