Ron Goldstein's Actual Army Album

Visiting this site for the first time?

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Welcome to the Blog !

If you wish to leave a comment on any particular Page of my Album please click on the 'comment' link of that page. If you wish to just leave a comment concerning the Album itself use the 'comment' link after this article.

If you wish to contact me by e-mail please write to ron_goldsteinATbtopenworld.com (replacing the AT characters with the @ symbol)

On the 18th of February 2010 the album was donated to the Imperial War Museum and will eventually be made available for viewing by the general public. The photos (taken by Nita) show me holding the Album in front of a Sherman tank and Archivist Anthony Richards receiving the Album on behalf of the IWM

Front Cover of Ron's Army Album created 1946

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The actual album measures 9.75"x 12.25" equivalent to 25cm x 31cm.
My scanner (and foolscap paper) measures 8.25" x 11.75", 21cm x 30 cm.
Wherever a diary entry or some text has been lost in the process of copying the album I have shown the text below the image.

Page 1 Inside front cover

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Saturday 17th. June 1944 *
Jerry about 5 miles away. Local eyties first sight of Britishers. Bags of vino
Friday 29th. September 1944
Reveille at 0330. (major) flap.Pouring rain all the time. Through Vasto,
Termoli, the Sangro, Pescara. Staged for night at Giulianova.
Saturday 30th. September 1944
Baily bridge washed away and stopped move. Stayed in billets most of the
day. Most of the boys went vino hunting. Some maintenence on the truck. The eyeties are trying to buy anything and everything.

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This new blank page, inserted into the Album due to it's re-bind, contains two images.
The first is the Air-Mail I sent home to Mick on Xmas 1944 and the second is me at the Imperial War Museum being filmed by the BBC in 1995 during the commemoration celebrations.

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Note the date on which I wrote the postcard.
This was the day on which the invasion of Italy was launched and my unit was heavily involved in providing part of the immense barrage.
The snap was taken during a week's leave in Cairo in August 1944.

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Surprising to see the coloured postcards that were available in 1943 !

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Hidden diary page:
Saturday 7th. October 1944
Our present location skin factory, slightly lousy. Mail came in the evening.
Information concerning move in morning. Enjoyable evening.
Sunday 8th. October 1944
Moved off at 10 am. Rain all the way. Through Scarperia 30 miles from front. Ditched at location entrance, billets cramped.
Monday 9th. October 1944
Building road in morning, all my clothes still soaking from two days ago. Rain almost all the time. "In " at the casa after drawing NAAFI rations.
Tuesday 10th. October 1944
Wireless in "ops" again. Cleared truck, ran remote control to Adjutant. Truck in new position nearer cookhouse. Evening downstairs on stag from 12 am to 2 am.

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Sunday 6th. May 1945
Moved off at 8 am with Lt.Harris in my Honey. Was held up at the bridge till after 11 am. Trucks were getting ditched all night but not ours T.W.
Monday 7th. May 1945
No sleep but straight on to leave in Venice. Tour of the Grand Canal on gondola. St.Marco, Ponte Rialto & the whole works. With Derek & Pat (Eddie Patman)
Tuesday 8th. May 1945
Filling up with petrol while Hewie has day in Venice. Packed most of the tanks. Dinner was just for Bill & I. Boys came back from leave 'dry'.
Wednesday 9th. May 1945
All packed ready for move to Austria of all places but cancelled when S.S. Division packed in. Parcel from home with Kummel.

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The day pass issued to visit Florence reminds me that, without this pass, if one was stopped by the Redcaps (Military Police) you could be arrested for suspicion of being a deserter.

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Friday 9th. June 1944
Drove 75 miles to outside Rome. Div Police led us through city. Really wonderful trip.
Saturday 17th. June 1944 *
Jerry about 5 miles away. Local eyties first sight of Britishers. Bags of vino
Wednesday 21st. June 1944 *
Travelled 150 miles in 3 Tonner for 10 hours in Rome. Got back the next day tofind Div had moved up (North). Took hours to find them

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Bari was the first place in which I had a day leave in mainland Italy.

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I am a regular suscriber to a ww2 forum called ww2talk.com

On one of the threads, someone wrote about time travel and I was driven to respond as below.

Here you all are writing as though Time Travel was just a fantasy.

How wrong you are !

Consider my trip to Trieste in 2007.

My wife and I were on our way to a week's stay in Venice when I twisted her arm and we arranged to spend three nights in Trieste on the way out, a city to which I had never returned since 1946.

At 0600hrs, leaving she who must be obeyed sleeping in the hotel, I made my way to Piazza Goldoni armed only with a map, my camera and a snap from my Army Album showing me sitting on a balustrade with the square behind me.

The map indicated that I must now turn right, so I did, and then the time machine told me I had reached my destination. I was back in 1946.............. no mistake and no possible argument.

I was aged 23 again, feeling much fitter and certainly stones lighter.......... I was a young man with the war over and my life before me.

The square was just as I knew it and I wandered round and marveled at my ability to cast myself back into a long gone era. I took photos to prove to myself that I had returned and that all was as I'd left it.

How dare you suggest that Time Travel is a fantasy !

I've used Time Travel and it works.

So there !

Ron

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Italians attacking the tail end of a Jugoslav procession in the main streets of Trieste.
Whenever riots got too bad, the port was placed out of bounds, usually on my night out !

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February 1946

On one occasion the Navy decided it would be a good idea if they were to send some of the matelots stationed in Trieste to our barracks for a day's leave. We showed them around, let them drive our tanks etc., and in short they had a good day's fun. In turn the Navy invited some of us back to their own units and I was chosen to spend a day on a mine sweeper in Trieste harbour.

It was a lovely day and all was going fine until it was pointed out to us that the Degaussing equipment aboard (that neutralised the magnet mines in the harbour) had developed a fault. For the balance of the day consequently the boat was surrounded by floating and very lethal German mines and we found ourselves fending them off and taking potshots at them!

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In August 1944, the 78th British Infantry Div was shipped back to Egypt for a month of rest & re-fit.

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Of my week's leave in Cairo I most vividly remember a day trip to the Pyramids and the Sphinx and the pleasant days we spent swimming at the pool at Heliopolis.

On l6th August l944 I celebrated my 2lst birthday by having a drink with an American seaman in a bar in Cairo. I had just dropped the C.O. off in the city and was killing time before picking him up for the trip back to camp at Ishmalia. By one of those remarkable coincidences that used to occur in wartime, the seaman at the bar, a Mr. John Merry of 383O North Carmac St Philadelphia, U.S.A., happened to be a crew member of a Liberty ship called the SS Homer Lee. When at the end of our stay in Egypt we boarded ship for our return to Italy the ship turned out to be, yes, you have guessed it, the afore-mentioned Homer Lee and as a result I had the pleasure of access to the crews' quarters and some smashing food.

Yes....that's me.......second camel from the right !

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Sunday 1st. July 1945
Spent the greater part of the day in bed & didn't even bother to go to the canteen. Received parcel from home with usual cherry brandy.
Monday 2nd. July 1945
On stag & didn't it pour. I was on first relief & my 10 to 12 shift seemed to collect all the mist in the valley. Half the P.O.W. cage is under water. Snow on the nearby mountain peaks.
Tuesday 3rd. July 1945
Feeling the effects of last night's do. Corp' from N.Demob Unit is getting my films developed at Villach for me. "Sorcerers Apprentice" at canteen.
Wednesday 4th. July 1945
On stag for the umpteenth time. 2nd Relief and arranged my own beat. Quite a lot of fun watching 'Teds' ( Tedeschis, therefore Germans) negotiate 'bridge'.

Sunday 17th. June 1945 *
Have applied for leave to see Mick who is at Udine.
.
June 18th - Major RR Archer returned from hospital and took over command of HQ Sqn.

Monday 18th. June 1945 *
On last relief in P.O.W. cage. Loudspeakers have been fixed up in the camp. False alarm about Jack being safe.

June 19-20th - Nothing to report.

Tuesday 19th. June 1945 *
Came off stag at 10 am. Into Spittal in the jeep to arange 'beer job' with the director.Loaded the 7 tonner with empty barrels. Warned for a 'buckshee' guard.
Wednesday 20th. June 1945 *
Took two Austrians to Paternion prison & two girls to be punished by the
Squadron Leader. Also 48 S.S. men to a camp at Spittal after finding them in our cage.

Thursday 21st. June 1945 *
Did a bit more swapping- this time I swapped a Jerry dagger for a Yankee mini- camera, loaded with film. Housey in the canteen after a day in the billet.

June 21th - Major JLE Ogier MC returned from hospital and took over command of B Sqn.

Friday 22nd. June 1945 *
Took some snaps of the guard which should turn out O.K. New unit is practically ready to take over P.O.W. camp administration. Carstairs, Hussey & James for leave (L.I.A.P or Leave in addition to Python)

June 22nd - Nothing to report.

Saturday 23rd. June 1945 *
Normal day off. Scrubbed my K.D. (Khaki Drill). Latest billet mascot is a blonde kid, very sharp, named Hervick. He is teaching Vic Hatch German!

Sunday 29th July 1945
Before dinner did a bit of “gardening” in front of billets. In the afternoon went up the mountainside with Abbino (?) and his sister. Quite good fun
Monday 30th July 1945
Taken off fatigues to do interpreter for Lt.”Dutch” Holland. Out in the dingo to the end of the boundary area. Crashed plane on hillside. Beer at roadside Gasthos at dinner time.
Regimental Diaries:
July 31st Rgt ceasing to be under command of 78th Div (Now under 6th Armd Div)
Tuesday 31st July 1945
Out with “Dutch” again, this time to the Burgomaster at Hohentaun. Collected three crates of booksfrom ex-Stalaag XVIII. Back early for Road Block guard.Truck broke down.

Acting in my role as un-official interpreter I went with Lt. Holland to inspect a deserted POW camp that had been used to hold a hundred or so British prisoners of war. Although it was now empty, there was something quite eerie about the atmosphere of the place; it was as though all the memories were somehow trapped inside the wooden huts, and I was glad to get out into the open air.

August 1945

Wednesday 1st August 1945
Guard room is in ex-Gasthos. Cooked our own meals. Young orphan has French
father, Russian mother

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One of our "jobs" at Trieben in Austria was to run a road-block starting at Trieben and ending at Hohentaurn. We were looking for escaping German War Criminals and the road that headed North into Germany was one of the escape routes for vehicles.

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Ferndorf
The site for the camp was almost ideal. Situated in a valley it must originally have been a field for grazing and had the river on one side and railway embankment on the other. We quickly put up some barbed wire around the perimeter and bingo, we had a cage. Within a few days the first 2OOO prisoners arrived by train and eventually this number was to swell to 4OOO.
Timber was requisitioned from far and wide, and after it was dumped in the cage, the Germans were told to get on with it and build their own accommodation, which they soon did in a most professional manner. One of the first buildings put up was a guard room for our own benefit and I, in company with the rest of "A" squadron, was to spend the next month doing 24 hours on, and 24 hours off guard without a break.

At any one time there were only four men on actual guard around the perimeter, one patrolling the railway embankment, one the river bank, and the other two each other side of the cage. The Germans had their own internal guard to keep things in order within the cage itself and it was quite common for the British and German guards to patrol together, each on his own side of the wire.

On one occasion, in the early hours of the morning, I was chatting in German to my counterpart on the other side. I told him I was Jewish, to which I got the almost automatic response: "Ich habe so viel Freunden Juden!", and I asked him as a matter of academic interest what would have happened if some weeks earlier I had the misfortune to be captured by his own unit and they discovered I was Jewish.
He considered the matter for a moment and then told me that if I had been one of a large group of prisoners, then no attempt would have been made to segregate me, and I would have just been sent to the rear with the others. If, however, I had been captured separately and if his own officer said to him "shoot him" then he would simply have shot me, for as he quite cheerfully pointed out to me: "If I don't shoot you, then he shoots me!"

At the time, it all seemed perfectly logical to both of us and I have often been glad that events had never put the matter to the test.

On another occasion I was on the river bank duty and was being observed by a bunch of young Jerries. It was fairly obvious that they were amused by something and I asked them what they were laughing at. The ringleader said: "It's because you are only armed with a pistol!" as tank crew this was standard issue and worn in a belt holster. I pointed out to him that if he personally attempted to slip through the wire and swim the river, the pistol was more than sufficient to stop him, if on the other hand the whole 4OOO of them were to decide to make a run for it, then all the armoured cars in the village would probably have difficulty in stopping them. He saw the logic of it and shared it with his friends.

Occasionally we would lose some prisoners who would scoot up the railway embankment and make for the hills, and we used to send out patrols in the early hours to see if they were hiding in the local farms. To everyone's embarrassment we sometimes found our own troops having a liaison with the local "talent."

The snap lower left is titled "Off stag (stag being army slang for "guard")

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Thursday 16th August 1945
My (22nd.)birthday was celebrated in the Squadron canteen. Aided by Vic, Hewie,Wyatt, 29 tins of beer and 6 bottles of beer I got very happy and so to bed

Regimental Diaries:
19th Aug Advance party of A Sqn moved to TUNIS camp, ULM on overland leave route
22nd Aug A Sqn main party left to relieve 17/21st Lancers at ULM. Rear party commanded by Lt.Balfour remained at TRIEBEN to guard Armd Cars

Sunday 19th. August 1945
Moved off at 7.15 am through Salzburg, Munich, Dachau, Augsberg and arrived in Ulm about 6'ish. Had dinner, shower and went to canteen where I met Dizzy.
August/September 1945
Running a Staging Camp in Ulm in Germany
In September we (that's A Sdrn. 4th Queen's Own Hussars) landed another interesting job, that of running a staging camp in Germany. At that time there was an Army scheme in operation called L.I.A.P., which stood for Leave in Addition to Python. Python was the code name for leave that was given to troops that had done four years or more abroad and were due for home posting, whereas LIAP was now being given to those who had "only" (my inverted commas) done two years and nine months overseas service.
To get the returning warriors home, a series of staging camps were set up, starting in Italy, extending across Germany and France and finishing up at Dover. "A" squadron had been chosen to run the camp at Ulm, about l5O miles north of Munich and so off we went again, for the first time in Germany itself. On the way through Munich we passed the famous Beer Cellar where Hitler had made speeches in his early days. Lt.Walmsly and Major Paddy O'Brien stopped the truck they were travelling in and posed for me. The snap is still in my album.
We settled in very quickly.
Every evening about seven o'clock the convoy of lorries used to arrive and then facilities were laid on for the two or three hundred men to be fed, refreshed and all their needs attended to before they left the following morning at O7OO hours.

My own particular job was the cushy one of camp librarian and my duties were simple, to say the least. At the beginning of the "run" in Italy all troops were given opportunities to purchase paperback books from the NAAFI canteen. As they arrived at each staging camp in turn, they could swap on a one-for-one basis and so they had plenty to read en route. As librarian I was only on duty from seven in the evening until 9pm and then the rest of the day was my own. One other small duty was taking down the news from the BBC broadcasts and posting it on the canteen notice board.

The giggle was the fact that on some occasions reception was bad and the announcer spoke too fast. When this happened I used to fill in my own version of the news, regardless of the accuracy of the statements, but I don't think that anyone was ever the wiser and the next bulletin was always updated.

As we were now a British outpost in the heart of Germany we often had visitors turning up looking for repatriation to England, and I was often called in to interpret. On one occasion a strange young man turned up claiming to be of British origin and I was told to translate. When I found my German was not enough to cope with the situation I switched to French and Italian whereupon the young man said to me: "You must be Jewish," going on to say that the only British he knew who could speak so many languages were Jewish.

The canteen at the camp had a film projector and nightly shows were given for those in transit. Because we had a different audience every night, it must have occurred to someone that it was not necessary to change the film, and therefore the whole month that we were in Ulm the film was always "Cover Girl" with Betty Grable. As the town itself was off-limits to the camp staff, we would invariably find ourselves watching the film and consequently we knew all the script and the dance routines backwards! For months afterwards some of the lads would break into one of the complicated song and dance routines. One favourite lyric was "Who's complaining, I'm not complaining, together we'll see this thing through, Because of Axis trickery my coffee's now chicory, and I can hardly purloin a sirloin."

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Through the wonders of modern day internet I have been able to trace and play both of these songs as sung by the original artists, Mario da Vinci singing "Io T'ho incontrata a Napoli" and Carlo Butti on Youtube singing "Angiolina": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7a-qz1Wru0
In addition, with the help of an Italian WW2 forum I was delighted to obtain a recording of Gino Bechi singing "Strada del Bosco"

My good friend Peter Ghiringhelli supplied me with this English translation of Angiolina:

Just to stay here all the time
I eat and drink all day long, Angiolina
Angiolina,
I adore your restaurant!

I consume in great profusion
spaghetti and meatloaf, Angiolina
Angiolina
Just to stay in your company.

I love you,
Angiolina, my darling,
but between lunches and dinners
I'm spending alomost a fortune.

For you a week's wage
vanishes in a day
Dearest Angiolina,
Angiolina I love you!

With all the food I'm shoving down
I already weigh almost a ton, Angiolina.
Angiolina,
I'm going to drive myself insane!

I'm so attracted to you,
but, my dear,
I see that for your love
I'll do something really stupid, Angiolina.

I love you,
Angiolina, my darling,
but between lunches and dinners
I spend alomost a fortune.

For you a week's wage
vanishes in a day
Dearest Angiolina,
Angiolina, I love you!

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There has recently been some controversy on this site (The BBC WW2 People's War Archives) regarding the date of the Victory Celebrations in Europe and whether or not there was actually a Victory Parade held in London on VJ Day itself.

Other articles have also suggested that Her Majesty the late Queen Salote of Tonga and various other foreign Royals also took part in the 1946 Victory Parade

Before adding my own views on the subject I would remind myself that Peter Ghiringhelli once unknowingly paid me a compliment by telling me I was a ‘Prime Source’ as far as research on WW2.

Peter, of course, was merely acknowledging the fact that because of my date of birth, 16th August 1923, my many photographs and my Army Records, all of which are easily verifiable, it was evident that I had actually taken part in the events about which I had written on this site. I therefore consider, if only for the purpose of credibility, that I am a fairly safe bet when it comes to giving accurate dates.

On the 15th of August 1945 VJ Day was proclaimed.

At the time I was still serving in Austria and heard on the radio, as I did on VE Day, the celebrations that were taking place back in England. I am more than certain that there was no Parade or March in London on the day, there was certainly no time to organise such an event.

It was a different matter with the Victory Parade.

On the 8th of June 1946 I was on leave from Trieste.

On the day , I got myself up silly early in order to obtain a prime position in Whitehall where I had the pleasure of seeing a fantastic parade of arms which included representatives from my own regiment, the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars.

I have no recollection or any written evidence to suggest that her Majesty Queen Salote of Tonga or indeed any other foreign Royals, took part in the Victory Parade and can only suppose that some folk are confusing this with her attendance at the coronation of HM The Queen on the 2nd June 1953

When I returned to Trieste after my leave I wrote up a page in my Army Album and a photo of that page is now shown above.

Since first writing the above I thought that in the interests of factual accuracy I should ask another party to confirm my memory of the event and I therefore wrote to the Tonga High Commission in London.

My letter, followed by their reply, should put the controversy finally to rest.

17th October 2005
Tonga High Commission
36 Molyneux Street
London W1H 5BQ

Dear Sirs

May I firstly apologise if this letter is not addressed to the right department and ask you to kindly pass it on to anyone who can be of assistance to the writer.

I am a British WW2 veteran who has written many articles on the BBC WW2 Peoples War Website. This website is shortly to become a very important archive of WW2 history and I, and others, are concerned that items included should be factually correct.

One of the articles concerns her late Majesty, the Queen of Tonga and claims that Her Majesty took part in the 1946 Victory Parade in London.

As someone who actually witnessed the 1946 parade, I have pointed out that this information is incorrect and that the writer is confusing her Majesty’s later and famous participation in the Coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on the 2nd of June 1953..
(Please see my article on: A4768040)
It would be most appreciated if you could confirm that my memory is not at fault and that Her Majesty Queen Salote did NOT attend the Victory Celebration Parade on 8th June 1946.

With many thanks for your trouble

Yours sincerely

Ron Goldstein

Reply received by e-mail:
19th October 2005-10-19
Subject: Re-1946 Victory Parade in London

From: (writers name withheld by Ron)

Dear Mr Goldstein,

Thank you for drawing our attention to the article on BBC and we wish to confirm that Her late, Majesty the Queen of Tonga did not attend the Victory Celebration Parade on 8th June 1946.

With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,
Tonga High Commission
LONDON

Regards to all

Ron

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The snap is titled "Heliopolis Swimming Pool (near Cairo)

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I was also looking out of the carriage window when the train rumbled into Austria, homeward bound, in June '46. The trip from Italy, which takes about three and a half days,is interesting the first time, boring the second time and a severe strain on the nerves the third time .

In November '45 I finally got my first leave home after being abroad since April 1943. I came back to London and Manor Road over the LIAP (Leave In Addition to PYTHON) route that I had previously helped to run.

I travelled for three days via lorry, train and ferry and finally reached Stoke Newington where my parents were now living.

As I got off the bus in Manor Road I could see the front door some 200 yards away. Over the doorway I could also see that decorations had been placed in position in patriotic red, white and blue. It was obviously one of those many 'welcome home' signs that I had been seeing all the way from Dover and I have to confess to feeling quite touched.

It was only when I got right outside the door that I could read the sign itself. It said: 'WELCOME HOME JACK'. My name is Ron! My brother-in law had beaten me to it and his name over the door had taken all the wind out of my sails!

Despite the sign, however, Mum, Dad and all at home seemed pleased to see me and I had a fantastic 28-day leave.

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This page reminds me how stupid I was to post individual pages into the diary so that the under pages were no longer readable !. As a saving grace I was able to transcribe all the readable pages of my diary and these are available as separate word files.

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Peter Ghiringhelli was good enough to translate the Italian text on the Piccolo Italiana membership card and part of his e-mail now follows:

Thank you Ron for letting me have a scan of this most interesting document. It is the membership card of a 'Piccola Italiana' (Little Italian Girl), part of the
Ballila movement, for girls aged between 8 and 12.
They then went on to the 'Giovane Italiane' (Young Italian Girls) from 13 to 18.
The left sets out the duties of the 'Piccolo Italiane':

"A Piccola Italiana must prepare herself to be the Fascist woman of tomorrow.
Here are her tasks:
1. To fulfill her obligations as daughter, as sister, as schoolgirl, and as a friend, with kindness and joy even when such duties are sometimes tedious.
2. To serve the motherland as a greater mother, the mother of all Italians.
3. To love 'il Duce' who has made the motherland stronger and greater still.
4. To cheerfully obey all superiors.
5. To have the courage to oppose those who council evil and who mock honesty.
6. To train her body to overcome physical strain and her mind not to fear pain.
7. To shun stupid vanity and to love things of beauty.
8. To love work, which is life and harmony.

Augusto Turati"

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Sunday 15th. April 1945
Couple of miles back, cleaning guns, airing blankets & tidying up in general.
Put the old camp bed up & spent a very good night.
Monday 16th. April 1945
Early morning move. Watched eytie squad burying some tedeschi dead. Found
Jerry rifle & ammo in the wood. Cpl.Boreman fixing the charging engine.

The charging engines also known as chore horses played an important part in our lives in Italy. They were small engines, run on petrol, that were used to re-charge batteries . As wireless ops. they were strictly our responsibility and everyone in the unit used to have to come to us to get their own personal batteries charged. I say ‘personal’ batteries because if you wanted a light in your tent at night you needed a battery and by inference you would need to know some one with a chore horse!

Tuesday 17th. April 1945
Reveille at 4'ish & then hung around all day doing nothing. Our new Colemans
Cooker arrived. S.Ps (self propelled guns) in next field pretty noisy but moved
before night.
Wednesday 18th. April 1945 (see Regimental Diary of same day)
Stonked near wood for solid hour. Corporal Todd wounded badly in head
when air-burst caught their Honey. Farmhouses burning, stuck in ditch.

Wednesday the 18th had started with Busty going sick, I believe with an old wound, and he had been replaced for the day by Sgt. Broderick. Shortly after moving off at dawn we came under mortar fire from dead ahead, and Broderick rather craftily directed Hewie to place us under a knoll, or hillock, that was directly in front of the wood from which the fire appeared to be coming.

It soon became apparent that we were safe, or relatively safe, as long as we stayed where we were. Every time we tried to move, however, the mortars landed within yards of us and we saw other tanks getting hit only yards away.

They say that when you are about to drown all your previous life flashes in front of you. Well, that is how I felt that day and I could almost read the article that would appear in the Hackney and Kingsland Gazette. "We regret to announce the death of trooper Ron Goldstein on active service in Italy. It is ironic that whilst on leave in Egypt some six months earlier he had tried to see his brother-in-law Jack, without success. Only a few days before his death he had also tried to see his brother Mick, but again with no joy."

By the time the long day had finished and it was dark enough for us to slip away I gradually realised that I had survived and that I was not due to be killed that day after all.

Since I first wrote the article above I have had the odd contact from relatives who had seen the photo on this and other sites. For their benefit I now give the surnames of all those depicted, which, in a moment of brilliance, I had written on the back of the photo before I put it in the Album.

Starting with the back row and reading from left to right.
House,Westlake,Burroughs,Carstairs,Holmes,Lees,Haines,Vic Hatch,Ron (that's me), Hunt,Ball,Hewitt,Jefford,Richardson,Dash,Howell,Harwood,Hewitt, (No relation) Rayston,Shave,Bellinger
Fourth row:
Stilletto,Evans,Fortheathe,Houldsworth,Staite,’Jock Ewen,Willis,Rolfe,Jones,Syms,Bennet,Holmes,
Manning,Lawrence,George,Miller,Howard,Pulham,Faulkner,Davis,Johnson,May,Marrison,Grant,
Ward,Cresser.
Third row:
Biggs,Kendal,Ewens,Wyatt,Ashford,White,Joe Metcalfe,Garnett,Jackson,Westwood,Oag,
‘Dicky Hole’,Wilson,Wallis, Gorton, Elliot,Brennan,Ayre,Haines,Waite,Gerahty,Mollard,Jarvis,Porter,Stillwell,Crighton
Richardson.
Second row:
Fuller,Cunningham,Butterworth,Maloney,Lascelles,Ward,Graham,Munns,Gould,Allsop,Skinner,
Brown,Davies,Rigby,Douthwaite,Hobbs,Jervis,Holmes,Davis,Sherman,Vic Ullrich,Thompson,Cross
Leigh,Bowler
First row:
Hills,Wakes,Tom Metcalfe,Haywood,Hasted,Boult,Chiltern,Broderick,Ellis,Stone,Buckley,’Busty’ Thomas,
‘Paddy’ O’Brien,Waddingham,Walmsley,Harris,Jackson,Rogers,Taylor,Holland,Balfour,McMoreland
Atkiinson,Mundy

Please contact me by e-mail if you have any queries about someone in the photo

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By virtue of its shape, the square in Sienna was ideal for horse racing. In the Cathedral could be seen many paintings dating back as early as 1600, showing chariot racing in full swing, with an excited crowd cheering from the balconies.

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The reverse of this leaflet reads:

Charlie tells the truth!

Say, chums, here's a new voice! Of course, it's not your master's voice, but here come the thoughts of a soldier just like you! I'm no more than one of the millions of suffering soldiers in the world. I'm an Allied soldier !
I'm, so to say, the blank file in all your parades. I know what's what and I want to put your thoughts into words for you.
In short, I'm Charlie the Gunner!
Just now I want you to keep your brains clear, for in the coming weeks, the Big Show is timed to start on the Italian front. What do I mean? Hell, our officers are talking about large scale attacks against Jerry! Isn't that the limit?. Listen, in the East, the Red Army is about 40 miles from Berlin. In the West our Armies are
going forward along the Rhine. And we here in Italy? What are WE doing? We could of course wait till the bloody thing was. over, but no, we must get ready for new attacks!
That means heavy losses again and, for many pals, a single ticket to the devil !
The mountains here are not friendly and the Po is wide, deep, and very, very wet!
There can be only two possibilities.
You and I know that the battlefront here is of secondary importance. So either our Generals are taking a last chance to snatch a victory and make fame in military history, or our dear Winnie and Franklin Delano must have some victories to put up in San Francisco against "Good Old Joe"
At the last moment we must end our lives in Italian mud and dust. We could win this war without any great attacks in Italy! But our Commanders and our Government say: No! Ten thousand dead heroes more or less make no difference to us and we need them to balance our bill with Stalin's, when the “Golden Gate of Sail Francisco” is opened for the great Peace Conference on the first of April.

Sorry, boys, I made a slight slip about the date, it's the 2nd of April, not the first!

But what can WE do? We can't even raise our voices, against these Hero-makers!
So, come along boys, be quick about it and kick the bucket for them!
While the Golden Gate of San Francisco is opening to receive Winnie F.D.R. and St. Joe to the Great Conference which is to bring Peace on Earth to Men of Goodwill, the “Golden Gate of Heaven” will be opened for many of you by Good Old St. Peter, saying: “Come inside and choose your harp, You've had your share of Hell”
So, till next time! Yours
Charlie

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The reverse side shows a skeleton hovering over a British Cemetery with the words: BUT DID YOU EXPECT TO FIND IT LIKE THIS ?

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The reverse side of this leaflet graphically portrays British troops being blown out of the water whilst attempting a river crossing.

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The reverse of this leaflet reads:

He also had been told
that the Germans are a horde of Huns and barbarians, posing as supermen and with only one idea, to bring all Europe under their tyranny of terror.

He also had been told
that it was the sacred duty of all liberty-loving men to free Europe from the bestial cruelty of these Nazis.

He also had been told
that in fighting against these Huns it was necessary to hold out to the last, as the Germans illtreat and even kill their prisoners.

The day came when he was taken prisoner.
The "Hun" who had captured him pulled out his first-aid kit, bandaged his wounded hand and gave him a cigarette.
The "Hun" who brought him to the dressing station gave him a drink from his own flask
and saw to it that hat he came under the doctor's care at once.
The "Hun" doctor who skilfully and gently extracted the splinter from his hand, gave him another cigarette and sent him off with a friendly pat on the back.
The "Hun" who brought him to the prisoners' camp knew a little English and told him and some of his pals all about his home and his family.

Then he understood

that all these German soldiers were neither Huns nor wild beasts nor did they pose as supermen. Thev were boys like his friends Bill, Fred and George, boys with the same claims on life as the English soldiers and, like them they were also fed up with war.
And so everything was quite different
from what his newspapers and wireless, full of hate-propaganda, had been dinning into his ears. He had been the victim of a swindle, for he knew well enough now from all the German soldiers he had met and learned to know, that they were incapable of committing the atrocities recounted daily by his papers. They wanted to live in peace and attend to their work, and for this it was necessary that the world should allow them the same rights as any other nation. They were fighting for these rights and would not cease fighting until they obtained them. But nothing was further from their thoughts than to wish to dominate Europe. On the contrary, OR their Eastern Front they were fighting the battle of this very Europe against the Asiatic hordes of the steppes beyond the Urals and the Caucasus, who, stirred up by Bolshevism, had attacked Europe with murder, violence and robbery. They would not be satisfied with the conquest of Germany alone, their goal was the revolutionising of the whole world. And while the Germans were fighting desperately against this onslaught,they were defending' not only their own lives but were fighting for Europe and also for England, for him. Bill, Fred, George, and for everyting that made life worth living.
And so he began to reflect!
If everything that the anti-German hate-propaganda was saying was untrue, if the truth was something quite different, then there must be someone with an interest in this senseless Slaughter, among the nations of Europe. There must be someone who profits by all the suffering and misery of war.
Who is it?
This is a question worth thinking over.

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The reverse of this leaflet reads:

His way leads safe home

True, it passes through a prison camp and no true soldier likes to be taken prisoner, a Briton as little as any other.

And, Bill was a good soldier and naturally he was fed up like all of us, but he was no coward.

But, Bill was also an intelligent soldier and as his reconnaissance party was spotted by Jerry and he and his pals were wounded by spandau fire, he saw that the situation was hopeless,and further resistance meant senseless suicide.
So, Bill did the only sensible thing he said “Goodbye to Arms” and gave himself up.

Then, Bill got to know Jerry.
Naturally he was not pleased to be falling into the hands of men whom his own leaders had always described as “beasts in human shape” but he would have to take his chance. The first Jerry whom he got know was one of the paratroops called Walter who promptly produced his field-dressing kit and bandaged his head, then gave him a drink out of his bottle and a cigarette, and finally putting Bill's arm around his shoulder brought him out of the front tines to the dressing station.
Bill felt he had found a pal in this quiet boy and he .was sorry when they had to part. He soon realised, however, that Walter was one of many, all helpful, friendly, decent chaps - young men with the same sorrows and joys and the same feelings as his own pals.
At last. Bill understood that his capture was a piece of good luck for him He got the chance to see behind the scenes and learn to know the^ much-abused Germans.
Besides, in many talks with English speaking captors, now friends, he very soon realised that German “Nazism” was hailed by the London war- mongers merely because they feared it might open the eyes of the English workers to their own plight under the old system, and lastly, and most important of all Bill knew that he was safe on the road to Home, sweet Home,

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Over the years, various good people have drawn my attention to the fact that the Africa Korps ribbon is actually a "Cuff Title". This is absolutely correct but in the interests of simplicity I have chosen to leave the original page as it was written.

I do however thank you for your interest.

Ron

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The German Propaganda leaflet entitled "Churchill without Roosevelt" was shelled over our Senio sector the day after Roosevelt died. On the front of the leaflet is a cartoon of Stalin 'usurping' the chair formerly held by Roosevelt and now due to be occupied by Stalin.

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The leaflet now in my Album is a copy supplied by the Imperial War Museum. The original was accepted by them in 1987 to replace one lost in a disastrous fire.
The reverse shows a map of Europe and demonstrates how a British POW could be sent home from a German POW Camp.

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The tailboard of the Bedford three-ton truck slammed down with a resounding crash, someone yelled, 'Everybody out!', and we all clambered out stiffly on to the baking pavements of wartime Rome.

There were some 15 of us, all from the same Regiment, the 49th Light Anti-Aircraft Rgt. The time was 10am and we had just arrived after a bone-shaking three-hour journey from 75 miles north of the city.

The date was Wednesday, 21 June 1944. Rome had fallen to Allied troops 18 days earlier when the American General Mark Clark of the 5th Army had been given the honour of formally accepting the city's surrender. Six days later, on 9 June, my unit had driven through Rome on its way North and we had been there ever since, figuratively catching our breath while the powers that were decided what our next move was to be. Someone up top must have said, 'Give the troops a chance to see what they've been fighting for,' and I was one of those who had drawn a short straw.

I was not quite twenty-one at the time, had been in the Army since October '42 and abroad since April '43. I had arrived in North Africa just in time for the end of the First Army campaign, had been through the whole of the Sicily campaign and (in company with most of my comrades there that day) had been on the long slog north since the invasion of the Italian main land in September '43.

In my wartime album I still have some snaps taken on the day so I don't have to think too hard to remember what I must have looked like on this scorching day some fifty odd years ago. I was slim in build, dark from successive summers in the Mediterranean and wore khaki drill, as it was officially referred to. My shirt was open necked, sleeves rolled up to the regulation length and I wore blankoed gaiters over my boots.

On my right sleeve I wore a forked lightning badge to show that I was a wireless operator, and on my shoulders I wore the distinctive yellow battle-axe on a black background, which signified that I was part of the 78th British Infantry Division. My chest showed only one medal ribbon, that of the Africa Star and my pipe, a hangover from my civilian life, was clenched at what I obviously imagined was a jaunty angle.

As I've said, the time was 10.00 hours, we had to be back at the pick-up point at 18.00 hours and the Sergeant in charge left us in no doubt as to the likely trouble we would be in if we missed the bus. Back at the camp we'd been given a leaflet that told us of some of the glories we were about to see and printed on the back of the leaflet was a reasonably accurate, if not detailed, map.

I had no particular friends with me on that day, just the way the draw had worked out. This suited me fine however because even a cursory glance at the map had shown that I would have to go like the proverbial clappers to see even a tenth of what the city had to offer and what I had in mind for the day.

We had been dropped off at a lorry park near the Colosseum and so this was an obvious starting point. I followed the early crowds into the amphitheatre and tagged on to a group that had managed to secure the services of an Italian guide. After a short while I slipped away to visit the cells underneath the arena where the slaves and early Christians were held prior to the games and their subsequent death. I have never considered myself to be significantly claustrophobic but the atmosphere in the dank, shaded quarters felt unbearably evil, and I was glad to get back out into the sun and the heat.

Next stop was the nearby Forum where I wandered for a while before heading northward to the Victor Emanuel monument, known to the locals as the 'Wedding Cake' because of its garish architecture. Still heading north, I stopped for a while at the Pantheon and then the Trevi Fountain finally finishing up at the monumental steps of the Piazza di Spagna, where I rested in the shade and ate my haversack rations augmented by fruit and drink I bought on the spot.

It was now time to head west, crossing the Tiber for the first time over the Ponte San Angelo to the castle itself, no time to hang around here because the nearby Vatican beckoned and I pushed on relentlessly.

The Vatican was fantastic, all that I had expected, and I spent a few hours there armed with a guide book. It was almost 17.00 hours before I could tear myself away.

The last item on my mental itinerary for the day was to find the Great Synagogue and, if I could, some fellow Jews. In anticipation of such a meeting I withdrew from my wallet a small brass Magen David, which I had acquired somewhere along the way and I let it hang from the buttonhole of my breast pocket.

The map I had been using made no mention of the Synagogue but I had heard from a Jewish friend back at the unit that it was near the Isola Tiberina, the island that sits in the centre of the Tiber near the Campidoglio.

After leaving the Vatican I re-crossed the river at Ponte Vittorio Emanuel, and then turned right to follow the embankment south until, almost wilting in the heat, I saw the synagogue on my left. It was huge, Moorish in design, with a large domed roof. I walked completely round the outside until I found a small side door that looked as if it was in use. After knocking a few times an elderly man, obviously a caretaker, let me in, and when I explained I was Jewish he let me wander around un-escorted to study the interior. There were no worshippers present and the stained-glass windows and marble pillars were all too much reminiscent of the Vatican that I had just visited. It was certainly a far cry from the Bethnal Green Synagogue where I had been bar-mitzva'd less than eight years earlier!

After about twenty minutes I quit the cool interior to face the baking streets again after first asking the caretaker where I was likely to find other Jews. He told me to cross over the other side of the Tiber and ask any passers-by for the Jewish Quarter.

In the event it proved unnecessary because immediately I had crossed the Ponte Cestio I saw a small whitewashed garage facing the Synagogue. What drew my attention to it was a large Magen David (Shield of David) that someone had painted on its walls in black paint.

More than 50 years later I can still feel the mental blow to the pit of my stomach on seeing this crudely painted sign with all its obvious connotations and its reminder of the photographs I had seen of Jewish shops in Berlin in the late thirties.

I made my way into its dark interior and once my eyes had adjusted to the dark I saw a young man working on a car engine. 'Sono ebrei qui?' ('Are there any Jews here?'), I called into the darkness.

There was a pause and then back in Italian came, 'Why do you want to know?' This, in the most unfriendly of tones.

'Because I’m a Jew,' I replied, and gestured, as if for confirmation, to the Magen David that was now dangling from my breast pocket.

He came close, studied my face carefully, then the Magen David and then, all restraint aside, bear-hugged me as though we were brothers. He, I never knew his name, called out to someone deeper in the darkness who was old enough to be his father or his uncle and introduced me as 'Un soldato Inglese, ma Ebreo!' - an English soldier, but a Jew!

Soon others joined us and each newcomer was solemnly introduced.

'Are there any more Jews around here?" I asked.

My new friend laughed and said, 'Come, I'll show you!'

He wheeled out an ancient motor bike. I was invited to take the pillion seat, and we roared off along the banks of the Tiber.

We didn't have far to go because I soon realised I was back at the Vatican. He parked his bike and pushed me forward towards the stalls that were selling religious objects. He called out to one of the stallholders and within seconds I found myself in the centre of a swarming, back-slapping crowd of men women and children, who proceeded to treat me as if I had just personally liberated Rome.

The kids in particular were particularly interested in my presence and kept touching me as if to convince themselves that I was real. Their parents were content to fire non-stop questions at me, always ending with, 'Do you think the war will be over soon?'
I spoke to my guide and tapped my watch face. I had already told him on the way that I had to be back at the pick-up point for 18.00 hours and the time was flashing by.

He explained to the stallholders and then said to me, 'They want to give you a present (un ricordo),' and I could see that they wanted me to choose something from one of the stalls. The joke was that all of their merchandise was aimed to please good Catholics, and the numerous icons and crucifixes were hardly suitable gifts for this British Jew who was just about to leave them. The matter was soon resolved - one of the men pointed to my own Magen David still hanging from my shirt pocket. I took it off and handed it to him whereupon he promptly took a gold chain off one of the crucifixes and re-fixed it to my own charm.

A roar went up from the crowd - honour had been saved all round and as I hung my ‘ricordo’ around my neck and waved my good-byes I was choked with emotion.

My final call that evening was to another relative of my new found friend and as I drunk the obligatory glass of wine I listened to harrowing tales of what it was like to be a Jewish civilian in wartime Italy. I remember in particular their comments that life under Mussolini had been good even during the early days of the war, but that the horrors had started once the Germans had taken control in September '43.

It was 17.30. I apologised to my hosts that I really must be on my way and we solemnly shook hands. My guide and I roared away into the gloom and with about ten minutes to spare I was back at the lorry park and looking for my transport.

Later, as our ‘passion-wagon’ drove off into the darkening night, in the back of the truck it was noisy as everyone compared notes of how they had spent the day.

There were of course the inevitable tales of booze-ups and female conquests although to be fair to my comrades of fifty years ago there were many there that evening who had obviously also enjoyed sights and experiences that they too would cherish for a lifetime.

For whatever reason, I didn't tell the others about my own day, at least I said nothing about my meeting with fellow Jews and as the truck roared noisily northward, taking me back into the cocoon of life within a British army unit, I consoled myself with the thought that one day I would write it all down

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On the 19th of October 1946, my regiment, the 4th Queen’s Own Hussars, held its first post-war reunion, the last having been held in 1938.

As our Honorary Colonel, the Rt.Hon.Winston Churchill, was considered as having played no small part in the allied victory, it was considered that the regiment was entitled to ‘do him proud’ and the necessary arrangements were made to celebrate the event. Churchill, like his son Randolph, had actually served in the Regiment.

Apart from some 340 ex-servicemen who had already been de-mobbed it was decided to send home from Italy no less than 20 representative serving soldiers and I was one of the lucky chaps who’d been chosen.

I see from my album that we left Monfalcone on the Wednesday, got into London on Friday evening and turned up at the dinner on Saturday. By Monday we were on our way back, arriving back at camp on Wednesday evening. Of course I was able to fit some time in at home, and the dinner itself, held at the Connaught Rooms in Holborn, with Winston Churchill in attendance, was quite an experience.

After the meal the catering staff were ushered from the hall and Winston, having obviously enjoyed his meal and a few drinks, told us a few rather ‘blue’ jokes which were very well received by his audience

In the photo above Churchill is fourth from top left, I am over on the top right, marked with an arrow.

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These two items showing my innoculations and medal entitlements were the the only pages I saved from my AB64 (Army Pay Book, Part1)

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Sunday 29th. April 1945 *
Move off due to ops going so well up North. Musso has been bumped off. Received some mags. Captain Walmsley reckons the Regiment has 'had it'.
Monday 30th. April 1945
Still in same field. Small parcel arrives from home containing 'Dr.Goldstein's
Medicine'. Strawberries & Cream for dinner. Film show in barn was George
Raft's "Follow the boy".
May 1945
Tuesday 1st. May 1945
Last day of tank cooking. Played cards in bivvie with Vic & Hewie. Taught
them 'Oh Hell'
Wednesday 2nd. May 1945
Jerry threw his hand in in Italy & Austria. Fired all our 2" mortars,
phosphorous bombs & verey lights & had bonfires all over the shop.
Cease fire about 11 pm.

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Page 90 Inside back cover

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The studio photo was taken in Whitby in Yorkshire in December 1942 and was sent home to reassure the folks back home that I was getting along OK.

& so ends this book