Testimonianze

Grenadier Guardsman George Booker

RETURN TO MONTE CAMINO - Story by Mike Booker

of mum’s younger and only brother had had a mostly hidden effect on mum.  She took it hard and beneath the assured face she presented to the world I sensed a fragility which I put down to George’s death.  Perhaps dad was the new George in her life. For dad, the battle for Monte Camino (or “Bloody Hill”) and Les’s death during the battle were life changing in a more fatal sense. Dad could have been Les. Like many who fought in the Second World War dad doesn’t talk much about the human costs and I only recently found out about Les.  But he takes great pride in his regiment – the Grenadier Guards – and the fact that he fought, so we set off for Italy two days before Anzac day 2007 with dad wearing his blazer with the Grenadier Guards’ grenade emblem stitched on the pocket and a poppy on his lapel. In his bag were poppies for the graves of Les and George, who if the German shell had taken a different course in all likelihood would been his brother-in-law. He is of course also my uncle and I’ve always called him uncle George.

We arrived in Rome early on the day before Anzac day and drove three hours to the small town of Mignano, near both Monte Cassino and Camino, where we had been booked in to stay in a pensione by a member of a British-Italian network associated with dad’s 6^th Guards Battalion. This network helped turn what would have been a simple commemorative visit into a voyage of rediscovery for dad and discovery for me. After finding the pensione shut for the afternoon, we drove to Cassino which is now a bustling town of 30,000. The town, and the famous monastery that looms above it, were almost completely flattened during four battles for the town and hill waged between January and May 1944 as the allies fought the German army for control of the inland flank of the Liri River valley, and the way to Rome. We drove up to the rebuilt monastery to find the area alive with Germans. Cassino has a thriving tourism industry centred on the monastery and the war. I was a little taken aback by the presence of the Germans but dad seemed unfazed.  He has great respect for the German army as a brave and fair foe and talks about how young many of its soldiers were. We later visit the Cassino war cemetery to find George’s grave.  There are 464 Kiwis buried at Cassino, plus another 55 who, with no known grave, are commemorated at the cemetery memorial. There are 21 rows of 23 headstones for the Kiwis who were killed at Cassino. Not knowing exactly where George was buried in the Kiwi section of the cemetery, it took dad and I about 10 minutes to find his headstone. Most of the Kiwis were killed during February and March 1944 in the second and third battles of Cassino as the 2^nd New Zealand Division fought its way into the town. Many, like George, were in their early 20s. George was fatally wounded at the Cassino railway station on the southern edge of the town. The carnage that was Cassino can be seen by in the cemeteries in the area.  As well as the Commonwealth one, there’s one for the Poles at the top of Monte Cassino (the Poles eventually took the hill), one for the Germans while the estimated 2000 Italian civilians killed in the battles are buried in Cassino cemetery and in those of neighbouring towns.

That night in the pensione over a few beers we caught up with the Italian end of the 6^th Guards Battalion network.  Giovanni Angelone, who had worked in the cotton mills of northern England and speaks English with a broad Lancashire accent, and Peppe Giovini, who had worked for A.T.&T. in the US, were to be our invaluable guides and translators for the next two days. Both now work for the local Rocca d’Evandro council which is developing strong ties with the Guards who they see as having liberated the area from the Tedeschi (Germans). Out the back of the town hall there’s a new street named Grenadier Strada. On Anzac day dad and I meet up with Giovanni and Peppe in the township of Rocca d’Evandro which lies at the foot of Monte Camino for a climb up to a memorial cairn erected by relatives of the Grenadier and Scots guardsmen who fought and died on the slopes of Monte Camino. The first battle for Monte Camino in early November 1943 was one of the most vicious of the Italian campaign. The Allies underestimated German strength on the hill.  Dad’s battalion, and another from the Scots Guards, were given the task of taking the snow-capped 1000 metre high peak which controlled the seaward flank of the Liri River valley. In pouring rain and driving winds 483 Grenadiers went up Monte Camino – three days later only 263 returned with the hill still in German hands. Two weeks later, in the second battle, three divisions were needed to push the Germans off the hill. The 25^th of April is also Liberation Day in Italy – a national holiday marking the liberation of Italy from the Tedeschi in 1945 – so we climbed to the cairn accompanied by the Mayor of Rocca d’Evandro, former members of the carabinieri, Giovanni, Peppe and the Italian flag. While waiting for the start of the climb there’s a discussion about the merits of each nation’s soldiers’ helmets. One former carabinieri who was a child during the war remembers thinking the Tedeschi, American and Italian helmets were best because they covered the ears. There was further praise for the Italian helmet because of its purely ornamental plume. The British one only gave protection to the top of the head. The climb to the cairn gave an indication of the toughness of the terrain over which the battle for Monte Camino raged.  Dad had wanted to get to the cairn unassisted, however the additional 64 years in his legs proved too many in some of the tougher spots but there was always a willing Italian hand ready to help him along.  Italy too was in the middle of a Spring heat wave with temperatures above 20 degrees C – glaringly different from the elements experienced in November and December of 1943. On the third day of the first battle there was even a small earthquake. Strewn along the path were small pieces of shrapnel from the battle. The largest we found was about 6 cm long. I picked up four pieces to take home. Also scattered among the bushes alongside the path were shoots of wild asparagus which is thinner than the commercial variety we see in New Zealand and reputedly much tastier.  Every so often on the walk the mayor would disappear and later emerge with a handful of shoots which he planned to eat later in the day with an omelet. After about an hour’s walk through scrub, patches of grass and low trees, and meeting the occasional cow, we reach a spur of Monte Camino where the cairn is located. From here you can see, dimly through the smoggy haze, the western coastline. Closer at hand is also a stunning Italian landscape – all around are huge hills which tower above heavily wooded valleys. Scattered among the valleys and on the lower slopes of the hills are tourist brochure perfect villages that have changed little over the centuries. At the cairn dad picks some wild flowers and places them beside a cross and says a prayer.  Our Italian hosts then unfurl the Italian flag and the former members of carabinieri salute dad. One thing that came from the hospitality and recognition he received from the citizens of Rocca d’Evandro was a newfound respect for the Italian people. They too were suffering huge hardships during the winter of ’43.

The next day we travel to Les Liddiard’s grave at Minturno with Peppe, Giovanni and Francesco (who knew the Minturno area) sitting in the back seat of our rental car. On the way Giovanni introduces us to an 84 year old man who remained in his village (Cocuruzzo) near Monte Camino during the battles. He tells us how he had no shoes and little food and he points to a nearby house where American soldiers called him in and gave him a new pair of shoes and a stack of biscuits which he wrapped into a large cloth to take home. He also recounts how local men were “recruited” by the Tedeschi to go and work in Germany. I later ask Giovanni about the translation of recruited and after a discussion it was agreed that what may have started out as recruitment was by the close of 1943 was more like forced labour. The trip to Minturno was also an opportunity to visit the side of Monte Camino where dad was based and where he fought during the first battle. We go to the place where Giovanni believes dad may have been billeted when he came down off Camino after the first battle. The house, which you can still see must have once belonged to a wealthy land owner, is now an abandoned shell. Dad’s not certain that this is the place, though it fits events.  From the house you can see the bluff on “bare arse” ridge which the Guards battalions fought their way along, sheltered from German shells. Sixty four years has reduced the strength of dad’s memory. It’s not the places, but events that he remembers best – the smell of the dead mules used to ferry food and munitions up the hill that had been caught in the shelling and the terrifying sound of the German 9-barrel mortar, the Nebelwerfer. He doesn’t volunteer information about the human carnage he has seen. After an hour long journey along back roads that wind through some of the hills and valleys we could see the day before from Monte Camino, with our three Italian guides sitting in the rear seat, we reach the coast and the war cemetery at Minturno. Like the Cassino cemetery it is in immaculate condition with manicured lawns, trimmed trees and 2049 spotless white headstones. We find out where Les’ grave is from a plan of the cemetery stored in an alcove near the entrance. From there we quickly locate the headstone. It’s the moment I had been envisaging before leaving New Zealand. I’m sure it was the same for dad - visiting Les’ grave is the main reason for the trip to Italy. Les and dad have a tragically intertwined story. As signalmen they fought side by side up from the Salerno beachhead which began the Allies’ invasion of Italy three months earlier to Monte Camino. Les survived the first battle of Camino physically unscathed but the intensity of the fighting meant he needed a break. So during the second battle, when the order came through for the 6^th Battalion to move forward to renew the attack, dad was asked to take Les’ place. Les remained with the HQ company which followed. When dad came back off the mountain for the second time he was told that Les had been killed by a German shell while at his post - dad’s post if he hadn’t gone up the mountain. To this day dad carries in his wallet what is now a slightly battered photo of Les, given to him later by Les’ sister. There’s no outpouring of tears as dad places a poppy on Les’ grave and then offers a quick prayer knelling on one knee over the headstone. He draws attention to Les’s age of 20 years – “He was so young.”  Dad wasn’t much older at the time. The headstone reveals a mystery about Les’ death.  According to the script on the headstone Les died on January 30, 1944, seven weeks after the final battle for Monte Camino. Had he been wounded and later died of his wounds? Is the date wrong? And why was he buried at Minturno when most of the British soldiers killed at Monte Camino were buried at Cassino?

There’s one final event – a secret that our Italian hosts and I had been hiding from dad - that brings our visit to the Monte Camino area to a close. Back in Rocca d’Evandro, the Mayor, some councilors, council staff and the local priest had gathered in the council chambers to present dad with a plaque to honour his contribution to the liberation of the Rocca d’Evandro area. As we leave it’s hard to find words to express our gratitude to our hosts for this gesture and all the help and support we had received over the previous 48 hours. It showed that new generations of Italians had not forgotten the sacrifices, hardships and lessons of a war fought more than 60 years ago. For Giovanni, Peppe, the people of the Monte Camino area, and a young woman who traveled from Rome to Cassino for Liberation Day and shook dad’s hand, meeting and helping dad reacknowledged both the memories and the debt. The plaque presentation, like the visit to Les’s grave, is not a moment for laying ghosts to rest as had been suggested. I doubt that there are any ghosts. Later in England dad, perhaps worried that I’d over romanticise this story, says the war was simply something he was caught up in.  It happened and he moved on. He’s not one to dwell in the past. I think the trip to Monte Camino was about paying respect to his fallen comrades and Les who in a way made possible a future for dad and the Booker family in New Zealand. As he said at Les’s grave, and possibly every time he opened his wallet and saw Les - “There but for the grace of God…”

(Mike Booker - June 2007)