by Matthew Hall
The next objective was the town of Regalbuto, some 6 miles to the west along a winding hilly road. Herford needed to move the ADS nearer the front line and decided that the house outside Agira in which the British POWs had been found would be an eminently suitable base. The Advance Dressing Station was quickly packed and moved forward. On the road north they had an alarming moment when a German soldier suddenly leaped out from a ditch at the side of the road, but fortunately all he wanted was to surrender.
For the next three days Herford and his unit were kept perpetually busy dealing with mounting casualties from the bitter struggle to enter Regalbuto. The occupying German and Italian troops put up tremendous resistance in what was in effect a final stand. There were divisions of Allied troops making rapid northwards progress along a wide front, and unless a serious hole was blown in the Allied front, the German commanders knew that complete retreat from Sicily was inevitable.
Regalbuto was bombarded savagely. The enemy responded with all they had, causing severe casualties. On 29 July the ADS evacuated 51 casualties, on the 30th 69 and on the following day 111. In addition to the exchange of artillery, there was also a close-quarters engagement between infantrymen in the narrow rocky ravines around the town. This terrain was also hazardous for stretcher-bearers, who were almost sitting targets as they picked their way across the stony ground to retrieve immobile casualties and then carefully picked their way back up the hillsides. According to the rules of combat medical orderlies were not to be fired at, but when the air was thick with indiscriminate fire the rules, even if obeyed, could not be relied upon. The night of 1 August saw the final crumbling of resistance and the fall of Regalbuto. Herford retired wearily to bed, thankful that the carnage was in abeyance, but was kept awake half the night by some noisy mules mating in an adjacent field.
Herford spent most of the next day searching for wounded among the debris and smoking ruins of Regalbuto. The ancient market town had been smashed to pieces. The buildings where only days before life had carried on as normal, were empty shells; many were completely demolished, others were half-standing, threatening imminent collapse. During his searches he chanced upon a garage, still upright, which contained a functioning Fiat car which he immediately requisitioned for ferrying his medical staff to and from the ADS.
The next day, just when the staff of the ADS thought the casualties from Regalbuto had been cleared, the town was suddenly plunged into chaos when it was bombed and machine-gunned by American planes who had obviously not realized that it had been liberated. Thankfully their aim was very poor and no one was killed, but there were six serious casualties. To make matters worse, the following day the Americans mistakenly bombed a forward detachment of the Dorsets, causing one further casualty.
These incidents underlined the unavoidable fact that with such a massive force comprising regiments from completely different armies, breakdowns in communications not only were inevitable, but their consequences could also be dire. Given the relatively primitive nature of radio technology and the rugged terrain which frequently interfered with signals, it was fortunate that so few incidents such as these occurred.
Throughout Sicily the Allies had been gaining the upper hand and the Germans were in rapid retreat. The campaign would be completely finished by 17 August with the evacuation of the last German soldier to the Italian mainland. The capture of Regalbuto signalled the end of hostilities for Herford’s unit. The ADS dealt with residual casualties, and then on 7 August moved 7 miles to the east with a detachment of the Hampshires and took as their base a baronial hall owned by Baron Spitallieri Alessi. It was in a dusty and unused state, but after a swift clean-up operation it made a luxurious temporary base. Herford recorded in his diary that he spent an entire day in an armchair delighting in idleness and reading Vigny’s Cinq-Mars and a number of good French books. A rare indulgence!
On 9 August he was again on the move, catching up with the rapidly advancing front line. He passed through the village of Adana, skirting around the foothills of Mount Etna, and finally arrived at the newly captured town of Bronte. He was temporarily held up on the road by shelling, but arrived safely in Bronte to take control of 25 British prisoners who had been under the care of Dr Veronica Giacinto of Palmero. Most of them were paratroopers who had been there nearly a month. They were dropped inland at the start of the invasion to hold strategic points while the main landing forces pushed inland. Progress had been considerably slower than anticipated and many had either perished or been captured. While Herford was at the small hospital in Bronte they suffered a further wave of shelling, with several explosions occurring very close by. He recorded in his diary that the Italians worked remarkably steadily under fire.
Herford returned to the ADS with the grateful ex-POWs to find that a troop carrier had driven over a mine killing four and injuring several others. Often during a lull men became careless, forgetting the omnipresent risks posed by mines and snipers. No soldier could afford to relax fully even for a moment.
The final days of the campaign were a time of unaccustomed relaxation. There was even sufficient time for 231 Brigade to organize a gymkhana. The ADS unit moved a little further north each day, and on 15 August took over the villa of Baron Vicenzina Voces, another lucky find. There were only limited casualties to deal with, as enemy attention was now firmly focused on evacuating the island. On 17 August fighting officially ceased when the Allies entered Messina on the far north-eastern tip of the island, which had served as the embarkation point for the German and Italian troops fleeing to the boot of Italy. Herford and his men spent their time carefully checking their supplies and equipment, in full knowledge of the fact that they would shortly be pressing on into the mainland, where they expected even stiffer resistance.
During the intervening days before the Italian invasion a brigade party with Tarantella dancers was a great success, and Herford took the opportunity to set off on an expedition up Mount Etna with his colleague Captain Paul. At over 10,000 feet, and over twice the height of Ben Nevis, it was a fair climb to the summit, but the effort was rewarded with spectacular views of the volcanic craters. That evening Herford wrote to his parents for the first time since his arrival in Sicily, painting a picture of a landscape surprisingly unscarred by war:
Hot sun and everywhere richly cultivated soil. Long terraces of heavy-burdened vines rising to the hill tops and filling the valleys. Apples, pears and luscious figs. But chiefly grapes, hot sun-enchanted clusters with soft purple bloom. A lovely land and friendly people … the loveliest views I have ever seen and night scented jasmine at the head of my bed.
Before the commencement of the Italian invasion on 3 September the major medical problem among the men was an outbreak of malaria, a disease now more or less absent from the Mediterranean countries.
The treatment was quinine, primitive but effective: sufferers were accorded relief, but once bitten by a malaria-carrying mosquito the disease resides in the blood and can flare up unexpectedly at any time. It was essential that rapid measures were taken to prevent any debilitation in the men, already battle weary, most of whom would find themselves fighting through the Italian and the Normandy campaigns without respite. The struggle for Sicily had been relatively brief, but was costly in lives. The enemy reportedly lost 167,000 men from active service, 37,000 of whom were Germans. The Allies lost 31,158 killed, wounded and missing.
For his efforts in Sicily Captain Herford was recommended for promotion, and on 18 November 1943 was awarded the Military Cross. The London Gazette carried this glowing citation:
This Officer was in command of the ADS working with units of the Brigade Group. Although his duties did not compel him to do so, this officer during the Sicilian Campaign was constantly amongst the forward troops tending to the wounded.
At Agira on 18 and 19 July, and again at Regalbuto on 1 August, the work carried out by this officer, at times under heavy fire, was magnificent. His presence acted like a tonic to the men and the prompt treatment a
ccorded by him to the wounded must have saved many lives.
CHAPTER 8
ITALY
On 26 July 1943, amidst great political dissatisfaction in Italy with Mussolini’s leadership, the Italian King ordered Marshal Badoglio to form a new Cabinet, ending the Duce’s 21 years in office. Two days later, despite assurances from the King that he would be looked after, Mussolini was interned on the island of Ponza. It was an ignominious end to the career of a fanatical leader whose delusions of Imperial grandeur had strained Italy’s weakening resources to breaking point. Increasingly isolated through Hitler’s reluctance to spare valuable troops to defend Italian soil, Mussolini had lost the confidence of the Italian people and then of the Grand Council of the Fascist party, which on 24 July voted by 19 votes to seven in favour of a resolution calling upon the Crown to assume more power and for the King to emerge from obscurity. Following Mussolini’s rapid demise Hitler became fearful of an imminent armistice between the new Badoglio government and the Allies. He laid plans to rescue Mussolini, to occupy Rome and to seize the Italian fleet. Italy, which had been neglected by the Germans, suddenly became its Achilles’ heel.
Overtures were indeed made by the Italians towards the Allies, initially by the Counsellor to the Italian legation in Lisbon, the Marquis D’Ayeta on 3 August 1943. He explained that the King and Badoglio wanted peace, but felt obliged to keep up a pretence of fighting in order to avoid a full-blown German coup d’état.
Eisenhower dispatched General Bedell Smith, and Churchill sent General Strong to open negotiations in Lisbon. Talks began on 19 August and continued in earnest until the end of the month. The Allies demanded unconditional surrender but the Italians were fearful of massive German reprisals if surrender was announced before a successful Allied invasion of their country. The Italian government was particularly concerned that the Allies should land north of Rome and ensure the Germans were driven far north of the capital. Finally on 3 September 1943, the day on which the Allied invasion commenced, General Catellano signed the terms of the surrender in Sicily. The armistice was announced on 8 September, but Italy was still occupied by Germans and became the scene of some of the most bitter fighting of the war.
On 3 September Herford learned that he was to be part of a landing which would take place at the tiny village of Porto Venere, 2 miles south of the port of Pizzo, which was 80 miles north of the main landings at Reggio, the major town on the far south-western tip of the boot of Italy. At 8am on 5 September his unit travelled along roads crowded with military traffic to the Sicilian port of Messina where they embarked on a small vessel bound for Italy. The views of the straits of Messina were dramatic, but a keen wind whipped up, making the launching of landing barges impracticable. It was therefore decided to postpone the landing until the next day, and the ship took shelter for the night in the harbour at Faro on the north-eastern tip of Sicily. Most of the men, including Herford, had to sleep on deck, so US Army blankets were issued to all those huddling on the cold boards. The next day the seas were still too rough to make the crossing.
There was a dangerous sense of anti-climax and maintaining morale became a considerable challenge. The senior officers therefore organized practice landings to keep minds focused, but there was no disguising the fact that everyone was feeling tense and impatient. The crossing to Italy was finally made on the evening of 7 September. The wind had dropped, the sea was calm and the air warm. Herford fell asleep on deck, blissfully unsuspecting of what was to follow on the Italian beaches.
At 1am they arrived off what they thought was Porto Venere, but the skipper, who confessed that his knowledge of this part of the Italian coast was nil and his briefings sketchy, was unsure of their exact location. The situation was made worse by the absence of the expected marker lights which should have been positioned by the advance party. In fact there were no lights of any kind to be seen. The captain cruised up and down the darkened coast for two hours before finally landing on a beach on which a tiny flickering red light had appeared.
The landing was effected without incident and there appeared to be no enemy presence in the immediate area. The first person they encountered on the beach was a rather bewildered private carrying the brigade mailbag. Such was the level of disorganization that there was no proper liaison with the advance party, and Herford stumbled around in the darkness trying to make contact with friendly troops. But as light dawned they were met by the OC and a Medical Dressing Station was quickly established in one of the buildings on the hillside overlooking the bay, not far from a railway tunnel with a single track line.
It transpired that Herford’s unit had been unexpected arrivals, and as dawn arrived it was clear from a quick observation of the local topography that they had been extremely fortunate to land in the right place. Porto Venere was a tiny village perched on a hillside above the sea. The buildings were few, interspersed with small copses and scattered along ancient rocky terraces sloping down to the sea.
The peaceful scene was shattered shortly after first light with the commencement of brisk continuous gunfire from nearby enemy emplacements, followed by the arrival of German aircraft pounding the landing area with bombs. Further waves of troops landed throughout the day, but their arrival had been anticipated. The Germans seemed to spring from nowhere. Later in the morning at a spot on the beach immediately beneath the Medical Dressing Station, a landing craft off-loading men and equipment into the shallow water came under heavy fire from a gun close to the shore to the left of the beach. But despite the hail of bullets thudding into the sand, the work of unloading continued steadily as if it were no more than a training exercise.
Throughout the day the intensity of fire increased as machine guns opened up from inland and mortars sang overhead. Supreme efforts were made to get men and equipment ashore as swiftly as possible, but inevitably in such an exposed position, casualties were high and there was a constant stream of injured to the dressing station. In mid-afternoon a further wave of bombers swept overhead discharging their lethal payload into the sand, which was thrown up in great heaps half-burying several men who had to be dug out. Work continued frantically in the dressing station, treating casualties as fast as possible – stanching blood, cleaning wounds and applying temporary dressings. There was no time to share in the fear of the men still struggling across the beach.
As the minutes passed, pressure on the brigade perimeter intensified. The Hampshires put in a titanic effort in their sector, but despite their best endeavours some ground was lost. Shelling on the beach became still heavier. A landing craft received several direct hits, killing and wounding many. For a time the situation looked grave, and the thought crossed the minds of many of the men ashore that they would either be driven into the sea or slaughtered on the beaches.
Herford could see that the direct hits on the landing craft had created more casualties than the stretcher-bearers could contend with. They urgently needed help, so he ran down to the beach and waded waist-deep into the water to the landing barge, which was by now almost empty save for several casualties. He waited with them, head ducked down beneath the steel sides of the vessel, for the arrival of a stretcher party. When at last the stretchers arrived the injured were loaded as swiftly as possible, but they were one short. Herford assured the private left behind they would be back and that he was safer with the benefit of the limited cover of the barge than being carried across an open area.
Herford then scrambled across the beach in search of other casualties, but fortunately found none. The stretcher-bearers had done astonishingly efficient work. He began to pick his way back and had made it almost to the dressing station when a bomb dropped from a German aircraft exploded very close by. He dived down beneath a wrecked stone wall next to a sapper officer as large chunks of heavy debris thumped into the ground around them from repeated blasts. The brim of the sapper’s tin hat was digging into the side of Herford’s head, and in his frightened stupor, he found himself fingering the edge of it, at the back of his
mind thinking that it might give him some cover.
After what seemed an eternity the raid ended. The two men tentatively picked themselves up and dusted each other down. Herford said, ‘I think that’s the last for this time.’ The comment seemed fatuous, but the scene was wholly incongruous: a beautiful, clear sea, a sudden calm, almost silence, where minutes before all had been chaos. The stunning contrasts of war in such picturesque surroundings were almost too great to comprehend. Herford returned to the dressing station and was relieved to see that the private he had left to be collected from the landing craft was safely inside, but was not in a grateful mood. As soon as he saw Herford he said, ‘You’re the bloke who left me behind.’ Another man on a stretcher came to Herford’s defence, saying to his fellow casualty, ‘Well you beat him here by half an hour!’
Work was proceeding apace to tend to the waiting wounded when shelling resumed and an ambulance outside the dressing station received a direct hit, causing several fatalities. It was rapidly decided that their position was far too vulnerable and that the only safe place was the railway tunnel, even though there were almost certainly Germans at the other end. The medical personnel were all-hands-on in moving the stretcher cases into the shelter of the mouth of the tunnel. As bodies and equipment were hastily transferred, orderlies set about reconstructing a dressing station in the tunnel. They faced the obvious problem that at any moment the Germans could decide to fire into their midst from the other end of the tunnel, but in the dire circumstances it was a risk worth running. The dressing station remained safe, though overworked, for the remainder of the day. By nightfall there were about 300 casualties and the prospects looked gloomy as yet further wounded were brought in. A squad of sappers was sent up to recce the tunnel with a view to demolishing the other end to prevent it being used for a surprise attack, but they concluded that the demolition would be too dangerous.