2nd. Bn. Queens Own Cameron Highlanders.

" So let me sing of names remembered

Because they living not can ne’er be dead,

Nor long time take their memory quite away

From us poor singers of an empty day"

It is easy to come under the spell of Tuscany. You have left the poverty-stricken South behind, you have not yet reached the Industrial North. You are in a land of vague tints and lovely half-lights, where airy but tangible threads connect you with an artistic past. You can catch a glimpse of grey towers peeping through wooded slopes, and you can breathe the very spirit of the countryside under the stars on fragrant summer nights. We were only in Tuscany for three weeks but we spent our happiest and our saddest days there, by the waters of the River Arno.

On July 18th. From the municipal gardens in Arezzo, which overlook the valley of the Arno to the north, we first saw the country which we were to take over from the King’s Dragoon Guards. There was no front as we had known it before, the KDGs were merely patrolling the countryside during the day and spending the nights, first at one village and then at another. The villagers were very helpful, for the Germans had looted and plundered as they retreated; in San Polo they had shot twenty people and thrown the bodies into one large grave.

The colonel selected our bases; ‘A’ company just south of San Polo, ‘C’ company at Puglia, ‘B’ company at Patrgnone and ‘D’ company and Battalion Headquarters in Arezzo itself. From these bases we were to study the country and patrol forward with a view to continuing the northward advance. For the first time civilians became a factor in operations. They gave us useful information, and local partisans even attached themselves to each company. To give them their due, these partisans proved their worth.

The two weeks which followed were perhaps the most personally successful ones we ever had in Italy. We suffered only four or five casualties and inflicted about thirty on the Germans, as well as taking twenty eight prisoners. They were weeks of gay swashbuckling bravado, almost piratical insolence, and daring individual effort. A German sauntering into the village of Castellucio to buy vino suddenly drops dead in the road. Corporal Cameron of the snipers shoots two more as they hang out their washing at a house in Le Balze. Another German stoops to wash the dust from his face in the cool waters of the Arno. There is a sharp crack and his body plops into the gently flowing stream.

Every day by the river spelt the death of two or three Germans. If the Jocks had ever enjoyed war at all, they enjoyed it here. Patrols roamed almost at will through the enemy lines, although to say that the enemy had any lines at all is rather misleading. One Sunday afternoon a German sergeant and two of his men were sleeping peacefully, well in the rear of their forward positions. The Erracht patrol, under Capt. Gregor MacDonald, spirited them away without any disturbing of the Sabbath harmony. At times love interest creeps into these games of hide and seek and occasionally one almost expects a horn-rimmed Hollywood producer to appear from the vineyards and shout "Cut - we’ll shoot that one over again".

The scene is a house in Palazzolo: the time, five minutes to three in the afternoon. The only sounds are the drowsy buzzing of a bluebottle and the ponderous ticking of a grandfather clock. The sniper sergeant, Sergeant Hart, is watching a little clearing in the woods from an upper window. L/Cpl. McDiarmid of "D" Company is crouching at the bottom of the staircase; in the bushes around the house lies a section of "D" company. A girl of about twenty is shivering in a chair, her blue eyes fixed on the clock, whose hands creep inexorably on towards three. There is the faintest of taps on the floor above from Sergeant Hart, L/Cpl. McDiarmid raises his tommy gun, the door swings open, and a young German bristling with grenades strides into the room. There is a rattle of bullets. The girl screams. The German falls heavily to the floor. Sergeant Hart rushes downstairs, pushes the girl aside and takes documents from the dead body. As the scene closes, the Jocks steal away and the girl is left weeping over the body of her lover.

Two hours later at battalion headquarters the I.O. fingers a piece of ribbon which signifies the Iron Cross second Class, and reads

"Why didn’t you bring the girl back?" asks Sergeant Sutcliffe, the Intelligence sergeant.

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On 31st. July the 3/12 RFFR, after a fierce battle, captured Campriano, a village on an isolated hill which dominated Route 71 from the east. The way was now clear for a general advance, and the battalion prepared to cross the River Arno. There was to be no set attacks, for we did not know where the enemy were, although we knew that they were not in the upper slopes of the northern bank of the river in any strength. The policy was therefore to precede the advance by patrols. If a patrol reported a village clear, then a company would move independently on its own axis and occupy the village. By August 1st. The whole battalion was north of the river on a six mile front. "D" company, in the east, was at Castiglion Fibocchi and "C", in the west, had reached Marcena. Beyond the wooded slopes just north of the Arno was the valley of one of its tributaries, and beyond that valley again was a two thousand foot ridge - five miles long. The ridge consisted of Monte Ferrato in the west, the great barren twin-pimpled feature of Monte Grillo, the old ruined tower of Belfiore and, in the east, Pianale, a wooded slope overlooking Route 71 and the River Arno as they ran side by side towards Bibbiena - outpost town of the Gothic line. The plan was for "D" company to capture Ferrato, and for "A" company to follow through onto Grillo and continue eastwards to Pianale - two companies for the whole feature.

"D" company, after a stealthy moonlight advance from Castiglion, attacked Monte Ferrato at dawn on 4th. August. Halfway up the hill a spandau opened up from the left flank. The company commander Capt. John Stirling and one Jock were wounded, but these were the only casualties and the enemy, who had obviously decided not to hold Ferrato, withdrew.

That night "A" company attacked Grillo. As with "D" company’s attack, there was little opposition - a few bursts of spandau fire and then silence. They captured one dazed German hiding in a house.

"C" company, meanwhile, came across from Marcena and, after a fierce little fire fight, occupied Bibbiano, a village just below the Ferrato - Pianale ridge. On the morning of the 5th., in a house which they chose for company headquarters, they found a copy in English of Joseph Conrad’s "Lord Jim". On the fly leaf was written:- "Bibbiano Tuscany 5/8/44. Good Luck, old fellow, and pray to Him that you’ll return unwounded to your "Merry Old England" that has been and never will come again. We are convinced to win the war! Look at my leaflet - what do you think now?" (Signed) A German Soldier.

The leaflet had on one side a drawing of a grave marked by a cross surmounted by a British steel helmet. On the other side was printed : "British soldier, you are fighting and dying far away from your country while the Yanks are putting up their tents in "Merry Old England". They’ve got lots of money and lots of time to chase after your women."

"A" company on Grillo prepared to rest during the heat of the August day, intending to go on to Belfiore when night fell, but at 8 o’clock in the morning enemy shells began to crash onto Grillo. We replied with Defensive fire. Tanks of the Warwickshire Yeomanry moved to Ferrato and a squadron of armoured cars from the Central Indian Horse pushed through Bibbiano towards Grillo. It looked like being our biggest engagement yet. The Germans had attacked with two infantry companies and a platoon of assault engineers. By ten o’clock they had overrun two "A" company platoons, and at twelve minutes past ten "A" company’s wireless put out a last desperate appeal for support. After that there was silence. Twenty four hours afterwards, Major Underwood. After a series of thrilling escapes, arrived back at battalion headquarters to tell the tale. The fighting had gone on from room to room. With fifteen wounded and dying men around him, Major Underwood had at last been taken prisoner. As he was being led away, the remnants of eight platoon made a last desperate counter-attack, the tanks opened fire from Ferrato, and in the confusion he escaped.

That night, by the light of a full moon, "C" company counter-attacked Grillo. Lieut. Robin Collier’s platoon in a magnificent rush reached the top of the right hand pimple, caused complete confusion among the enemy, and took seven prisoners. Four proved recalcitrant and had to be shot. The other platoon, however, ran into a complete German company and it became abundantly clear that it would take more than the much depleted "C" company to capture Grillo. "C" company withdrew with surprisingly light casualties - two killed and six wounded.

The following day the 2/7 GR, in a battalion attack, captured Grillo, but the importance which the enemy attached to that height, was further emphasised when they were forced to beat off five counter-attacks. At the same time the 3/12 attacked Pianale. They stuck halfway up the hill and had fifty casualties including a company commander killed. On August 4th. Two complete companies of Jocks had set out to capture a ridge five miles long. By August 7th. A whole brigade had still failed to capture it.

The tragedy of Grillo cast its shadow over the whole battalion, but another tragedy was to follow, and it makes those early days of Arezzo seem like the carefree pranks of innocent childhood. On the morning of August 9th., German 210mm. Shells began to crash with vicious accuracy into Bibbiano. The last shell of a particularly heavy concentration landed outside the door of the house which "C" company headquarters and Tactical Headquarters shared. There were seven casualties, including Moggs Hill and Major Evans, our battery commander from the 11th. Field Regiment. The doctor gave the colonel a blood transfusion, but he died in the R.A.P. two hours later.

The next day the 10th. Indian Division began to relieve the 4th., and the 4th. Pulled out of line for tasks elsewhere.

We buried Moggs Hill in a little cemetery among the vineyards north of Arezzo. There can be no better epitaph than that supplied by the Brigadier on the afternoon of his death - "He was too Brave".

That evening in Arezzo the streets were thronged with people. There was an ENSA show in the municipal gardens. The base-worn satellites who follow the few-who-fight had made themselves comfortable in the best hotels and the houses of the "better people". Notices forbade parking and billeting without permission from some self-important nonentity, and the whole town was cluttered with the paraphernalia that follows wars. As the lights went on in old Arezzo, the ENSA show ceased its raucous vulgarities in the municipal gardens. The great mountain mass of Grillo and the church tower of Bibbiano faded away against the darkening sky. These were the prices we had to pay for the new-found gaiety of Arezzo.

Yet it is easy to understand the spell of Tuscany.

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