CAMINO, 6th -
12th November 1943 - A BRIEF ACCOUNT
Ivan Colver
Since
late October, a month of continuous rain, we had been moving
north, clearing the hills around the route. North through
Pignataro, Teano,
Roccamonfina, and by night marches into the hills around
Camino, and settled down on a big hill with lots of
cover, chestnut trees and bushes, ground cover across the
valley from Mt. Camino. I joined Corporal Hollis
and
George Beale as 3 signallers for No. 2 Company. We spent
our time checking our kit and equipment, I passed a
Guardsman nearby cleaning a Bren gun and we recognised each
other, he joined the army one day after me and we had
trained in the same squad for sixteen weeks until we had
passed all stages, then we had parted. Now, two years later
we met again, Peter Curry was his name, he was now
No. 4 company runner and we promised to have a drink
together after the battle. The war went on, now we were
ready to move, none of us knew where we were going or what
we were to do, but this was the usual procedure, only the
top few were privy to this. We just followed orders.
November 6th.
It was evening, getting dark, we were now moving down into
the valley where a battle was heard. It was the Coldstream
Guards clearing the village of Calabritto and the
foothills behind. They were having a hard time and running
late. Our commanding officer ordered our battalion by
companies in single file to run through the blazing main
street and onto the slopes of Camino. There we were,
over four hundred men loaded up like camels and mules
trotting in a thin black line, houses on each side flaming
away, the first time we had been warm for a month. We got to
the foothills, left our greatcoats in a heap and started
climbing in the dark. It was precision climbing, 1, 4, 3, 2
companies in that order and in line if possible, and by
feeling in the dark. It was a long hard night and five days
of fighting at the top. The plan was for us to be up in the
dark but it was daylight before we got there. We reached the
lip on Bare Arse, to my right No. 4 men were milling
around on their position and a German machine gun started
firing at them, our hill 819 was about 350 yards in
front of us, Capt. Howard our boss shouted “come
on let’s go”, we had to get there quickly. Off we
galloped over a few rocks and terraces, taking some 3
company men with us and, after a short while, we had taken
819. Capt.
Howard chose a spot for us as company HQ, a flat square
surrounded with rocks, bushes and small trees. Some wounded
on stretchers were brought down and 8 or 9 German POWs
(Prisoners of War).
George Beale and I were told to look after them. German
fire was now coming from Spandau Ridge and Camino,
and some mortar bombs were landing. The POWs were getting
nervous and wanting to be taken away as was their right,
they knew their army would counter attack and they wanted to
be away, and were starting to be a nuisance. The highest
ranking man was getting very irritating and loud, but a
bullet from somewhere hit him in the stomach, he went quiet
after that. Two of our Platoons had been put on the forward
slopes facing Camino and
Spandau Ridge, these now were taking a lot of
incoming fire from machine guns and snipers, and we were
having a lot of casualties, they could have been on the back
slopes with one or two lookouts and saved some.
Darkness
came, preparations were made to get the stretchered wounded
down with the walking wounded, and the POWs to help them
down, a great lot of men. All this became a nightly ritual,
stretchers and walking wounded going down and men on 819 in
the daily attacks, being overrun and taken POWs. We were
getting low on men. Our Commanding Officer Capt. Howard
had been lying nearby with his legs shattered by machine gun
fire but he refused to go down to the casualty station and
remained, still giving orders and taking morphine for his
pain, (A private supply). His servant was looking after him.
No. 3 Commander Major Cook had been killed by the
same machine gun. Capt. Howard told me to radio “We
urgently need help” so I sent the message to Battalion
H.Q. and later had the reply “We can’t help, you are in
God’s hands”. We were both speechless at that reply.
Some murderous machine gun fire came at us across a small
gully running parallel down from the top of 819, how some of
us lived through this I will never know. We fired some shots
back and it stopped. I think it must have been an effort to
get our attention because when it stopped another attack
came in behind us from the opposite direction. Four or five
Germans from behind some large rocks fired one shot then
vanished back down their hill. That one shot hit an Officer,
2ndLieutenant Brocklebank, age 21 (buried
in Cassino), in the forehead, he sank slowly to his
knees dead. Our Captain Howard got another machine gun burst
through his legs again, he was lying across my rocky hollow,
I saw the bullets hitting the ground as they travelled
across his legs and onwards. He called his servant who was
next to me for more morphine. Late afternoon still light,
after a quiet twenty minutes, George Beale came
across to our little trenches and said “I’m going to have
a fag, do you want one?” I nodded and he passed me one
and lit it for me, then lit one for himself and inhaled.
Before he could blow the smoke out he was shot in the head
by a machine gun firing from across the narrow gully again.
His cigarette was lying between his boots and a thin
straight line of smoke was passing round his face as he was
bent forward sitting on the end of his small slit trench. I
said “Dear Lord receive the soul of thy servant George
Beale”. Corporal Hollis came back to us at dark
and searched George and took his watch, the only watch
between the three of us, Hollis went away again. Again, just
after this a Captain Whatman from No. 3 Company came
and stayed with me and my radio, he had been hiding until it
was dark. No. 3 Company HQ had been overwhelmed and lost, he
was the sole survivor, and now took over out No. 2 Company.
Our Captain was now in a bad way with neglect and loss of
blood and smashed legs. A terrible hailstorm now hit us and
our new Captain, whose name was Whatman, and I had a push
and pull tussle, us trying to get the biggest part of my
gascape for shelter. Our Captain finally was persuaded to go
down with the wounded that night. He spent the rest of his
life legless in a wheelchair and got the DSO. We were now so
few on the hill, our ammunition was low, a lot of our rifle
bullets had gone to fill the magazines of the Bren guns, as
was bullets from dead men's pouches. We also drank water
from their bottles and ate their emergency hard chocolate
bars and kept our own. We had some big shells falling on and
around our position now, our own 25 pounders, as some German
troops now occupied the top of 819 and we were just below. I
thought it was brilliant shooting but some fell very near to
us so I kept my head down. Capt. Whatman still kept
close to me but didn’t say much, or do much. We lay, his
feet in my face and mine in his.
The next
morning after a little firing and mortars falling, the
Germans on 819 started slowly and warily edging down the
hill towards us, and shouted “hands up” and we all
waited expectantly. None of us had much to give them a
fight, we had our short bayonets fixed, very little ammo
left and didn’t think much of our chances. “Hands up”
again, they didn’t sound very eager or aggressive and
Captain Whatman, who had lost No. 3 Company HQ POW,
didn’t want to lose us too said to me “Shout back at them”.
I had to think quickly now. “Hands up” again very
near now and I shouted “Come on you bastard sauerkrauts”
and a few lads joined in the yelling loud and strong for 30
seconds, then we went quiet and never heard another word,
they just went away quietly. That night the Ox & Bucks
regiment drove the Germans back a bit and opened up a gap
for us to file through and come down the hill. They lost a
lot of men doing that to rescue so few. I stayed with the
Captain while he explained the situation to our rescuers, he
said to me you can go now, the new men had passed me like a
parcel in the dark to the top of the track and pointed me
downwards, and slowly on funny legs and feet I went down. It
got light, it was a clear sky, the sun rising and very
peaceful, my emotions were all over the place. It was so
strange, quiet and peaceful, I could walk upright taking my
time, sitting on rocks and rubbing my feet a couple of
times. It took me a long time to walk down, savouring every
moment. Getting near the bottom I saw a smart soldier come
out of a house and stand looking up at me. As I got nearer,
tears ran down my cheeks, I didn’t feel like crying, I felt
happy, but I couldn’t stop the tears. As I got near the
soldier, I saw it was the battalion Sergeant Major. He put
his arm round my shoulder and gave me a few pats. He showed
me to a wreck of a big house and said find a place to sleep
in there. It was difficult as HQ Company and 1 & 4 Companies
had come down hours before us, they had been fed and were
now sleeping. The next day we were questioned about the men
who had not come down, who was dead, who were POW and the
last few men who had come down were put in a 3 ton truck and
taken 50 miles or more to Amalfi where we were given
a blanket and stayed in an empty school, sleeping on a
wooden floor in a classroom. We had our bare necessities,
can’t remember food or change of underclothes. An Italian
street photographer was doing business, he took three of us
in a pose, none of us was smiling when we saw it. This
was four days we had R&R, rest and recuperation, peace and
quiet. It was a strange four days, we seemed out of place. I
thought after, I had to do two extra punishment drills in
London Wellington Barracks 1942 for smiling on parade.
1943 in Italy, I got a pat on the back for crying. I thought
the army is going soft. Peter Curry, I was to meet
for a drink after the battle was wounded by mortar bombs,
and later killed by a second lot, 22 years old buried in
Cassino.
Since
late October, a month of continuous rain, we had been moving
north, clearing the hills around the route. North through
Pignataro, Teano,
Roccamonfina, and by night marches into the hills around
Camino, and settled down on a big hill with lots of
cover, chestnut trees and bushes, ground cover across the
valley from Mt. Camino. I joined Corporal Hollis
and
George Beale as 3 signallers for No. 2 Company. We spent
our time checking our kit and equipment, I passed a
Guardsman nearby cleaning a Bren gun and we recognised each
other, he joined the army one day after me and we had
trained in the same squad for sixteen weeks until we had
passed all stages, then we had parted. Now, two years later
we met again, Peter Curry was his name, he was now
No. 4 company runner and we promised to have a drink
together after the battle. The war went on, now we were
ready to move, none of us knew where we were going or what
we were to do, but this was the usual procedure, only the
top few were privy to this. We just followed orders. 
Darkness
came, preparations were made to get the stretchered wounded
down with the walking wounded, and the POWs to help them
down, a great lot of men. All this became a nightly ritual,
stretchers and walking wounded going down and men on 819 in
the daily attacks, being overrun and taken POWs. We were
getting low on men. Our Commanding Officer Capt. Howard
had been lying nearby with his legs shattered by machine gun
fire but he refused to go down to the casualty station and
remained, still giving orders and taking morphine for his
pain, (A private supply). His servant was looking after him.
No. 3 Commander Major Cook had been killed by the
same machine gun. Capt. Howard told me to radio “We
urgently need help” so I sent the message to Battalion
H.Q. and later had the reply “We can’t help, you are in
God’s hands”. We were both speechless at that reply.
Some murderous machine gun fire came at us across a small
gully running parallel down from the top of 819, how some of
us lived through this I will never know. We fired some shots
back and it stopped. I think it must have been an effort to
get our attention because when it stopped another attack
came in behind us from the opposite direction. Four or five
Germans from behind some large rocks fired one shot then
vanished back down their hill. That one shot hit an Officer,
2nd Lieutenant Brocklebank, age 21 (buried
in Cassino), in the forehead, he sank slowly to his
knees dead. Our Captain Howard got another machine gun burst
through his legs again, he was lying across my rocky hollow,
I saw the bullets hitting the ground as they travelled
across his legs and onwards. He called his servant who was
next to me for more morphine. Late afternoon still light,
after a quiet twenty minutes, George Beale came
across to our little trenches and said “I’m going to have
a fag, do you want one?” I nodded and he passed me one
and lit it for me, then lit one for himself and inhaled.
Before he could blow the smoke out he was shot in the head
by a machine gun firing from across the narrow gully again.
His cigarette was lying between his boots and a thin
straight line of smoke was passing round his face as he was
bent forward sitting on the end of his small slit trench. I
said “Dear Lord receive the soul of thy servant George
Beale”. Corporal Hollis came back to us at dark
and searched George and took his watch, the only watch
between the three of us, Hollis went away again. Again, just
after this a Captain Whatman from No. 3 Company came
and stayed with me and my radio, he had been hiding until it
was dark. No. 3 Company HQ had been overwhelmed and lost, he
was the sole survivor, and now took over out No. 2 Company.
Our Captain was now in a bad way with neglect and loss of
blood and smashed legs. A terrible hailstorm now hit us and
our new Captain, whose name was Whatman, and I had a push
and pull tussle, us trying to get the biggest part of my
gascape for shelter. Our Captain finally was persuaded to go
down with the wounded that night. He spent the rest of his
life legless in a wheelchair and got the DSO. We were now so
few on the hill, our ammunition was low, a lot of our rifle
bullets had gone to fill the magazines of the Bren guns, as
was bullets from dead men's pouches. We also drank water
from their bottles and ate their emergency hard chocolate
bars and kept our own. We had some big shells falling on and
around our position now, our own 25 pounders, as some German
troops now occupied the top of 819 and we were just below. I
thought it was brilliant shooting but some fell very near to
us so I kept my head down. Capt. Whatman still kept
close to me but didn’t say much, or do much. We lay, his
feet in my face and mine in his. 
