Continuation of the War Journal of Corporal Harry Winther

Air Attack

Dec. 28/43. We had just set up machine guns and mortars to support the engineers who were trying to put a Bailey bridge across a little river. I had put my blankets and pack in a large culvert under the road where I planned to sleep. An engineer officer had driven up in his jeep and was walking down the road to ask directions from Sgt. Dutton. All of a sudden Sgt. Reynolds hollered “enemy aircraft”. Within seconds seven Fokke Wolf dive bombers roared over our position flying low between the hills. One bomb landed in the ditch at the end of my culvert, it snapped a huge eighteen inch cottonwood tree and threw a shower of shrapnel into my blankets. I had just walked up from my culvert to our command post outside a little cave. Reynolds and I dove head first into the cave and the bomb blast sent the radio flying in behind us.

The planes were bombing and strafing as they flew over us toward the engineers where they demolished the bridge. One bomb landed on a house sending bricks flying a hundred feet into the air. Ditto was lying on his back firing at the planes when a brick just skinned the top of his head. The engineer officer was decapitated. Sgt. Dutton got a big piece of shrapnel in the back. McDonald was wounded for the second time. Dusty was wounded and his truck set on fire. Provost was wounded on his bike. Josie emptied the Bren gun at a plane and claimed it was trailing smoke, in the meantime the bomb wrecked his fourth bike. All the tires were flat on the jeep and the whole vehicle was bent and sagging. That encounter lasted only a few minutes but left us and the engineers with forty-seven casualties.

Christmas 1943

Five platoon drew the short straw so we go out of the line for Christmas and they will go out for New Year. About nine in the morning we load our equipment on my Bren gun carrier with Cpl. Parsonage driving. It is constantly raining and deep mud is everywhere. We can’t get enough speed up to clear the mud out of the tracks so we get stuck. The trucks manage to churn their way through. After a while we get an artillery quad to winch us out only to throw a track a little further on. To get the track back on in the mud will be a major undertaking so first of all I get out my faithful coffee pot and we brew up a very potent pot of tea.

Finally, just before dark, we reach our destination in the proverbial muddy olive grove. Cpl. Harlin, our Mr. Clean, has heard that there is a mobile shower in San Vito, he didn’t like to go by himself so De Montarnell and I jump in his truck and we’re off for the luxury of a shower. After an hour of driving we discover that the shower had broken down and everything was dark in San Vito. On the way back we ran into a mortar barrage and spent a little time taking shelter in the ditch.

Back in camp supper was over but we scrounged a little rice. Some of the boys have a party going in a house with a keg of wine. We join them for a couple of drinks but I don’t feel very safe in a house as the occasional artillery shell is landing in the area so I go out and find an old slit trench, turn the wet straw over and put my blankets down, stretch my ground sheet over the top to keep the rain out. I had a new pair of socks from the Red Cross, a parcel from home; two letters from Edith, a big cake from Johanne and a letter from Frances, so I crawled into my blankets, lit my candle and celebrated Christmas Eve with memories of home and had a dandy sleep.

The first thing I heard Christmas morning was the breda chattering away and our Vickers answering, shells from both sides were going over our heads all night. It’s still raining a little. We had pork chops and a bottle of beer for breakfast. For Christmas dinner we had turkey, potatoes, gravy, and peas served by Capt. McDonald, our forward observation officer. He also gave us corporals a bottle of whiskey between us. In the afternoon we had apples, oranges, nuts and three chocolate bars. A couple of old friends, Cpl. Holstein and Olsen from ack-ack came over to visit. For supper we had pie, all in all a very enjoyable Christmas day. The next day we relax. I got an air gram from Ernie and ate the rest of my parcel from home. Tomorrow we go back in the line and five platoon comes out for New Year.

New Year’s Eve 1943/44

Lt. Rankin and I reconnoitered a position to move our mortars and machine guns into. We have to be very careful as the area is full of mines, five men were wounded by 5 mines when they moved forward without sweeping. At daybreak Lt. Rankin and I go up to the forward observation post, an Italian and his mule are lying dead beside the road, killed by stepping on a land mine. Capt. McDonald goes with us and we recon a dandy place for our mortars behind a steep bank right by the sea.

A beautiful villa with murals covering walls and ceiling is standing on a promontory jutting into the sea, we use this for shelter whenever we dare to leave our trenches, it was pretty well ruined by the time we left. Sniping is constant up here but we manage to find the location of the Princess Pat’s rifle companies. New Year’s Eve we’re all in our slit trenches when the Bora blows in from Greece across the Adriatic with howling winds and torrents of rain. I had put empty bomb cases in the bottom of my trench but when the water rose six inches I had to get out.

Turner and I picked up our weapons and blankets and found that the force of the wind was so strong that we were able to walk up the almost vertical bank. I crawled into the empty fireplace and tried to sleep while I shivered in my wet blankets. At four-thirty in the morning the enemy attacked the Carlton and York Regiment on our left flank, they radio us that they are being driven back as most of their weapons are too wet to fire and request that we drop some mortars bombs to drive the enemy back. Lt. Rankin, Castiday, Perrins, Remmorn and I try to fire in the driving rain but the baseplates soon sink out of sight in the mud.

The enemy made a direct hit on our forward observation post and Cpl. Rushmere was wounded. It poured rain all New Year’s day and all we could do was make a few patrols into no man’s land. Lt. Rankin picked up a Luger and a few thousand Italian lira from a killed enemy officer. Turner and I climbed down to look for our steel helmets and found they had blown half way to the sea. Some of the boys had left the kit in their trenches and had to dig them out of two feet of mud. Next day the sun came out, we dried our kit and all was well again.

Continued part 8 - Winter in Ravine

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