Thornton Thornton 5 5.

Radford Radford 8 8.

Milligan Milligan 1 1.

Sherwood Sherwood 4 4.

12.30.

Pinchbeck Pinchbeck 3 3.

Gordon Gordon 6 6.

Fildes Fildes 9 9.

Wenham Wenham 2 2.

Thornton Thornton 5 5.

12.30.

Sherwood Sherwood 4 4.

Hart Hart 7 7.

Birch Birch 10 10.

Pinchbeck Pinchbeck 3 3.

Gordon Gordon 6 6.

4.30.

Thornton Thornton 5 5.

Radford Radford 8 8.

Milligan Milligan 1 1.

Sherwood Sherwood 4 4.

Hart Hart 7 7.

4.30.

Gordon Gordon 6 6.

Fildes Fildes 9 9.

Wenham Wenham 2 2.

Thornton Thornton 5 5.

Radford Radford 8 8.

8.30.

Hart Hart 7 7.

Birch Birch 10 10.

Pinchbeck Pinchbeck 3 3.

Gordon Gordon 6 6.

(Scotch up) (Scotch up) (Scotch up) (Scotch up) (Scotch up) (Scotch up) .

25 25th Night Night Scotch up Scotch up Hart Hart .

Milligan Milligan .

Scotch up Scotch up .

Will Duty Sig. Will Duty Sig.

on at 0430 on at 0430 .

call Mr Wright call Mr Wright .

Each signaller did three hours at night, thus giving him a good few hours' sleep.

A big attack is going in tonight. The Grenadiers and Scots Guards are the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. They've got to take the hill to our immediate right to deny Jerry observation and put our OP on it. The sirens have gone and an air raid starts on Naples. 0430: the Artillery opened up and fired non-stop until 0624, then a silence. From the distant hill we hear the dreadful sound of Spandaus and Schmeisers that are spraying the early morning with bullets, and I can't but wonder at the courage of these lads in the Guards Brigade going forward into it. What a terrible, unexplainable lunacy. There must have been a lot of casualties as there was talk of us having to send gravedigging parties. In the end they sent some Gunners from the Wagon Lines. When they came back they spoke of Italian civilians being shot out of hand by Germans. There must be a lot of needle between these two nations. I should hate to be a German prisoner thrown to an Italian mob...The mosquito-bites and the scratching have turned our faces into what from a distance look like uncured bacon. In desperation I had rubbed Sloane's Liniment on my face, and lo! it kept them away!!

"I've done it, Harry," I said, rushing into the Command Post with bottle in my hand.

"What have you done?" said Edgington, turning from the Telephone Exchange, "and if you have done it in that bottle, don't empty it in here."

"I've stopped the mozzies biting me," I said.

"How?" said the great man.

"Sloane's Liniment," I said.

"How in G.o.d's name did you get 'em to drink it?"

Even as he spoke I regretted the new-found repellent, my face started to sting and then burn as though it was on fire. I had to plunge my head repeatedly into a bucket of cold water. It was hours before the stinging stopped, wasn't anybody anybody on my side? on my side?

During the day there was a story that suddenly, on one of our wireless sets, a German had been heard asking for information. The Signaller recognised the accent and said, "f.u.c.k off, Fritz." The answer was instant, "Alright, English b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, Off."

Thank G.o.d. Naafi today! A tin of fifty of fifty f.a.gs. With trembling hands we pounced on them and soon we are wreathed in smoke. I notice three bra.s.s hats with maps walking to a position behind our guns; one carried a shooting stick. He was a tall dignified man with lots of medal ribbons (or were they laundry marks?). I watched as he placed his shooting stick behind him and sat down. There was a pause, then the whole shaft of the stick disappeared slowly into the muddy ground, leaving the owner on his back. Guffaws from us all. The Colonel rose to his feet and shouted, "It's not funny." There was a great chorus back, "Oh yes it is." f.a.gs. With trembling hands we pounced on them and soon we are wreathed in smoke. I notice three bra.s.s hats with maps walking to a position behind our guns; one carried a shooting stick. He was a tall dignified man with lots of medal ribbons (or were they laundry marks?). I watched as he placed his shooting stick behind him and sat down. There was a pause, then the whole shaft of the stick disappeared slowly into the muddy ground, leaving the owner on his back. Guffaws from us all. The Colonel rose to his feet and shouted, "It's not funny." There was a great chorus back, "Oh yes it is."

Alf Fildes has been bed down, he's got the squitters and we keep our distance. Gunner Roberts and Gunner Ferrier sleep next to each other; now, Roberts talks talks in his sleep. Somewhere in the wee hours he says, "You're next, you're next." Ferrier, half asleep, says 'Alright', gets up, gets dressed and goes on guard. in his sleep. Somewhere in the wee hours he says, "You're next, you're next." Ferrier, half asleep, says 'Alright', gets up, gets dressed and goes on guard.

OCTOBER 23, 1943.

Today non-stop firing. In the Command Post there's hardly time to light a f.a.g in between Fire Orders. A party of our linesmen have nearly been driven mad; they have been reeling in what was an old telephone line. They went on reeling in for two miles only to discover that another battery was in fact reeling it out. Harry comes back on M truck and says, "We're all b.l.o.o.d.y mad, fancy two b.l.o.o.d.y miles of reeling in a line and another sloppy lot are laying it out. Good job we caught 'em up, otherwise we'd be the other side of the b.l.o.o.d.y Alps by now."

The mosquitoes are so bad that an official complaint has been made to the MO and now three engineers with spray guns are going round squirting the countryside and our dinners; it helped a little, but far too late. The mosquitoes had left, why?

"They couldn't find any s.p.a.ce between the bites," says Fuller, whose face resembled a side of beef with scabs on.

Some of the lads' scratches went septic and they were daubed with some pink stuff that made them look like Indians in war paint. They came dancing from the MO's tent with war whoops.

OCTOBER 23, 1943, NIGHT.

Command Post: I sat on a much-treasured wooden box, in front of me a telephone, a message pad, the panel control of the Tannoy; this last mentioned connected up a loudspeaker to each gun. Through this you relayed the orders. You would pa.s.s on the Command Post Officer's orders.

Me: Take post!

A Sub: A Sub answering.

B Sub: B Sub answering.

Me: Angle of sight 'something something' degrees, Range 15,000.

The subsections would then all answer back the orders to acknowledge.

The OP spotting fall of shot would come back. "More three degrees or add 500 (yds") and so on till you hit whatever it was.

On this particular shoot, we were trying to silence Nebel-wurfers. Six o'clock we get the BBC news. The Russians have broken through between Dneiperpertrovsk and Che molk, large bridgehead created threatening Kiev. Goodski!

As we listen, the Naples sirens go, at once the Ack-Ack opens up. We duck through our canvas wall and see the sky alive with tracer. It was one of the entertainments of war, a sort of early television.

"See anything last night?"

"Smashin' air raid on Naples."

"Are they going to repeat it?"

We can hear the distant drone of Jerry planes approaching. We sit tight as they fly overhead, a short sharp burst of MG fire and a plane bursts into flames, immediately, a fiery coffin in the sky plunges a thousand yards south of us, hits the ground and explodes. The grapevine was soon through, a Jerry!! Great! It crashed near 18 Battery, a hundred yards from the Battery latrine, where the occupants had flung themselves to the ground, shattering their meditations. It was 8.30, my relief was Signaller Thornton. He saunters in.

"Evenin' all, see the fireworks?"

I bid Lt. Wright goodnight.

"Thanks for the help, Milligan, leave the pencil, it's the only one we've got."

I pushed into the dark, and stumbled towards where the Ten Line exchange was. Behind the canvas blackout flap I hear Edgington struggling with the calls.

"Just a minute-er-wot?-hold it, sorry sir-I oops! I gave you the wrong line-h.e.l.lo 19 Battery here, who? Just a minute-blast, what the-" buried by 18 Battery.

"See? 18 Battery again," says Chalky White. "They get all the fun."

Gunner Devine is pa.s.sing with a bandage on his hand.

"There's a curse on 19 Battery," he says solemnly.

"A curse?" queries Edgington. "What is it?"

"f.u.c.k 'em," said Devine, a great Liverpudlian grin on his unshaven face.

"That is indeed a terrible curse," says Bombardier Milligan. "I wonder who put it on us."