Drinking Italian wine amidst WWII chaos
I’ve been so fortunate to have had an interest in local history since an early age. I’ve not only got to meet some amazing people, but I’ve got to hear so many of their amazing stories.
My dear friend the late Bob Fletcher of Urenui opened up to me one day about his experiences during World War II in Italy, something which surprised his wife as he’d never talked of it in all the years they’d been married.
It took many visits to win his trust, but in the end he realised I was passionate about history and his life experiences.
His memory was truly amazing and a visit to Bob always left me excited and inspired. Very few war veterans have ever opened up to family or friends, so I felt very privileged.
I didn’t know that Bob was old friends, and indeed in the same army unit during the Italy campaign of WWII, with another friend of mine Herbert (Herbie) Low.
Herbie had gone through the war beside Bob in combat. As Bob and I chatted, Herbie’s name cropped up and the penny dropped. He was the same Herbie I knew.
I had talked to Herbie many times about his memories of Waitara when he was growing up, but Bob’s name never entered the conversation.
Their machine gun unit was involved in pushing the retreating Germans back in Italy, and as their unit approached a small burnt out and destroyed village, amidst the smoke and piles of broken bricks and debris, the boys could smell wine.
A group of soldiers, including Bob and Herbie, got stuck in and cleared away the bricks and discovered a wine cellar full of wine casks. Several were man handled out and were rolled to their campsite down the road and celebrations ensued that night.
‘‘I sewed poor old Herbie up, good and proper,’’ Bob told me, ‘‘we’d all had a skin full by the end of the night.’’
Next morning Herbie woke up with a splitting headache and no teeth in and he panicked.
‘‘Where’s my teeth Bob, what happened to my teeth?’’ Bob couldn’t stop laughing and teasing him and finally told Herbie to go and have a look behind his tent.
Well there they were sitting on top of a mound of vomit, just like an old friend waiting for him there.
A few days later I rang Herbie and told him I’d been to see Bob Fletcher and he had told me to remind him of the night in Italy during the war he’d lost his teeth. Bursting into laughter Herbie said with a chuckle: ‘‘You tell Bob Fletcher I’m still gunning for him over that.’’
Another incident which was quite heart-wrenching was when three of them were holed up in the ruins of an old cathedral in Italy. The village had been pretty much levelled and the army camped where they could in the village that night. Germans were retreating but were still sending shells back over into the village.
Bob and Herbie and another friend were sleeping side by side together when a shell exploded through one of the church windows and their friend between them was hit in the head by a piece of shrapnel and killed instantly.
What a tragedy and how strange the man in the middle was killed and not Bob or Herbie either side. The luck of the draw - quite strange.
Another old veteran I got to know very well when I was an apprentice butcher at the Farmers Co Op in New Plymouth was a Mr Stanford. A tall solid built man, he saw action in the Somme in France during World War I.
He spoke of the mustard and nerve gas the Germans had used during the trench warfare there, causing tremendous casualties. Horrific memories he carried with him throughout his life his wife told me.
His relentless nightmares of the whistling shells called ‘‘Whizz Bangs’’ coming over into the trenches, he would wake up screaming in the night.
Waves of men were ordered to go over the trenches and charge the enemy facing a barrage of sniper and machine gun fire.
He told me he was amongst the third wave that were ordered to go over and he saw a sea of dead bodies ahead of him.
He survived the charge by stacking the bodies of dead comrades up in front of him to shield the bullets. He was hit in the hip and was fortunately evacuated to a field hospital, surviving the war.
We all go through life having close shaves. I’ve certainly had one or two near-death experiences driving on the road. Let’s not ever forget those who risked their lives for us in war time and those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
War is no joke, but sharing some of their experiences gives a human element to the ugly side of war - a senseless loss of human life.
Many more stories I hope to share with you in the future, stories of the past.