9th-12th-Lancers - Year 1986 - Page 0087
Image details
| Regiment | 9th/12th Lancers |
|---|---|
| Year | 1986 |
| Transcription |
i T A Memory of Italy "The ranks of false Tarentum Like hunted sheep shall fly; In vain the hold Epirotes Shall round their standards die." Macaulay. “The prophecy of Capys” The sine qua non of military studies, if I remember rightly is the lesson to be learned. In this particular case it is quite clear. “Put not your trust in Prin— ces, nor in any child of man". I only write prompted by Col ‘Kate’ Savill, as a vignette of war and ancient histor- ical interest. On 30th April 1945, D Sqn l2th Lan- eers (commanded by John Clark Ken— nedy) was leading the advance of the New Zealand Division towards Trieste. The previous night the Germans had attempted, unsuccessfully, to share a village with us, and we had captured their canteen lorry. At about l0 a.m., yours truly and 5 Troop were on the crossroads at Cervignano about to push on to the Izonzo bridge, which was vital for the advance of the Division to Tri- este, and which had to be secured, not only from the Germans. but also the Yugoslavs. A motorcycle appeared from the North. Riding pillion was a Mareschiallo of Carabineeri who saluted and then made an impassioned appeal that we should go North to the small town of Palmanova and save the Italian Parti- tans, who were having a hard time from a force of 600 German marines and a large number of Fascist Militia. “The Germans want to surrender” was his theme. This we reported by radio, and, unknownmthewriter.asimilarpleahad also been made both to RHQ (by tele- phone from the town postmaster) and to New Zealand Divisional Headquar- ters by a Partisan liaison officer. As a result. 3 Tp ‘D' Sqn went on to fame and glory on the Izonzo bridge, where they prevented its demolition by the Yugoslavs. afterwards entering Monfalcone at about 3 p.m. 5 Tp went North to investigate. THE 9TH/IZTH ROYAL LANCERS REGIMENTAL JOURNAL Falmanova is an old town, fortified in the style of Vauhan, then entirely contained within the fortificationsI except for some new barracks to the East. We stopped at a prudent distance and set up for business in a farmhouse. Nothing moved, on the ramparts. The barracks had a high wall around itI and nothing could be seen there either. A delegation soon appeared and appealed in a state of great Italian excite- ment for “the Officer" to go and meet the Germans, who were longing to sur» render to the English. I believed them!! A white sheet was quickly fastened to a broom handle, and, with an Italian as standard bearer and my hand firmly on his collar, we advanced over the bridge. We passed through the gateway in the ramparts, and into the town. It was like a tomb. Nothing moved. The sun shone. The empty road stretched down to a fountain in the centre of the town from which all streets radiated in a star pattern. I did not like it one little bit, but retreat (with honour) was out of the question. Gripping my Italian. with a sweaty hand we marched caut- iously forward. A shutter opened slightly from time to time and one could hear someone clapping their hands lightly saying ”Bravo“ (pianissimo). Not a good omen at all. We were just short of the fountain when all hell broke loose. A large mlibre automatic weapon fired straight down the street on my right. Marble chips flew off the fountain. Round the corner came a German Officer (He was a doc- torI) armed with a Schmeisser sub machine gun followed by a posse of those wanting»to-surrender Marines. It did not look as if they had made up their minds. “For you the war is over” and my Luger was removed. “Nein. nein” I said pathetically “Ich bin ein Parliamentaire" and pointed at the white flag (still holding firmly to the standard bearer). The penny at last dropped and we were escorted down the street to my right. A four barrel light flak gun had been firing down the street to give cover- ing fire, whilst the Marines systematic- ally cleared it of partisans. house by house. It was as good as any Warminster demonstration. A section would run up each side of the street. Those on one pavement would remain and give cover. Those opposite would kick in the front door. Then in would go a potattHnasher or two — loud bangs — and the rest of the party would rush in, making for the top of the house. FurnitureI hens and debris would shower from the upstairs windows, but no Partisans. It was impressive but far better to be a spectator than to exper- ience it, Finally we went out of the town. I was then blindfolded and led into the new barracks. Here I was presented to the Commander. “Hitler ist todl" I said as firmly and convincingly as I could manage. “Das ist propaganda" said a nasty looking piece of work nearby. Someone was produced who spoke English. I explained that I had come at their express request to receive their surrender. Everyone looked puz- zled. Doubts were expressed that I was even a British Officer. This was under- standable in view of the fact that I was wearing corduory trousers. Kkakl jersey, suede boots and armed with a German pistol; not a particularly military figure. I proudly produced my HQ Middle East Identity card. Smiles all round, espec- ially from me. Meanwhile, there was no sign of the Italian militia, they had long since demobilised themselves. I was left with a friendly Warrant Officer. He had been at the Coronation Naval Review and had made many friends on HMS Hood. I told him about the canteen lorry. “Its your turn now" he said “I drank whisky in France in Al ". After a while I was called back and asked to take an officer to the New Zealanders. A sergeant came with him, who I left with my Troop Sergeant (Sgt Howell»Smith).The German was a |
| Title |