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Those of us who had the good fortune to know Bill Marsh will remember him as a man of ready wit, affable and easy going, happiest tending his immaculate little garden at his house in Eastgate Crescent. Yet as a soldier and prisoner of war in the second world war he had displayed amazing acts of bravery and initiative, enduring with fortitude severe physical pain and harsh treatment - qualities that his easy going nature concealed. He wrote his story in 1988, and it originally appeared in an earlier edition of the Caerwent Community magazine. Bill is survived by his wife Rose, who still lives in Eastgate Crescent. |
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It was September 1934 when I decided to join the Army. I went
and enlisted at Newport, Monmouthshire. I joined the South
Wales Borderers and was sent to their Depot at Brecon. After a
six month period of training I was posted to the 2nd Battalion at
Catterick Camp, Yorkshire. We eventually arrived back in Rawalpindi to find our next move was to Landi Kotal on another part of the North-West Frontier, on the Afghanistan border. Here we remained for a further 12 months until relieved by another regiment. Our next move was down to Cawnpore where we started desert warfare training (1939-41) until being moved to Iraq. Here we were "mobilised", having lorries to move around in and to carry our equipment instead of camels and mules as in India. After staying awhile in Iraq we moved up through El Alamein, Mersa Matruh and so on until we reached Gambut Aerodrome which is roughly 15 to 20 miles outside Tobruk. We were in the 4th Indian Division under the command of General Auchinleck. This was early 1942 and by June 16th 1942 the Germans and Italians had started to encircle us, leaving only the Mediterranean as a way out. It was around six o'clock one evening when all senior NCO's were sent for - including me of course, being one of them. We were told of the situation. It appeared that we were almost encircled, so had to prepare to withdraw some 12 to 14 miles back to another position.
I was in command of two anti-tank guns. We were told to travel as light
as possible, which meant burying half of our ammunition and destroying
all reserve food and water. Around midnight we started
making our withdrawal but came to a halt at dawn next morning,
the 17th June. Here we were told that we were now totally surrounded by the
enemy and were completely cut off. We were told to destroy all arms
and all vehicles unless you wished to have a go at breaking
through enemy lines. The message given was: "Everyone for himself".
After destroying the guns in my command and the two Vehicles our section split up. Our troops were scattered all over the place, wondering where to go and in which direction, and we were being attacked by enemy planes. I and two Privates started to walk back, keeping as close as possible to the Mediterranean. Luck was not with us, for the next day, 18th June, we were seen by the enemy, who were watching the coast, and we were captured. We were now in enemy hands, the same as thousands of others. We were taken by the Germans to a camp called Taruna. Here we were kept until December 1942, when we were handed over by the Germans to the Italians. Food and water was very scarce. We were allowed one pint of cooked macaroni per day, with one piece of bread the size of a hot cross bun, and a small cup of coffee. Only so much water was allowed and this was carried to us in barrels and when the barrel was empty there was no more until the next day. While we were at Taruna, a pal by the name of Leslie Morgan, whose home was at Caldicot, had dysentery. He was taken away somewhere to a hospital but later I heard he had died. We used to pass the time away by talking of what we used to do before joining the Services and what we intended to do on leaving. One fellow named Walters, who lived in Pontypool, used to say to me: "When we get home to Newport Station we will go into the first cake shop and buy a large slab of cake each". It was things like food that was always on our minds.
Then one day in December we were all paraded in threes, put
into lorries and driven to the docks. We were put into a Norwegian coal
ship and taken across to Italy. During this journey a Gunner of
the Royal Artillery died from dysentery. It was terrible to see the
state some chaps were in - and I wasn't feeling too good myself.
However, after three months in this hospital I recovered and was sent to
Camp PG 54, Fara Sabina, where I met many men of my own Regiment.
There were about 2,000 in this camp including Officers.
The Officers had their own Camp inside the corner of ours, and
here we decided to dig a tunnel for an escape by using a toilet!
I remained in this camp from March 1943 until September that year, when we were told
that the Italians had given up fighting on the side of the Germans.
When we saw our guards leaving us we saw this as our chance, and we
decided to make a bid for freedom before anything else could happen.
Our Officers told us to make for the hills and remain until our own troops arrived. This we did but after waiting in the hills for months most of the chaps moved on leaving only a few behind. I was one of the few who remained behind with two companions, Sergeant Price and Private Vince Read. We stayed in a shed at night which housed some sheep but at dawn we moved higher into the hills. This was at a place called Perchili, in the Province of Rome. I was the only one out of the three who could speak any Italian. This I learned while in hospital in Rome and found it came in very useful when I had to go down to the village of Perchili to get some food. At the same time I managed to get some old civilian clothes for myself, consisting of mostly patches, but they were better than being in military uniform. One morning I awoke to find that 'Posh' - the nickname for Sergeant Price - was ill. Neither Private Read nor myself could make out what was wrong with him. We tried to wake him but got no answer - he just stared at us. We put cold water on his forehead and he muttered something. I could see he was badly ill. I told Private Read to stay with him while I ran down to the village Which was about four miles away. On reaching the village, I made sure no Germans were there then I asked for a doctor. I was directed to a house where I was given some Cognac. I was asked what the trouble was by the people of the village and soon they were following me back up to the hills with bits of clothing, warm food and drinks. After a few days of nursing he began to improve, but we were still in danger of being recaptured. By Christmas 1943 'Posh' had made some recovery from his illness, and although he was still feeling weak we were able to shift him from this shed during the day and return at night.
On the 25th January, 1944 I was making my way out of the shed
early in the morning when I came face to face with a German.
Using my knowledge of Italian I greeted him with "Buon Giorno"
(Good Morning) and passed on by. To my surprise the place
was surrounded by them. We had been given away by an
Italian spy who was working for the Germans. We knew him as Alfredo, and we had been warned about him by his fiancee! However, it was too late and we were captured once again.
We were taken back to Fara Sabina PG 54, the camp I was in before.
We were only there for a short while as with about 900 others we were soon placed on a train - this time we were going to Germany.
On the 28th January, while crossing a bridge over the river near Florence in Italy, US Air Force Liberators bombed the bridge while we were stationery on it. It was a terrible sight. We were all locked in cattle trucks with only a small window in the top corner of the truck, which was made fast with strands of barbed wire. Sergeant 'Posh' Price, Private Vince Read and myself were in one of these trucks along with 20 to 25 others, and we were lying on the floor while the bombing took place. I jumped up and made for the window tearing at the barbed wire with my bare hands. The wire broke away and allowed me to escape. I jumped onto the railway lines and ran back in the direction from which we had come. Beside the line was a bomb crater which I jumped into. There was one of our German guards already in there! He did nothing, so I waited a few seconds in the crater until another of the bombs exploded then I made a run for it, going about 100 yards at a time, then lying down during the explosions. It was while lying face down between these dashes that something hard and heavy hit me on the head causing a wound, but I still carried on, making my getaway.
And all this was done in bare feet as the guards had taken our boots away from us before we left on our journey.
I was about three miles away from the nearest village when I made contact with an Italian. I asked him if he had a cigarette which he gave me. He also cleaned my head wound using wine, and told me that the village was not far away. I was not at this village very long before more men from the train arrived, some badly injured. I stayed the night at this village but next day I decided to go on. Before I left I was given a pair of clogs, old ones of course, but they were better than being bare footed. I found them very awkward to walk in at first but after a while I got used to them! I went on alone all that day, sometimes following paths and but occasionally along the road which I tried to avoid. I think this was on a Saturday. I remember heading towards a small farm, and I tried to keep under cover as much as possible in case it was occupied by Germans. After hiding a while I saw an Italian walk outside the house. I attracted his attention and made myself known to him - always a risky business. However he took me inside his farmhouse where I was given some food and wine. That night I stayed at this farm, but not in the house because they were justifiably afraid the Germans might call on them. They allowed me to sleep in the cowshed.
Early next morning, which was Sunday, the farmer
came to call me to go inside for some food. Suddenly we went silent as we heard
voices outside, and I was pushed inside a cupboard out of sight.
But then I recognised the voices! So I walked out of the cupboard, telling the Italians that it was my comrades! It was here that I met Johnnie, an Irish boy. We were now too many to be at the same place so I decided to move on once again, asking Johnnie if he would partner me.
We left the other two behind with the chap who
was injured, and walked on and on until we came across a place
which appeared tO look like a ranch, with a house in
the distance which we made for. It seemed that someone lived
there because we could smell where wood had been burned, but
it was locked up. Here we decided to take a rest keeping watch
all the time. He gave us some bread and grapes to eat and wine to drink. Johnnie had a good night's sleep, but not me, for when I broke the barbed wire from the window of the cattle truck in order to escape on the bridge, a wire spike had stuck in my finger. This had now turned poisonous, causing a lump to form under my arm. It was giving me much pain so I had to bathe my finger in hot water all that night. The Italian was awake rather early next morning so I woke Johnnie up as well. We decided to move on once again so I asked the Italian for the direction of Rome. My arm was very painful so we had to make for the nearest houses we could see. All the Italians were very helpful to us and by bathing my Finger in hot salt water as often as possible I was able to reduce the poisoning and soon my finger was well again. Early one morning we left the road to take a cut across some fields. We passed through a small wood and I saw some telephone Wires. As we looked through the hedge we could see a Jerry sentry down to the right of us. This was a German anti-aircraft gun emplacement and on our left were German soldiers, fully armed and in marching order. Johnnie wanted to go back but I said "Come on, we'll go straight across, and they might not notice us." We were dressed in civilian clothing of a sort, and we made our way across the field and out on to the road the other side. There we saw an Italian boy driving a donkey in the same direction as we were going. We soon caught up with him, which was lucky as coming up the road to meet us was a company of German soldiers led by an Officer. We gave the Fascist salute which the officer acknowledged! We walked on a little further with the boy and his donkey until Johnnie and I decided to leave him and go across the fields.
The nights were beginning to get very cold, and it was not always
possible to find a place where we could sleep. Some nights we
had to sleep under a hedge in a field or if lucky find a building
of some kind.
We found it very hard going during the time we had snow as we were wet through ploughing through it up to our knees. By this time we were near the village of Perchili where I had been once before - it was where 'Posh' Price had been taken ill, in the mountains. Johnnie and I were taking a rest one day when we saw another person walking quite near to where we were resting - and he was an American. We called him over to us and asked him where he came from. He told us he had escaped from a lorry. He was a prisoner being taken by a road convoy which had been attacked by aircraft. He said he'd hidden in a ditch and covered himself over with grass and remained there until the rest moved away. I asked him where he had been taken prisoner and he told us that he had been captured at Anzio where the Americans had made a landing. Of course, this was great news to us. We decided to move on once again and soon we reached the village. The first thing was to find out if any Germans were there, so we had to wait until we could contact someone. Within a short while I heard someone talking in the vineyards - it was Alberto Domenichi, he was surprised to see me again as he knew the Germans had captured 'Posh' Price, Vince Read and myself. He wanted to know what had happened to the other two, 'Posh' and Vince, so I told him. Soon we were able to get some food but had to go to a shed at the other end of the village - by now I knew the way quite well! But things didn't work out very well this time. Although I told them the chap with us was an American they didn't seem to believe it and they thought he was a German. Johnnie and I had to persuade him to go on alone. We didn't stay at this place long but moved over the hill to a village called Orvinio. It was here that we made contact with a shepherd called Angelo. He was about 65 years old and was in the 1914-18 war fighting by the side of English soldiers. So we were lucky again, as he brought us food in the mornings, a sort of stew and sometimes polenta (this is maize or indian corn). Here we built a small place of stone covered with twigs and brush where we could sleep at night. All this time had passed without my family having any news about me since September 1943 when we broke out of camp. My parents had died before I joined the Services in 1934, but I still had sisters and brothers. One day I met a fellow (I was on my own as Johnnie and I split up in the daytime but met back at our hideout at night), and I greeted him as usual in Italian. He asked me if I was English or American. I could tell he was Italian so I told him I was English and he told me he worked in the Vatican City, and if I wanted to send a message over the radio to my people he would take it and get it sent.
I wrote the message to my sister, who lived at Five Lanes at that time.
I later discovered that the message had been picked up on the radio
by a person in London who wrote it down and posted it on to my sister.
I was shown the message on my arrival home in 1945.
Johnnie and I remained at this hideout until May 1944 when, on a Sunday morning around 4 or 5 o'clock in the early hours, a patrol of Germans with Alsatian dogs discovered us. Captured yet again, we were taken across the hills to another village called Valinfreddas, where we were handcuffed together, put into a motor truck and taken to a camp where there were more prisoners. We were only there a few hours when we were moved to a camp called Laterina. There were about five or six hundred of us in this camp. Here we stayed for a few weeks until one day the Germans decided to clear the camp. This was in the afternoon. We called this march the Murder March as 15 of our chaps were shot during this movement. They said they were marching us to a station but by the next morning we were back in the same camp. On arriving back a party was organised to go out and bring back the 15 dead who we buried. During this night march I told one of our chaps I was going to make a break for it. Coming up the road towards us I could see a herd of white bullocks. I intended to walk among them but I found it was Germans tending the animals, not Italians. Something sharp was stuck in my back and I quickly jumped back into line!. From Camp Laterina we were transported to another station and there put onto the train for Germany via the Brenner Pass. After reaching Germany we were put into a transit camp near Munich. Here we received some Red Cross food parcels (we also received some while in camp in Italy). I remember the camp near Munich quite well as the British Medical Officer sent around to ask if any of us would like to give something towards helping to feed babies which had been born to some Yugoslavs who were in captivity there. We all contributed something from our parcels.
From this camp we were sorted out, and this was where I parted
from Johnnie, my Irish friend, as I was sent to Hoinfells Camp 383
in Bavaria, where there were about 5,000 prisoners. It was in this
camp that I met Company Sergeant Major Phillips of Chepstow -
I went to see him when I arrived home.
There then followed a forced march of 100 miles which took us ten days. We were taken through Regensburg, which already had been bombed by the RAF and the Americans, the place was just a heap of rubble. One day we were marching along the road at around 10 o'clock in the morning when there was a terrific noise. It was RAF fighter planes coming down at us from the direction of the sun. It was a terrifying moment and we all waved our hats, blankets and anything we had - I should think the whole 5,000 waved. The pilots must have recognised who it was, so without firing a shot they circled round and down once again, then went up overhead and performed the Victory Roll. What a relief this was, - we knew we had been recognised. After this march we were put on small farms, 200 in one place, 200 in another and so on. All that we had to eat was boiled potatoes and some horrible tea made from herbs. Early one morning we heard gunfire in the distance and the sound of shells whistling overhead. Our German sentries didn't seem to take any notice of us wandering around, so a few of our lads went down to the village. Some hours passed before they returned, and as they came they were shouting something - "The Yanks are coming!"
Sure enough there they were, but only a forward patrol. However,
for us this was enough. It meant the end of imprisonment for us. Our guards were now prisoners of the Americans and were taken away, and the senior Officer among our crowd took charge.
Later that day the Americans sent food after finding out how
many of us there were. We stayed on there for three or four days,
then American vehicles arrived to take us to an airfield where
they flew us to France. Here we were given a great reception by
the Americans, cleaned, clothed and fed chocolate and cigarettes.
We stayed in France for five days and were then flown by
the RAF to Worthing in West Sussex.
It was lovely to be back in England again, as I had spent nine and a half years overseas. We were given food, tea, and cigarettes, and then a lovely hot shower, a clean change of clothing and a nice bed to sleep in. It was wonderful! The next thing was to send that most important telegram informing our next of kin. In my case this was my sister, who lived at The Wern, Five Lanes. My telegram said that I had arrived at Worthing, West Sussex and would be home within the next 48 hours. This was May 1945 and I was given nine weeks repatriation leave. I was now weighing nine stone seven pounds (133 pounds), having gained weight from the time I was in Rome Hospital at Christmas, 1942, when I was less than eight stones (96 pounds). After some good food at home I eventually weighed 12 stones (168 pounds).
After my leave was over I had to report to High Wycombe
where I underwent training - the same training as we had in the Depot
all those years before! I was then attached to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps at Hounslow until I was demobbed at Hereford on 23rd October, 1945.
Also in the same camp and Regiment as me had been a fellow from Mathern who still lives there, Stan Newman. He also had dysentery in North Africa while we were in camp in 1942. I did not see him again until I came home in 1945. I often wondered what had happened to Sergeant Price and Private Read as they were with me in the railway truck at the time of the bombing, and I started to make enquiries. I ended up by writing to Battalion Record Offices which at that time was in Exeter. I received a letter from Records saying that they had Sergeant Price's address, and if I sent a letter to them they would forward it.
This I did, and Sergeant Price replied straight away. On a Sunday
shortly afterwards he visited me, and of course, he wanted to know what
had happened to me - and I wanted to know what had happened
to him! He said that about 400 were wounded and many killed that day. All the wounded were collected and those who did not get away were kept in a camp until the bridge was repaired. Then, he said, they went on to Germany. I then asked him if he remembered being taken ill when we were up in the hills. He said he remembered the occasion and had wondered what was wrong when he saw all the Italian women around him! He, like me, had been single at that time, but on our return home we both got married. I was given a welcome home reception by the people of Llanfair Discoed and Llanvaches which was held in Llanvaches Hall.
Bill Marsh, back home in Caerwent, 1988.
1993: Since writing my story... Stan Newman has sadly passed away, as have Sergeant 'Posh' Price and another man who was with me in the Prisoner of War camp in Italy, George Pitt. In 1989 I was in a shop in Caldicot talking to a friend about Vince Read, who is also featured in my story, when I was tapped on the shoulder by a man called Ted Lewis, who had overheard the conversation. He said, "I think I know him - we worked in the foundry together. I'll write to my sister in Swansea to see if she can find out something, and if so I'll leave a message for you." A few weeks passed when indeed a message was left for me, from Vince's brother, telling me that Vince now lived in St. Albans in Hertfordshire, and left me his telephone number. On my return home, I dialled the number right away - and what a surprise Vince had! He had always thought that I had been killed when I jumped through the window of the cattle truck, as he said that the rear gunner of the plane had riddled that window with bullets. "Well," I said, "They missed me!" At a later date I visited my son who lived in Middlesex and he took me to St. Albans where Vince and I met and had a good long chat. I asked him if he remembered Sergeant Price. He said he did, and could recall Sergeant Price being taken ill in the hills in October 1943, and me running four miles to get a doctor. After 45 years, it was lovely to meet an old comrade again.
Bill Marsh.
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