George was there the day Vesuvius blew its top
WHEN George Sturges signed up for the Royal Engineers in 1939, he probably didn’t expect to be away from Derby for most of the next six years, serving in France, Iceland, Egypt, Persia, Egypt again, Italy and Belgium.
His skills as a printer (learned at Bemrose and Sons of Midland Place) were put to good use in making maps so that the Army knew where it was during its foreign campaigns. At the same time, it was boring and lonely.
He had married Madge Taylor at the same time as he joined up and he missed her terribly. So, when he was stationed near Naples in Italy, and the chance of an interesting outing occurred, he and his comrades took it eagerly.
This was even though the outing was up the slopes of a volcano just beginning to erupt! Here, in his own words, is the account of the day out.
Vesuvius had been showing signs of life during the last few days. As I happened to be in the vicinity, I took the opportunity that a day’s leave offered to climb the mountain and see the volcano in action at close quarters. Little did I realise then what I was letting myself in for.
We were a party of 30. It was nearing midday when our truck set us down at a point roughly halfway up the mountain. From here the road disappeared abruptly under a vast flood of solidified lava 10 to 29 feet high, a grim reminder of the volcanic efforts in the last century.
We sat down by the roadside and ate lunch – bread, bully beef, a biscuit. Some of the bully being 1914 issue was a little bit green. The view from here was superb, to the right curved the Bay of Naples with the city perched on the hillside. Out to sea we could just discern the rocky Isle of Capri, while just beneath us at the foot of the mountain we could see the ruins of Pompeii and the winding coastal road to
Salerno. There are several villages straggling at the foot of Vesuvius and as the lava soil is very fertile there are many vineyards, and here and there small woods of firs.
Over on the north side of the mountain, on a piece of high land, is the Vesuvius Observatory and in previous eruptions the flow of lava has bypassed the building, following a deep scar in the hillside.
After lunch we started the stiff climb to the top, following our Italian guide. Soon there was no soil underfoot and we crossed various levels of lava, keeping to no path since our aim was to keep to the sheltered side of the eruption, as we could plainly see now that the volcano was belching out to our right.
As we climbed so the scene became blacker and more desolate, with the sky above black with smoke. As yet we felt no heat. Actually it was colder and eventually we reached snowdrifts, and soon there were snowballs whizzing about.
It was late afternoon when we began to near the top and see the last hundred feet or so to climb, Vesuvius was obviously warming up. Nobody said much, it was rather too grim, but we meant to get there. The noise was increasing, with terrific roars that got you in the pit of your stomach. The last fifty feet – it was warm now but we were protected from the real heat by the high wall of the crater’s edge.
The guide looked anxious, as the wind changed and brought the high bursts of lava over to our direction.
Nasty plops of molten lava fell near. Then the wind swung back.
The guide said that he would take ten men only to the crater edge at a time. I followed him and I shall never forget the nightmare climb, twenty feet to go and lava began to fall amid terrific roars belched from Vesuvius.
The guide shouted telling us to look up and dodge the lava as it fell! I could now see the masses of lava shooting straight up into the sky (grey coloured) and worse I could hear it come whistling down red hot to smack on the ground.
During a lull I followed the guide and climbed the last steep edge, to see a fearful sight, a vast bowl of fire which with deafening roars from the very bowels of the earth, belched high into the air. The heat was
A fearful sight, a vast bowl of fire which with deafening roars from the very bowels of the earth, belched high into the air.
scorching and I stopped no longer. I simply shot down the slope from one rocky lava outcrop to another until I reached the comparative safety where the main party had waited.
The eruption was still increasing and few of the others were able to get near the top. Lower down the slope an Italian was collecting small bits of cooling lava and pressing out the shape of an ashtray with a coin in the centre. These sold well as souvenirs.
A greater roar from Vesuvius – and well to our right a great rent appeared in the outer edge, and swept through were fantastic masses of red molten lava crashing over and over and down. Had it been in our direction, we would have been swept away.
It was time to go – and we went.
That very night the top blew off the mountain: a vast cloud or pillar of smoke rose from 10 to 20 thousand feet, and lava and ash spread destruction over the countryside for many miles, and molten lava bubbled over the top to run in slow and terrible broad streams to the vineyards and villages below, devouring all before it. And the world heard that Vesuvius was in major eruption.
Each night from several miles away the brilliant red streams of lava were clearly visible outlining the mountain against the sky, and thirty or so miles to the north it was seen by our forward troops as they lay on the hillsides surrounding Monte
Casino and the enemy.
Since his unit left Dunkirk under enemy fire in 1940, this was the most dangerous situation he faced, and it was all for a fun day out.
When George was demobbed in 1945, he lived a very quiet life in Littleover until he passed away in 1991.
His chief enthusiasm during these later years was Scottish Country Dancing with Derby Burns Club and his own Maxwell Group (based at Grange Hall in Littleover).
His Vesuvius story is included in a memoir for family written by his son, Paul Sturges.
A few copies of this are available for his friends in Derby from Paul, who can be contacted at rp. sturges@yahoo.com