Summer Times is the Journal of the Old Scarborians Association

some just refused to budge after about a quarter
of a mile. The farmer dashed up and down the
line of mules, flogging each in turn. Then a
German observation post must have spotted us,
and their artillery put down about twenty shells.
The mules did not turn a hair, but the farmer set
off back home as fast as his legs could carry him.
Eventually, we got seven mules to our destina‐
tion, and I take my hat off to them, for they had
to carry the loads taken from the defectors, as
well as their own. Having reached our destina‐
tion and fired off all our shells, there was the
question of what to do with the mules. I would
have liked to have kept them, for they were
certain to prove useful in the future, but we had
no food for them and they were a visible target,
so we pointed them in the right direction home,
slapped their bottoms and they ran out of sight
like thoroughbreds.
The Germans made their first big stand at the
river Minterno, which flowed between steep
hills. Of course, the bridge across the river was
blown and they were well dug in on the other
side. Our troops were dug in on the slopes op‐
posite. By this time, bridges having been
erected, I had all my carriers, which were sited
behind a small village, just over the crest of the
hills. ‘D’ Company was the most forward of our
companies, dug in on a spur, and it was my job,
every night, to take hot food to them – contain‐
ers full of stew, rice pudding, and scalding tea –
which necessitated the use of three carriers.
There was a narrow track that ran round the
village down a hill and then up on to the spur.
The first three nights we had no problem – the
moon was shining and our Artillery bombarded
the German positions, inter‐alia, to drown the
sound our carriers made. On the fourth, I had
just set off, driving the first carrier myself, when
the moon went in. I proceeded very carefully
but, just as I had nearly reached the bottom of
the hill, the carrier slithered to the right on meet‐
ing softer ground and ended up half on the track
and half in a field three feet below the track.
There was nothing to do but unload it and get
46
the other carriers to pull it out. They could not
get past my carrier anyway, as, though half in
the field, it was still blocking the narrow track.
We toiled for hours – two towropes snapped –
but we could not get the carrier back on the
road. By using all the manpower available, we
were able at last to lever it out and haul it off the
track completely and into the field. When the
two carriers arrived eventually with the food at
‘D’ Company, we were met with extravagant
oaths for being so late!
Having got back to my carrier, we proceeded to
cover it over with soil, because, otherwise, when
daylight came, the Germans, who from their
position in the hills missed nothing, would have
blasted it and the village. It took us all nearly
until dawn, and we all had blisters from con‐
stant use of our rough handled shovels.
Just before leaving, we saw a curious sight. Into
the field where the carrier was buried strolled, I
should think, all the inhabitants of the village,
men, women and children of all ages, who then
proceeded to defecate while they chatted hap‐
pily with each other. When I got back to the
village, I asked the head man, who had learned
English while building American underground
railways, why the villagers were not using their
own toilets. He laughed, ‘In England’, he said,
‘you have horses and therefore manure. In Italy
here we have no horses and therefore no ma‐
nure, so we ourselves have to fertilise the fields,
a different one every morning, ‐‐ and you
should see our crops!’
Some time afterwards, when the platoon was in
the town of Minterno itself, an officer came up
in a jeep and asked to see the Colonel. He said
his name was Len Hobbs, Jack Hobbs’s son, and
he had found Hedley Verity’s grave at Caserta.
Hedley had been taken prisoner and evacuated
to the hospital at Caserta, where he was making
such good progress that he was walking around
and helping others in the ward. Then the Italian
doctors found he had gangrene in his chest.
They had to operate on him without anaesthetic,
because the Germans had taken all the supplies
with them in their retreat. He had died of shock.