Open Writing

Pesaro was coming to life. They had a Rossini Symphony Orchestra, named after the composer, who was born in this town. On Boxing Day Sid, Colin, Topper and I went to a concert given by this orchestra. The conductor was a little man with a mop of grey hair and the more the concert progressed the more agitated and excited he became.

The final number was 'Dance of the Hours' and by the time they'd finished he was almost in a frenzy. His performance affected the audience so much that at the end we were all on our feet clapping and shouting 'Biz, biz.' This so delighted the conductor that he decided to give an encore - and they played the whole piece again!

Any moment I expected him to collapse from exhaustion, but with arms flailing he once again made it to the end. If ever a man gave his all, he did. In between the orchestral numbers a very good choir sang. In my diary next day I wrote: 'Yesterday was the best day of Christmas.'

That night the sergeants had a party at which the drink flowed freely. One sergeant (not from our troop) was throwing his weight about, boasting how much he could drink, and in a drunken stupor said he could drink a whole bottle of cherry brandy at one go. He did so, didn't feel well, stepped outside, and dropped dead.

Our daily routine followed more or less the same pattern: drill parade in the morning, then work on the tanks. Not that they needed much work. Like us they were 'resting', but we were constantly cleaning and oiling the working parts because they were so close to the sea.

When we weren't on guard duty, we went into Pesaro for the cinema, the Symphony Orchestra, and to the YMCA or the NAAFI which had opened up. A pretty dark-haired Italian teenager called Anna worked in the NAAFI.

One night I asked if I could walk her home and she said 'Yes'. So most nights after that I took Anna home. Not that I'd forgotten Suzette, but Anna was a pleasant girl and I enjoyed some congenial feminine company.

One evening she asked, “Jackie, how old are you”?

“Eighteen.”

“Oh, you're not that old,” she said.

Not wishing to disillusion the young lady I changed the subject.

Three men from the troop could go to Rome for a week's leave. We cut the cards, and the winners were Ted Ryan, Jackie White and Jock McLeish. It wasn't usually my misfortune to lose a cut.

Into the New Year, 1945. 4 January: 'The mail was coming through very slowly but today I had a few letters, one was from Ronnie, and another from Marie.'

Ronnie and I wrote to each other regularly and I was always glad to hear from him. I had letters quite often from Marie too, and she kept me in touch with life on the farm and news of Bachir and other friends there. I answered Marie's letter and put one in for Bachir which she would be able to read to him.

We weren't far from the ridge where Stan and the other boys were buried. A memorial stone had been erected at the graves while we were away and on 13 January we went there to a dedication service presided over by the Padre. There was snow on the graves. The Colonel laid a wreath at the stone and Topper played the 'Last Post'.

It was an extremely moving ceremony. Pia and the Italian friends I'd made earlier were there and were very happy to see me, as I was to see them. From the concern they showed, you would have thought the boys buried there were their own family.

Then it was back to Pesaro to be informed that in a couple of days' time we could expect to be moving, up to the front line.