Free Time at War by Nicholas Mosley Page B

that followed, there were numerous demonstrations of the fact that in Italy at least there was no hatred between front-line troops on either side – in fact, almost the opposite. John Horsfall, who became battalion commander of the 2nd London Irish later that day when our colonel was killed, tells in his book
Fling Our Banner to the Wind
of the camaraderie between German prisoners taken by the Irish Brigade and those escorting them back across the river which was still under fire; of German medical officers and orderlies glad to help with the wounded of both sides at the casualty clearing stations; even of a motor mechanic prisoner being enrolled by the transport officer of the LIR to help repair his battered vehicles. Insofar as there was any animosity felt by frontline troops, it was likely to be directed against politicians and senior officers at the base – who made such daft and ruinous plans and seldom seemed to learn from experience. But even towards them the feeling was more that we were all caught up in this wild maelstrom of human violence and history; there was no way of altering its overall style. All the individual could do was to get on with it, and wonder whether something might be done in future to prevent this savagery. In his book John Horsfall writes of the admiration he felt for the Germans who had held on and resisted at Cassino in spite of the bombings; such a sentiment was commonplace, as was the admiration of the Germans (so it was said later) for the Allied troops whokept on attacking and being mown down almost in the manner of a First World War battle. But these views and emotions did not seem to be experienced by politicians and officers at the base.
    The day after our crossing of the Rapido we were on stand-by all day to take the lead in the big push to the north. The starting time for this kept being, as usual, postponed. There were said to be not enough tanks yet across the river; the blocking-off of the monastery by smoke had to be renewed. When we had been crossing the river the smoke had often enveloped us like a low-lying fog; now, in the clearer morning air, the monastery floated like a celestial city above a fitful low-lying cloud. During the day we moved closer to our leading positions, but even with the smoke clearing it was difficult to make out anything of the larger picture. The Liri river was a tributary of the Rapido running into it from the north; the landscape of the valley was a pleasant one of low undulations and clumps of trees. All we knew of the battle was from what we heard, and endured, from what seemed to be the random violence of exploding shells and the wailing of the Nebelwerfers which we had christened Moaning Minnies. We learned that our commanding officer, Colonel Goff, had been killed by a shell from one of these while trying to see what lay ahead; also killed with him was the commanding officer of the tank regiment appointed to work with us. We had to dig new trenches to give us temporary shelter close to our starting point; the start was put back from three o’clock in the afternoon to 7.30 in the evening, and then to first light the next morning. So westayed in our shallow trenches for another night and listened to the Moaning Minnies and watched the fireflies that seemed to exist in a different dimension from that of the flares and explosions and tracer bullets – flickering like those particles that are said to exist for a millionth of a second and then disappear – while the violence was eternal. Then, at first light, there was the monastery again like the celestial city now ready to receive us.
    Throughout the night we had been given extra rum rations: now we were told there would be a hot meal to send us off. When this arrived I was standing up in my shallow trench doling out portions of stew from a canister to men of my platoon who came crawling up with their mess tins; there had been an increase of machine-gun fire at first light, but one