My Italian Adventures

by de Burgh, Lucy; Hodge, Mary; Hastings, Max

  That morning I ate my breakfast with a good appetite and a much-lightened conscience. I was now rid of the last of Jimmy’s embarrassing gifts. The rest of his souvenirs Tony threw away, only keeping my bayonet, which was handy for hacking wood. Unfortunately, I eventually lost that, which was a pity, for it made a useful little chopper.

  It was about the middle of November when our detachment arrived – about twelve girls, with one AT officer and an Army captain. Everyone got the latter two mixed up at once, and she was known as Captain Jones and he as Junior Commander Percy for almost the whole time that they were with us. The party looked tired and I was very struck by the girls’ almost abnormal pallor and thin figures, but of course most of them had been in the Middle East for at least a year – some considerably more – and they certainly looked as if they could do with some fresh air. I doubt if they thought highly of their new quarters, although everything had been done to make them as comfortable as possible, but in spite of the stoves it was by now really cold, and to make matters worse, some parts of the building were damp and the roof needed repairing.

  I shared a small room with J/Cmdr Percy and one wall was perpetually damp. We did try to dry it out a little by means of a small electric ring, which I bought in Rome. This was contrary to regulations, but the cold became so intense that we developed conveniently short memories. Most of the broken panes had been filled in, and so the wind did not whistle quite so fiercely through the corridors, but the two cloisters were draughty enough. The girls soon settled down, and as there were so few of them, they had their meals in what had formerly been the cook’s bedroom, off the officers’ mess. They were given the same food as the officers, and there rarely seemed to be complaints about their food. Jacky was responsible for them, and to the company commander in Ostia, later Rome, but most of their administration was done by the camp staff. The regimental quartermaster, with an AT officer as his assistant, looked after their clothing, and the Pay Office worked out their wages, paid to them by Jacky. Their catering was done by the messing officer (also Jacky at that time), and their wash-place and corridor were cleaned by Signora Pinto. Their work was fitted in with the rest in different offices, and in this way they were very soon completely integrated into the existing administration. Jacky listened to their personal problems, arranged their leave in conjunction with the officers they worked under, and dealt with disciplinary matters. The rest of us did ‘duty office’ about once a week, doing PT with the girls if we liked, or playing games with them. As we were all staff officers, we were not given much in the way of disciplinary powers, and there was some acrimonious comment when an orderly room had to be held on a girl who came in late, worse the wear for drink, and two external AT officers from a distant company came to take our orderly room. As it was, the whole thing was rather a farce, because the girl was awarded one week’s CB [confined to barracks], in the middle of which her husband came over from Greece, posted to CMF, and was given a week’s leave to see his wife in Rome. Much arguing to and fro took place, but her CB was eventually suspended. In any case, it was said that a captain had taken her out and plied her too generously with Italian wine, so surely the poor girl was not to blame, for how could she be acquainted with the potency of local beverages? With the approach of Christmas, Pte Fielding’s behaviour was soon forgotten, and proved only to be a seven-day wonder after all. As it happened, she was a trained PT instructor, and took the PT sessions, which she did far more efficiently than the rest of her work.

  A week or so before the girls arrived, Jacky and I were put on a Welfare Committee to help organise some entertainments in the camp and improve the rather depressing condition in which the men were obliged to pass their evenings. At that time they only had one late pass a week, and it was not always possible for them to get transport into Rome. In the unit, facilities were limited in the extreme. But the committee chairman, who was a young captain of the Middlesex Regiment, had invited on to it representatives of all ranks; and putting our heads together, we soon devised quite a revolutionary programme, which promised to make the winter a much gayer period than the autumn had been. First the situation for late passes was generally improved, and canteen facilities bettered. Whist drives were organised for one night each week, there was to be an almost weekly dance, held in the nearby village hall, and mobile cinemas were arranged for two or three evenings a week. On other nights we had gramophone recitals, which were quite popular, but naturally attracted a more restricted audience. There were occasional lectures by visiting officers, such as members of the Army Education Corps, and an amateur dramatic society was also formed. Books were collected for the unit’s library, and a freer interchange of books with the central library at RAAC was arranged. Housey-housey parties were arranged every so often in the men’s canteen, and prizes for the various competitive affairs were provided out of FRI. A photo club was initiated and became very popular. We procured a ping-pong table or two, and football was made possible by the loan of a field opposite. There was mixed netball for the very hardy, but I only tried it once – never again! At least every Saturday, there was a football match and our team became very good and played a lot of outside matches. A unit band emerged about this time, and that was so encouraged and assisted that it grew and developed into an excellent dance orchestra, and was soon in demand to play at dances other than our own.

  In this way, what might have been a winter that was gruelling in the extreme – for it was only seldom that one could journey to Rome and make a ‘break-out’ – became reasonably full of interest.

  The dances were great fun; naturally there was a considerable preponderance of men, but a certain number of local girls were admitted, and quite a few soldiers brought their own girlfriends. Some of these in turn brought their parents as chaperones, and their younger sisters and brothers too, so that the atmosphere was quite a domestic one, and it was not unusual to see small children scrambling for the refreshments during the interval. On one occasion I even saw a baby being suckled – but only once – I believe admission was not granted to infants in arms after that. Italians seem to have a knack of making themselves at home anywhere, and they were certainly at home at these dances. When the food was produced there was a wild rush; and one saw women surreptitiously, or quite openly, shovelling sandwiches, cakes or what-have-you into capacious shopping bags obviously brought for the purpose. Food was still terribly scarce, and there was no doubt that the civilian population was genuinely hungry; and it was not only the poorer people who filled their bags at the dances. At Christmas I went to an officers’ mess party held in a beautiful requisitioned villa on the north side of the city, where some very ‘élite’ ladies were present. On this occasion, the refreshments really were a dream, but the reality of smart women quickly stowing goodies way in their exquisite leather handbags was unforgettable.

  I personally never failed to enjoy myself at the unit dances. Some of the warrant officers, sergeants and other men there were really first-class dancers, and I usually danced each time with certain ‘steadies’. I also had the satisfaction of teaching, or at least encouraging, a few people to dance. Notably proficient among my pupils was Sgt Bean from the General Office. I persuaded him to take to the floor one evening for a short time. He was very hesitant at first, but after trying a slow foxtrot at a few weekly or fortnightly dances, he soon gained confidence and finally became a confident and enthusiastic dancer.

  Often, at the dances, the ATS girls were not happy with their Italian opposites and rivals. The green-eyed goddess was noticeable on several occasions, and what the women officers sometimes felt but took pains to hide, the girls showed quite openly. They did not think much of the men who went with ‘Eyetie’ girls, and said so. But the men retorted that they could not go out with English girls, because they only looked at officers, and so the battle royal was waged to and fro. However, it was not taken too seriously, and feelings were generally very cordial.

  Sometime towards the end of November, Pamela Frankau,
then a senior commander (major) in the ATS came to Rome. She gave a lecture in the Eden Hotel, and was entertained to a cocktail party there, arranged by the ATS staff from AFHQ. We were ‘invited’ and of course ‘accepted’. But although this was one of the occasions when ‘officers will be present’ was implied, I do not remember any of our bunch other than Jacky and myself being at the Eden that night. Jacky had a half-day and, as was her wont, was taking tea in the Grand Hotel. The CO was going and offered me a lift down. We were to pick Jacky up on the way. When we reached the hotel it was dark and I went in to find her, but to my surprise there was complete darkness inside the hotel, except for a dim light in the vestibule. This did not seem normal; and then I heard something that was also not normal: the whole place seemed still and expectant, but suddenly the hush was broken by the soft chords of a piano playing the opening bars of a Verdi aria, and then the stillness was rent by the most perfect tones of a tenor – you could have indeed heard a pin drop. Everyone seemed in the grip of that magic – a sort of magnetic impulse that went from the singer in clear, ringing, pure, forceful tones straight to the hearts of his listeners. It could only be one man, but he had been interned by the Allies. Then a woman’s voice chimed in, a soprano, also clear and true as a bell. The duo finished with a flourish, and the lights went up in a blaze of applause and cheering. I had been spellbound until that moment, but now I remembered the CO waiting in the car outside and decided that I must find Jacky, come what may. Time seemed to have stood still while the singing lasted, and it was with a wrench that I remembered that I was in uniform with two pips on my shoulder, looking for a captain with whom I was going to listen to a lecture by S/Cmdr Frankau, and that by this time a probably irate colonel in a staff car outside was waiting for us to join him. I pushed open the door of the spacious lounge, and saw Gigli himself on the dais, taking the bows, with his daughter, who was dressed in a black net evening gown with a wide skirt. I learnt from a porter that it was Gigli’s first performance since his release from internment, and an unofficial affair at that. I glanced round at the audience – the élite of Rome, no doubt. I longed to stay and hear more and study the physiognomies of the collected notabilities, but time was short and I could see Jacky in the distance, wending her way towards me. We dared not wait a moment longer, and hurried out into the night.

  In a few seconds we were hastening off in the staff car to the Eden Hotel, and if the CO thought it had taken me a long time to find Jacky, he said nothing – I could only imagine what he was thinking. It was not long before we were all drinking Martini cocktails in a small lounge at the Eden. The atmosphere was intimate and friendly, and there was not much standing on ceremony. For the life of me, I cannot remember the subject of the lecture, but I do recall very clearly that we were disappointed. Perhaps we had expected too much. But it was interesting to have heard Pamela Frankau, and she seemed a very nice person, though I thought she looked very masculine.

  I do not remember exactly when the first officers’ mess dance was held in our capacious anteroom, but it must have been at about this time, when the Other Ranks’ Welfare Committee was thoroughly up-and-running. The mess decided they wanted a dance, and so Tony and one or two other enthusiasts worked hard in the evenings preparing decorations. A committee was formed for sending out invitations and making all the other arrangements – for the band, the bar, the ‘eats’, prizes and cloakroom arrangements. It was arranged that a general invitation should be sent to the hospital and to one or two ‘female’ institutions, inviting a crowd of girls along to partner the large number of men we anticipated. The first dance was a success and so the experiment was repeated fairly regularly.

  It was on one of the first of such evenings, when we had a civilian orchestra, our own band not yet being quite in trim, that Doc became extremely happy and enjoyed himself a trifle excessively, so that his loud ‘Glasgie’ accents could be heard clearly in any lull in the music, and during the intervals. After ‘God Save the King’ I was astonished to hear loud raucous noises, something like pigs grunting, proceeding from the platform, and saw that Doc was up there, playing for dear life at the double bass, while the Italian musician stood beside him, wringing his hands in despair. Eventually there was a rending crack, and it was quite apparent that something had gone seriously wrong with the instrument. By now people had woken up to the fact that Doc had become somewhat of a menace that evening, and he was forcibly removed from the platform. The next morning the CO sent for him and asked him what explanation he had to offer for breaking the double bass, for which £6 damage must be paid. Doc appeared to have absolutely no recollection of the incident, but he had to pay up just the same – the witnesses against him were too numerous. ‘If tha said a broke the wee thing, then a must ha’ broken it, but a’s certain a never did no such,’ he explained in the mess.

  On another occasion, when the hall was beautifully decorated and lit with shaded lamps, over which coloured tissue paper had been secured, a number of Queen Alexandra’s nurses came from the hospital, and this time their matron, ranking as a lieutenant colonel, came too. Our CO, always gallant, invited the matron, a very correct lady, to dance and he was heard to say, as they floated by, ‘This is a great occasion, ma’am, the first time in the history of my unit that two colonels have been seen dancing together.’ Unfortunately the matron did not appear to unfreeze at this jocular opening. Perhaps she disapproved of Doc, but then she did not know him, and once you knew Doc you could not fail to love him, even if he were sometimes a little wild in his prescriptions. I used to go to his office, even if there was nothing wrong with me and have a chat, and look at the rude pictures on the walls – not drawn by him, Doc explained. Some of them dated from the time when the Germans had occupied the place. Some, however, had quite certainly been added since. Doc was always good to the ATs, and indeed I am sure that he was good to anyone who was ill. But the amount of pills issued to the female members of the unit must have far exceeded the pills consumed by the men, despite the enormous difference in numerical strength. Doc was probably well aware of their value for morale.

  Later, Tony arranged the most elaborate paintings and decorations on the walls of the anteroom. I wonder what the Italians thought when they eventually took possession again. Over the bar was painted an enormous reproduction of Jon’s famous ‘Two Types’. We used to rush for the newspaper, the Union Jack, each day to see what the latest topical cartoon of the ‘two types’ adventure was. In our case one said to the other, ‘What’ll you have, the old man’s drunk all the whisky?’

  One day towards the end of November, when all our plans were beginning to bear fruit for decorators and so on, Tony came into the office and said, ‘The CO has sent for me and told me you are to leave this office and work for Major Walsh – he needs a PA. How do you feel about it?’ ‘But Tony,’ I protested, ‘of course I don’t want to go, it has taken so long to get everything shipshape here.’ ‘I told the CO I still needed you here,’ said Tony, ‘but he said it was final. You know how it is when rank comes into anything.’ I was very crestfallen, for I really loved my job, and had put so much effort into it. Worse was to come – I found that as well as working for the major, who incidentally turned out to be a very decent sort of person, I was also allotted to a junior commander for part of the day. Thus I had two bosses, and was constantly falling between two stools. I was very unhappy for a time, until the CO’s PA warned me that I was in bad odour, and as I was obviously not getting on well, she advised me to ask for an interview with the colonel himself and explain the situation to him. This I did and he was very understanding, and the long and the short of the whole affair was that I was removed from the jurisdiction of the junior commander and placed under that of the major – rank in that case did me a good turn. Although I was not rushed off my feet in my new job, I could devote all my time to it and perform it to best of my ability, instead of being at the beck and call of two or three people at once.

  While these changes were taking place in
my personal life, winter was coming hard upon us, and on the hills to the east, looking towards the famous Gran Sasso, one could see snow covering the peaks, sparkling in the sunshine. Especially in the early morning, the air was so clear that it was like looking at a particularly perfect picture postcard. Once again, Italy had to be seen to be believed.

  It was getting really cold at night now, though one could still lunch out at the Pincio on a sunny day, but there were occasional dull days, and even some wet ones, when our walls dripped and water came in through the broken windows, and the paths round the camp became a morass. Electricity was a problem, for you never knew when it would fail completely. We bought some Italian candles, so as not to be caught hopelessly unprepared in an emergency, and if we went out at night, we carried torches or at least matches. Fortunately, preparations for Christmas took one’s mind off the prevailing discomforts of the season. The amateur dramatics went on apace, and a show was being arranged for Boxing Day; the indents had gone in for Christmas cheer, turkeys, pork, puddings and mince pies, we hoped, though one could not count on them. There would also be an extra ration of alcohol, some port, and extra sweets; so altogether things promised to be fairly festive.