Into the mountains
Stage 4
They now found themselves not so far from their starting point,with the long mountainous spine of Italy stretching away to the south of them, offering a direct - and hopefully clear - route down toward the southern battlefields.
While they had been walking to the River Trebbia and back again the invasion of Southern Italy had started to gather momentum.
Taranto, Salerno, Corsica, the city of Naples, Termoli, Foggia and its airfields were all major allied gains in the first month of their invasion
However these successes were all more than 400 miles away and the Germans were now preparing to vigorously contest any further progress in a landscape that strongly favoured the defender. They may well have felt themselves on the back foot, as one can perhaps deduce from both their acceleration of their plans to deport Italian Jews to the extermination camps, and their theft of huge quantities of Italian wealth ..some 119 tons of gold were taken from Rome toward the end of September… but they were far from beaten. To make matters worse, and to ensure that the Italian campaign was not going to be concluded any time soon, the Allies, upon American insistence, were already beginning to pull troops out of Italy in order to have them ready for next year’s assault on Normandy.
But as far as the escapers were concerned little could be seen to have changed, and their task, although now perhaps a bit more familiar, remained the same; a long and arduous walk in the mountains.
Stuart Hood commenting upon the difficulties of making progress in these rugged mountains wrote; “If our progress was slow we could plead that the terrain did not help us. The northern slopes of the Apennines are bare and eroded. Ridges like the fingers of a bony hand run up into spines and watersheds. The hills are riven by torrents and breached by 4 rivers; the Taro, the Parma, the Enza and the Secchia. We waded all four”
Dick Carver and the Dean, by virtue of having decided from the start to head south, were about 10 days in front of Gerald, Peter and Van. On the first of October they came to a Franciscan monastery in the beech woods near Cupramontana. …
“Richard rang the bell while the Dean waited round the corner in case of an unfriendly reception. The door was opened by a well fed monk who laughed at their caution and waved at the Dean to come out of the shadows.
“We have another British officer resting here, who is sick” said the monk.
“Can we see him” asked Richard.
They were shown into a monk’s cell where they found an Englishman dressed in pyjamas and lying in clean sheets looking perfectly healthy.
“Good afternoon. I’m the 6th Earl of Ranfurly”
The Dean recorded in his diary;
“We saw Lord Ranfurly in almost forgotten luxury, sitting up in bed with the remains of a very good lunch of mutton and wine on a tray by his side, and although one could hardly complain of the cold, a nice fire in the grate completed the perfect sick room. Lord R looked far from death, sitting up smoking a cigarette. He told us he had come in the previous day suffering from a slight cold.”
Richard and the Dean, hoping for the same kind of service as the Earl, were disappointed to be shown in to a cold cell with two mattresses on the floor and no fireplace….the floor littered with old tins and newspaper. “I didn’t realise the Franciscans were so attuned to the requirements of the British aristocracy” muttered the Dean, sourly.”
Hugo de Burgh, almost in Switzerland now, fell down a crevasse in the “Grenz” (The Maneater”) glacier where he found himself in the company of various other unfortunates who had perished there and been preserved in the ice…. thanks to the efforts of his companion Reggie he was saved from sharing their icy tomb and went on to reach the safety of Zermatt on the 29th of september. He noted “I have been afraid in my life, but never so afraid as I was during that journey down the “Grenz”
This was the same day that Gerald, Peter and Van had waded the River Taro with their canine fellow traveller, Tosca,
Elizabeth, for her part, had written that evening
“GIC 30 today (if he is alive)”
She would not have any news to dispel this fear for over a month.
10th October
After this interlude and its wine, we climbed for another couple of hours pausing for a snack on the way, and finished up at a lonely hill farm, where we spent a good night.
Next morning we struck an unfinished road leading up towards our farm, and made good time along it to Palazuola. Here we marched through the middle of the town, just as the population was coming out of church – it must have been a Sunday. Two uniformed police looked at us as we passed them on a bridge, but made no move. As we left the town a youth warned us not to continue on that road as it led to Matrice where were 300 Germans.
We therefore deviated South and lunched in a farm overlooking the Valley in which was the road and railway between Matrice and Firenzuola. On this road we saw German horsed transports moving south. while crossing the road and railway we were somewhat incommoded by an enthusiastic youth of about 17, who was at pains to impress on us the importance of the Banda which he belonged to. He had, he said, a pistol and lots of money. We were, however, able to take leave of him, before he had seriously misdirected us. One hour's climbing brought us to a lonely farm, perched on a local eminence and having a pleasant stone paved yard, which looked out over a wide stretch of mountainous country. A kestrel, looking very red, hovered 50 feet above us. We stayed here for about an hour, eating many walnuts and drinking wine. Then, accompanied by a considerable party, we set out again, making an easterly course in the direction of San Benedetto. We were advised to avoid a village called Arboli, and our guides pointed it out to us before leaving us. Nonetheless, we found it directly on our route and the deviation extremely inconvenient, the stream, by which our mule track ran, having almost precipitous slopes on either side. So we marched through the village in the dusk, without incident; but very soon we became lost in a large wood, and had to retrace our steps to the village, the alternative clearly being a night in rather a wet wood. Leaving Peter and Van just outside the village, I cautiously approached and knocked up the priest. The priest, it seemed, had just died, and as a locum were two very young clerics, practically holding each other's hands, like the Babes in the Wood. Naturally they knew nothing about the village, and could not say whether in fact it was safe for us. I therefore fetched Van and Peter and we soon were sitting down before a good meal of fried chicken and bacon. We spent an uncomfortable night – the Babes had no idea how to make it otherwise.
11th October
Early in the morning, after minor shoe repairs, we left them. A new and unfinished road was our objective; this we struck after a steep climb out of a ravine and, when we had breakfasted, we followed the road, except for a gap of a mile or two, where there was as yet no road at all, almost as far as San Benedetto del Alpe. Here there was a main road to cross, and finding a reasonably good covered approach we got across successfully. We had come fast down the new road, contrary to our usual steady progress, and this helped to make the precipitous hillside beyond San Benedetto seem exceptionally formidable. We toiled for an hour, and finally attained a miserable cabin, where we had a meager lunch. We did not stay long, and feeling very weary, continued the ascent. We were now really in the mountains, seeing little cultivation and no houses; intermittent cloud came down on us, and we found little to guide us on to Castel del Alpe which we had made our point for the night. In time we saw below us, though still high up, a valley with three or four farms in it; the first of these did not seem keen to have us in, but was quite ready to talk. Castel del Alpe was, they said, an hour on across the valley and up the opposing hillface. We could see one or two buildings perched on a ledge in the direction indicated and so there we went. At the Rectory a man with the face of an actor – a grey lionhead and a dressing gown – greeted us. He took us in and set us on wicker chairs – the sort found in seaside hotels - he gave us bread and wine and, and in due time brought forward the priest, his son. We spent a comfortable evening; they clearly will not at all poor, and the furnishings were fully civilized. The father was a Christian Socialist and, we gathered, in retreat at Castel del Alpe because of his political activities in Bologna (or possibly Modena) it seemed also that he was in some way closely connected – possibly owned – the parish at Castel del Alpe. This consisted of the usual white and porticoed church, decorated inside with a fantastically ornate and ugly hanging chandelier, the Rectory, an inn, and a house containing three or four tenements; all on a flat little ledge of 4 or 5 acres and high above the valley we had just come through. Peter and I slept in comfortable beds, Van less comfortably, but nonetheless in a bed, in one of the tenements.
12th October
We ate a lot of bread and honey for breakfast, and departed reluctantly into a very cold wind. There was wind and drizzle all the morning, but by midday the sun was out and we halted for a meal in a warm and sheltered hollow. We were approaching from the north a high water shed running east and west. The passes in which the roads ran were few, and, report had it, held by the Germans. We had, therefore, to cross the range at some other point and from the look of it this would mean some heavy climbing. After lunch we went along a motor Road for a couple of miles, before striking off South towards the watershed. On this road we met a uniformed Garda Forestale, but he took no notice of us. After leaving the road we started climbing steadily; there were farms every few miles on our quite reasonable mule track, and we were directed to a certain farm which we wished to visit, as we had picked up a wallet containing money and papers bearing its name. We guessed these were the property of an old woman we had met riding on a mule in the opposite direction. We found the farm, a few hundred feet below the hamlet of San Paolo and commanding a good view of the range, including Monte Scala, over which it looked as if we should have to go. We were received a trifle distantly but, being determined to go no further, we made ourselves discreetly at home. Before dark, the old woman we had seen returned, and acknowledged ownership of the wallet. It was not till the next morning that she expressed any pleasure at regaining it, and by then the whole family had become extremely friendly.
13th October
We were sent on our way with the remains of the week's dough, (they were baking that morning) made into a flat cake, an extremely nice but indigestible mixture. in San Paolo we took coffee with the priest; he looked as if he had not stirred from his eyrie for 20 years, and for certain would not do so again before he died.
Between us and Monte Scala was a deep valley, bridged by a narrow col along which we went. The hills slopes were thickly covered with tall timber – mostly of Scott's fir type – and in this the high wind roared like the sea. Soon we were going up a steep zigzag path - salita - wrapped in driving mist and wind and all the time in thick woodland, here, mostly beech. After an hour or so of the salita we emerged onto a ridge, probably a few hundred feet below Monte Scala, which the clouds hid, and then we turned east. This particular bit bore a strong resemblance to the Hog’s Back, without the road, and magnified many times - there was the same effect of a narrow grass ridge, with wooded slopes falling away each side. The wind was very strong, almost gale force, and very cold. We could see nothing because of the scudding mist, but went on in an easterly direction, descending slightly. We met, in time, a party of charcoal burners; they were shouting in the wind, and their mules were black with cold and fury, longing to bite or kick somebody. They directed us to Eremo monastery, and, becoming gradually warmer and less windswept, we went through pinewoods of really big timber down a track towards it.
We rang the bill at a gate set in a high wall, and after a considerable pause, we were taken into a small and comfortably warm room, furnished in an ornate ecclesiastical style. A most friendly, but somewhat simple minded, brother in a white dressing gown like garment – it was a Benedictine monastery – brought us food and wine. After our meal the Abbott paid a state visit, accompanied by his adjutant. Talking French and Italian, we conversed reasonably freely; they could not keep us for the night, as they had recently been visited and searched by the Germans. On that occasion they had only saved two English generals from recapture by dressing them up as monks and putting them to work in the kitchen. I don't know how they did for beards, as all the inmates we saw were bearded.
We went on our way shortly after this visit, and walked on through the pinewoods, which after a few miles changed to a more open country of small hamlets and occasional chestnut groves. Peter could pick out to the west to the camp at Poppi where he had spent last winter. In one small hamlet we had news of one of the Poppi guards who had been friendly, and so made our way to his house. He was away, but nonetheless the connection ensured us a welcome, and we were communally entertained, each of us having a meal in a different house. We all slept together in the bedroom of the absent Poppi guard’s house, and we were very cold. There was a bitter north wind and I would have much preferred our usual bed of straw to a third share in a somewhat inadequate covering of thin blankets. By dawn I had all my clothes on again.
14th October
We breakfasted off a revolting concoction made from chestnut meal – rather like polenta only nastier – and warmed only by the kindness of our hosts we continued along an extremely bleak hillside. We had a lesser main road to cross, and observed it below us for a mile or two; there was a small amount of traffic on it, and in addition two sinister looking gentlemen in dark uniforms, carrying small haversacks and going the same way as us. Nonetheless, we crossed without incident, and went at a good pace; I was in the lead and still feeling very cold. We set our course for La Verna, another monastery; we could see it's massive wooded hill - almost a mountain - to the south of us, and made fair going. We kept on high ground, above the roads and villages, till midday. We lunched in a warm corner on a south slope and then descended to cross a road. We paused for a while in a village, being invited in, with considerable aplomb, by a girl aged about seven, to eat some excellent grapes. It seemed that several parties of English had passed that way, and that they all liked grapes..
As we approached the La Verna ‘feature’ we went through a most pleasant stretch of wold like country – good pasture and arable land, enclosed, well stopped with sheep, and much less rugged and abrupt than most of the hill country we had seen today. I saw partridges and several woodcock. As we climbed up to La Verna we returned to the rougher and poorer country of the hills. The monastery was embedded high up in the side of a limestone cliff and after debating whether results would repay the effort, we toiled up to it. We waited for a long time in an outside yard, talking to a monk, while a meal was got ready for us. the sun was failing, and the wind keen. These monks wore black and believed in a spartan life; our stew was greasy and the wine watered; we were told plainly that we could not stay the night. As we were eating Gazeley came in with two South Africans; he seemed well and mobile though very thin. We went on before he had finished and after some difficulty in finding the right exit, walked for an hour along a small road leading down to the San Sepulchro valley. In the remaining light we could see a waste of stones and boulders on either side of us; this changed to fir plantations and sheep grazings. We overtook a large flock being driven home, and installed ourselves for the night in a farmhouse in the same village as the sheep lived in. They did not, we were told, all belong to one man, but were divided among numerous owners, one perhaps having 7, another 10, and so on.
15th October
Next morning we went down the road at a good pace for about four miles before striking south across country, in unmountainous but difficult going. We lunched, in the absence of the priest, with the priests housekeeper in a small village just off the north south main road running through San Sepulchro. To cross this road, which lay in a wide valley, we had to paddle through a shallow river and negotiate the wide and stony foreshore, with which these streams were inevitably provided. We had seen pairs of German DRS going along the road, and so contrived partly to screen our approach by making use of a clump of trees and buildings close to it . Once across, we found a suitable place,and slept for an hour; the sun was hot, we had started early, and lunched well. After this rest we climbed steadily for a couple of hours and found ourselves on the end of a broad and cultivated spine pointing towards Civita Castello, which lay in the circular plain below us, and about 10 miles away. There were said to be German airfields in the plain and so we planned to keep round edge of the saucer, a more arduous but less hazardous course. To the east of us was a deep and narrow valley leading up out of the plain, and in it, in a secluded pocket, we saw a farm, which we decided was our objective for the night. We went steeply down through scrub for one thousand feet or so and called at the house. Only a minor female relation was in, and before accepting us she had to shout across three broad fields to the master of the house, asking whether the escaping English prisoners might stay the night. Permission was given, and we set about shaving and washing socks as the light failed.
In due time the family returned from the fields and we sat down to our meal in the large and dark kitchen. Many women and more children sat around in the dark corners; a couple of them brought us, the farmer and one or two half grown sons, our food. This farmer was, in his way, an outstanding man; dignified and gracious to an extraordinary degree, and whenever he spoke causing silence among his large and numerous household. He showed the utmost concern for our comfort when we went to bed in an empty stall, himself bringing coats and blankets, and tucking them under our toes. We were nonetheless rather cold; nothing we knew by now equalled deep wheat straw for warmth and comfort, other than a proper bed with really adequate bed clothes.
16th October
Next day we continued the circumnavigation of a quadrant of the rim. This entailed a lot of up and down work, hampered at times by mist and rain. We crossed a motor road in the course of the morning, and lunched in the cottage of a man whose sole possession, except for his very small house, seemed to be a donkey. He was not, he said, a regular laborer, but did odd jobs, assisted by the donkey, for whoever had need of him. He received a small pension from some company in the Argentine, where he had worked for many years.
Towards evening we crossed a main road going due East from Civita Castello, at a point just below Bocca Seriola, and about 12 miles from the town of Castello. We saw two cars on the road, both of them Italian. We found a farm a mile beyond the road, and spent a comfortable night in the cowshed. It was in any case a much warmer night, the clear weather of the day before having now turned to steady rain.
17th October
It was still raining in the morning, and this delayed our start for an hour or so. Foxes and badgers abounded in this area, as I saw skins here, and also at the farm we had stayed at the night before. We got wet very soon, when we did start, but counterbalanced this by a long elevenses at the farm of an American speaking Italian; we drank a considerable quantity of good white wine and inspected his tobacco drying apparatus. It was apparently Sunday and our host was clearly taking the morning off.
By nightfall in spite of these delays and in spite, myself, of being considerably upset inside (perhaps the result of the gnocchi we had for lunch), we had made a good step on and were near Pietralunga. (possibly Piedilama) Here, rumour had it, was a ferocious Mareschiallo Carabinieri; a Fascist, a friend of the Tedeschi, he would shoot us as soon as look at us. Accordingly we stopped short of the town and billeted ourselves on a family who at first were not pleased to see us. However they cheered up as time went on, and we spent a comfortable night in a homemade wattle shed.
18th October
In the morning we left Pietralunga to the west, and continued south into a mountainous and difficult area east of the Gubbio plain. By midday it was raining hard; we sheltered for a while in a cowshed, and lunched in a cottage where we had boiled some eggs which we had been given.
We splashed along a new road which had been cut through the mountains, during the afternoon. It was about six inches deep in mud and very slippery; also, being new, and indeed unfinished, it was not on our map. Its only merit was that it was reasonably level, but to achieve this it had to make immense detours around the heads of valleys. This lack of consistent direction in our road, combined with heavy rain and low cloud, caused us to get rather off our course but nonetheless, by the late afternoon we had regained our line and we're making slow progress.
We spent the night with the sourest looking man we had yet met; his mother also appeared embittered, having lost a son in the war. They seemed equally hostile to the armed forces of either side, whether English, German or Italian. Nonetheless, we made a good meal and slept quite well.
19th October
In the vicinity, we had been warned, was an arms and ammunition dump, guarded by Fascists, who were also in the habit of indulging in firing practice. As we started in the morning, we heard quite heavy small arms fire, and later a certain amount of shelling and miscellaneous explosions – all about three miles away to our west. Taking care to approach no closer, we crossed a main road to Gubbio and went on down a minor metalled road. Van’s shoes were now in such a state that it was essential to do something about them. The heavy going of yesterday had practically finished them off, and had indeed done no good to Peter’s and mine. Accordingly, we stopped at a house and asked for help. Willingly they gave us eggs, cheese, and wine, and with difficulty we at length got a very old pair of black leather boots out of them, in exchange for Van’s wooden soled pair, which were now practically broken in half. These had lasted just nine days, being the ones we had got from the priest near the Firenzuola road.
Before we left, we were warned that the next house down the road belonged to a prominent Fascist, and that on no account should we have anything to do with him. As we passed the house we were hailed, but remembering the warning, we carried on. A man ran after us for a little way, calling after us, but we paid no attention, and he soon gave up his efforts.
Our immediate objective now was to cross the Via Tiburtina in the neighborhood of Sigillo. By midday we were overlooking the valley in which the road ran, but had an intricate piece of country to cover before we reached it. We were in the valley itself by late afternoon, having crossed a river, and with about four miles of cultivation and a low ridge between us and the road. As we passed through a farmyard on this ridge, a woman leaned out of a window and asked pleasantly if we wanted anything. As a result we passed the night at the farm and were well fed and entertained. My boots were repaired within innumerable nails, with many of which I was soon to have intimate contact. Our clothes were washed, and we spent a comfortable night in a spare stall in the cowshed, only disturbed by the working oxen being fed at about four o'clock in the morning. Autumn sowing was in full swing, and they were all making an early start.
20th October
We departed, overloaded with grapes, and ate our breakfast in a thicket at a decent distance from the house. We crossed the Via Tiburtina within an hour; there was a certain amount of heavy traffic on it, but good covered approaches through vineyards. After crossing, we were soon in the hills again, now of the open grass down type, and climbing steeply. On the tops we saw a party of three a mile or so away, but they did not seem to want to meet us, so we never discovered who they were. There was now a road and railway in front of us, running due east from the Via Tiburtina. We crossed in bad order, being exposed for a long time while approaching the road, and sliding uncomfortably down a steep scree onto the railway. As we regained cover on the further side, we heard a shot quite close and thought we heard the bullet, but as nothing further came of it, we continued on our way.
We now struck an unusual feature – a valley running in the same direction as we were going. It had a minor road, and one or two small villages. We started off along the road, thinking to cover a good distance. We shortly met an Italian soldier – a cavalryman – on a bicycle. He looked at us with a knowing look and rode on. Next, in a dirty Village, a dirty corporal attached himself to us; he had, he said, escaped from the Germans, and was determined to assist us. We heard a bus coming up the hill behind us, and accordingly took cover in a ditch; I then gathered that the corporal intended to stop the bus within a few yards of where we were hiding. This was not in accordance with our plans, as even if the corporal was untraitorous, the bus might well be full of undesirable characters. We therefore removed ourselves and the corporal a few hundred yards away from the road, and as the buses passed - there were two of them – we watched our corporal. At the next turning we asked him which way he was going, and on hearing his choice, chose the other way. He went unwillingly, but had not quite the neck to stay with us.
Soon we saw in front of us the village of Campodonico. Here, a few days before, two English had been recaptured; the story, which I eventually heard from Thomas was as follows; Hugo Haig, Alan Cameron and Thomas were drinking in the pub in Campodonico when two Carabinieri came in. One held the door with a pistol, while the other telephoned the Germans; before it was too late, Thomas barged his way past the guard and made off. In due time the Germans arrived and presumably took off Haig and Cameron. This event had made a tremendous impression on the locals; we were warned on all sides not to go near Campodonico. We therefore left the road and took to a mule track running parallel to it, but further up the hill. Towards evening we were well up the valley and beyond the motor road; we found a suitable billet in a small village, and while waiting for our meal encountered two other ex members of PG49; one, Williams, a gunner, and the other nicknamed Cuckoo, a Wykehamist, but surname unknown.
21st October
We walked on with them for a mile or two next morning, until our ways parted. They, we noticed, were much better disguised than we were; none of our party had hats, and in general nobody could imagine for a moment that we were anything other than escaping English prisoners. It is possible that our half hearted efforts of disguise might have deceived an unobservant German at 300 yards. By midday we had crossed the pass at the south end of our valley, and in the next village we came to, we again tried to find shoes for Van. Though unsuccessful at two cobblers, we contacted a pleasant, well to do couple who gave us many delicacies. including marmalade and ham. The woman was leaving for Rome that afternoon, and said that she would try to get a message to the Red Cross through the Vatican, where her father had some official post. We left the village laden with food – a crippled officer late of the Ariete Division contributed eggs and cigarettes - and made an excellent meal in the first wood we came to.
Another hours climbing brought us out onto a green plateau, two or three miles in extent, and rimmed by hills; here was better grass than we had seen, a red soil, and many sheep. we walked gratefully across this level and unobstructed expense, almost lawn-like at first, then changing to arable; and on the farther side approached a hard road. A shepherd stopped us here, pointing out a Carabinieri coming down the road; he himself started shouting at the top of his voice, explaining afterwards that the Carabinieri would think he was looking for his sheep, and so would not bother him. As soon as the road was clear we went on down it, across a main road, almost colliding with an approaching car, and to a small village near Taverne. We found a French speaking Italian, magnificent in a green jersey, who cut our hair for us, and found us a billet with a friend. Here we received a visit from an evacuated lady and her daughters; she was also returning to Rome the next day, so we gave her our names in case she should meet the English before we did. After we had gone to bed, an armed Yugoslav was introduced in to our loft. he had nothing of importance to say and soon left us; he was one of many Yugoslavs who had escaped from a nearby camp towards the end of September.
22nd October
Next morning we climbed up and down big open worlds, seeing a few Yugoslavs, and conversing for a short time with a shooting party of two young Italians and a keeper. We lunched in a remote hilltop village with an American speaking Italian after which we felt most unwilling to move. From the village we plunged down a hill so steep that we could hardly keep our feet, partly accounted for in my case by the fact that I had no heels on my boots, and soon crossed a motor road, set in a deep valley. We climbed slowly up the salita on the far side and continued climbing, though less steeply, until sunset. We reached the village we had been making for – again perched on an eminence – just as the sunlight had left it. We had difficulty in finding a billet as Yugoslavs had taken up the most suitable lodgings, but in the end we were hospitably entertained. Arrangements were made for us to be taken in the morning to the HQ of the Banda in which most of these Yugoslavs were organised. Also we found a cobbler, and before starting out we got him to patch up our shoes. It was, however, a makeshift job, as he had no leather and few nails. He fed us liberally with walnuts while we were waiting.
23rd October
In due time a South African OR arrived to conduct us to the Banda HQ and we started out about nine o'clock. An hour's march brought us to a secluded valley set among high grass downs and beechwoods; about 30 of the Banda were living in two or three shepherds cabins, and in one of them we had a conference with their leader. He was an Italian captain doctor and appeared to have achieved a fair degree of organization. He wanted arms, boots and medical equipment, and suggested that these should be dropped by parachute in a valley near the village of Casteluccio; he said that the village was friendly and that there would be no danger of the Germans observing the operation, as the locality was extremely remote, though easy to identify from the air. We promised to inform the British of his request, and shortly took our leave. in due course I informed the British military authorities of this, but they did not pursue the matter further. Incidentally, we heard that a few weeks previously a fascist in Casteluccio had informed the Germans of a projected move by a body of Yugoslavs, and had thereby caused about 30 of them to be captured or shot by the Germans, who had laid a successful ambush on their line of march.
As we went on our way we discussed the question of separation. It seems like it seemed likely to be easier to travel singly in the German rear areas which we were now approaching, and as from now on our individual plans diverged, we decided to go our own ways in the near future. The rest of the morning we spent on these high downs in bright sunshine tempered by a pleasant breeze. Monte Vettore was a little to our East, and probably a thousand or two feet above us. After lunch, during which we heard heavy bombing, probably of Terni about 40 miles away, we made our way towards Casteluccio, directed by a man with two mules, who was going to Norcia which we could see far below us. We soon saw the village of Casteluccio on a steep conical hill looking like a hill fort; this hill was at the north end of a level grass plain, about five miles by two miles, and both the plain and the conical hill were completely surrounded and overlooked by a circle of high hills – still grass, with occasional beechwoods in the re-entrants. This was where the Italian captain had suggested the parachutes should be dropped, and it seemed to us an entirely suitable place. The plain itself, though about 2,000 feet below where we were standing, was high and except for Casteluccio completely isolated. We could just make out flocks of sheep grazing on the plain, and what appeared to be a line of telegraph poles running down its length.
Slowly we climbed down onto the plain; the hillside was extremely steep and we were glad of the sheep walks with which it was traversed. We took about 45 minutes getting down, and as much again to cross the plain. Another couple of miles ahead of us to the east was a white house past which the road from Casteluccio appeared to go through a pass in the hills. We made for this pass, and another hour brought us to the edge of a great abyss. The ground fell away steeply beneath us and clouds floated a few hundred feet below; as we watched some of them were sucked up the side of the mountain on our left and were soon weaving mistily above our heads, and catching the last sunlight. We saw far below us a town - Arquata – and could make out the deep valley in which the main road must run. Our objective was Pietralama which we had been told was just over the pass we were now on. We could see no sign of it, but started off down a track, which seemed to lead into the Valley. It was quite dark by the time we got to Pietralama; we met a priest in the street, who, quickly shaking off a curious crowd, led us to a barn, and eventually to his own house, where we had an excellent meal. Here van managed to get quite a good map, in book form; Peter had the one to 200,000 map we had got from the Bazanis near Reggio, and I had the one to 1000000 motor touring map of Malaberti, so we were all well provided for. We slept in the barn we had been taken to in the first place.