The Inniskillings had been in reserve while the Faughs and ourselves were carving up the countryside round Ripi. During the late night, Pat had called them up beside us and, at 0630, I was instructed to meet him at the Skins’ HQ. There, I was asked to summarise yesterday’s events in case they ran in to the same kind of trouble today. That done, Pat sent them on through us with their tanks, directed on Veroli – another town like Ripi nearly ten miles ahead.
As soon as the Inniskillings were on their way, Pat came back to breakfast with us. He had messages of cheer from his general to the effect that even if our rifleman were damned slow starters, he had to admit that they were worth waiting for.
Pat observed, ‘Of course, I told him not to be so bloody impatient in future.’
Compliments relayed by our brigadier from higher authority were usually modified in the process – but the fact remained that no one wanted another San Salvo. Because of that, the commander on the spot would not often be gainsaid in 78 Division. And up to that time in 1944, no one was prepared to play the fool with German rearguards.
The general, himself, came in later with Pat and he said as much. Being a warm hearted man, he went a lot further and said something about it being a classical action but he didn’t then know that I had lost half the battalion for over two hours in the smoke.
In the meantime, the Inniskillings were at the start of a very tedious and frustrating day. But by night, they had advanced over six miles, which was no mean achievement in the circumstances. They had met no opposition save long range sniping from one or two SPs, who had ranged on to some of the blocking points. These consisted of cleverly sited craters, usually at track intersections or hillside defiles and they were generally thick with mines or other booby traps. All these obstructions were impassable and they entailed hard physical effort in degaussing (disarming or neutralising) and filling in. The pioneers were at a premium just then.
Writing of the German technique some months previously, Nelson Russell referred to the herring bone structure of most of Italy and the unending series of mountains, ridges and water courses. Then he said, ‘…thus every Italian road or railway passed over a bridge every few miles. This must have been a source of satisfaction to the Bosche sappers. Not only could they blow holes in the roads at awkward hairpin bends, they could really get down to it and blow up a whacking great bridge every couple of three miles, sow all ground suitable for diversions with mines and lie down each night to a well-earned rest, having not only impeded an opposing army but been able to destroy a great deal of valuable architecture which didn’t belong to them.’
Our adversaries had vanished and they must have gone back with the speed of lightning. I like to think that we had played a part in their direction but, of course, the whole purpose of their rearguards in the last two days’ fighting had been to make that withdrawal possible. Those rearguards had again held us off and prevented a running fight or rout. Furthermore, Frosinone, miles on to the west, was about to fall to the Canadians and with that surge round their flank, the enemy were bound to have quitted anyway. They brought a further twenty four hours of expensive time for themselves at San Giovanni and, doubtless, the generalfeldmarschall thought it well worth the price.
During the day, a number of destitute jagers came in and reported. None of them appeared to be particularly worried and they were simply the lost survivors of rearguard sub units broken up in yesterday’s battle. With their leaders gone they did not know what to do next – so they were just, very properly, reporting to the nearest military command post and which side it happened to be on was of no great interest. This affirmation of the true professional spirit was encouraging. Naturally, they were welcomed and entertained by our own men and eventually sent back on returning ration vehicles. Nobody bothered to guard them.
That evening, all our supporters came in to pay compliments. Jimmy Stewart and others of Brigade HQ came too, though hardly supporters and certainly not to pay compliments. Among our guests were Teddy Cullen, the Kensingtons’ MG specialist and, with him, his subaltern Colin Gunner who we were getting to know rather well owing to his habit of always being there – when wanted. All our 3rd Hussars officers joined in and, by the time the evening had finished, Telfer and Co were handling forty or fifty visitors. They were getting quite used to it.
During the next few days, the rush of events became a torrent but not for us. From the 1st of June onwards, the 78th Division found itself in reserve while other forces surged round and into the Eternal City. The Germans at this stage, practical soldiers that they were, had broken off the battle and gone flat out back to their next chosen defences, heedless of the Holy See and all the other mystic thoughts that so fascinated Mark Clarke and some of his Americans.
The 78th Division, and the Irish Brigade in particular, felt no need for cheaper honours just then and I doubt that anyone else did who had fought in the line at Cassino.
This day, the 1st of June, made sacred by Lord Howe forever, was passed by the Irish Brigade more quietly than the gallant admiral had done a hundred and fifty years previously.
This was the first chance to attend to essential matters since taking the torch on from Ion. I began the day by removing one of our officers, whose battle performance was inadequate and then turned to happier affairs. This included taking the necessary steps to elevate Frankie Lyness, whose cocky imperturbability was an asset on all enterprises. Some people thought that Frankie never looked the part, but intelligence officers were a strange breed and there was no brand type. Frankie duly became a captain.
3pm orders that day included about twenty other interviews for promotion – and a number of cases to compliment and thank. I was very glad that there was hardly any such of the other kind. While I was doing this, Pat dropped in and sat with me for a space. He could add words of his own at the end that would never be forgotten to the hearer. Coming back to the mess for tea afterwards, we talked for hours about the battalion and our fighting techniques. Pat, of course, did this with the other two regiments also and, a few days later, got us all together to discuss. Thus are lessons both learned and imparted.
The next day, Murphy arrived and Pat must have been in a mischievous mood when posting him in to the Rifles. Until then, Ivan Yates and Rodney had shouldered most of the battle duties of the second in command and, I must say that it never occurred to me that I had not got one. But I suppose there had to be someone appointed to keep the CO on the straight and narrow – though anyone who knew my 2.i.c. well could be sure that he would achieve the exact opposite. Murphy, Major MJF Palmer, was a regular Faugh. He was adjutant of the 1st Battalion during the battle of France and he had strange methods of holding people together. This was manifest enough in that shambles of 1940 and under Guy Gough, the CO then, he was largely responsible for our survival.
The principal disadvantage was that Murphy knew me rather too well – as I did him. His sense of humour included a kind of inverted blarney and his favourite way of addressing his friends was to impute thoughts and motives to them entirely contrary to any they were ever capable of possessing. The College of Cardinals would have loved him in the role of devil’s advocate and I wondered how he would get on with the Rifles who at times could be a little prim. But of course, Murphy had them all fixed after the first evening with them.
The only thing that didn’t matter was that he was about five years my senior.
He arrived and reported himself early that afternoon while I was having a run over our latest battle with our own officers, our gunners and the hussars – with the object of driving home the lessons and improving the technique for the next one.
The rest of the day was spent by the companies in getting their men bathed in relays and this was always a cheerful pastime in the aftermath of battle. There was something about it, which always included skylarking and it was pleasant to be around when this was happening. After this was over, I talked to all the companies in turn during the evening, with our riflemen sitting around me on the grass in a circle. Thus, we discussed the events of the last fortnight and what we could learn from them for the future.
I firmly believe that at that time our warriors of 2 LIR would have tackled anything. The impulse of victory is a very strong one and brings with it a reckless self-confidence. I can understand now the spirit that set alight the German army in 1940 – and four years later our own men were little different. Both as individuals and in their corporate esprit with the Irish Brigade, there was an intense pride which would dwarf peril and fatigue alike. It would show itself again shortly.
On 3 June, I received a charming letter from Mrs Goff.
On Sunday the 4th of June, we laid on a regimental guest night, our guest being Pat Scott himself, Jimmy Stewart, John Kerr, John O’Rourke and Bud Maginness the Faughs’ QM. Partly this was to celebrate John Kerr’s elevation as CO of the Skins. My diary noted: ‘Poor Pat smitten with colic afterwards and had to be given a purge by our doctor.’
The following day, the 5th, was designated the official fall of Rome. The 78th Division naturally assumed that it could not have happened without them and General Charles Keightley laid on a banquet at Frosinone in honour of the achievement – though not expressly claiming what I have just mentioned. All the COs and other chiefs in the division were invited to this feast which went on in to the late evening.
Writing home at the time I said:
‘…have never had such a dinner since pre-war. Six courses with things like vol au vent, chicken, strawberry flans and hors d’oeuvres (not in that order) – all from rations and local produce.
There has been a good deal of celebration during the last few days and our small room is usually packed by the end of the evening….Mike Everleigh and his troop commanders come in most evenings – and we are always entertaining at least some of Brigade HQ, who do a sort of pub crawl round the battalions each evening. Paddy Bowen-Colthurst, the staff captain, is usually the instigator….but today, James (Dunnill) is hors de combat having consumed some bad vino…
…we are feeding exceptionally well, new potatoes and beans fresh plucked, cherries etc – the fruits of victory in fact. The Bosche never got the chance to strip these parts.
The locals have gone out of their way to be kind and show every evidence of pleasure at our being here…our Doc has done a lot for them.
The drums and pipes are playing Retreat tonight and Harry Graydon (The Reverend HC Graydon MC C of E padre of the Irish Brigade) is following it up with a service.
And:
‘We aren’t in the least sorry that our theatre has hit the headlines for the last time.’