by Mark Zuehlke
Quayle knew that the man meant getting shot was dumb, not the act of looting. In impoverished Sicily and southern Italy, there had been little worth taking, except food and wine. The pickings improved greatly, however, once the Canadians marched north of Rome. Although army regulations prohibited looting, Eighth Army’s military police and most of its officers generally turned a blind eye so long as the thievery was kept somewhat in check. Suffering a chronic shortage of reinforcements, commanders were loath to send men off to the stockades for such infractions as looting.
Captain Howard Mitchell of the Saskatoon Light Infantry—the regiment that provided heavy machine-gun, 4.2-inch mortar, and anti-aircraft gun support to 1 CID—spent his second day on the Florence front censoring his company’s mail. Usually this consisted of simple letters home. This day, however, there was a small stack of identically sized small soft parcels. Dismayed at the thought of unwrapping and rewrapping each package, he simply franked them all and sent them off uninspected. The next day, a virtually identical stack of small parcels awaited his attention.
Mitchell demanded an explanation from the company sergeant major, who shrugged and said, “The boys found a warehouse of silk, Sir. They are sending some of it home.” Mitchell offered no rebuke; he only wished he had procured some of the silk for himself.15
Soldiers didn’t just limit themselves to stealing civilian property. En route to Florence, 1 CID had debussed near Siena and advanced to the front in a series of night marches in order to avoid detection by enemy spies. Night marches were unpopular because the men could only rest during the day and many, like Quayle, found it impossible to sleep when the sun was up. This was particularly true in the intense Italian summer heat. A couple of days into the march, Quayle was so tired he discovered that it was possible to catnap while actually marching, so long as he ensured that one of his men reined him in whenever he wandered off the road towards the ditch.
If the scouts only had a jeep, he lamented, they could take turns sleeping in the jeep and marching. The day after the RCR relieved the South African Division in Florence, some of his men appeared with a rattletrap jeep. “Found it, Sir,” the sergeant in charge of the group said, totally deadpan. One man pointed at the jeep. “Someone has even filed off all the markings, Sir. Must have been stolen.”
Quayle said gravely, “Must have been. No doubt at all.” Quayle soon delighted in driving by foot-bound RCR captains and majors while he, a mere lieutenant, possessed a private limousine.16
QUAYLE WAS CAREFUL to stay out of areas of Florence where Italian anti-Fascists and Fascists were still fighting each other. For in the midst of the conventional war being fought by the Allies and the Germans, there waged a fierce guerilla war.
On July 25, 1943, the Italian government’s Grand Council had arrested Benito Mussolini and reinstated the monarchical regime under King Vittorio Emanuele III. The king empowered seventy-one-year-old Marshal Pietro Badoglio, a suddenly reformed ex-Fascist, to form a new government and officially dissolved the Fascist Party. Realizing their Italian ally was planning to capitulate to the Allies, the Germans had immediately imposed an occupation force. On September 8, Italy had surrendered and the king, Badoglio, and other key members of the government fled Rome to avoid imprisonment. Boarding a ship at Ortona in the early morning hours of September 11, they escaped to a port behind the advancing Allied front lines.
The next day, German paratroopers, under command of SS Hauptsturmführer Otto Skorzeny, freed Mussolini from a remote jail in the Gran Sasso Mountains and spirited him to northern Italy. On September 17, he assumed leadership of the Republican Fascist Party and the presidency of a pro-German puppet nation—the Italian Social Republic—that claimed to be Italy’s legitimate government.
Meanwhile, in Rome on September 9, an anti-Fascist coalition had formed the Committee of National Liberation and called for a general uprising against the Nazi-Fascist forces. A partisan resistance movement was born that immediately undertook guerilla and clandestine intelligence operations against the German occupation forces and those Italians serving in Fascist military and police units. With the liberation of Rome on June 4, 1944, partisan morale soared and thousands of Italians joined their ranks.
Advancing north from Rome, the Allies entered ground in which many partisan bands operated. Previously, Canadians had seldom met partisan forces, but on Florence’s southern outskirts they were numerous. Partisan snipers routinely exchanged rifle fire with Fascist infiltrators. The two Italian factions also tangled in fierce melees for control of buildings within the Canadian perimeter.17
The Seaforth Highlanders of Canada saw their first partisan fighters on the second day in the line. Rugged, bearded men, wearing a raggle-taggle assortment of civilian and military clothing, the partisans used their local knowledge to assist Seaforth operations against the Germans across the river. The partisans provided intelligence on the strengths and identities of opposing German forces, their dispositions, and locations of minefields. They also accompanied reconnaissance patrols that slipped across the river to gather intelligence and take prisoners. The partisans sought little in exchange. “Food and supplies of arms and ammunition sufficient to enable them to carry on their underground war against the Germans were their prime requisites, and given these they would infiltrate back through the enemy’s lines to harass Tedeschi in their own unique way.”18
Back in the RCR sector, Quayle lined up behind some partisans in the regimental kitchen for a meal. A bearded partisan wandered in casually with a submachine gun under his arm and emptied a full magazine into one of the waiting men. “As the bleeding, dying victim lay on the floor, the machine-gunner said, ‘Fascist,’ and walked off.”19 The other partisans continued calmly waiting for their food, ignoring the regimental cook’s demands that the executioner be brought back to clean up the mess he had made of the kitchen. No pursuit was attempted and it was Canadians who carried off the corpse and scrubbed the blood off the floor and walls.
BEFORE MOVING to Florence, the Canadians had been ordered to remove all their unit identification patches and markers so spies would have no idea which Eighth Army division was in the line. Upon arrival, however, the men were ordered to sew everything back on again. This made little sense if Florence was, as the rumour mill insisted, the base for the next major offensive—the much anticipated attack on the Gothic Line. Most everyone in I Canadian Corps expected to play a key role in any Eighth Army offensive against the reportedly formidable final German defensive line. Yet after 1 CID had spent three days on the Florence front, boldly displaying its identity, there could be no question that the Germans were aware of their presence. Which would mean the enemy knew precisely where the major offensive would be launched.
On August 7, Seaforth Sergeant Bill Worton was left baffled by his superiors when several divisional staff officers started deliberately throwing Canadian cigarette packages and other items bearing distinctive Canadian markings into the sluggishly flowing Arno. As the packages drifted slowly across to the German side of the river, there was no doubt they would be quickly retrieved as a valuable intelligence find.
Worton was equally perplexed by an order for his three-inch mortar platoon to prepare a fire mission against a German target on the other side of the river, seemingly in defiance of the open-city policy. Dutifully, after dinner, the mortar platoon drove its trucks out into the middle of a field that stood in plain view of the German defences. The truck ran over a small mine and Sergeant Al Warrington, who was walking alongside it, was blown over a wall into a small courtyard. To his surprise, he suffered only a few bruises.
The men started hacking firing pits out of the sun-hardened ground. Worton’s hands were soon blistered and bleeding as he banged away at the unyielding earth with a shovel. “I hope we got shells for this fucking pit,” he grumbled to Lance Corporal Gordon Winning. “I hope we got some real targets to fire on after this.” He also hoped that the Germans wouldn’t see them out there on the bald prairie digging th
is absurdly exposed position. It took all night to get the holes dug, the mortars squared away, and the ammunition stowed in adjacent holes. Exhausted, Worton and the others flopped down an hour before dawn to get what sleep they might. As the sun started edging over the horizon, an officer woke Worton and ordered the mortars broken down. “We’re moving out,” he said.
“What about the shoot?” Worton demanded.
“Forget the shoot. Move it.” When asked where they were going, the officer replied, “We’ll all know when we get there.”20
An hour later, the mortar platoon drove away from Florence with no idea where they were bound. As he bounced along in the front seat, Worton started unstitching the regimental, divisional, and other identification insignia that distinguished him as Canadian. Once more, it appeared, I Canadian Corps was supposed to disappear into the midst of Eighth Army, leaving no trace of its movements to be detected by German intelligence. The sojourn of 1st Canadian Infantry Division in Florence was over and the Canadians were once again marching off in secret towards an unknown battlefield.*
* Three days after the Canadians left Florence, the 4th Parachute Division evacuated the rest of the city and withdrew to the north.
[ 2 ]
A Very Happy Family
BASED ON THE COLOUR of their shoulder patches, 1st Canadian Infantry Division and 5th Canadian Armoured Division were respectively nicknamed the Red Patch Devils and the Mighty Maroon Machine—each moniker considered by the Canadians serving in its numbers as due recognition of their fighting prowess. Together, the two divisions constituted the fighting teeth of I Canadian Corps. While General Harold Alexander, Deputy Supreme Commander, Mediterranean, and Eighth Army’s General Sir Oliver Leese genuinely admired and respected the combat record of the two divisions, the same could not be said of their overall commander. Both wanted to get rid of Lieutenant General E.L.M. (Tommy) Burns.
No sooner had the last shots been fired in the Liri Valley than Burns found himself fighting to save his career and his command. The opening skirmish in this struggle came on June 5, the day after Rome fell, when he reported to the Eighth Army commander. Both Burns and Leese were decorated World War I veterans, but that was where any similarity between the two men ended. Burns was small, intensely introverted, and rather shy. The forty-seven-year-old appeared to be in deadly earnest about everything and was seldom known to either laugh or even crack a smile. Leese was Burns’s polar opposite—a big, rangy, forty-nine-year-old Coldstream Guards veteran noted for his outgoing manner, big-toothed guffawing laugh, ribald sense of humour, informal style and dress, and somewhat uncharacteristic interest in botany. In his usual blunt, straightforward manner, Burns asked Leese directly whether the rumours that the general was dissatisfied with his performance were true. Leese, taken aback by the directness of Burns’s approach, dissembled, asking instead whether Burns thought himself up to the job. Burns replied that he doubted his own ability not at all.1 There the conversation rested.
“Neither Burns nor his Corps staff are up to [Eighth] Army standards,” Leese wrote within days of the meeting.2 Then, on June 28, Leese took his complaints to Alexander, who duly fired off a cable to Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Field Marshal Sir Alan Brooke. “I am very concerned about the future of the Canadian Corps,” Alexander began. “There is no doubt at all that the present position regarding Command is most unsatisfactory. . . . I am not sure you know Burns well. He is intelligent and easy to work with but he is sadly lacking in tactical sense and has very little personality and no (repeat no) power of command. It might be possible in time to develop a tactical sense in him but personality and power of command are as you know qualities which simply cannot be taught to a man of his age. Burns’s shortcomings as a Corps Commander place Leese in a very difficult position regarding the employment of the Canadian Corps since he must either give them a task beyond the powers of the Commander or below the capacity of the troops.
“These are the facts. The conclusions are obvious,” Alexander ended, and he proposed that I Canadian Corps be disbanded. “Between ourselves,” he added, “I believe the Canadian Divisions out here have no opinion or feeling for their Corps, and would I am sure, though they might not admit it if questioned, as soon be in a British Corps, if they would not in fact prefer it.”3
Alexander and Leese had always opposed I Canadian Corps’s creation because it would restrict their ability to deploy the two Canadian divisions in Italy in whatever way most benefited Eighth Army operations. If the corps could now be disbanded or brought under British command, flexible use of the Canadian divisions would be assured.
Standard British Army corps strength was three divisions. I Canadian Corps had just two divisions. This reduced strength meant it must always fight on a narrower front than other Eighth Army corps. The obvious solution to this problem was to add another division to I Canadian Corps’s strength, but Canadian Military Headquarters (CMHQ) in London had no interest in sending another Canadian division to the secondary Italian front. And Leese and Alexander were “loath to put a British or Indian Division under a headquarters in which [Leese] did not have full confidence.”4
The substance of Alexander’s cable reached First Canadian Army commander General Harry Crerar in London. Recognizing that Burns’s alleged shortcomings were being used to justify I Canadian Corps’s dissolution, he decided an investigation of the problems in Italy was necessary. Crerar dispatched CMHQ Chief of Staff Lieutenant General Ken Stuart to determine if Burns had the confidence of his subordinates. If he did not, then Burns would have to be replaced. At the same time, Stuart was to inform the British “at the outset… that the dissolution of I Canadian Corps is not a prospect even worth discussing.”5
A VETERAN MILITARY INTRIGUER, Stuart, together with Crerar, had been deeply complicit in bringing about former First Canadian Army commander Lieutenant General Andrew McNaughton’s forced resignation in December 1943, paving the way for Crerar to succeed him. The fifty-two-year-old officer had graduated from Royal Military College a couple of years behind Crerar and had seen World War I service in the Royal Canadian Engineers. He had become CMHQ Chief of Staff on the heels of McNaughton’s resignation.
Stuart faced an extremely delicate task. He must interview two Canadian divisional officers regarding their superior’s fitness without creating a situation that could leave Burns beholden to them for not forcing his replacement.
Arriving in Algiers on July 9, Stuart was joined by Lieutenant Colonel John Buchan, Lord Tweedsmuir, the Canadian liaison officer to Eighth Army. The next morning the two men flew to Eighth Army HQ at Lake Trasimeno, north of Rome. Leese spent three hours detailing the failings of I Canadian Corps in the breakout from the Hitler Line phase of the Liri Valley Battle, as well as Burns’s supposed shortcomings. He suggested that Major General Charles Keightley, presently commanding the British 78th Division, replace Burns.
Stuart agreed that if the allegations Leese made against Burns were proven then he must be replaced, but he flatly rejected any British officer being given command unless a suitable Canadian could not be found. In his final report, Stuart wrote: “I said, however, that I was not entirely satisfied that the picture painted to me about Burns was an accurate picture. I said that I proposed to proceed to Canadian Corps at once and make my own investigation. I pointed out that Burns was not lacking in power of command but admitted that he had perhaps been diffident about exercising it in the recent operation.” Stuart suggested that during a first operation in which the divisional generals were both more battle experienced than the corps commander such diffidence was perhaps appropriate. He further rejected the accusation that Burns lacked tactical sense. Both Stuart and Crerar had served alongside Burns for years and knew him well. “I said that… perhaps General Leese was confusing lack of operational experience with lack of tactical sense.” He also found suspect the accusation that divisional commanders and other principal staff officers had lost faith in Burns. Stuart intended to get to the heart
of that allegation.
Flying to Caserta, he joined Burns in the I Canadian Corps officers’ mess for dinner and then the two men adjourned to Burns’s quarters for a conversation that lasted well into the night. Burns, who had thought Leese in agreement that he could correct the corps’s weaknesses and “make a success” of it, was dismayed to hear the extent of his commander’s lack of confidence in him. The only way to address the “alleged lack of confidence issue,” Stuart said, was for him to meet the two divisional commanders and two principal staff officers to find out if they believed Burns up to the job. If not, either Burns or the dissenting subordinates would have to go. He promised to inform Burns of the results of his inquiry as soon as the interviews were concluded.6
Stuart interviewed four officers individually on the morning of July 13: 1 CID’s Major General Chris Vokes; 5 CAD’s Major General Burt Hoffmeister; corps general staff officer Brigadier Desmond Smith; and Burns’s senior administrative staff officer, Brigadier J.F. Lister. Vokes found Stuart “sitting behind a desk looking for all the world like the headmaster at a school about to chastise a naughty pupil.” Instead of discussing the Italian campaign, Stuart set about heaping lengthy praise upon 3rd Canadian Infantry Division’s performance during D-Day and the subsequent fighting in Normandy. Vokes inferred that Stuart believed “the Canadians in Italy had seen no fighting to compare.” Then, abruptly, Stuart demanded: “What is your opinion of General Burns?”
Vokes was taken aback. The forty-year-old officer had graduated from Royal Military College in 1925 and throughout his military career had been taught that it was both improper and unethical for a junior officer to openly criticize a senior officer, or to be asked to do so. He said as much to Stuart, who ordered him to comply. After registering a formal protest, Vokes expressed his opinion bluntly. Burns “seldom appears cheerful and his ‘sad sack’ manner repels subordinates and senior commanders alike,” he said. Nothing seemed to spark any enthusiasm in Burns and he was incapable of making subordinates feel enthusiastic about performing their duties or conducting operations. “He seems to lack the human touch… necessary in the successful command of fighting troops. All the British corps commanders in Italy are cheerful extroverts as part of their stock-in-trade. By comparison General Burns is a drab commander. It may arise from his excessive shyness, but he is known throughout the hierarchy of the Eighth Army as a general who lacks personality.”