1

A YOUNG PLATOON COMMANDER’S

MEMORIES OF HIS FIRST BATTLE

No. 1 Coy

6th Bn Grenadier Guards

Monte Camino

Italy

November 1943

by

Warren Freeman-Attwood

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PREFACE

A young man’s experiences in war can be terrifying or exciting; can paralyse the senses or

stimulate them; can make or break him. Most men feel a mixture of these sensations which

vary widely according to the circumstances, but the effect which they have on a man’s

courage and self-control depends upon many factors of which the most important are the

person’s character, maturity, sensitivity, imagination and self-reliance. The standard of

training and the height of his morale at the time are also vital. At the age of 19 or 20 few men

are fully mature or in command of their feelings, or have had much chance to develop the

self-discipline needed to satisfy the demanding requirements of leadership, but despite this

they were thrown into battle in the Second World War just as their fathers had been (at an

even earlier age) twenty-five years before.

These young men were frequently not ready emotionally to withstand the strain

placed upon them, and the experience of battle in a position of responsibility for the lives of

others was a harsh forcing-house which left many with scars for life. Others, on the other

hand, became hard like tempered steel. Few, I believe, remained totally unaffected by the

experience of battle at an age when normally they would not long have left school, and

certainly a young man who has fought, known real fear, and seen death at close quarters, is

never quite the same person thereafter. Fortunately, war did not break me even at the

malleable age of 19, but it left some legacies which I can trace back to my first taste of battle.

This first experience was traumatic because it was a major action fought in

exceptionally adverse conditions. The plan was based on faulty intelligence and the battle

was conducted with forces which were inadequate for the task. It involved attacking a high

and rugged mountain in the Apennines in appalling winter weather against an enemy whose

numerical superiority was to prove decisive. Our casualties were very high and after a week

of almost continuous fighting, with half the battalion surrounded, we were withdrawn. For me

there was no gradual acclimatisation by means of a series of minor actions; on the contrary,

there was the impact of one of the fiercest battles fought during the Italian campaign, and by

this means I came to know fear, pain and exhaustion in measures of which I had no previous

experience. I also learned quickly how heavy is the burden of being responsible (literally) for

other men’s lives, and how high is the price which is exacted for the privilege of

commanding men in war.

I sometimes dream of this battle, and of the people who took part in it. It left an

indelible stamp on my memory, and to this day I see in my mind’s eye the whole battlefield

in every detail, as well as the sequence of events. For another eighteen months I fought up the

Italian Peninsular to Austria, in different battalions and in many actions of varying

significant, but in no case was the influence on me as great as that of my first major battle...

the assault on Monte Camino in November 1943.

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The account which follows was written immediately after the war ended in 1945. I

felt a compelling need at the time to write down my account of these events as though

emerging from a period of shock and numbness, and had to trap the memories before they

floated away; and so it was done. In retrospect, the account is over-emotional and immature

in its style, but I was still only 21 after nearly two years of active service, and I have decided

not to rewrite the story in the way in which I would have described it today, since there may

perhaps be some atmosphere to this contemporary account which could be destroyed by

altering the style of its telling.

It explains, however, why I still sometimes have a dream.

W.F-A.

January 1980

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THE FIRST BATTLE OF MONTE COMINO, NOVEMBER 1943

I am writing of this battle because it was the first major action in which I took part, and

because it affected me deeply. It was also one of the bloodiest engagements fought in Italy,

save only that of Cassino, to which it was an important prelude.

The Camino massif is a huge block of mountain standing guardian at the end of the

notorious Liri valley. It is sinister to behold even on the brightest day, but on a dull rainy day,

when the clouds hide the topmost peaks, it looks like death, if death can be thus portrayed.

Rising up to some 3,000ft above sea level, its jagged rocks and cliffs frown down upon the

valley separating it from Monte Groce on the South East side, the Garigliano river on the

South West side, with Monte Ornito reaching high in the distance, Cassino and the Liri valley

to the North East, and Route 6 to Rome to the North West. The massif itself is shaped like an

inverted horseshoe with two salients, each razor-backed, running up to the top of the feature

with a re-entrant between them rising sharply to the salient features on either hand, and

ending in cliffs some 120ft high. The re-entrant is studded with rocks and small bushes but is

otherwise bare, and there is a narrow track, the ‘Mule Track’, running zigzag up to the top of

the ‘Horseshoe’, or ‘Saucer’.

The left hand salient is of solid rock with hardly a piece of earth or living vegetation

upon it; it slopes down away from the cliff face on the North West side, thus making it open

to any observer from the not much lower ridges away to the West. It is completely bare, as

bare, forbidding and friendless as any piece of mountain country I have ever seen. This

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salient, named by the soldiers ‘Bare Arse’, runs up to Point 727 at the top of the ‘Horseshoe’.

Above this, at the end of the ‘Horseshoe’, is a rounded feature called Point 819, named the

‘Two Tits’. The ground between 727 and 819 is muddy with few rocks but with the usual

Italian terraces, and this area is the only part of Camino proper where there is any earth or

where one can dig in at all. This area was destined to become as vile and bloody as any on

this barren death-like mountain.

On the morning of 5th November 1943 I was standing with most of the Officers of the

battalion on the wooded forward slope of Monte Groce. From here we looked across the

Calabritto valley to Camino itself.

At this time we were the forward troops in the 5th Army (56th London Division) and

we had been told that it took 201st Guards Brigade for the attack on what was termed the last

barrier between us and Rome. With us on this sunny morning were the Commanding

Officers1 of the three battalions2, the Brigade Commander (Julian Gascoigne) and the

Divisional Commander (Gerald Templar). Shortly beforehand all Officers in the Brigade had

been gathered together to hear the Divisional Commander speak about the forthcoming

offensive. We were told that there were a few enemy around Calabritto and a few on Camino,

but not many on the latter feature as it was thought to be almost impossible to hold – God

knows why – and because not many had been spotted on the mountain by the patrols which

had been sent up from other units. It was the 56th Divisional objective, we were told, given to

the Division on the orders of the Corps Commander (Dick McCreery). Templar had given it

to the Brigade as its task, and had advised the Brigade Commander that one battalion would

be sufficient. That battalion was the 6th Battalion Grenadier Guards.

And so, on this sunny morning, we were together looking across at the rocky feature

confronting us two miles or so to the North West. Orders were issued at ‘O’ group. Briefly,

the plan was that the Coldstreams would attack down the hill to the valley and make good the

flanks, whilst the 6th Battalion would pass through and go up the mountain. The Scots Guards

would be in reserve and pass through us when we had taken our objectives.

We spent that night without blankets, having brought the companies up into the

concentration area on the forward slope of the Groce feature. Not having taken part in a

major action before I did not really register much at this stage as there was much to do.

Although I had been under shell and mortar fire before, and had therefore experienced that

fear of pain or being hit by a piece of molten metal, I could not imagine what a real attack

would be like. Late that night I began to think about it. Would it be like platoon training at

Windsor, or would it be one chaotic rush? Would it end in a bayonet charge or would the

enemy flee and leave us in possession of the feature? These thoughts crept into my mind; and

they multiplied like cancer cells. Would I be hit, and if so how much would it hurt? How

would I behave in action? Had I the influence over my men that I could have? Would they do

what I told them? All these little fears circulated in my brain, and left me cold – and it was a

1 Lt Col Kingsmill, the Commanding Officer, had been badly shaken in a jeep accident on the night of 5

November. Maj Sir Hugh Cholmeley took over command. 2 6th Battalion Grenadiers, 3rd Battalion Coldstream Guards, 2nd Battalion Scots Guards

6

cold night too! Uppermost was a fear of pain and death, but above all was the determination

not to show the fear I obviously would feel, and the resolve not to let down my friends and

the Regiment, thereby losing my honour. I feel sure that this held me together more than

anything else, even more than the realisation that I had the lives of thirty men in my

inexperienced hands. I was determined to succeed as a leader when the hour came.

That night I felt uneasy; I was cold and shivering and had lost my appetite, and did

not feel disposed to talk much. It was my first experience of nerves, and the hell they can give

you in anticipation of danger, whether it be a patrol or a bigger action. It was a feeling I was

to get to know an unpleasantly large number of times in the succeeding eighteen months. I

have noticed that some men appear to be unaffected in advance of the event; it may be

genuine fearlessness, which is a form of hardness, or probably lack of sensitivity and

imagination, but I found that the anxiety of what is to come is a far greater eroder of the store

of courage than the experience of action once it has started. It became my invariable

experience that I felt calmer and cooler once an action of any sort had started since there was

no time to allow the imagination to run riot. At long last the news came that we were to set

off and attack during the course of the night, in order to be in position on the objective by

first light the next morning. We all discussed it together – John Brocklebank, Philip Parr

(who was to be L.O.B.) and therefore was optimistic, Mike Sainsbury, Grenville

Cholmondely, Dickie Stokes-Roberts, Ben Hervey-Bathurst and Brian Henshaw, whilst the

Company Commanders, being older men were more assured, were talking of other things.

Everyone was asking the same question, “Do you reckon there will be any enemy there?” –

“Not many.” “They have been keeping very quiet, which is unlike the Hun.” Thus did we

speculate on the outcome of the battle with doubt and optimism alternating in everyone’s

mind. Little did we realise how few of us would return from that mountain, or what was in

store for the battalion.

The day had broken clear and cold, and most of it was spent packing up and preparing

weapons and equipment. Breakfast had been served from the field cooker: cold bacon (by the

time it had been in your mess tin for 30 seconds!) tea with a slice of bread and crumbly

margarine, and porridge, if you could eat it without milk or sugar – the fighting man’s

breakfast. Then I got my kit prepared . Skeleton equipment with pouches full of 9mm

ammunition for my Italian Beretta automatic, and ‘36’ grenades. Small pack with 2 mess tins

(washing kit inside), knife, fork and spoon, Grenfell coat, emergency 24 hour ration, German

tin opener, length of cord, torch and gloves. Greatcoat and steel helmet with spare socks and

hankies in the coat pocket. First Field Dressing. Our blankets were handed in except for one

which we were to carry to the valley and dump in Company piles for the CQMS to bring up

with porters the following morning. And thus the preparations went on: foot powder on every

man’s feet, and two pairs of socks to be worn until all was done and double checked. We then

just waited, smoking cigarette after cigarette, checking our belongings yet again, ensuring

that we carried no Military papers, but had our field cashier book on us in case we were

wounded. Many a man was wounded and was sent to hospital without money!

7

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Having made my preparations, I went over to see the men. They seemed happy,

playing cards and chatting. Not many of them seemed to be worrying; they had no

responsibility, and some perhaps not a great deal of imagination. All they wanted was for the

battle to start and to be over quickly. One or two were writing letters to wives or sweethearts

or mothers, whilst others were sleeping. On the whole, the casual onlooker would not have

realised from watching them that there was any tension, or that anything was about to happen

that might mean the end of everything for them. Having had an early meal of Meat and Veg

we got dressed. The time was about 6 p.m. We were due to move just after the Coldstreams

had departed, which was 6.45 p.m. At about this time our guns started their softening-up

barrage on the valley below, and on the hamlets and villages in it. The Coldstreams had

evidently started. The barrage increased in volume, and since it was getting dark, all one

could see were the pinpricks of light as the shells burst below, and the white clouds of smoke

spreading from the smoke shells.

We left our positions after calling the roll and saying goodbye to the men we were

leaving behind to feed and look after us in the rear areas. The Guardsmen were cheery,

cracking jokes, and behaving as only the British Soldier can on the edge of the abyss of

uncertainty. Down the hill we went, carrying our blankets rolled up ready to dump. The

Coldstreams had apparently met opposition as we could now hear Bren and Spandau fire, that

never-to-be-forgotten and unmistakeable contrast of noises. The Bren going bop-bop-bop-

bop-bop, slowly and imperturbably, with the Spandau answering brrrrrrp-brrrrrrp, the shots

going so fast that one could not count them. Intermingled were grenade and ‘S’ mine

explosions. Obviously a battle was in progress. It was quite dark now with the sky overcast,

and we could hear the men below shouting to each other with occasionally a cry of pain, a cry

which sent shivers down my spine.

After we had been stumbling down the steep track for about half an hour, a message

came over the air to tell us to stop for a while as the Coldstreams had encountered a strong

series of pillboxes, and were laying on a two company attack, so we therefore spread

ourselves out along the terraces under the olive trees and began to dig in, in non tactical

positions. The firing of the 25 pounders and 5.5 Mediums had increased and lifted slightly,

and we could now see that the Coldstreams had crossed the valley and were making good the

foot hills for our attack. The country in front, we were told, was liberally distributed with

anti-personnel mines, and the Coldstreams had sustained a number of casualties. The left

flank especially was thickly sown with these deadly mines, the country running gently down

to the Garigliano river. We took off our uncomfortable equipment and dug into the stony,

damp ground in case of counter shelling by the enemy.

It had now started to rain slightly and the wind was getting up – a bad omen. The

sweat on our bodies was drying and the inevitable chill set in. We finished our digging and

set to heating up some tea with ‘meta’ tablets and tommy-cookers under our gas capes. This

completed I went over to see my Company Commander, Peter Marsham, who was lying in

his trench listening to a conversation on the wireless set. He had no news so I returned to my

hole after warning the men about lights out and noise, and seeing that sentries were alert. I

then lay down to try to sleep.

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All was now quiet – an uneasy lull – and it was very cold with the rain coming down

rather harder. I feel into an uneasy sleep, hoping against hope that the lull meant the enemy

had gone. I was roused a few minutes later by the Company Commander shouting to

someone. Orders had come through to move. I went round my Platoon to get everyone ready

and capes were rolled, equipment put on, and the men were ready to move off. I was chilled

to the bone and feeling somewhat apprehensive. The test was coming. We were going to go

through the forward troops to attack. None of us could tell what it was going to be like, and

tried to imagine what might happen; but I couldn’t. And so we started our walk down the hill

and across the valley.

To begin with Mike Sainsbury’s3 Platoon was in front, mine in the middle, and Dickie

Stokes-Roberts’4 in the rear, and we wended our way across the gardens, down rocky

inclines, down terraces among olive trees, and finally across ditches and hedges until we

reached a track running down the valley. Here we met a guide who told us where to go and,

to mind the mines on either side of the track, we followed a white tape along the track for

some way and then branched left down a sunken road. We could now smell the acrid fumes

of the smoke barrage mingled with the stench of cordite which later one invariably associated

with death, and we could see the shell holes on either side of the track. Some were on the

track itself with occasionally a pile of torn equipment or a body lying where it was hit. The

first of these I saw that night filled me with horror; he must have received a direct hit. His

legs were a mangled mess and there was a hole in his chest from which blood was still

oozing. The smell of human blood and cordite hung in the cold night air and presented as

grim a forecast of the coming struggle as was possible. The sight of that Coldstream

Guardsman was unpleasant and I was struck with a sudden fear lest I should soon be in a

similar state. I knew that I should be seeing such sights in the hours and days to come, but the

first time was a sick-making experience. Shortly afterwards, we met a stretcher party carrying

a badly wounded man who was crying out in pain and moaning as in a delirium; probably he

had not long to live. His cries were just as un-nerving as the sight of the dead man, and in the

space of a few minutes I had experienced the three sensations of war...sights, smells and

sounds.

We were now approaching the forward defended localities. Nos. 2 and 3 Companies

were in front, No.4 Company next and ourselves in reserve; we moved in single file. It was

now about 23.30 hrs and the enemy were dropping 105mm shells and the odd 81mm mortar

bomb over the mountain down onto the foothills below with alarming accuracy. The whine of

the shells passing over increased gradually, and the whistle of those approaching us grew in

volume until I thought my ears would no longer stand the noise. We were getting nearer to

the bottom of Camino with every step. We were to go up the left shoulder of the inverted

horseshoe above the cliffs, along Bare Arse; this route was chosen because it was the most

difficult approach for the enemy to defend, and was the only possibly approach which was

not commanded by overlooking ground. And yet it was the most obvious approach which the

wily Hun must have considered when laying out his defences. We were now ascending the

3 Later KIA at Minturno on 30/1/44 4 Later KIA at Minturno on 22/1/44

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rocky, twisting path with the vegetation thinning out as we progressed. We passed through

the forward platoon of the Coldstreams who told grim tales of heavy fighting, casualties,

mines and Spandau fire from all directions, but at the moment it was moderately quiet with a

few shells going to and fro each way so monotonously that we eventually ceased to be aware

of them. Suddenly there was an explosion ahead and the column came to a halt. All the men

subsided to the ground in grateful relief, by this time too tired and out of breath to bother

much about all round protection. Some almost went to sleep but after five minutes they

realised how bitter the cold was when they were not moving. No further sounds came from

ahead and so we moved on. The noise, we subsequently discovered, was occasioned by the

presence of a very cold unhappy German who had blundered into the forward Company and

had fled in terror. A grenade had been hurled after him without any visible result.

The ground now rose steeply and we were well above the valley, slipping and

climbing, sometimes on all fours, over rocks and boulders. I began to wonder how we could

take cover if anything happened, and was constantly looking ahead in anticipation so as to be

ready for any eventuality, but there were no places to hide save between the boulders and

rocks. It was just one bare featureless mountain slope stretching down to the left with a sheer

cliff dropping down to the right.

It was now 03.00 hrs, 7th November. We had been climbing for three and half hours

and had been on the move for nearly nine hours. It had all gone so quickly but we were

beginning to tire and feel thirsty. Looking back on this time, it seemed staggering the distance

which we covered in that campaign on foot without rest and often without much food. Period

of time on the move were a normal part of the soldiers’ life in war and in adverse conditions,

but which sometimes seemed unbelievable to civilians when tales were told round the fire at

home. And at the end of the journey the fight was usually to come. Up and up we scrambled,

hour after hour, the sweat pouring off our bodies and out brows. The men who had the energy

were swearing and grumbling, and the noise made by the heavy laden hobnailed boots, falling

picks and shovels, and stumbling men must have been heard many hundreds of yards away.

And yet there was no sign of the enemy in front of us. A mist was now gathering in the valley

and creeping up the mountain behind us, enveloping all in damp, cold, grey cloud which shut

us off from the outside world. We felt marooned up in the sky, only being able to see thirty

yards in any directions. Dawn was now stealing in from the East. At our next brief halt we

were told that No.2 and No.3 Companies had reached their objectives, and that we were to

take up our positions until daylight when we could see how the land lay. So, as dawn broke,

we spread out over the ground just below Point 727 and took off our equipment. The

building of sangers in case of shelling was ordered and this began at about 07.30 hrs. An

occasional shell whizzed overhead and the odd shot or rattle of musketry fire came from the

direction of Point 819, suggesting that the attention of a rear party of the enemy had been

aroused. Otherwise there was nothing to suggest that the enemy had not retired and left us in

possession of the mountain.

The whole situation was rather suspicious. Although our commanders had forecast

little opposition, they had also pointed out that Camino was the last important barrier before

the Liri valley and therefore of vital strategic importance to the enemy. Moreover, the

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fighting from Salerno up till now had been hard and bloody with the Germans putting up a

determined and fierce resistance at every possible point, so why should anything have altered

now? However, to a rifle platoon Commander on Camino at 08.00 hrs 7th November 1943,

bitterly cold and wet through, this aspect did not immediately present itself, until suddenly

the mist was blown away by a strong gust of wind, leaving us standing in full view of ridges

we had not seen before to the North and North West. It all happened in as much time as it

takes to write this sentence – and all hell was let loose. We found ourselves on a forward

slope running away to the left, and half left there was a ridge completely dominating our

position. No.2 Company on Point 819 ahead of us was also in view from the high ground to

the right of Point 727 – Monastery Hill. From these positions the enemy could see our every

movement and his observation posts took devastating advantage of it. Nos. 2 and 3

Companies were caught by the O.P’s on both hills, And so it started.

First came the mortars. They came in their sixes and twelves, pouring down out of the

skies – crump, crumpcrump, crumpcrumpcrump, crump. Their pieces of metal went

skimming over the rocks and whizzing up into the air with a dull droning noise. A mortar is a

most terrifying weapon. You can sometimes hear the dull thud of the bomb being fired in the

distance, but you can never hear it coming through the air, as you can a shell, until it’s a few

yards from you. All you hear is a short shshshshsh, and if you are lucky you may have been

able to take cover in time. This time there were no noises in the distance, merely a continuous

stream of bombs raining down.

After a few minutes there was a shout; the first man had been hit, and the dreaded call

“Stretcher Bearer” came down the hill. The Company bearers ran up to the man and bound

12

his wound with their first field dressings, and then they started down the hill with him, but

before long another stick of bombs had straddled the stretcher bringing the party down on the

rocks with a crash. The other two bearers took over and toiled to lift the dying man over the

boulders to comparative safety a few hundred yards down the hill. The whole approach to our

position was in view of the enemy, and further down the mountain it was impossible to walk

about with the 105mm guns starting a heavy harassing fire there. We were clearly in for a

very unpleasant time. By this time all our stretcher bearers had gone, and the wounded from

No.4 Company were coming through our positions in a steady stream.

Further ahead, both Nos.2 and 3 Companies were being engaged by small arms fire,

and it now became obvious that the enemy had been laying in wait for us in some strength,

and were now intent upon either destroying us where we were, or driving us from the

mountain from their advantageous positions. The further advance to our second objective had

therefore been suspended and we were ordered to find new positions nearer the cliff edge

where there were a few dips in the ground offering better cover from which to engage the

enemy. This move was carried out under cover of some mist which had now enveloped the

mountain again. Our new position was on top of the cliff, some 150-200 yards from Point

727. Here we found some large trenches and holes blasted into the rock by the Germans, and

then abandoned, and into these we dropped. We were now in tactical array and were building

sangers to withstand shell fire. I went round the positions to talk to the men, some of whom

were a bit shaken by the mortar barrage. While it lasted, the noise was terrific, and that nasty

smell of cordite was all over the mountain again. One man in my platoon had been killed

outright and about eight or nine wounded in those twenty odd minutes. It was now very cold

with a strong wind blowing, and the mist was scudding by at a hell of a rate without going

away completely. When it blew away for a short time, the German gunners would sling over

a gaggle of shells making us leap for cover, and hitting someone almost every time. They had

clearly ranged their weapons very carefully and had anticipated that we might use their

blasted out holes. Their fire was therefore most accurate and terrifying. If one had nothing to

do it was inevitable that one merely waited for the next shell, wondering whether it was going

to hit you; every time one came near I lay haunched under the near side of my sanger,

pressing my body into the ground and trying to dig with my fingers ever deeper in order to

get better protection. Every time a shell came towards me, my heart used to stand still; the

noise would get louder and louder, rushing and shrieking like a giant express train. My body

would automatically tense itself, every nerve taut, expecting every second a piece of searing

hot metal to tear into my body. It unnerved me to see others torn apart and to hear their cries.

The rocky nature of the ground made the pieces of shrapnel all the more jagged, and some of

the wounds were really ghastly to behold with great gaping holes in men’s bodies, gushing

life blood, their faces ashen and contorted with agony. But what could one do? There were no

medical orderlies or stretcher bearers left, and we could not spare fighting men to take the

wounded down. It was a four man carry for ten hours, if you were lucky, and under fire for

most of the time. From then onwards news of Nos. 2 and 3 companies became scarce. The

only contact was by wireless since no telephone wires remained intact, and even the lines

from Battalion H.Q. to the bottom of the mountain were down more often than not. The day

dragged on with intermittent shelling and mortaring, trying us to the utmost. The weather was

13

now very much worse and it was really cold with the wind biting through every stitch of

clothing we had on. Greatcoats and gas capes were rendered useless by the water running

down the rocks and getting underneath them, and the sweat from my body made me shiver all

the more when it dried. Every time shells came over some came so near that I prayed aloud

that I would not be hit, the tension making me sweat all the more. By the end of that day the

men were exhausted, not least from the marching of the previous night and the intense cold

and discomfort of the weather but we had had nothing to eat for 24 hours and most of the

water bottles were empty.

It must be remembered that the Battalion had been in the line for over three weeks

without a rest except for five days before the battle when we were in reserve and not really

resting5. Before that there had hardly been a pause since landing at Salerno on 9th September.

We had fought over very difficult country against a tough and ruthless enemy, and in the

worst Italian winter for ten years. Each time the Battalion went into action it was promised a

real rest afterwards, but it had not materialised with the result that many men, especially

those who had fought at Mareth, Medenine, Wadi Akrit and Enfidaville, were showing signs

of cracking under the strain. The darkness spread over the mountain and it was now raining

harder than ever. The men were now outside their sangers trying to get warm. We must have

been a pathetic sight, especially when one saw the number of empty sangers. Peter Marsham

came down to my position just after I had posted sentries, to say that a carrying party was

coming up with comp rations, ammunition and water. This was good news.

I went round the trenches and sangers, and looked over the cliff down into the re-entrant and

the valley beyond. The bottom seemed miles down and as I was standing there with my

runner, a mortar bomb landed within ten yards of us, and before I could even duck I saw the

runner clutch his chest and fall forwards over the edge into the bottomless darkness below; he

did not utter a sound and his body was never found, as far as I know. This was an unpleasant

experience which did nothing to raise my morale. Wondering what I could do to improve our

deteriorating situation, I went up through Dickie’s platoon to Company H.Q. which was in a

small depression which ran down to the edge of the cliff and continued down through a little

gorge. Here the Germans had blasted caves into the rocks and there were one or two slit

trenches. Tactical Battalion H.Q. was here together with ‘Windy’ Hacket-Pain and his Battle

Patrol, and they were protected by us in No.1 Company. Our Company H.Q. was in the same

area. While I was there, Peter told me to take a party about 200 yards back down the hill to

collect some of the kit dropped by the carrying party and to take it up to No.4 Company. This

was duly done without further interference from the enemy though we were tensed up ready

to dive in between rocks if anything happened.

I went slowly up to No.4 Company with the party, passing two dead Guardsmen on

the way, and dropped the ammunition and the water with Mike Sainsbury’s platoon which

had been lent to Mike Grazebrook’s Company. I talked to Mike who seemed tired but

otherwise cheerful. He told me that he had been wounded in the leg by a German patrol, but

5 For the past 16 days the battalion had been living on the top of hills and had done two full-scale battalion

attacks. A lot of men has Desert Sores and blood poisoning from the filthy conditions and inability to wash.

[No.3 Company report]

14

could walk back to the R.A.P. After chatting for a few minutes we stumbled back to our

positions in the pitch darkness. As we were approaching our areas I heard the mortars fire in

the distance, and I shouted to the men to run for their sangers. Running over the rocks on

Camino was almost impossible in daylight, let alone at night, but our lives were at stake. I

will never know why I did not fall down between the boulders and kill myself; I ran for my

life and tumbled into my sanger just as a bomb landed beside the sanger wall, knocking it on

top of me. This was the nearest escape I had yet had. The blast was terrific and I was stunned

for a few seconds but otherwise unhurt. Presently I heard cries, and on investigating I found

that all five of my party had been hit. One was dead when I got to him with a piece of

shrapnel in his forehead. The others were badly hit in limbs or body, and all were stretcher

cases. By the grace of God some bearers had just arrived up the hill, and they were used to

evacuate the men. Under the worst conditions imaginable those broken bodies were bumped

and slid down the mountain in the dark under harassing fire, and they took nearly eleven

hours to make the descent, one man dying of exposure and loss of blood on the way. This was

a terrible experience for the wounded, and the thought of being hit terrified us as we were

many hours of hell away from skilled aid. We prayed that November night.

That night was typical of all those nights we spent on that bloody mountain. It

continued to be bitterly cold, and the misty conditions made it imperative to keep the platoon

standing to most of the time to combat the German patrols which were trying to infiltrate

amongst us. The mortars kept up their periodical fire all night and the crackle of Spandau fire

15

in front told us that Nos.2 and 3 Companies were not being left in any peace at all. The night

passed slowly until dawn – and then I got the shock of my life. As it became light I saw

boxes of ammunition, compo and water lying on the hillside where Eric Rollo and

Christopher Snell6 had left them. We had taken some of the boxes to No.4 Company the night

before, but this lot had remained invisible in the dark. Almost as soon as we saw them lying

there, the German gunners saw them also. All hell was let loose again, and for twenty

minutes a hail of bombs and shells came over. The noise was deafening; a continual roar of

fire shaking the ground, increasing all the time. When our own guns started their counter

battery fire the din was doubled. Meanwhile we waited in our trenches whilst tins of compo

sausages, pieces of wood and oddments of food disintegrated and came showering down from

the sky. We had nothing in our position except one 14 man box which we were keeping for a

real emergency. My platoon was now down to fifteen men, and I organised them into two

sections. We had lost one section Commander who had gone off his head with the cold and

the intense fear which this ordeal by fire had brought; it was very difficult for anyone to keep

sane under these conditions, especially since this was the first battle the Battalion had fought

in mountains or in a European winter.

Mountain warfare makes demands which are quite different from those of other

theatres, and we were unpractised in its arts. We were not adequately clothed for the cold and

the fact that we could not dig into the ground properly had an adverse effect upon morale

under such intense bombardment. This proved to be the prototype of mountain battles in

Europe, and many lessons were learned for the future, but meanwhile we felt increasingly

bitter that we were clearly inadequately equipped for this enterprise. For an Officer the

problem of morale was somewhat different, since he had much more to think about, and had

constantly to be concerned about the soldiers under his command. There were always

adjustments to be made to the effectiveness of the trenches and arcs of fire, and to the general

organisation of feeding, sleeping and preparing for what had next to be undertaken. Apart

from being busier, an Officer had his pride and fear of dishonour to stimulate his efforts and

to help control his fears, and in the last resort I knew that my life in the Regiment would be

intolerable if I did not conduct myself in the manner expected of me as a Grenadier. Death

was really preferable to disgrace.

For a Guardsman, there was not quite the same moral scaffolding. Under great stress

there is nothing worse than having only yourself and your fate to consider, and this was the

lot of the average man who had no special responsibility. The signs of cracking were

unmistakeable; men became quiet and morose, and in the case of NCOs were slow to react or

to carry out orders. They would become loath to move out of their trenches, and after a

barrage would not walk round their positions to see how the others were and to show

encouragement. The disease could spread unless the section and platoon leaders were able to

keep up morale by example and by devising means of keeping the men occupied doing

something useful. If a man did crack, as a few did over those five days on Camino, it was

necessary to remove him before he became a menace to the morale of others.

6 Later KIA at River Astrone 27/6/44

16

All that day the firing continued, and we could hardly move in daylight. I was

becoming numbed in body, and could not remember what day it was, and was hungry and

very tired from lack of sleep. All day the two forward Companies were being counter

attacked – eight times in all – and the enemy had infiltrated behind them, cutting them off on

Point 819. We could therefore expect to be attacked directly if the enemy broke through Point

727, and we stood to for hours waiting for what appeared to be the inevitable.

We knew the leading companies were short of ammunition, and now were only in

touch with them by line. Tommy Cook had been killed commanding his company and both

Grenville Cholmondely and John Brocklebank had been shot dead by snipers from

overhanging hills while they were lying in their trenches. Rodney Wace had been badly hit in

both legs. Rodney’s platoon was attacked again and again and, after he had personally rushed

out to throw grenades at the enemy, he was wounded twice. Many men were killed that day,

and one platoon was overrun. The wounded men on that hill could not be evacuated, and their

suffering lying out there in the mud and among the rocks was terrible. Ralph Howard was

now commanding the remnants of both companies from his stretcher, having been severely

wounded several times in both legs, the side and the arms. The courage, endurance and

example set by him was incredible; he could do no more than sit on a stretcher, unable to

move, having had little food for days, and exhausted from lack of sleep, and all this in intense

cold and incessant rain. He was surrounded by a ruthless enemy with apparently no hope of

survival. His men were outnumbered and his wounds were going gangrenous. Nevertheless,

he reorganised the remains of the two companies and commanded the actions which resulted

in the repulse of eight enemy counter attacks, causing great loss of life to the enemy. He was

instrumental in saving the position which, if lost, would not only have made the annihilation

of the Battalion almost certain, but would also have seriously endangered the Division as a

whole.

What took place on that feature few are here today to tell, and certainly none can say

how many times the Victoria Cross was earned on it. Ralph was subsequently awarded an

immediate D.S.O., which he earned several times over; it was widely felt that had he been a

more junior Officer he would certainly receive the V.C. Meanwhile, the rest of the Battalion,

defending Point 727 a few hundred yards back, was gradually being shelled out of existence,

and yet could not move without jeopardising the base which Nos.2 and 3 Companies were

fighting to defend. We were all in a world of our own. That night three things of importance

happened. First, orders were given for our very depleted company to move up to the dip in

which the Commanding Officer was sitting with his 18 set. Our Company H.Q. had been here

also. In order to do this, Dickie Stokes-Roberts and I amalgamated our platoons since he had

only seven men left and I had twelve. We moved up just after dark to new positions amongst

the rocks and some huge boulders by the edge of the cliffs, and had to grope our way along

the cliff edge over the dead of Dickie’s platoon and the debris of the battlefield. Twisted Bren

Guns, ashen-faced corpses, torn equipment and other debris covered the ground, and there

was that never-to-be-forgotten smell of human flesh and blood and the pungent stench of

cordite which seemed never to be blown away on the wind. Eventually, the new composite

platoon reached its new area with Dickie in Command and me as 2i/c, and there we met Peter

17

and ‘Windy’, the latter with his Battle Patrol. The weather had deteriorated again with the

wind now up to gale force, driving the rain into our faces and clothes. The forward companies

were still fighting for their lives and we were now shooting long range at the flashes made by

the spandaus whose tracer bullets were singing over our heads, bouncing and ricocheting

across the rocks. One could hardly hear them for the noise made by the gale force wind, and

at that moment the whole mountain trembled and shook as if it was being rent apart by some

deep internal explosion. We did not realise at the time that this had been an earthquake. It

was perhaps the Gods cursing the human race for its madness.

The second episode that night was the announcement that a Company of Scots

Guards7 were on their way up to try and relieve Nos.2 and 3 Companies. Led by ‘Bones’

Rathbone, it was to attack across the sea of mud between Points 727 and 819 and I shall

never know how it got there without being decimated. I have never felt so sorry for a body of

men in all my life; perhaps because we were now so numb, both mentally and physically, that

we assumed they would not have the energy to undertake their task, but they went straight in

to the attack and never faltered. It reached its objective, but was mercilessly attacked next day

and almost wiped out. Meanwhile, No.2 Company had come up on the air to say that the

enemy were creeping nearer, and that it was only a matter of hours before the position would

be untenable. Hugh Cholmeley, the Commanding Officer, rang through to rear Battalion H.Q.

at the bottom of the mountain and was told by General Templar that we were to stay on the

position at all or any cost, and Hugh was not even allowed to withdraw 2 and 3 Companies to

point 727 in order to strengthen the position and re-form. I think that this was the right

decision since the men were only just hanging on by supreme endurance, and might have

been caught undefended if they moved in view of the enemy O.P.s.

The third episode was the despatch of ‘Windy’s’ Battle Patrol to try, under cover of

darkness, to get through to the forward Companies, harass the enemy in an effort to divert his

attention, and to bring back some wounded. Windy found a patrol of twelve Germans resting

without a sentry between the two hills, and killed the lot in a brief but ferocious fore fight.

This action, combined with the Scots Guards’ attack (in which ‘Bones’ Rathbone was killed)

eased the situation about the Point 727 feature temporarily, and this enabled Desmond Adair

to set out with his runner to try to slip through to the forward Companies in an effort to

evacuate Ralph Howard who was nearly at the end of his endurance through exhaustion and

loss of blood8. Desmond reached the position and started back with Ralph on a stretcher, but

unfortunately they met a German patrol and had to lie low for so long that it became too light

to go on. Ralph was taken back to his trench, and Desmond left to return to his H.Q. He was

never seen alive again, but his body was found in 1945 between the two hills in the same

grave as the Germans killed earlier by ‘Windy’ and his Battle Patrol, and it was assumed that

he had been ambushed on his way back shortly after leaving Ralph.

The fifth day had now dawned. My platoon looked rather sorry for itself and so I

made everyone work his arms about and do everything possible to restore circulation. The

7 F Company 8 Howard had been wounded three times.

18

day dawned with a clear sky but with a gale blowing harder than ever, and for the first time

we could see the surrounding mountains and features. On the left we had an unrestricted view

of the Garigliano to the sea, whilst on the right was Route 6 and the valley behind Mignano.

We could see all our lines of communication and the German shells bursting down into our

areas below and I saw a shell going into the roof of the R.A.P. Only now did we realise how

high up we were, and how completely we were overlooked by the enemy from the far higher

feature to the North of us. He could see our every movement. At the same time we realised

how important it was to deny to the Germans the use of the ground we were holding; it would

be fatal to give it away now. I think that this realisation helped to put new heart into us.

Needless to say, the sun and clear sky also gave the enemy gunners a better view of our

positions, and the mortars now increased their accuracy and rate of fire. I huddled in my

sanger trying to snatch some sleep, but after no more than ten minutes I was woken by a

heavy explosion, followed closely by another. In the better light they had turned their heavy

guns on us, and their shells came over with a whistling-like noise like an express train, the

din becoming louder and louder until I thought that my head would burst. The blast of the

explosions sent a shock wave against the ear drums which was extremely painful and left me

with singing ears for hours afterwards. This barrage tipped my platoon sergeant over the edge

of sanity and he began to cry like a baby. He was shattered and completely useless, and I

ordered him down the hill since otherwise he would probably have lost his head and run,

thereby laying himself open to a charge of desertion in the face of the enemy for which the

penalty was automatically three years penal servitude. This was a brave man who had fought

gallantly across North Africa and up the beaches of Salerno, and had given all he had; there

was now nothing left.

19

I then discovered that the man in the nearby sanger had received a direct hit with a

mortar, and I left my sanger to see what I could do. I found him dead. The heavy shells were

coming over consistently all the time, and I was so cold and deaf that I seemed not to hear the

whistle and roar of each shell as it arrived. At that moment I felt a terrific knock on my side –

a piece of shrapnel, luckily spent, had hit my left buttock. I got down into my sanger too

furious to see immediately whether I was bleeding or not, and I suddenly lost my temper.

Why were we being left to die in such a one-sided contest? In a fury, I decided to go up to the

gunner O.P. which was a little higher than us, and about 200 yards away, to demand counter-

battery fire by our medium guns on the German lines. Half way there, a barrage of shells

came down and I threw myself to the ground. Just ahead I saw that five shells had fallen on

the O.P. position. I jumped into a nearby sanger as another lot came down with a tremendous

roar and ear-splitting pressure on my ears, and I thought that this time it really was the advent

of death. All went dark with the smoke and blast, and the stench of cordite was stifling.

Hearing cries, I pushed forward into the smoke and saw that several shells had hit the

gunners’ post, smashing the wireless set, and killing three men outright. One other was crying

out and was obviously in pain. Shells were still dropping around the site, and it took all my

courage to stay there outside the protection of a sanger to help the gunner when every part of

me felt I would be killed if I did not take cover. The man was hit in the back and I tried to

place a field dressing on the wound, but he died while I was holding him. The others were

half buried under rocks and were badly mutilated; the sight of these wounds was more than I

could stomach and for the first time I was violently sick. I was then so tired and shaken that

for a moment I really could not have cared what happened to me. After a short while I

remembered that I had men still alive to attend to; and they were all I had to live for at that

moment. They depended on me; so I gritted my teeth and walked down to my sanger, where

my servant pulled me in and gave me a rocket for going up to the O.P. under shelling. More

stretcher bearers then arrived up the mountain. They were the bravest men of all. They seem

to be inspired and to have no fear. Whenever there is a casualty lying out in the open they

have to go to him, often under fire. It is a very difficult thing to steel yourself to do this when

unarmed and unable to hit back. The Guardsmen expected this service, and they were never

let down. The Battalion bearers suffered terribly for their courage during those days.

By 11.00 hrs on the 11th of November, Nos.2 and 3 Companies were reduced to a

handful of men. It was Armistice Day, but men were still dying. The Corps Commander,

Dick McCreery, talked to Hugh on the telephone that morning and told him that it was vital

for the 5th Army that we hold our ground. Almost simultaneously, Jimmy Whatman came

through to say that the enemy were closing in and it might be only a matter of minutes. Our

guns were firing flat out, but the O.P. had been demolished and the guns were therefore being

fired off the map instead of by direct observation. They were terrified at the gun lines that the

shells would hit our own men. Meanwhile, at Battalion H.Q. everyone was tearing up papers

and documents, and were preparing to fight hand to hand if the enemy broke through the

forward platoons, to defend the Commanding Officer and the ground we occupied. Hugh had

not been off the wireless set for days, and had been constantly on duty in his trench even

when Charles Earle came up to help him. Peter, ‘Windy’, Dickie and I waited, huddled and

20

cold, for what was to come; it all seemed pretty hopeless, and we wondered if it would ever

come to an end.

The enemy counter attacks were still going on, and it seemed miraculous that the

Battalion was managing to hold on. We were now being subjected to small arms fire much

more than before, and I therefore crawled forward with one or two men over the boulders

with my rifle and tried to spot where the fire was coming from. This was difficult because the

cloud was back with us, and there was endless smoke from the shell bursts, and in any event

my hands were so numb with the cold that I could barely hold my rifle effectively.

Nevertheless I fired a number of rounds at a bush that looked suspicious, and it must have

been a good guess since I received a vicious burst of spaudau fire as a reward, happily, over

my head by several feet. And so the day wore on. We were not only hungry, cold and

miserable, but were getting angry that there was evidently no one coming to relieve us or

help. What, we asked ourselves, were the rest of the Division doing? Was this not stated to be

a Divisional objective? A few Ox and Bucks Light Infantry were up at the top end of the

valley on our right, but that was all, and they appeared to be unable to influence the situation

in our favour. The men in the forward Companies kept fighting but their wounded could not

be evacuated, and we learned that some were dying of exposure and shock where they lay – a

terrible way to die. Even those wounded on Point 727, who were not surrounded by German

Patrols, had to endure that nightmare journey of between 9 and 11 hours carrying down to the

R.A.P. which itself was a death trap since the German gunners were shelling it with 105mm

and 210mm shells. At the climax of this battle, when every man’s courage and powers of

endurance was being tested to the utmost, the spirit of dogged determination and refusal to

admit defeat was never stronger. Every man was aware that he was a Grenadier and had the

reputation of the Regiment in his hands.

The climax came that afternoon. The Guardsmen on Point 819 were sheltering in their

sangers, outnumbered in men and fire power, waiting for the next attack to come. Suddenly,

some Germans shouted out “Come out and fight, Tommy, and see what you can do.” This

infuriated the men; one Guardsman, livid with rage, rushed out with his grenades and killed

three Germans before he himself was shot. And then the attack came. The Guardsmen stood

up in their sangers and fired back, not caring now what they did. They had fought against

overwhelming odds and they knew that they would be overrun, but they were going to see to

it that the enemy paid dearly for his success. The fight was furious, and the battle rolled over

the rocks and down the valley. We waited breathlessly on Point 727 expecting, second by

second, hordes of Nazis pouring down upon us. We all knew it must happen; and yet we were

strangely quiet and relaxed, and for the first time in days I was no longer frightened. That

attack was beaten off. It was a miracle, and a magnificent feat. The Guardsmen had expended

their ammunition, and had resorted to the bayonet. Germans do not like this weapon. And

when the men on that mountain ran at them with their bayonets it was more than they could

stand. They broke and ran – the climax was over. We had held the hill; but at what price!

Just before dark we heard we were going to be relieved by the 7th Ox and Bucks and

then when we were clear they were going to evacuate the mountain. It was a glorious relief to

us but we had not accepted the possibility of total withdrawal. What had we fought for? Had

21

all the sacrifice been in vain? Was all we accomplished to be thrown away? Apparently so. It

was the same story that was repeated a few months later at Cassino. The commanders would

not employ enough men on the ground; they seemed terrified of committing enough men to

maintain the impetus of the attack, and as a result Battalions were left to hold a front alone or

with insufficient support, and so to face the full fury of the enemy strength until they were so

weak that they became useless. Camino was a Divisional objective and there were quite

enough men available to carry out a system of quick relief’s, which I believe is what should

have been done. Had the 6th Battalion been relieved after the first attack had bogged down,

we could have regrouped and gone forward to take the high ground overlooking Point 819,

probably losing many fewer men in the process. Alternatively, another formation might have

attacked through us (as happened in the second battle for Camino). But no; not until the

wrong way had been insisted upon and been unsuccessful was the right way attempted. And

what a waste of lives. We were short enough of man power as it was in the Italian theatre of

operations, and Commanders were always complaining of troop shortages and lack of

reinforcements. The lesson was not learned on Camino because the same mistake was made

in the first battle for Cassino, and only after about 25,000 men had been lost in the latter

operation did the penny drop. History has usually supported General Sherman’s theory that:

“The General who wins is the General who get the most men there the fastest”. And in the

case of Camino, too few men got there, suffering such losses that they could not get any

further, let alone faster.

We were relieved that night by the 7th Ox and Bucks. The Battalion changed over

quietly, and not a casualty suffered, which was very lucky since the Germans could have

made the whole relief impossible if they had been alert. As it turned out, they were licking

their wounds and had no further stomach for a fight that night. I took my platoon down the

precipice at the end of the gully which led down to the valley under the cliffs and, hanging on

to telephone wires, we scrambled down the mountain to Mieli. We left Camino frowning over

us, and with many of our friends remaining up there; we had lost over 50% of our fighting

strength in five days with many more rendered unfit by cold, exhaustion and hunger.

At the bottom we were met by the men who had been L.O.B. (Left out of Battle) and

they looked after us wonderfully. They were terribly pleased to see us; the spirit of

comradeship in that Battalion was superb, and we really felt it at that time. It was not till then

that we realised that the L.O.B. people had watched our ordeal going on from Monte Groce,

and had been able to see us being pounded. They were powerless to help except by carrying

stores, ammunition, food and water down to Mieli and Galluccio over tracks that were

impassable to vehicles because of the mud. And so we arrived at some caves in the hillside

which were to be our home for two days. Never had I been so pleased in all my life to enter

such a ‘home’. Having seen my platoon into their holes, and seen them drop off to sleep in

their clothes, I reported to Peter Marsham. We woke men up for a meal and I then got my

boots off for the first time in 7 or 8 days; and so to sleep. I was exhausted and could hardly

hear the shells coming down over the mountain top. I slept soundly and remember nothing

until I woke up again after what I thought was about 12 hours. It was dark, and on looking at

my watch I was amazed to see that it was 03.30hrs. I had been asleep for almost 24 hours!

22

Various people were awake talking, and I got up to find David Willis, Peter and Dickie

gossiping together. We chatted for some time until the telephone rang; Peter answered it, and

learned that our Brigadier, Julian Gascoigne, had been wounded standing with the

Commanding Officer, Billy Kingsmill, in the doorway of Battalion H.Q. A shell had hit the

roof opposite, and shrapnel had hit Julian in the chest. Peter detailed me to go to the R.A.P. to

fetch the Doctor, and I ran up the track some half a mile long. I found the Doctor, but the jeep

driver could not be found. Whilst waiting for him to arrive I felt uneasy as there was no

shelling going on, and the R.A.P. building was a noteworthy harassing fire target. The driver

appeared after a while, and together with the Doctor, a stretcher bearer and Sgt Morley,

M.M., we set off. As we began to move I heard the distant boom of guns, and we were

scarcely round the next bend when the first shell hit the road where we had been standing

fifteen seconds before. The remainder of the barrage began to chase us down the road. We

drove faster and faster along the dumpy track, in the dark, and without any lights, and after

the third shell had burst just behind us I shouted: “Stop, take cover in the ditch.” The driver

slammed on the brakes just as the last shell landed opposite us on the side of the road. By the

grace of God it landed under the lip of the ditch and so we got the blast but not the shrapnel.

The blast blew the jeep into a ditch where it sat on its side, Sgt Morley pinned underneath it.

After shaking ourselves, and trying unsuccessfully to extricate Sgt Morley, we continued on

foot to Battalion H.Q., where the Brigadier was lying for all the world like Nelson on the

deck of the Victory. He was badly hit and was now being treated by the Doctor. Jock Rowan,

the Adjutant, gave me a quick tot of brandy, and I then returned, with several men, to try to

rescue Sgt Morley. On arrival there was no sign of him and evidently someone else had lifted

the jeep from on top of him. I therefore returned to my cave to get something to eat.

We slept all the next day and in the evening we were told that the Coldstreams were

withdrawing from Camino. We were ordered to dig in at the bottom of the mountain in order

to cover them out, and to fight if the enemy followed them down. We moved up after dark

and began to dig. I sited each position and trench for my Platoon, and felt we had a really

strong defensive area. Covering fire from our artillery was going over and a certain amount

was coming back, but this did not worry us unduly. The Coldstreams came down very quietly

by Companies followed by the Ox and Bucks Light Infantry who had been at the top of the

re-entrant under the Camino cliffs. Everything went without a hitch, and it subsequently

transpired that the enemy did not know that we had retired. Not a man was lost in the

operation, and all the time the Germans continued to shell the evacuated trenches long after

they had been abandoned. The Sappers came down the track last of all, laying anti-personnel

mines. It had now begun to pour with rain again, and although the Guardsmen were tired

from hard digging in the rocky ground, they were pleased to be leaving finally to return to the

rear areas. We left our covering position at about 23.00hrs, and set out to climb back up to

Monte Groce some six miles away. We trudged through Mieli and Gallucio, and through the

tragic ruins of San Clemente, away from Monte Camino.

I think everyone felt a pang of regret, mingled with relief, on leaving a place which

had seen such tragedy and drama over the previous week. It was disappointing and

disheartening to have been unable, through no fault of ours, to throw the enemy back to

23

Cassino, but we were grateful that we had been spared for the time being. Yet every man

knew that Camino would have to be attacked again, sometime. We trudged on hour after hour

in the darkness, up the muddy slippery tracks, feeling that we were getting no nearer our

destination, but at long last we came to an exceptionally muddy field where we found the

vehicles of A. Echelon waiting for us. We were so tired that we dropped onto our

groundsheets and slept.

Next day we moved to Caserta to new clothing, more sleep, baths, some leave and

refitting, and this marked the end of the first Battle of Monte Camino.

The Battalion had played a great part in the fight, but because of the elements, and

doubtful Generalship, we had failed to achieve our goal. We had lost over 50% of our

fighting strength, and many more were missing on those dangerous, cold and friendless

heights9. We knew we had done our utmost, and realised what the consequences would have

been had we not hung on as we did. We had killed a lot of the enemy, and we believed that

we had upheld the traditions of the Regiment.

This is the end of the story. For us it was a nightmare; and the final twist was cruel.

By some extraordinary quirk of fate, the Germans decided they could no longer hold the

commanding heights of Camino on the night we evacuated the Mountain, and they retired at

the same time as the Coldstreams were withdrawing. The disputed ground that had claimed

so many lives was therefore abandoned by both sides that night, without either side being

aware of it. It was only a day or two later that a German patrol discovered the truth, and

reoccupied the area. Had we appreciated the true position at the time we need never have

withdrawn and the second Battle10 would not have taken place. But that is another story.

W.F-A.

August 1945

Footnotes, maps and photographs added by Regimental Archives

9 ‘The Bn went up the hill 483 strong and came down 263. Casualties from 1 and 4 Coys mostly from mortars

and shelling, 2 and 3 Coys from Spandau. The Bn was dead beat from cold, exposure, constant mortaring,

shelling, sniping and Spandau…After 24 hours rest many men were found to be suffering from trench foot

which as further minimised the numbers.’ [6 Bn War Diary] 10 This time two British divisions were deployed in the direct attack and an American division operated on their

right flank.