by Mark Zuehlke
Durnford collected many of the paintings, thinking that he must either rescue them or they would surely be destroyed. “Many works of art have gone through sheer Philistinism,” he noted. “If I had taken them at the start that would not have happened.” Durnford gave some paintings that he “recovered” to other chaplains in the Canadian regiments. Meanwhile, some Seaforth and 2 CIB staff officers cut paintings from frames, put them in rolls, and arranged their shipment to Canada. Among them was a young lieutenant, Norman DePoe, who had only joined the Seaforths on August 21, 1944.6
Between attempts to rescue artwork from the destruction or looting by the respective Seaforth and 2 CIB headquarters staffs, Durnford attended to the grim business of burying the many dead Seaforths. On September 20, twenty men killed by shellfire were interred in the palace grounds. “It was too horrible to describe,” he wrote. “I feel sick in body and heart. Go to bed… out of temper and weary of it all.”7
The looting of the palace, which was owned by the House of Ripoli, continued in fits and spurts until the Seaforths and 2 CIB headquarters left for Cattolica on the morning of September 23. The two headquarters staffs wound “up a successful op[eration with] an impromptu party… in the officers mess which was located in the main ballroom of the Palace,” noted the 2 CIB war diarist. “The palace had proved an admirable brigade headquarters and in spite of the great damage done to the building there were still sufficient rooms to house all of brigade headquarters and [the rear echelon] of the Seaforths of Canada.”8 Come the morning, however, most officers and men were glad to see the back of the place. The Seaforths’ war diarist described it as a “battle-scarred, devastated backwash… which… was only mitigated by the knowledge that a move to a rest area was imminent.”9
Soon after the regiment and brigade headquarters left for Cattolica, reports circulated about the extent of the looting and, given the property owners’ noble connections, an investigation was undertaken. The investigation focused on the Seaforths, with no note made of the presence of brigade headquarters staff. It was not a vigorous investigation and nothing came of it. Stone, who became aware of the investigation, was unsurprised that no action was taken against any soldiers looting from a family “of dubious political leanings.” He figured the family had probably been fascists, a point that would explain why the Germans had left the contents intact. Certainly the Germans had usually stripped other Italian mansions clean of anything valuable, the booty added to their government’s massive holdings or to the personal collections of individual Nazi leaders.10
THERE WAS NO SHORTAGE of devastation elsewhere in the region, which may have made pursuing one rumoured looting incident not worth undertaking. Having endured ninety-two bombing raids—more than any other Italian city—Rimini was a ruin. A further 1.47 million rounds of artillery shells had been fired on it. This represented 14,000 tons of explosives. Ninety per cent of Rimini was either destroyed or heavily damaged.11 Seaforth Highlanders of Canada commander Lieutenant Colonel Syd Thomson briefly considered bivouacking his regiment there, but after a brief visit pronounced it in too “ruinous state.”12
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation’s radio correspondent Peter Stursberg reported that he found the city’s central plaza, named after Julius Caesar, “utterly desolate” and told listeners at home his impression perhaps arose “due to the dull, menacing sky and the gallows out there in the middle of the empty square.”13 The gallows had been used by fascists and Germans to hang suspected partisans.
“We drove,” he added, “to Rimini across the airfield over which the Canadians and Greeks had fought so hard, over a flat straight road littered with boughs and branches. The heavy clouds made the flat fields dank and dark and foreboding and the shattered buildings of Rimini seemed in keeping with them. The town has… suffered heavily from shellfire and bombing and the Germans, before they left, blew up many buildings as roadblocks. Yet the Arch of Augustus is untouched and the statue of Julius Caesar and the Renaissance clock tower in the main square are miraculously undamaged for all the buildings around are in ruins.”
Stursberg got out of his jeep and climbed “over piles of rubble and debris to reach the centre of town here. Near the Arch of Augustus, I found a Canadian mortar platoon, its mortars all set up for action. Private Charles Little of Toronto said to me, ‘Boy, this place is a junk heap.’”14
That junk heap was home to fifty thousand people before war visited it with such tragic consequence. Twenty-one-year-old newspaper journalist, Amedeo Montemaggi, soon returned to his beloved Rimini from hiding in the country and was appalled. Except for a couple of small rooms at its front, a bomb had destroyed his family home. The neighbouring houses had all been levelled. He managed to prop up a badly sagging corner of the remaining structure with a log and scrounged enough usable roof tiles from those blown into the streets and yards to adequately repair the roof over the remaining rooms to keep out the winter rains. One room served as a rough kitchen area, the other a bedroom. Like most of Rimini’s surviving population, Montemaggi turned his thoughts to rebuilding.
The English-speaking Montemaggi found temporary work as an interpreter for the string of Allied units that subsequently used Rimini as a temporary base.15 In a land where food and shelter remained scarce, he was not alone in seeking work with the Allies, who were blessed with plenty of the former and able to offer the latter if needed.
Sixteen-year-old Oviglio Monti also worked as an interpreter for the Allies and found the duty far preferable to his enforced time serving the Germans. Shortly after the fighting rolled past Coriano, Monti had walked to Riccione. He secured work initially in the officer’s mess of a British unit, but found the tea they insisted he both constantly serve and drink a foul concoction. He learned there were Canadians nearby, who might need a hand. Knowing Canadians were supposed to be like Americans, Monti figured they must drink coffee, something he yearned for. He was fortunate; the Royal Canadian Regiment took him in. Although he spent time in the kitchen, Monti’s chief duty was as a guide and interpreter.
This did not mean going out with Canadians and showing them the sights around Rimini. It meant ensuring none of the men ran afoul of the many fascists living in Riccione. Monti, knowing a soldier who stayed too late in a bar or restaurant owned by a fascist or took his pleasure in the boudoir of a woman similarly persuaded might not live to see the dawn, took his job seriously. He scouted the various places that were opening and determined which were safe and which not. Then he shepherded the soldiers to and from their billets with a watchful eye. At one point, some officers arranged with a group of locals to hold a dance. The locals promised many willing young women would attend. Instantly suspicious, Monti soon learned that the locals involved were fascists. He reported this to the provosts and the dance was quickly scuttled. With each passing week and war’s fortune tilting more decisively against the possibility of some fascist miracle recovery, Monti was bemused to see Riccione’s fascists reshape themselves into communists, democrats, or monarchists.16
AFTER EVERY MAJOR battle, there followed a period of evaluation. Everyone agreed that I Canadian Corps had performed brilliantly and come very close to winning the decisive breakout. Had 1st British Armoured Division or even the 4th British Infantry Division been under the corps from the outset, Burns might have had the strength to break through without the long delay suffered while Coriano Ridge was cleared so slowly and at such cost in blood. Eighth Army commander General Oliver Leese—who had finally given Burns the added formations when it was too late—demonstrated his usual penchant for widely distributing effusive praise. During the battle’s last stages and immediately thereafter, messages burned across the radio wires to the many headquarters of I Canadian Corps. Each message referred to one or two specific moments where a particular formation had performed masterfully. All ended with personal thanks, best wishes, and a “Well done, Canada” salutation.
Major General Chris Vokes wrote of 1st Canadian Infantry Division that, “throughout th
e whole operation the division fought gallantly and well. The spirit of cooperation and teamwork between all supporting arms, services and infantry was of a high order. Although we suffered local reverses at times, they were few in number. We gained our objectives one by one, throughout five complete phases and over a period of twenty-six days, and in so doing we advanced a total of thirty-two miles.”17
Brigadier D. Dawnay of the 21st British Tank Brigade, whose regiments had fought with 1 CID throughout, offered similar praise. He described the advance from the Metauro River to the Marecchia as “most successful” and one “during which the infantry have fought with great skill and dash. The battle for the San Martino and San Fortunato features was an epic struggle.” He ended by saying that his brigade was “proud to have fought with such a splendid division.”18 The British tankers had paid their price in blood during the battle, reporting 306 casualties. Of these, 9 officers and 53 other ranks died.19
Tanker casualties were usually far lower than those suffered by infantry. Certainly this proved true at the Gothic Line. From August 25 to September 22, 1 CID had 2,424 Canadian casualties. Of these, 30 officers and 412 other ranks were killed, 97 officers and 1,691 other ranks wounded, with 5 officers and 189 other ranks reported missing. The 3rd Canadian Infantry Brigade was hardest hit, reporting 781 casualties as compared to 692 in 2nd Canadian Infantry Brigade and 689 in 1st Canadian Infantry Brigade. The division’s other units, including the artillery regiments, had 262 men killed, wounded, or missing at the close of September 22. For 5th Canadian Armoured Division, the battle had been a little shorter—from August 25 to the final clearing of Coriano Ridge on September 19—and it lost 28 officers and 293 other ranks killed, 70 officers and 961 other ranks wounded, one officer and 15 other ranks missing.20
In all, Canadian casualties from August 25 to September 22 totalled 4,511—the highest casualty rate experienced by Canadians during any battle in Italy.21 Throughout the entire corps during the same period, another 1,005 men were evacuated because of illness. Many of these were soldiers who succumbed to exhaustion, either straight physical fatigue or battle fatigue.22
Eighth Army as a whole had been through the grinder. Including the Canadians, it had 14,000 men killed, wounded, or missing after the twenty-six-day battle. More than two hundred tanks were destroyed. But as General Harold Alexander, Deputy Supreme Commander, Mediterranean, ruefully noted: “Tanks were easily replaceable, but the men were not.”23 The British infantry divisions were so badly mauled that every regiment could field only three companies instead of the normal four. Several brigades were completely disbanded, their complement used to reinforce others.24
The Germans also suffered heavily. Up to September 15, LXXVI Panzer Corps, which had faced the Eighth Army on the Adriatic coast, reported 14,604 casualties. No records after that period to the end of the battle survived, but Lieutenant General Tommy Burns had ample justification in believing that the Germans “must have lost many more before withdrawing across the Marecchia.”25 The Canadians alone had taken 2,500 prisoners over the twenty-six days.
While the loss of men was great, even greater perhaps was the loss of experience. At the end of the day, the commanders of almost every Canadian regiment noted that the veteran ranks had been decimated. The West Nova Scotia Regiment had suffered the highest casualties of all—75 dead and 255 wounded, half its strength, with a disproportionately high number of these being soldiers who had landed in Sicily. The West Novas would march towards the next battle without their hard-earned combat experience and skill. They would also march under the command of a new officer, Lieutenant Colonel A.L. Saunders.26
Not all losses to the regiments resulted from shot or shell. The West Novas’ Lieutenant Colonel Ron Waterman was not the only commander sacked in the battle’s aftermath. The intense feud between Seaforth Highlanders of Canada Lieutenant Colonel Syd Thomson and 2 CIB Brigadier Graeme Gibson proved too much. As Thomson later put it: “We fired each other.”27
Burns called Thomson into his headquarters shortly after the battle. “I gather you and Gibson aren’t getting along too well,” he said. Thomson agreed that was the case. “Gibson is a Permanent Force soldier and this is his life,” Burns said. That meant Gibson could not be fired for failure of command. “So I’m going to send you both home.”28
In Thomson’s case, this meant a transfer to Britain and relatively speedy appointment to command of the Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment of Canada). Lieutenant Colonel Budge Bell-Irving, a Seaforth Highlander before being posted to command of the Loyal Edmonton Regiment, returned to command his original regiment. This paved the way for Major Jim Stone’s promotion to lieutenant colonel and ascendancy to command of the Eddies. Gibson’s replacement would not come until October 6 and he would ostensibly be evacuated on medical grounds.29 Lieutenant Colonel Pat Bogert, who had commanded 3 CIB skillfully after stepping in for the injured Paul Bernatchez, assumed the helm as 2 CIB’s brigadier.
By the time the final shakeout of command changes was concluded within the ranks of 1 CID, Eighth Army was itself in the throes of adjusting to a new commander. Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Field Marshal Sir Alan Brooke had never believed General Oliver Leese up to the task. The decision to shift the focus of the offensive against the Gothic Line from the central Apennines to the Adriatic remained controversial and lack of decisive success little enhanced Brooke’s estimation of the general. Brooke considered Leese “a serious disappointment.” He gave Brooke the “impression of stickiness and lack of thrust.”30 When Brooke won Prime Minister Winston Churchill’s ear, Leese’s replacement was agreed.
Firing an army commander could, however, adversely affect the morale of both a nation and those serving in its ranks. So Leese moved to another job, ostensibly a promotion. An able administrator, if in the informal manner of English Old Boys, Leese was appointed Commander in Chief, Allied Land Force Southeast Asia under Supreme Allied Commander, Southeast Asia, Lord Louis Mountbatten. Thus, Leese was gently removed from direct hands-on command of combat troops. He received the news on September 28 from General Sir Harold Alexander, Deputy Supreme Commander, Mediterranean during a walk on the beach south of Rimini.
“I am to be an Army Group Commander,” he wrote after, “in the final fight against the Japanese. . . . It’s a wonderful command in war time, and I pray for the strength and wisdom and guidance to carry it through.” Alexander, he added, “was so nice about it, and said I was the only person.”31
Lieutenant General Tommy Burns had fewer friends, uncompromising foes in his two divisional commanders, and could claim no membership in the Canadian Army’s Old Boys’ network. Hence, his fate proved grimmer than Leese’s. Despite the accolades Leese and Alexander grudgingly offered for his handling of the Gothic Line breakthrough and Alexander’s recommending him for a DSO, Burns never won the latter’s confidence. The new Eighth Army commander, General Richard McCreery, thought Burns cautious and methodical when dash and verve were necessary to debouch across the Po Valley. Burns could no longer count on support from the Canadian government. Following Defence Minister James Layton Ralston’s late September inspection of Canada’s forces in Italy, he left convinced that Burns had to be replaced.
McCreery dropped the axe in person on October 24. He informed Burns “that he was not satisfied with me as corps commander, and had recommended that I be replaced.”32 While Burns had survived the loss of command following a similar recommendation in the wake of the Liri Valley Battle, this time his fate was sealed. On November 2, Burns went on leave to Rome. While there, he was summoned to England by Canadian 1st Army commander, General Harry Crerar, and posted as senior Canadian officer at the Twenty-first Army Group Headquarters. Lieutenant General Charles Foulkes replaced him as I Canadian Corps commander.
The 5th Canadian Armoured Division was spared significant leadership bloodletting. Major General Bert Hoffmeister had been generally pleased with the performance of his brigade and regimental commanders. He was also too
busy to think of replacing men. For as the Gothic Line Battle ended, there was no rest for his division. The long-anticipated debouch into the Po began immediately, with 5 CAD crossing the Marecchia and driving into the valley to the west of 2nd New Zealand Division. Debouch turned into mud-soaked slog as the rains at last fell in torrents and the Germans erected one defensive line after another behind every ditch and river. The tank country of the Po Valley proved as illusory as the belief that a quick and decisive victory was at hand in Western Europe and the end of the war possible before year’s end. Soon 1 CID was back in the line alongside its armoured division colleagues, and week after week of fighting awaited the entire Canadian Corps as Eighth Army crept slowly northward.
More Canadians must die in Italy, with the only certainty that there would be another river and, behind it, more Germans surely waiting. Fall would give way to another bitter mud-drenched winter that would culminate in the last major Canadian battle in Italy. From December 2, 1944 to January 5, 1945, I Canadian Corps would be entangled in a battle on the outskirts of Ravenna as it attempted to advance from the Montone River to the Senio River. The butcher’s bill for winning a patch of ground barely ten miles by fifteen miles would ultimately tally 2,581 killed or wounded—the fourth bloodiest Canadian battle of the campaign. And the advance would continue to grind on for another two months before the Canadians were withdrawn from the Italian front for transfer to new battles in Holland and Germany itself. Far too few of the young men who, on July 10, 1943, had landed on the beaches of Sicily to begin the long journey through Italy would escape unscathed to see the final victory on May 7, 1945. As for Bologna—the tactical target towards which the Allies in Italy had undertaken the great offensive against the Gothic Line—it did not fall until April 21, less than three weeks before the war’s end.